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 Posted: Mon Jan 06, 2014 4:33 pm
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Second Calling
“So lovely, what’s it going to be?”
Melisande jolted, dropping the flower arrangement she’d been carrying. Blossoms scattered across the floor like roses cast on stage. Vi had long since gone home, and the door had been locked…how had anyone gotten in?! Heart hammering, the Sigel turned slowly…only to find herself facing two Muses with hands planted firmly on hips.
This did nothing to calm her.
Pasha backed away slowly until the counter bumped against her lower back. It didn’t stop her. Wings furling, she floated a bit higher and raised a ‘hip’, letting her ribbon brush along the countertop until she was fully behind the register. Azure and Amira exchanged confused looks.
“Where are you going? We’re not here to hurt you, Melisande.”
Weren’t they? ”You said…the Muses wouldn’t allow to use my talents myself, and…for others. You said they would-“ She pulled her little bolero closed across her chest, fists balled in worry.
”We said the other Muses, didn’t we Ammy?”
“Don’t call me Ammy.”
”Hardly the time to quibble, darling. Look at her! She’s terrified! Try to stay focused.” Azure grinned, tugging both of his sleeves at the cuff with infinite smugness. Amira looked ready to end him on the spot. Both of them were dressed in the same fitted suits as last time they’d appeared. Pasha noticed, despite herself, that Azure wasn’t wearing regulation white or his tailored suit coat, however. He was wearing the dress shirt Rivener had been eyeing so long ago. ”If you recall, lovely Melisande, we told you there would be those that would take exception. We also promised we would be back, did we not?”
Pasha nodded slowly. Her grip on her jacket loosened, but her heart was still racing. They weren’t here to punish her…but they were still here for her Choice.
Amira’s cold, beautiful face softened as she watched the Sigel start to panic. “You haven’t picked yet, have you?” The Muse sighed as Melisande shook her head, tears starting in her eyes. “Why not? We told you-“
”Shh, Ammy. Is that any way to comfort a woman? A Muse of your background, I would have thought you’d be better at this!” His grin flashed again over a quip Pasha didn’t bother to try to understand. Instead, she tensed as Azure strolled around the side of the counter and opened his arms. She hesitated for several long moments, searching his face, before curling into his arms. ”Shh! There’s a dear. Now…” He stroked Pasha’s hair gently, awkwardly trying to avoid the blossoms. ”…tell us why you haven’t chosen. Caught between your Artist and love of the stage, is it?”
Melisande sniffed and shook her head against Azure’s chest. Her sweet voice was muffled as she spoke without leaving his embrace. ”I’m not caught between anything. It’s just…too soon. I don’t have a career I love, and I don’t have an Artist who needs me.” Pasha squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the tears before they spotted Azure’s shirt. Why did she always sound so dramatic with these two around?
With another sigh, Amira made her way around the counter as well. “Your career is on you, not much we can do to help you there. But I have a hard time believing you haven’t found someone to help. What’s the problem? Has your Resonance not picked up a compatible talent you feel is worth encouraging?”
”My…what?”
Pasha sagged in the air suddenly as Azure let her go to bring both hands to his face. ”Are you serious? Oh Amira. She’s definitely one of yours.”
***
After her tears had been dried (and her hair fixed at Azure’s insistence) Melisande found herself out in the back alley, still in the company of the two Muses. They looked both ways before strolling down the alley, away from the street.
”Where are we-“
“Shh! You’ll wake him up.” Amira jerked her chin towards an older man sleeping against a dumpster, wrapped in an old sleeping bag. Pasha winced. He had put some of the flowers she had discarded from last week’s arrangement in a fast food soda cup next to the alley wall. It took her a moment to realize that Amira hadn’t whispered the warning.
”Shouldn’t you be quiet too?” The Sigel stage whispered. ”And what are we-“
“SHH!” The man shifted in his sleep, nestling back against the rusted metal. “No, he can’t hear us. Or see us. Not unless we wish it.” Amira cast a rather derisive look back at Pasha, lips twisting. “I suppose you can’t do that either. Half-bloods, I swear. Anyway, to find your Artist, use your Resonance. Like this.”
Amira placed the back of her hand against the man’s cheek, like a concerned mother taking a child’s temperature. Amria’s face, however, was far from concerned. She looked very displeased to be touching the man at all.
”It doesn’t have to be like that.” Azure assured the Sigel, waving dismissively. ”It can be a touch of the hands, a kiss…” Both women shot him a look and Azure chuckled. ”Maybe not in this case. Regardless! A few seconds of contact, some focus, and…”
Suddenly, a corona of soft light appeared around Amira’s touch. The man seemed to relax in his sleep, jaw going slack. ”It’s easier when they’re sleeping. You don’t have to chase them around to stay in contact, or deal with their delusions that they’re going to be the next Sean Guile.”
”Who is Sean Guile?”
Azure shot her a wink. ”Give it a year. You’ll find out.”
The light faded suddenly, and Amira stepped back shaking her hand. “Ugh. So this gentleman’s latent talent is cooking. Try it yourself.” The look of relaxation upon the man’s face faded. It was as though Pasha could see the cold settle back over him, the way his brow creased as he burrowed deeper into the sleeping bag. It was hard, watching someone suffer…but as Vi said, if she let everyone in the way she had Pasha, there would be no room for clothes.
Melisande took a breath and advanced. He didn’t smell any better than the dumpster, but she tried to keep focused. She settled her fingertips gently upon the back of his hand and closed her eyes to focus. It felt…like touching a homeless person. After almost a minute, she cracked one eye open and peeked up at Amira.
Amira folded her arms, looking rather put out with the whole situation. “Keep trying. You might have gotten shorted on some things, but your talent is next to useless without Resonance. Stay focused on what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to help. You have to make a connection…and depending on the talent, that connection might not be too pleasant. But you have to try.” Azure nodded encouragingly, from way across the alley and absolutely nowhere near the dumpsters.
Gathering her resolve, Pasha closed her eyes and tried again. His hand was so cool under hers, she couldn’t help worry for him. For now, though, she had to push that worry aside and focus. Melisande tried to imagine the man when he was younger, out in the world. She could almost see the movement of the streets around him, but there were no images. Only impressions and colors. It was like grasping at things underwater. Every time Melisande thought she had it, the sensation would slip away. There was a pattern to it…the way the colors ebbed and flowed, the way the movement peaked as she reached. It was like seeing music. Suddenly, everything fell into place. Pasha could almost hear the song in his soul, the warm low notes, the slow golds and reds. He was meant to Create, this she knew…and the way the impressions slid together into something so savory and delectable made her gasp.
The connection broke, and for a moment, Melisande was disoriented. When she finally looked back up at the two, there was wonder in her eyes. For the first time, Amira smiled. “Let’s go back inside. No need to wake him talking.”
***
”That was…amazing! The colors, the way everything…” Pasha spread her arms before bringing her hands together, as though she could take all the colors of the world and gather them up into a little swirling ball.
Azure and Amira shared a look.
”It’s not like that for us, darling. It’s pretty straightforward. Sounds like you’ve got a built in kaleidoscope!” Azure was sitting back on the counter in Second Chances, warming his hands by the little space heater. Melisande felt a momentary surge of pity for the other Muses. They couldn’t see what she’d seen? It had been so beautiful, so indefinable yet so telling…
Amira interrupted her train of thought with a raised brow. “But you see what I mean, about some connections. Imagine if his talent had been hunting. Not everyone is meant to Create.”
Hunting. Pasha’s eyes went wide as she realized what that might have looked like. Felt like. ”I understand. But…shouldn’t we help him? With a talent like that, he wouldn’t have to be outside anymore! He could have a house! A restaurant!”
Surprisingly, Amira took a few steps forward, extending her own wings even as she settled a hand sympathetically on Pasha’s shoulder. “I wish it were that easy. Can you cook, Melisande?” Amira smiled sadly as the Sigel made a little moue’ and shook her head. “Then all you could do is inspire him temporarily. He would be great…as long as you were there. It’s like a child learning to ride a bike. You can be those training wheels, if you have the time and the desire. But once you let go?”
”You should stick to what you know.” Azure agreed with a low voice. His smile had vanished, which was almost as surprising as Amira’s kindness. ”You can drive yourself mad, trying to keep an Artist afloat. Sometimes, the inspiration is enough. They will seek out a teacher, practice night and day.” He shrugged and slipped off the counter, strolling over to browse through the racks.
“Sometimes nothing else is good enough. They will pine for you. Waste away.” There was something very sad in Amira’s voice, and Melisande’s blossoms closed silently. She knew that tone. Something had broken Amira’s heart. “There is no harm in using the Resonance, especially when they sleep. They won’t remember anything but a dream. But be mindful, before you inspire someone just for the fun of it. Make sure you’re in it for the long haul. Don’t show them something they can never have without you.”
It made sudden, terrifying sense to Melisande. She could inspire the man in the alley to cook his best…but where were the pots and pans for him to practice? What happened every time she left? She was quiet for several long minutes, the only noise the clack of plastic hangers as Azure sorted through dress shirts. Amira’s hand tightened briefly on her shoulder before she stepped back.
”Wait…are you leaving? I have more questions!” It was like this every time. Panic when they arrived, panic when they left. Azure shot her a smile from his reflection in the mirror…he was busy modeling a bright blue dress shirt against his chest.
”And they’re such charming questions, but yes. We have to go.” He hung the shirt back on the rack regretfully, and brushed his hands on the front of his slacks as though the garment had been dusty. ”No pressure, lovely, but make your Choice soon. There is a reason the others object to freelancers like yourself.”
Amira nodded, looking grave as ever. “Things get…out of whack…when you burn that candle at both ends, Melisande. We told you that. Trust me, it’s not pretty.”
Pasha pressed her lips together and raised a hand in farewell. The light around them increased steadily and suddenly vanished, thinning into a brilliant thread of light that faded almost instantly. She was alone again, and more than a little concerned. For herself, for the people she helped…for the people she couldn’t. After a few minutes, she bent and slowly began to gather the flowers from the floor.
She needed to make a Choice. |
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Posted: Fri Feb 14, 2014 7:08 am
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Heartwood
Viola and Pasha
“What are you doing? Are we opening a house wares section?” Viola paused in the doorway, her lunch bag under one arm and Alto draped sleeping over the other. The pug snorted and licked, opening one eye long enough to peer at the mess Pasha had made on the counter of Second Chances before drooping back to sleep.
”No? No. I’m just…putting together a gift for someone.” The Muse paused, brushing the hair off of her forehead with the side of her hand. An array of pots, pans, utensils, and measuring devices were laid out over the counter, and Melisande seemed intent on packing and repacking all of them until they fit into a single snap lid plastic box. She sighed, planting her hands on her hips for a moment, and stared at her currently arrangement. Pots were nested by size, pans below that, utensils laid along the side, and measuring equipment in the smallest pot. ”It still doesn’t fit! Maybe if I angle all of the pans. I could put the spices in the area under the handles…”
“Whoa, sister. Let’s back up.” Viola put Alto down on his pillow behind the counter, set her lunch on the shelf, and wiggled out of her hoodie. She scrubbed a hand through her short curls and gave Pasha another ‘you’ve lost it’ look. “Why are we putting together a culinary care package, again?”
”Is that what it looks like?”
“Spices, pots, pans, spoons…are those knives?! Yup. That’s what it looks like.”
Melisande threw her arms around Vi’s neck, hugging her tight. The woman reeled at the unexpected gesture, laughing as she bumped into the counter. ”That’s what it IS! Oh, I’m glad! Have I thought of everything? What would you add? I picked the plastic box because it’s waterproof. What do you think about a pasta roller? Too much?”
“I said whoa! Whoa, girl!” Still laughing, Viola wiggled out of the hug the same way she’d wiggled out of her hoodie. “What are you doing? Who is this for? Zul? Oh, please tell me he cooks…”
”He does cook, and no, it’s not for Zul.” Melisande blushed, dropping her eyes to study a teaspoon as though it suddenly became interesting. It was one of Vi’s favorite pastimes, making her blush over the boys. ”It’s actually for…guyinly.”
“For what?
”For the guy in the alley!”
The two stared at each other for a moment, the Raevan defiant and the woman obviously completely confused. Vi’s nose wrinkled, and she tilted her head like Alto hearing a new noise. “It’s for…Frank?!”
”Is that his name?! Oh good! Help me write a card!”
Viola’s hand shot out and caught the Raeven by the wrist as she tried to zip by. Pasha’s wings furled, buffeting the pile of housewaes as she spun to a halt. “For the last time, whoa! Can you please tell me what’s going on in your head, Pasha? It’s a nice thought, but…Frank is homeless! Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice enough guy, but what is he going to do with…” Viola reached into the pile, releasing Melisande as she withdrew a curious looking device and held it at arms length like a day old fish. “…a potato masher? Or a…is that a crepe pan??”
Pasha took a resigned breath, ruffled feathers settling as her wings folded shut against her back. ”It’s hard to explain. I’ll try-“ She amended, even as Viola said “Try!” The Muse gathered her hair back with both hands, twisting it expertly into a bun as she spoke. ”I saw Azure and Amira the other day.”
“The real Muses?” That earned Vi a look from the Sigel, but the woman hurried on. “I mean, the pure bloods? You didn’t say anything! When were they here? Did they like the store?!”
”They came to…encourage me. While they were here, they mentioned Resonance, which…is…hard to explain. Hush, I AM trying. It’s like chemistry, when you’re dating. Either you’re compatible or you’re not, does that make sense? Resonance helps me determine what someone’s true talent is, and if it’s something I can help with, then maybe…”
“Then you can be their Muse! That makes perfect sense!” Viola’s green eyes were bright and wide with wonder.
”Does it?” Melisande didn’t seem nearly as convinced. ”Oh good. I actually thought it would be harder to explain than that. Anyway…there was no one else around, and Frank was asleep, so…I kind of…practiced with him. I believe with a little help he could be an amazing cook!”
Viola was still staring. Pasha had the grace to drop her eyes. She knew how it sounded, trying out a new ability on a sleeping, defenseless man. Hopefully Vi wouldn’t judge her too-
“DO ME, DO ME!!”
”I’m…sorry?”
Viola grabbed Pasha’s hands and pressed them to her face like she was trying to force a Vulcan mind meld. “Okay, go! I’m ready! Oh man, I hope I’m secretly like a famous dancer or something. Oh, or a painter! Do you know how much stupid paintings go for?! How does this work? Do I have to think happy thoughts, or something?”
Melisande pulled her hands back, shaking Viola off with a stern look. ”First of all, you’re being a little grabby today. I don’t mind your hugs, but-“
“Oh, right. The Jungle.” The shopowner was instantly contrite. An apology blossomed across her expression so pitiful it rivaled Alto begging for a french fry. “Pasha, I’m really sorry. I just got excited. Did I hurt you? I can give you some space-“
”It’s fine,” The Muse murmured, mollified. She hadn’t meant to snap like that. Viola was one of her dearest friends, human or not. ”It’s just not…that easy. There are considerations. I’m not supposed to let people know I’m doing it, I think. If I tell them, and it’s something I can’t help with…where does that leave them?”
Leaning down to give the pug a scratch, Viola mulled that over. “I guess that makes sense. If they’re like…meant to be super good at dancing but they’re in a wheelchair, I guess that leaves you in an awkward position when you have to explain that, huh?”
That possibility had never even occurred to the Muse. Frank’s challenge was severe enough, a cook with no kitchen. What would she do with a dancer with no legs?! ”I…yeah. Kind of like that. So, I could try, Viola, but…”
The woman nodded, smile returning. Pasha couldn’t help but smile back. Viola happy was like sun on a rainy day, her smile cut through the gloom instantly. “Yeah! How about this. You try with me, and if it’s something unobtainable…just…ah, screw it, I’d still want to know. Come on, Pasha! Let’s do it!” Viola rubbed her hands together and slapped them on the counter, getting enough leverage to heft her ample booty up onto the ledge. Legs swinging, she grinned at the Raevan and held out her hands.
Butterflies filled Melisande. What if she couldn’t do it? What if it was a talent Vi couldn’t achieve…or what if it was a terrible gift? She remembered what it had looked like, what it had felt like to witness Frank’s inner song. Amira and Azure’s warning still haunted her. What would the talent of a bad person feel like to witness?!
This was Vi. It would all be okay, even if she failed. There wasn’t a mean bone in the woman’s body, and if her talent was something ridiculous like diamond cutting, well…she’d just have to live with it. ”Okay.”
“Okay?!”
”I said okay! Now close your eyes. Don’t wiggle.” That was like asking Alto not to grunt, which the pug did on cue, but Viola closed her eyes with alacrity and tried her best. The Muse closed her eyes as well, and reached forward slowly to take her friend’s hands.
Nothing.
Pasha’s brow furrowed, eyes still closed. This didn’t surprise her…it hadn’t worked right away the first time she’d tried it either. What was Amira’s advice? Focus. You have to mean it. Melisande chose to picture Viola at her happiest. Finding one’s true talent and exercising it would make someone happy, wouldn’t it? She pictured her friend at her absolute happiest…green eyes narrowed like a proud kitty, freckled cheeks lifted with a smile. Everything began to blur together into colors, like a fresh painting in the rain, and the Resonance began to sing.
It was easier, this time, to make sense of it. Now that Pasha knew to stop looking for images and view the entire experience as a harmony, the kaleidoscope created a world around her. There was something soothing, rhythmic about the ebb of the colors, all dark oranges and bright pinks and blood red and cooll purple, shifting seamlessly one into the other. It was like walking under the trees with your eyes closed, and the hues the shafts of sunlight and shadows made through closed eyelids. There was nothing fast or sharp or effervescent, it was slow and deep and languorous like a soak in the tub. The colors shifted again, rolling smoothly back to gold, and Pasha gasped, eyes opening.
Vi’s eyes were already open, and she was staring eagerly into the Sigel’s face. “What did you see? Am I awesome? Why are you blushing?”
”Your turn to whoa. I get to go first. Could you feel anything while I…I mean, my Resonance? Could you feel it? It see anything?”
Vi shook her head impatiently. “Not really, you just held my hands, then you started to go all funny like you were gonna fall asleep in mid air. It was relaxing, I guess, but that could have just been watching you get so relaxed. Now tell me! Pasha Pasha Pasha Pasha Pash-“
”Okay!” The Muse interrupted, laughing. She withdrew her hands from Vi’s, rubbing them together as though she could remember the sensation of the Resonance. ”It was…wonderful. Very relaxing, and deep, and –stop laughing!- and comforting. Like a hug, or…that’s it!” Melisande put her hand back into Vi’s, pushing her thumb across the other’s palm. ”Like a massage! Maybe that’s why you’re always so huggy and grabby. You’re meant to work with your hands, and you’re meant to work with others!”
Viola looked dumbstruck. “Are you sure? I mean, I like getting shoulder rubs, but I can’t say I’ve ever given more than a pat on the back! What if-“
”I’m sure!” Melisande was laughing, and she offered her whole arm to the other woman. ”Here, don’t be stingy! I’ve been packing boxes and hauling dishes around all day! Try!” Doubtfully, Viola took Pasha’s slender arm between her hands. She started at the wrist and smoothed her thumbs upward from wrist to inner elbow, fingers kneading lightly along the other side of the Sigel’s arm. Pasha made a happy face, wings relaxing and feathers fluffing. ”That’s as good as a bath, and you haven’t even learned how yet! Here, do the other arm.”
Vi’s doubt seemed to be fading. She worked with more confidence, but stayed slow and steady, following the lines of Pasha’s slender arm. When she made her way to the shoulder, the Muse made another happy noise, and extended her wing to pull the muscles taut. “This is…nice. I get to make people happy and touch them?? Oh, I wonder if Zul needs a massa-uph!” Vi caught a faceful of Pasha’s wing and laughed, letting go of the Sigel’s arm.
”School first. Massaging handsome Raevans later. If you’re lucky.”
“School! Oh man, you’re right! I can still get in for Spring down at Heartwood! Pasha, you’re the best!” Viola leaned forward for a hug and paused, brows raising in question. “I’m gonna go now, and see what their schedule looks like. You don’t mind watching the store? Man, if I’m going to school for this we might need to hire on more help. Hey, find us a part timer, would you? Thanks again! And that’s really nice what you’re doing for Frank. I get it now!”
Just like that, Viola was gone. The door swung shut after her, little bell tinkling. Melisande blinked and looked down at Alto, who gave her a very distinct ‘you don’t have a french fry so I’m going back to sleep’ look, which he promptly made good on.
”Okay. Operation Mobile Kitchen followed by Operation Hire More Staff. I can do this.” Melisande stretched her wings, tucked them back in tight, and stared at the box piled high in front of her. It wasn’t going to be easy, but if her intuition was right…it was going to be totally worth it.
Breadline
Viola and Pasha
Viola and Pasha crowded together, peering across the street from within their shop Second Chances. The ladies were barely visible between the mannequins in the window, and that was the way Pasha wanted it. Vi, however, still didn’t seem to understand.
“You went to all the trouble of getting those pots and pans together, and all those spices and everything! Why won’t you even introduce yourself?”
Melisande shook her head, angling to she could get a better view of the street stall from behind the mannequin with the halter top. ”I told you. I don’t know anything about cooking. The only thing I could do was to get him started. If I introduce myself, or if he figures out what I am, what’s to stop him from turning to me every time he needs a new ladle or wants a new recipe? This isn’t my field. Either he wants it enough to make it happen, or he doesn’t.”
“Well, looks like he wants it to me.” Viola fell silent, almost cheek to cheek with Pasha as they continued to stare out the window. Viola had been the one to walk the box of kitchen items out to Frank. She’d also been the one to front the loan for the converted hot dog cart he had set up as a street food stall. A hand painted sign hanging from the front of the cart read The Breadline, and a little chalkboard marquee showed the specials of the day. Crab Bisque with Sourdough, or Winter Harvest Curry with Flatbread. Frank himself was looking more put together. He had told Viola that the promise of a job had earned him a place in a community house. A hot shower, a shave, and a few outfits donated by Second Chances made a huge difference.
Frank didn’t stand idle. The women watched while he seasoned the soups, opening the lid of the cart to stir them occasionally and distribute the heat. Apparently he was washing dishes at a local bakery in exchange for using their bread ovens every evening, from what Vi had passed on. Every person that passed got a smile or a wave, and he offered a free sample to anyone that took a second look at the chalk board.
Pasha realized she was holding her breath someone lingered, exchanging a few words with the cook. He smiled and opened his cart again, offering over a little Dixie cup sample of soup. Both Vi and Pasha’s mouths opened a little, unconsciously, as the customer tipped back their taste. A moment later, they were reaching for their wallet, and Viola erupted into a cheer.
“PASHA! His first customer!! Oh man! Look, they’re getting some of both!!”
Pasha hugged her friend, tears starting in the corners of her eyes. In truth, she had no idea how Frank was going to react to the box they’d packed for him. It turned out he was more than willing to give it a shot…Viola said he’d mentioned he wanted to be a cook from the time he was a little boy. He’d even insisted on paying them back for the pots and pans in addition to the loan if he ever got enough business to be profitable. Melisande turned back to the window in time to see Frank hand over the change. She laughed as the customer held back up a few bills, obviously looking for a tip jar. Frank obliged, setting out a tall soup to-go container, and handed over two well packed bags.
The girls settled down, drifting away from the window before they were spotted. “Oh man, I wanna try it. Go buy us some?”
Pasha pulled back, shyly. ”Won’t you do it? I’ve never even properly introduced. You already know him!”
“That’s the point.” Viola said, one hand on her curvy hip. “Go see how happy you made him! Besides, I’m the one that gave him a loan. Nice guy like that would probably just give me the soup for free, and we’re not gonna freeload till he is rich and famous, right?”
Melisande laughed, and grabbed her jacket. Viola had a point. ”Fine. I’ll get one of each! See you in a bit.” She tucked a few dollars into her pocket and pushed out into the cool afternoon. Even from across the street, she could catch the scent of food, and though the Sigel ate in a ‘traditional’ way only rarely, she was already looking forward of it. She drifted across the street, lifting her eyes from the board to the man behind the cart.
“Afternoon, there. You’re Viola’s friend, aren’t you?” His voice was low but friendly. It was strange to see him with his hair trimmed and face shaved. Suddenly, he looked just like everyone else.
”I am. Hi! Pasha.” It was a little awkward, but the Muse smiled, pushing on through. ”I’d like an order of each, please? And…why does it smell so good? Like fresh baked bread? You can’t be hiding a bread oven in there…”
Frank winked, and nodded down to the cart. “I put a round of undercooked sourdough next to the warmer under the soup. Doesn’t cook it evenly, wouldn’t be any good to serve, but sure smells nice. I’ll eat it myself at the end of the day with whatever doesn’t sell.”
”That’s…a really good idea.” Pasha blinked as she watched him start filling the two containers. ”And…you don’t just save whatever doesn’t sell for the next day?”
Frank shook his head. “Made fresh, every day. I use the fridge and the ovens in the bakery. Can’t be taking up any more room than I am, and it’s best fresh anyway. Here you go. Five each makes ten. I put some extra bread in there for you.”
Melisande beamed, handing over a ten and tucking a little extra into his makeshift tip jar. ”Thank you! I’m sure I’ll see you again soon. Maybe tomorrow!”
He raised a hand in parting. “Tell Viola I said afternoon.”
Pasha nodded and hurried back across the street. The bread was warm, she could hear it crackle in the bag as she moved. The two soup containers were heavy…he’d filled them up to the very brim. Viola was waiting, rocking up onto the balls of her feet as the door swung shut. “How did it go? Open it, I’m starving.”
They popped the lid on the bisque first, leaning forward to take in the scent. ”He said good afternoon to you. He gave us extra bread for free, I didn’t argue, sorry. He doesn’t seem like the arguing type.” Pasha watched as Vi ripped off a chunk of crusty sourdough and dipped it into the bisque, shoving it into her mouth before it had time to cool.
“Ow! Schgood. Mohman~ Tribehht!”
Pasha opted for one of the plastic spoons, and fished out a snowy piece of crab surrounded by golden bisque. It was as rich and decadent as it looked, and she made a happy face as she pulled the spoon out of her mouth. ”Just like the Resonance!”
“Really?” Vi inquired, digging in with her own spoon and making her own happy noise. “His Resonance was bisque-y?”
Pasha rolled her eyes, taking a pinch of the sourdough. It was crunchy on the outside, feathery and moist in the middle. She brushed the crumbs from her hands as she chewed. ”Rich and savory. Lots of golds. Complex and comforting, just the like soup!”
“And you get all that from his chef Resonance?” Viola chewed thoughtfully as the Sigel went in for another bite, nodding. “Well. Goodness help you if you ever meet someone destined to be a porn star, I suppose. Quite the freebie. Hey! Settle down! You’ll spill the soup!!” |
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Posted: Fri Feb 14, 2014 7:13 am
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Posted: Mon Mar 03, 2014 3:03 pm
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Posted: Mon Mar 03, 2014 3:09 pm
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The Caged Bird Sings
Melisande and Alain
It had been quite a while since Melisande had been to the Songbird. She was nervous, for several reasons. Several good reasons.
She didn’t want to arrive early. Alain was…displeased…with her and her long absence, and she didn’t like the idea of having to endure one of his talks before she was supposed to perform. So the Muse arrived ready and dressed for the evening. She wore a long, flawless satin gown in platinum, just a shade lighter than her hair. It was high in the front, covering Zavier’s ring she wore round her neck, but was cut in a low V in the back. Matching satin ribbons were draped in artful loops around the base of each wing. Though she largely avoided the Manor since Aki had phoned her there, Melisande had risked the trip for the dress. If Alain didn’t approve of what she was wearing, he would select something more ‘fitting’ for her. She knew this from experience.
Pasha made her way calmly through the outdoor dining area, heading towards the gazebo that served as her stage. It had been repainted, she realized, and pressed her hands low against her stomach. It was no longer white, and the twining vines with their petite flowers had been stripped from the pillars. It was now painted a burnished gold, and looked for all the world like an antiqued cage. She didn’t realize she had stopped until someone tapped her gently on the arm.
“Pasha, it’s been a long time.” Dylan, the bus boy, was smiling at her. The patrons who had fallen silent resumed their chatter once it became obvious that the Muse was not yet taking the stage. She returned the smile automatically.
"Dylan. It’s good to see you. You’re…a server now! Congratulations!” His white bussing jacket had been replaced by a black dress shirt, matching the rest of the wait staff. The boy grinned for a moment, obviously pleased Melisande had noticed.
“Yeah, I’ll catch you up soon! Sorry though, Alain told everyone to have you come to his office as soon as you arrived. He’s waiting.” Dylan’s smile flickered with sympathy, and he stepped out of the Sigel’s way, clearing the path to the main building.
The butterflies in Pasha’s stomach all did a flip at once. She didn’t let it show on her face. "I see. Thank you for telling me. We will talk after close, if you’re here?”
“All night! Good luck.”
Melisande feared she would need it. She drew herself up, floating just high enough to keep the hem of the satin down off the cobblestones, and made her way to Alain’s office.
He was sitting behind his desk, under lit by the little brass lamp he kept over his papers. Alain was even larger than she remembered. Zul and Rivener, even Cesc, were well muscled, but still slender…especially when compared with Alain. Her composure slipped, lips pressing together nervously, but he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t even looked up. "Sit. Or float. Whatever you prefer.”
When Alain finally lifted his eyes, Pasha’s breath left her. His eyes were dark under his brow, just for a moment, until his face tipped into the light. The usual polite smile he wore was absent. "So nice of you to join me. I’d been wondering if I had to make a formal appointment to request a few moments of your time.”
Melisande stiffened at the slight, drawing her wings in firmly against her back. "I sent you my schedule. If it wasn’t adequate…”
Alain stood from behind his desk, blocking the light from the window behind him. It was like a bear rising onto its back paws. Pasha swallowed, trying to make herself float higher, but the satin was already pooling on the stone tiles below. He made his way around the desk, his steps making the ice in his tumbler chime as it shifted. "Adequate? Oh, Pasha.” His old tone, warm and persuasive, was back. Melisande tensed before he even lifted his arms, knowing it was coming. Sure enough, he settled his massive hands high on her upper arms, squeezing gently. Pasha dropped her eyes.
"I don’t want your schedule. I don’t want your adequate. We are partners in this, are we not?” He slid one hand upward, raising her chin gently with one knuckle. "You’ve been cashing the checks I send, so I assume we are still partners, at least.” He held her eyes, gaze shifting down to her lips and back up. For one terrifying moment, Melisande thought he was going to kiss her, but the silence stretched until he dropped his hand.
"But yes, I received your schedule. I cancelled Marie's performance. The crowd wasn’t happy. They’ve grown very fond of her.” Alain dropped his other hand as well. Pasha flexed her fingers, feeling blood prickle as it returned to her fingertips.
"That was very kind of Marie to cover for me. I will be sure to thank her when I see her next. If you don’t mind, I was supposed to up at 6.”
"Oh, she’s here. You can thank her any time. I had her come in tonight, just in case you vanished on us again. Or, in the event you’re not …capable of what the Songbird audience has come to expect.” Alain made his way back around his desk, sitting back down with surprising grace for a man his size. He smiled evenly at her, one hand around the chilled glass of whiskey.
Melisande’s lips parted in shock, and she saw a momentary flash of satisfaction in Alain’s dark eyes. Without another word, she closed her mouth and spun, gliding from his office and towards the confining stage. He’d called in Marie? Was he expecting her to fail?! Melisande had never considered herself vain, or even proud, but she knew the beauty of her song was true. She kept her face serene but wished she hadn’t pinned her hair up so carefully. Her dress suddenly seemed to thin, to low in the back. She felt exposed, and the eyes on her as the crowd fell silent no longer felt friendly.
From across the Plaza, someone waved. Dylan. His smile helped the Muse find her confidence, and she made her way onto the stage in the center of the confining gazebo. All conversation had stopped. There was no applause. Her regulars used to be standing before she even hit the stage, but even new customers usually greeted her with polite clapping. Melisande’s blue eyes lifted, scanning the sea of faces. She recognized no one. Not a single face. Could things have changed so much?
In the back, Dylan’s hand dropped. Even he looked uncomfortable. Something wasn’t right. Perhaps it was just the feeling of anxiety, being in the Songbird’s cage. She turned her gaze back to the main building, and saw Alain watching from his hall. Out of all the faces, only he was smiling.
Something was definitely wrong.
Pasha pulled herself straight and turned, nodding once towards where the quartet usually sat. No music greeted her. She knew the seats were empty even before she looked. Was this Alain’s plan? To put her on the spot without accompaniment? Melisande’s chin lifted. She could already hear the crowd start to murmur derisively. If he was trying to punish her for her absence, to embarrass her in front of a crowd, he would fail. She wasn’t the heart of L’oiseau Chanteur for no reason. She thought for a moment, searching for a song that didn’t rely on the music, and smiled slowly. If Alain wanted to send a message, she could do the same.
"On the morning I first met you,
There was promise in your eyes.
I should have known then-
A promise is sweet,
From of a devil in disguise.”
Pasha’s voice was clear, dipping enticingly before lifting with the sweet swell of the song. She’d barely finished the first verse when the crowd turned away, shaking their heads and resuming their conversation. Melisande’s breath almost left her as one couple actually laughed.
Her hands found the banister of the gazebo, fingers tightening against the wood. She paused for only the perfect second, giving the verse tension before her lips parted again. They weren’t just ignoring her. They were talking about her. From what she could hear, none of it flattering. The Muse felt faint, suddenly wishing she’d picked a different song.
"Every time you built me up-
All you said,
Oh, every kiss-
All so you could watch me fall
And spiral into this…”
Again, the laughter. No one was even glancing her direction. Why?! It was like a nightmare. She was singing as beautifully as she knew how, crafting emotion into the lyrics with every soft breath and trailing note. She could feel Alain watching her, grinning, but she couldn’t turn. Instead, she sought Dylan, eyes coming to rest upon his form far back in the crowd.
Dylan was transfixed. Even from this distance, she could see the way his lips had parted…the color high on his cheeks as he took the story in, followed her rich voice into the song. Suddenly, everything came into focus.
The ring on the hand of the man at the closest table. Didn’t Alain wear an identical ring? The champagne flutes the laughing couple shared…those were his private glasses. The Café’ used wider flutes, thicker glass instead of crystal. They weren’t listening because they weren’t supposed to. That was why she didn’t recognize any faces.
They weren’t her customers.
"It isn’t you that lifts me
Or makes me who I am.
Every lie-
All those days-
In that past and that was then…’
She could see it now. The way they watched out of the corners of their eyes. The way their conversation paused or rambled when she lifted her voice against the inaudible music. They wanted to listen. She didn’t know how Alain had compelled them, or how much he had paid them, to teach her this lesson, but Pasha wasn’t finished yet.
The Muse rose higher, wings spreading, earning a few gasps from couples that weren’t even supposed to be watching. She drifted out of the Gazebo, away from its echo. She didn’t need it. Instead, Melisande reached within. Distantly, she could hear Amira’s warning, but the Sigel was focused. On her song. On her talent. Pasha gathered the Inspiration within her, letting it rise and peak. Her voice was more than sweet, it was divine.
"Now we play a different game
You dance when I say dance…”
She reached gracefully, pulling the pins from her hair. Melisande’s curls fell past her shoulders, framing eyes that were bright with passion. They were looking, now. Everyone was looking.
…little smile
seems so sweet-
You never had a chance.”
The words twisted through the audience, pulling them closer. Calling them out of their chairs. The woman that had laughed was staring, mouth open, reaching absently for Melisande with one hand. Pasha trailed her fingers across the woman’s upturned palm, smiling with her eyes as she crooned the next few lines. Her voice had changed, as in the story the innocence was gone. Something mysterious and powerful lifted her lyrics, tone just throaty enough to make the men sweat as they edged closer.
"Enjoy the trip down,
My love.
No one to catch you when you fall...“
Someone staggered slightly, pressed by those crowding in from behind. Pasha floated forward, unafraid. She wanted this. Their eyes on her, their fingers against her arms, their undivided, undiluted attention. The Muse was radiant, wings held back and high, skin as soft as the satin that covered it. Her voice carried effortlessly, lifted by her power turned inward. Tables stood abandoned. Glass crunched underfoot as they continued their slow press forward.
"…you might have
started this,
But I’ve ended it all-“
The last line echoed, sung with such heart that many were openly weeping. Melisande felt free. She felt powerful.
"Oh, I have ended it all.”
The slam of a door echoed like a gunshot across the plaza, which had been holding its breath in the wake of the Muse’s song. Pasha turned towards the building, still floating high and brimming with incandescent Inspiration. Something pressed under her hand, distracting her. It was Dylan, she realized. She smoothed his hair back absently, but fondly, just as she would have stroked Alto. She glanced back at the empty hall again and smiled slowly.
It seemed her song had been heard, after all. |
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Posted: Sun Mar 16, 2014 10:02 am
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Posted: Sun Mar 16, 2014 10:06 am
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Posted: Tue Aug 19, 2014 5:32 pm
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Posted: Tue Aug 19, 2014 6:09 pm
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Posted: Tue Sep 09, 2014 5:29 pm
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Posted: Tue Sep 09, 2014 5:31 pm
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Midnight
Melisande flew in through the door, keys still in hand - pale curls sticking to her cheeks and bright blue slicker glistening with rain. The color was even higher in her cheeks than when she’d arrived at the hospital, and her heart was pounding in her slender chest. ”Rivener? Zul!” News of Cesc threatened to boil over. The growth, his adventure, the kiss…all of it tangled together in a rush of confusion and excitement.
The Loft was silent. The faint echo of her voice came back from the kitchen, and from the wide windows of the balcony.
Pasha slowed, and the door clicked shut on its own behind her. A moment of irrational fear rippled through her. They were gone.
A square of white peeked out from under the remote. Her smile flickered back to life almost instantly. Pasha drifted over, ribbon caressing the edge of the couch as she tugged it free for a read. The boys were gone for the evening, it seemed…Rivener for work, and Zul for entertainment rather than keeping an empty house company. Her smile softened, and she folded the note in half carefully.
With a deep breath and a slow sigh, the Muse tried to exhale out some of her nervous energy. She glanced at the clock sidelong as she untied the belt of her raincoat. 11:45pm. Four hours until she needed to wake up to be at the bakery…
Cesc.
Another thrill shot through her. He’d kissed her. He’d kissed her…and there was no one to share her joy with. No one to advise caution. No Zul to philosophize with, no Rivener to…
To what?
Suddenly, her heart was beating for a very different reason. It had been so long since she’d seen anything but a smile on his face. Her fierce, lovely Scorpion. Would he be impressed by Cesc's resilience? Would he be angry…- No…how angry would he be about the kiss? Pasha pressed her fingers against her collarbone, rubbing gently. He’d surprised her before. Worrying did no good. Just for now, she would keep the little feeling of Cesc’s innocent (innocent?) kiss safe, like a bird in a cage that sang only for her.
Even as she thought it, the little melody caught on her breath. Pasha hummed faintly as she undressed, shimmying out of the chemise she’d worn under her raincoat. She left it at the foot of Zul's side of the bed, and picked one of Rivener’s t-shirts blindly from the closet. For a moment, Pasha covered her mouth with the back of her hand and yawned, the words coming after she finished.
She sang her song to no one. There was a little bit of Truth in it, welling up from the side of her that was not a woman, and not a Muse. What it was, she wouldn’t remember, not even in the morning when she woke with a head full of strange and colorful dreams. But for that stolen bit of evening, she sang, and fell asleep with a murmured verse on her lips and pink still on her cheeks as the clock struck silently twelve. |
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