morally dubious dirt man 💔 weir dredger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 am
fossick) wrote in finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 amEntry tags:
fossick) wrote in finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 am
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[Maybe he's still just grumpy about losing the game.
Either way, he leads them further into the main square, where it becomes clear this performance is going to be an outdoor affair -- and the seating, whatever she considers is "prime", is to be wherever they choose to sit on the ground.
The stage itself is a large, wooden raised platform, its set decorated in the whimsical colors of a storybook forest, with a painted backdrop of a swollen, full moon overhead. There's already a bustle, several villagers having congregated here that are interested to view this event. But overall? Weir and Lucy might sit wherever they like.
He has a distinct feeling that her preferences will not align with his own. (He'd like to sit in the back, if he has to sit anywhere at all.)]
You'll get that dress of yours dirty.
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Contrary to expectations, Lucinda gravitates to the back. The medium makes some thoughtful back-and-forth pacing, adjusting her point of view to see which is most pleasing to her. And after a minute or two, she gestures to Weir, where they can stand and see the whole stage. She's even positioned where if he remains to her right, there's a convenient exit that isn't glutted by the other villagers.]
Let's watch from here. Hopefully, their voices will project but either way, we can see everything.
[And with the anticipation thrumming around them, Lucinda can't help but hum the first few notes of "Think of Me". Only Weir should be able to hear it as she glances back and forth trying to absorb all the sights and sounds.]
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Ultimately, they stand upon a green, soft knoll that gives them a view of the stage and main square as a whole. If Lucinda stands, then so does Weir, arms crossed, already conceded that this'll not be an entertaining time for him.]
And if you find yourself dying of boredom and want to leave early, you'll have no complaints from me.
[Thanks, Weir.
The rumble of voices around them, tittering and excited, makes him the odd one out, though. They'll wait a few minutes more, with several townspeople still trailing in, before someone comes up on stage. It seems as though it's going to start soon.
It's a man—tall and with a Sapphire flower pinned to his lapel—looking to introduce the play. Weir doesn't recognize him; must be a traveling troupe from outside of down. He's tall and pale and looks a bit nervous, for some reason.]
Strange. [He murmurs, not for her sake, but simply for speaking his thoughts aloud.] I've not seen anyone visit from outside of the Vale since...
[Well. You know.]
we're so back
The actor (she's assuming) is notably nervous. It's easy to chalk it up to the intimidating size of the crowd, but that seems like a stretch. The mood is good and everyone is eager.
Weir's remark to himself gains him a glance from the medium.]
How long has it been? Since the changes?
[No one is eavesdropping, but at least her question is vague enough.]
🥰 thanks for sticking with this psl
Months.
[He offers, plainly.]
This place is isolated because of the forest around it. You've seen why.
[And while Weir is fine with that—he's hardly a man who cares about visitors—he had found it strange that he has not laid eyes on traders, or travelers, or even the wayward vagrant like the Vale used to pull in when it existed before the world was remade.]
Perhaps it gave them a scare during their travels here.
lucy will not let dirt man rest
It does beg the question, I think, whether they were given a scare, or if they were allowed smooth passage.
[It might even be worth her while to see if she can hitch a ride out.]
If it was the former, it could explain the supposed stage fright.
and all was right in the universe
[And yet the way Weir seems to mutter it, the rest of his thoughts making that "maybe" a bit more complicated than it should, belies his uncertainty.
But he'll not say more for now.
For what it's worth, the production itself goes smoothly. It is a tale of a man, damned to hell, being offered salvation from a divine being. The play chronicles his journey, a high climb to redemption, overcoming all trials and tribulations on the way there. Until, at the very end, right before he is free... in an act of selfishness, he chooses to prioritize his salvation over those also seeking freedom, and is sent wheeling all the way back down the mountain.
The actors are focused on their role, and perhaps their innate nervousness for whatever reason outside of the play has some bearing on the intensity of their performances.
Still, by the end, perhaps Weir and Lucinda have decided to sit. And the audience claps and cheers when the entire cast comes out for a bow, though they practically skitter away just as quickly with hurried thanks. Weir huffs.]
it's what he deserves
The ending of the play is not lost on her, but she doesn't make any knowing side glances or turn to look at Weir.
When the actors take their bow, she claps politely, noting how they hurry away instead of relishing the deserved praise. Lucy finally faces Weir, raising a brow at his huff.]
I liked it. It appears you aren't of the same mind.
[She stands up, still holding her prize toy she won from the game prior to the performance.]
Should we go speak with them? Small talk about their travels.
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Tales of morality are well and good for those who never have to face the truth of reality: the world at large does not care if you are good, or kind, or honorable.
[It runs against the grain of Weir's own beliefs, this kind of preaching, but that's neither here nor there. He doesn't care to participate in a philosophical repartee when there's something else afoot. Instead, he stands to join her, then starts walking towards the stage, expecting her to follow.
Unearthly laughter bubbles in the back of his mind, but the Polymath adds nothing else. Somehow, his amusement always bodes ill for Weir.]
I don't like this.
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[One would think Lucinda would be very cynical considering her circumstances. She had every right to be. Then again, perhaps it doesn't show outwardly nor does it dictate her actions.
While following Weir, she runs a hand through her hair and straightens out the sleeves and skirt of her blue gown, making sure she looks spic and span before approaching the troupe, speaking up first to catch their attention as they stand at near the stage.]
Hello, there!
[Lucy waves and when one of them glances over she gives them a striking smile.]
The performance was wonderful and I wanted to ask a few questions. May I have a moment of your time?
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Then, with the affectation of someone trying to put on a brave face.]
"A-Ah, yes. I'm very glad you enjoyed the production, my lady, given what little we had to work with. You... you had questions for me?"
[Weir arches a brow, crossing his arms, but says nothing. Lets Lucy take the lead.]
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[Lucinda nods, still smiling pleasantly.]
I think it was very admirable for your troupe to make it all the way out here to Turner's Vale. I can imagine that the journey wasn't all that easy.
[She has a sort of hunch, one she isn't sure she can put words to, but she decides to clarify in her own roundabout way.]
The people here are quite lovely aren't they? I'm a foreigner, you see, but they've all been hospitable during my time here.
[yeah, even this grumpy guy standing near her, especially him]
So I was wondering if you'd be leaving any time soon? As wonderful as my time has been here, I wouldn't want to impose on the villagers any longer.
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How badly did they want to put on a show here, only to act as though they're ready to turn tail and flee? Weir thinks to say something, but the man Lucinda's speaking to says first-]
"Yes, very lovely. Very lovely." [He repeats, as though to make sure they know that the Turner's Vale residents are, in fact, very lovely.] "As much as we'd love to stay and take in the, ah, sights, we must be off. And soon. We've a very, very busy schedule ahead of us, and the Vale... it's taken us far from our usual itinerary and, er- No point in dallying! We must begin packing up tonight."
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[If her friends are clueless, so is Lucinda. But their observations aside, what's important is that this group is packing up tonight. This doesn't leave her much room for time, but depending on their response it's now or a long, long, while later. So the medium gives it a good ol' college try.]
I see. [She casts her gaze to the size and drums her fingers against her cheek.]
Then I don't suppose you have room for one more? At least until you reach your first rest or destination?
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You want to go with them?
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... Ideally, yes.
[She glances at the actor and then back at the Dredger.]
Only if they're willing though.
[She leaves it at that with all other unsaid things hanging in the air between them.]
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And your reasoning is what, precisely? If you wanted a swift exit from this town and the forest surrounding it, it wasn’t as though I couldn’t have rode you out on horseback.
[The green glow around Weir's irises fade as he... very much ignores the Polymath.]
Was not the issue simply that you had no means of returning home? How will that be any different with a traveling troupe of performative fools?
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There's a slight change in the air; a very, very faint sweet scent wafts through. It's Flora, who aims to soothe and calm the actor they were speaking to and think nothing of what the huntsman is saying. It gives room for the medium to consider what to say next.
Lucinda regards Weir with impeccable neutrality. Before, she might have entertained him with a plethora of reasons, teased him for what she sees is an overreaction. But with all the time they spent within each other's proximity, in an odd way, she's grown past that.
She keeps it simple. Brevity serves her better when it comes to him.]
It'd be less work for you.
[She casually runs a hand through her hair.]
If an additional person is not within their means, then I won't impose.
1/2
Weir’s not even paying attention to that. His gaze snaps more trenchant than before.]
Less work? Now you care about “less work?”
[Weir snaps at the voice in his head.]
Shut up, you fucking nebby thing!
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The air's strung tense.]
If that's what you want, then go with them. You've done a fine job of wasting my time before all of this, Lucinda. Would have thrown you out and beyond the forest on that first day if I had known.
[And just like that, he's turning to walk away. She can have fun with her new little group if she so pleases — and if they have no desire to take her with them, then it's still not his problem.]
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Brat.
[Weir is well out of earshot when Lucinda mutters that to herself. The sweet scent subsides. She turns to the actor and smiles as if nothing has happened.]
Let me know if you have room for a tagalong. Oh, but do decide amongst yourselves first. I won't be offended if there's no room.
[She makes a start in the other direction, calling over her shoulder.]
I'll be enjoying the rest of the festival! It shouldn't be too hard to find me.
[Hard to miss a tattooed woman in this village. Lucinda, makes the decision that in the meanwhile, she'll eat some festival sweets.]
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Meanwhile, the Dredger is nowhere to be seen amid the festival.
The festival itself continues on, however, just as lively as ever. She can have all the sweets she likes! If Lucinda stays until dusk, the lanterns strung along the square glow with an ethereal halo of light. And if she stays until the very end, when the night sky has turned inky enough to let the stars pierce through, she'll get a show of what must be fireworks bursting in blue, shimmering sparks overhead.
Ultimately, it's up to her what she wants to do next. It's reasonable to think the troupe wouldn't leave until the morning, anyway, because who wants to wend through an enchanted forest at night? It's also sensible to think that Weir is agitated enough not to seek her out for the rest of the night, too.]
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She stops halfway up the hill to look at the blue fireworks blooming in the sky.]
[Lucinda doesn't think about where to find Weir, doesn't want to dwell on whether his outburst mattered to her or not. She was of the same mind as him in terms of washing their hands of each other and not having to make space for one another anymore, forced or otherwise.
(But even if that's what they wanted, it was too tangled up now to fully be undone.)
The fireworks continue with a few sporadic breaks in between and Huyen thinks about how fun it would be if River were here by her side and to wash her concerns away.]
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Yet a less-lovely figure comes down the hill in the opposite direction, originating from the path which leads to the lodge. It's Weir, who's cast a tiny little cantrip that hovers as a sphere of light around his shoulder, illuminating the way. He carries two empty wooden buckets in each hand as he tromps down the path.
Like a dark, sullen shade, he approaches. He barely slows his gait when he notices it's her.]
You stink. I can smell you halfway up the hill.
[He's exaggerating, of course, but she does have the whiff of wine about her. Still, his remark is sharp — the man is still in a mood.]
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And this also means her tongue is loose as well.]
Bạn cũng không có mùi thơm dễ chịu.
["You don't smell great either."]
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