Drunken Lullabies [Open]

[dedalus]

Cause we find ourselves in the same ol' mess
* Singin Drunken Lullabies,

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For a detention facility, this place is pretty fuckin' ritzy , was all Connor had been able to think as he made his way around the behemoth of a campus. Someone had put a lot of money into this place, he could tell that much--what he couldn't discern was why. What could they expect to get out of it? What, catering to a cons sense of refinement and opulence would somehow straighten them out in a way no moralistic epiphany possibly could? He could have well laughed about it, if it wasn't such a preposterous notion. He pulled to mind the image of the stereotypical law-breaking teenager, and the thought of them actually fitting into a school like this made him chuckle to himself as he strolled through the hallways. All he could think of were gruff, tattooed kids randomly toting around top-hats and canes.

He walked into the theatre and shook his head. "You're fuckin' serious...what, are we all goin' ta watch Hamlet between murderin's?" He scoffed to himself. He'd been dragged to plenty of theatres in Ireland by his mother, but none had been quite like this. Crushed velvet curtains, a raised platform...for that matter, indoors--why would this exist here, of all places?

Connor glanced around the chasm of a room. He'd been abruptly herded out of a number of buildings he'd wandered into that day, getting another angry janitor on his ass wouldn't quite do for his pleasant tour. Finding himself quite alone, he walked down the main aisles. The clatter of his shoes against the ground reverberated off of the walls, sending up a melodious echo throughout the building. The superstitious side of him kept him at full alert--maybe it was just natural caution, or maybe the sheer number of horror films he'd seen in his life, but an empty theatre in a detention center seemed like a grand place for a horrible tragedy. The hand in his coat pocket gripped the hilt of the butterfly knife wedged there a bit tighter.

Undeterred by the inherent risks, he continued his way onto the stage. The steps wailed beneath the pressure of his feet, filling the silence with their strained cries. Trying to ignore the ominous presence, he busied himself in observing the contents of the stage. There must have been a concert here recently, he thought, when his eyes met with an array of chairs and instruments. A piano, a cello, a number of wind-instruments in their cases; it was spooky, as though everyone had just up and run off at the end of the performance, without bothering to clean up. Or, he rationalized, they were probably getting prepared to set up a later show.

He took a seat in one of the chairs and immediately plucked up the flute case beside him. The weight of it let him know it was occupied before he had even opened it. Without any regard to whom it might have belonged to, and undoubtedly in part to the liquid courage he'd pumped into himself before beginning his self-guided tour, he pulled the instrument out of its case. After screwing the two parts together, he placed his fingers in the correct position to play.

When had he last played? The answer slipped past his finger like sand. Months? Years? He had never been fond of the instrument, but his mother had insisted. Yet the metallic object felt foreign in his hands, as though he had never felt anything akin to it. The metal on his fingertips coldand unwelcoming. Yet as he placed his lips above it and played a long, haunting melody, it all slipped back into place.

The soothing, melancholic sound filled the room. It was the only song he could remember from heart--Danny Boy, his mother's favorite. "Oh Dedalus," His mother would say to him as he brought out his battered old flute, "Play me song. Let me hear ya play it again." And no matter how many times he scowled and said no, she would insist. He would play, and she would smile through all of his missed notes and pitches.

The nostalgia sent a brief pang of yearning through his heart. His mother...when had he last spoken to her? Played for her?

His eyes closed and he continued to play. How fitting that he would only be able to play a song about diaspora.


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_{OOC: Wheee, free for anyone to join!
Outfit is simply a pea-coat, blue-jeans, and teal scarf :}}
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[Blake Riina Kildal]

gonna stand t

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It had been quiet in here, with most people avoiding the place unless they had to. It was something about the theater that made her feel a bit more comfortable than around everyone else and all the other places. Normally it was because it was mostly empty and warm. No one really bothered looking for her here, so a lot of times she came here to practice on her harp or the piano. In reality, she stored a lot of her own instruments here. The staff knew which ones were hers, mostly because they were in such good condition and well cared for as well as always in tune. Music was something that kept her calm and in a relatively good mood and away from the thoughts that made her want to die.

Sitting up from the catwalk she’d been laying in, she swung her legs over the side, watching the new kid make his way down the aisle, silently tilting her head to the side. It was interesting, she mused, someone coming in here and not immediately leaving. She supposed it was the grandeur of the place, but for the most part none of the students cared about what went on in here. The theater was one place anyone’s fantasies about being important could come true for a moment in time. It was easy to imagine you were somewhere else once you walked through the doors and down the aisle.

Lately Blake hadn’t really felt like playing most of her instruments, instead working on her harp skills. She’d hurt her fingers playing the piano so much, so switching to the harp made sense to her, even though she should have just stopped playing altogether. Things didn’t always get through to her, but she’d left her harp set up to the side of the stage, a cover thrown over it to prevent the strings from getting messed up, but the golden color of the bottom peeked out from under the cover, glinting dully in the light. She’d painted over the wood carefully, tracing over the patterns in the wood with a dark brown color over the gold, making sure it looked good.

Leaning on the railing, neglecting the fact she could easily fit between the ‘safety barriers’, she hugged one of the railing supports as she watched him, curious and listening to his mutterings before watching him sit down with the flute. She couldn’t play the flute and had no real desire to play the flute, but it was nice to listen to other people. Blue eyes closed slightly and she frowned faintly, listening to the pitch, knowing the song vaguely, like she’d heard it played somewhere before. Biting her lower lip, she opened her eyes again, watching the figure before standing up delicately on the catwalk, making her way over to one of the ropes hanging from the side.

To say the girl liked to get into the weirdest places was an understatement. How she got into them though, was even weirder. Instead of using the stairs like everyone else, she managed to secure a rope and scrambled up and down that easily and quickly every time, almost like a little phantom. Granted, being in a skirt made things a bit more difficult, but Blake didn’t really care what others thought. There was no real reason for her to have a jacket to cover her arms since the bandages were long gone although the scars remained. Blake had no real care for scars or bruises and tended to ignore them since most of them were the result of her abused thoughts.

Bright blue eyes flickered around as her barefeet touched down and made no sound as she padded across, heading over to pick up some of her sheet music that she’d scattered when the last student had come into the theater, curious about the music they’d heard. Pausing faintly and tilting her head to the side, she stopped behind the boy playing the flute and frowned again, unhappy with the pitch of the sound. Brushing a strand of loose hair out of her face to fall behind her shoulders where it brushed along her waist, she tilted her head to the side, voice soft.

"Your flute is flat,"

[/color] was all she said, the faintest traces of her Hawaiian accent trailing over the words. She rarely spoke to a lot of people unless it had to do with music or they were being polite. She had a reputation for being a bitch and dangerous in her own right, but looking at the small girl, there was nothing that seemed very dangerous about her. She was barely over five feet and weighed less than expected. Blake flinched away from a lot of fights or conflict and just didn’t have an interest in the rest of the students except for a few that were nice to her.

The most dangerous thing about her, though, was that she’d been able to kill her father who had trained her to fight. But the girl didn’t look like much, just a small snip of something that looked like it could be easily broken. Then again, not many people had been on the receiving end of her wrath, she mused, reaching up to rub idly at the scar on her shoulder. That was from another story of another time, though. Right now all that mattered was the fact that his flute was flat and needed to be tuned.
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NOTES:Hurr…she’s shy =w=…TAG
OUTFIT: Not appropriate for winter but hurr
WORDS: 921
MUSE: Around~
CREDIT: NOTHING_PERSONAL@CAUTION 2.0
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[dedalus]

Cause we find ourselves in the same ol' mess
* Singin Drunken Lullabies,

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"Your flute is flat."

The voice tore Connor from his music-induced stupor, nearly causing him to drop the borrowed flute. He turned quickly around to look at the new intruder, one eyebrow lifted in confusion.
"The fuck did you come from?" he asked, undaunted by any perception of eloquence. Her presence baffled him--he had always been an acutely perceptive person. In his line of work, he couldn't afford to be anything else; letting his guard down for even a moment was a recipe for troubles. The slightest foot-fall, the brushing of a dress against legs, a door opening from across the room, nothing missed his attention--and yet she had managed to sneak up behind him and startle him.

Giving her the visual once over, his surprise simmered. She was tiny. Not merely thin, but minuscule. No wonder she snuck up on me,, he thought, She probably doesn't make a damn sound when she moves.
Almost the moment he came upon the thought, his first instinct was to comment on her slight physique. He thought better for the notion, and turned away from her. The last time he had mentioned a girl's weight to her, she'd dealt him a kick straight to the groin.

"...Aye though, it tis.". he mumbled, remembering the girls' previous comment on the flute. He turned the instrument over in his hands once, brain struggling to remember just how one went about it. He could recall his instructor stating that a flat flute could be caused by a number of reasons--and fuck if he could remember what those were. "Good thing it isn't mine then? Though I suppose in retrospect, putting me mouth on someone else's piece isn't the brightest idea. He muttered nonchalantly, unscrewing the flute and replacing it in its case. He flipped the brass switches and set it back on the ground, thoughtlessly plucking another case from the chair beside him.

As though he hadn't just spoken on the foolish idea of playing a stranger's instrument, he took the new flute out as he had the other. After assembling it, he placed it against his lips and played a short tune--still not perfect, but a far-cry from the other. The notes ran sharper and clearer, unmuted as the first had. He pulled the instrument away from his lips, a half-satisfied smirk lingering upon his lips, "Better for ya? I guess I know which flute I'll be stealin' if I make off with one of 'em." he said in jest, turning to look back at her.

He had the sense she wouldn't be laughing at any of his jokes.

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_{OOC: A bit short and abrupt, sorry! Long day has been long D:
Ahaha. Connor, your jokes aren't funny and you aren't making a good first impression xP}

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[Blake Riina Kildal]

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gonna stand t

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Brushing a strand of hair out of her face, she watched him curiously with a blank look. It was a look that she’d learned from the sharks in Hawaii, one that spoke of the utmost patience, waiting for a wrong move or wrong word. Then again, she had no real interest in getting into a physical altercation with the boy. He was easily larger than she was, most everyone was, and undoubtedly was armed unlike her. Although, the rope wasn’t a bad idea and it was hell to pin her down long enough to get a good hit in if you missed.

Pushing her thoughts away, she shrugged at his comment, faintly amused by what he said and his accent, reminding her of Elly, but in a more abrupt and businesslike manner. She wasn’t really about to give up where she came from, instead making a noncommittal gesture over her shoulder, looking behind her as if there had been some other way to get on the stage and by the instruments. The look on her face when she turned back around was faint amusement and pure innocence, tilting her head to the side slightly watching him.

Shrugging she chewed her lower lip for a moment, gathering her thoughts before she spoke. This habit of hers always led people to believe she was either stupid or just very quiet and never had anything worthwhile to say. When she finally did speak, her voice was still soft and her accent distinct but suiting her well. “It merely means you did not take the time to warm up or to properly ensure that the flute joints were placed at the appropriate points for the right pitch,”

[/color] she said, shrugging.

Bare feet made no whisper of sound as she moved across the stage, picking up the various sheet music that was scattered just beyond him, sorting the papers mechanically and making sure they were pristine. As she looked back up to catch his final comment, a small smile quirked her lips up and she shook her head, hiding the expression before opening her mouth again.

“So long as you treat it with respect, I can’t be bothered by a flute that isn’t mine,”[/color] she said simply, straightening and hugging the sheet music to her chest. “And it would be better for me if you actually took the time to tune it,”[/color] she said, giving him a direct look. “Or hand it over so I can tune it properly,”[/color] she said with amusement dancing in her eyes, whether at him or at herself, it was unclear.[/blockquote]


NOTES:She's amused~
OUTFIT: Chillay~
WORDS: 437
MUSE: Around~
CREDIT: NOTHING_PERSONAL@CAUTION 2.0
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[dedalus]

Cause we find ourselves in the same ol' mess
* Singin Drunken Lullabies,

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This girl was a ninja; there was no doubt about that.

At her head-motion, Connor had leaned back in his chair to find her supposed method of entry. Expecting to find some sort of door or window she could have climbed through, he was perplexed to find absolutely nothing. It was what one might expect to find in a typical theatre's backstage. Assorted props on tables, different instruments, and what he could only expect were switches to control the lights above. So she hadn't come in from anywhere...but how could she have hidden? There wasn't anything she could have hidden behind without him noticing--despite how slight she was.

Yes, definitely a ninja, he concluded. "Aye? Just lurkin' an' waitin' for some poor lad ta make a fool o' himself with the flute?" He asked with an amused smile, turning the flute over in his hand and looking at the initials carved into the bottom. His own flute had been poorly inscribed by his mother with a hot needle--yet still, he had always liked it more than the elegant cursive so many others' had.

He was pulled from his stream on conscious when she spoke to him again. It was all he could do to stop himself from smirking. Usually, his bitingly sarcastic humor earned him rolled eyes and low groans. She was...amused? That was certainly new. "You're a right sort, lassie." He said, unaware of the obscurity behind the statement. He offered no explanation for the praise, merely handing the flute over to her.

"Ya play the ol' fheadóg? He motioned at the flute at the final word, well aware that she wouldn't know the Irish slang. "A bit rusty I am. Hope I'm not embarassin' meself too much? He chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

Yes, he was certain that he was.

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_{OOC:
Ack. Sorry for taking so long! Whipped this up between essays xP
Connor is just getting sillier and sillier.}
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[Blake Riina Kildal]

gonna stand t

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It was nothing more than a quick flash, a quirk of lips before the smile disappeared again. She usually kept a pretty stoic face most of the time, but he was fairly amusing, even if she didn’t show it outwardly except for a sparkle in her eyes. Normally the tiny girl would rather avoid everyone and usually disappeared once she had found out who had accidentally appeared wherever she was hiding. Blue eyes followed his look around, knowing he wouldn’t find anything, but she wasn’t about to give up her hiding spots. That meant someone could drag her out and force her to see Rowan or Kye.

Shaking her head from the thoughts, she shrugged and smiled again at the question about playing. No, she really couldn’t play more than a few simple pieces, but she knew enough about music to be able to tune almost any instrument in front of her. Brushing a few strands of waist length hair behind her ear, mostly so it wouldn’t get in the way anymore than it already did, she moved effortlessly across the stage, depositing the music sheets on a nearby chair before delicately picking up the flute from his hands.

“I don’t play it well, the flute holds almost no interest for me, but I can tune every instrument in here either by ear or with a piano, but I can play just about every instrument present rather well,”

[/color] she said, voice still soft. Turning the flute over in her hands, she frowned briefly, just a brief tug of lips downwards; as she felt how cold it was before sliding across the stage and dropping silently into the orchestra pit, heading straight to the piano.

For her, it was easy enough to not say anything, mostly when others were more prone to speaking. She liked listening and she was good at it, with an occasionally word here and there to encourage her speakers to talk to her and if they didn’t want to speak, that was fine. It was a small reason not many people knew much about her, except for those few instances she’d tried to kill Ashton, and most were content to ignore her, except for the small few that actually knew where to look for her, and even that number was dwindling as everyone joined off and went their own ways.

She shrugged again to herself, humming slightly, fingers brushing over the piano and playing a few quick measures to make sure that the piano hadn’t suffered from the cold of the room. Blake had long since stopped worrying about the cold, mostly because she wasn’t used to it, and she was always cold. It never really bothered her that she didn’t own a heavy jacket or much else besides sweatshirts that were too big for her, and thus always put herself at risk for various illnesses and injuries.

Abruptly stopping the music, she picked up the flute and played one clear note on the piano before lifting the flute to her lips, mimicking the note and scowling slightly as the flute didn’t match and the pitch wavered too much. Sighing and rolling the metal object between her hands, she felt it warm up before playing the note again, satisfied when it didn’t waver. She struck the solitary note on the piano again, before playing the corresponding note on the flute, moving the joints apart so that when she played an effortless scale, it matched the piano. Smiling slightly, she hummed slightly before standing from the bench and moving back up out of the pit.

Once back up on the stage, she moved fluidly back over to the boy, tilting her head slightly to take in his features, regarding him with a curious yet amused look before extending the flute back to him. “This should do, if you remember to take the time to properly tune it. I’d hate to have to beat you with it,”[/color] she said, her voice holding just the faintest traces of amusement and her face showing the smallest hint of a laugh that was building in her system.

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NOTES:She likes music. ^-^ Baw issokay. My computer's on the fritz, so I probably won't be able to do another one until Monday or so...and it's okay if he's getting sillier. She dun laugh or smile too often D:
OUTFIT: Not appropriate for winter but hurr
WORDS: 653
MUSE: Around~
CREDIT: NOTHING_PERSONAL@CAUTION 2.0
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