[23, Action, OTA OTA OTA OTA OTA OTA /broken record]
[Do you hear those melancholy but soulful chords floating through the air? They seem to cry out in longing, desperately reaching for someone’s ears… but they are too far away to hear them. It’s the sort of song that causes a lump to rise in one’s throat, and a drop of salty sorrow to saunter down the cheek.
At least, so far, it had for Lottie, as she played it.
People were returning from the Mist already. Word of mouth traveled quickly to the ears of the blonde.
Yet... Elizabeth was not counted amongst those numbers.
Though Lottie had told Mera that she had faith that whoever was called would return her friend safely, doubts could not and would not leave her heart and mind. After all, it wasn’t unheard of for rescues to fail... after all, Elizabeth had said so herself, not having been able to save Hiccup from the Mist's icy grip (Lottie, of course, was still very -and blissfully so- unaware of her own failed rescue).
She had found herself back in the dance studio, as if led by a spiritual force to the ebony and ivory keys; before sitting down at the bench, she had turned around, walked over and opened the long, tall, and heavy curtain, revealing a large wall of windows. Knowing that there was a nice breeze out, and realizing the studio was stuffy with stale sweat and dust, Lottie had opened every one. Soon enough though, she was drawn back to her instrument, drawn to the promise of expression that it offered, the comfort in letting the sadness dance through her body and into her fingers, then back again.
It was a song from her childhood, the house servants often sung it to her as she lay in bed, too excited with childish spunk to sleep on her own. In those days, it have proven to quell her energy down enough for her to be lulled into the sandman’s arms, surrendering to sweet slumber. These days, though, it provided familiarity, a sense of home and of family, memories of a time long ago when life was so simple, when friends would only disappear if they moved to another city. But back then, the bittersweet lyrics held no hidden meaning behind them, there was no parallels she could draw to her situation. Now, she could. But overall, it provided a doleful and heartsick, if not foolish, hope for the future, knowing full well the consequences dictated against the odds.
The blonde now found herself at the end of the tune, but unwilling to let it go, she improvised a bridge, starting over, allowing the blue and lachrymose melody to repeat. Lost in her song, she closed her eyes, letting the tears drop as they pleased, able to feel the keys for the right notes, taking slow and steady breaths… this was the one piece she‘d known by heart for years; eyesight was not needed.
Surely, anyone walking by the Arts building would hear it... and if they walked by the room itself, they would easily be able to watch from one of the open windows. Or... if they’d rather, the door is wide open.]
At least, so far, it had for Lottie, as she played it.
People were returning from the Mist already. Word of mouth traveled quickly to the ears of the blonde.
Yet... Elizabeth was not counted amongst those numbers.
Though Lottie had told Mera that she had faith that whoever was called would return her friend safely, doubts could not and would not leave her heart and mind. After all, it wasn’t unheard of for rescues to fail... after all, Elizabeth had said so herself, not having been able to save Hiccup from the Mist's icy grip (Lottie, of course, was still very -and blissfully so- unaware of her own failed rescue).
She had found herself back in the dance studio, as if led by a spiritual force to the ebony and ivory keys; before sitting down at the bench, she had turned around, walked over and opened the long, tall, and heavy curtain, revealing a large wall of windows. Knowing that there was a nice breeze out, and realizing the studio was stuffy with stale sweat and dust, Lottie had opened every one. Soon enough though, she was drawn back to her instrument, drawn to the promise of expression that it offered, the comfort in letting the sadness dance through her body and into her fingers, then back again.
It was a song from her childhood, the house servants often sung it to her as she lay in bed, too excited with childish spunk to sleep on her own. In those days, it have proven to quell her energy down enough for her to be lulled into the sandman’s arms, surrendering to sweet slumber. These days, though, it provided familiarity, a sense of home and of family, memories of a time long ago when life was so simple, when friends would only disappear if they moved to another city. But back then, the bittersweet lyrics held no hidden meaning behind them, there was no parallels she could draw to her situation. Now, she could. But overall, it provided a doleful and heartsick, if not foolish, hope for the future, knowing full well the consequences dictated against the odds.
The blonde now found herself at the end of the tune, but unwilling to let it go, she improvised a bridge, starting over, allowing the blue and lachrymose melody to repeat. Lost in her song, she closed her eyes, letting the tears drop as they pleased, able to feel the keys for the right notes, taking slow and steady breaths… this was the one piece she‘d known by heart for years; eyesight was not needed.
Surely, anyone walking by the Arts building would hear it... and if they walked by the room itself, they would easily be able to watch from one of the open windows. Or... if they’d rather, the door is wide open.]