New Skin For The Old Ceremony: Chapter 1
Title: New Skin For The Old Ceremony
Chapter 1: Take This Waltz
Word Count: 910
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I own nothing ... BSG and its characters all belong to the Lords of Kobol ... the song lyrics used or referred to in this fic are all by that incomparable Bard, Leonard Cohen. The songs in order of appearance are Take This Waltz, I'm Your Man, Ain't No Cure For Love and Dance Me To The End Of Love.
Author's Note: I wrote this over the summer, but was only able to post it to the Survival instinct archives last fall. Since I've gotten access back, I thought I'd post it here. Enjoy.
Chapter 1: Take This Waltz
Now in Vienna there's ten pretty women
“I’ve always thought that this Vienna was a very poor place,” he said, guiding her gracefully about the room. “Now, I certainly know that it was; it didn’t have you.” She blushed prettily, tears sparkling like jewels on her lashes.
There's a shoulder where Death comes to cry
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows
There's a tree where the doves go to die
There's a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the Gallery of Frost
“The first time I heard this song was my parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary,” Laura said looking at him through her tears. “I was eight, and snuck out of my room to watch them dancing in the living room. It was the first truly sensual thing I’d ever seen, although I wouldn’t understand that till years later.”
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws
Bill’s mournful, unmistakeably gravelled tones joined the instruments, blending seamlessly with the Great Bard’s-caressing her to the depths of her wounded soul.
Oh I want you, I want you, I want you
“Oh you do, do you?” she said saucily, taking refuge in levity.
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lily
In some hallways where love's never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
His only answer was to continue singing, hand again possessively grabbing her ass, pulling her closer so that she could feel his undeniable arousal as his hardness pressed into her groin.
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand
Her gasp became a wordless moan and she stumbled in her surprise, momentarily losing the rhythms of the formal old waltz.
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and Death
Dragging its tail in the sea
Pressing his advantage, he kissed her-not the gentle, formal peck she was expecting to receive from him, but the kind that devoured her very breath. She moaned again as their tongues battled for supremacy, until finally, they broke for air.
There's a concert hall in Vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking
They've been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz it's been dying for years
I’m like this waltz, Laura thought, clinging to him as she tried to catch her breath. She felt safe in his arms as he sailed her effortlessly about the room, softly serenading her.
There's an attic where children are playing
Where I've got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of Hungarian lanterns
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow
He held her gaze, and in his fathomless, blue eyes, she indeed saw that all her sorrows, her hopes and fears and dreams were reflected in them. And for a moment-there in his arms-she could believe that her dreams would come true.
All your sheep and your lilies of snow
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its "I'll never forget you, you know!"
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and Death
Dragging its tail in the sea
Her voice didn’t fail her and it was his turn to stare in surprise as she began the final verse of the ancient song. She laughed inwardly at his shock; most Colonials-even the most educated-knew the Bard’s work in passing, but few knew it in any detail. And while he was still a hero among the lusty Leonis and cosmopolitan Capricans, the more repressed Geminese and Saggitarons had banned the Bard’s ancient works.
But Laura’s misspent youth as a wild child collecting friends from among poets, artists and other assorted Bohemians, had netted her almost every known recording of the Bard, which she’d cherished as she moved onto other, more adult, pursuits.
Until the Cylons had destroyed the Colonies, wiping away millennia of art and culture in a single day.
And I'll dance with you in Vienna
I'll be wearing a river's disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
With the photographs there, and the moss
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist
As Bill held her gaze, he marvelled as her lovely soprano soared-and then broke on the last part of the verse, which she whispered to him, her heart in her eyes.
Oh my love, Oh my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It's yours now. It's all that there is.
As the Bard’s female chorus’ voices faded, trailing off into gentle “La, la, la,” with crashing cymbals punctuating each phrase, she laid her head on his shoulder, tears soaking through his shirt while they swayed for the last few moments of the song.
#
To Chapter 2
Chapter 1: Take This Waltz
Word Count: 910
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I own nothing ... BSG and its characters all belong to the Lords of Kobol ... the song lyrics used or referred to in this fic are all by that incomparable Bard, Leonard Cohen. The songs in order of appearance are Take This Waltz, I'm Your Man, Ain't No Cure For Love and Dance Me To The End Of Love.
Author's Note: I wrote this over the summer, but was only able to post it to the Survival instinct archives last fall. Since I've gotten access back, I thought I'd post it here. Enjoy.
Chapter 1: Take This Waltz
Now in Vienna there's ten pretty women
“I’ve always thought that this Vienna was a very poor place,” he said, guiding her gracefully about the room. “Now, I certainly know that it was; it didn’t have you.” She blushed prettily, tears sparkling like jewels on her lashes.
There's a shoulder where Death comes to cry
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows
There's a tree where the doves go to die
There's a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the Gallery of Frost
“The first time I heard this song was my parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary,” Laura said looking at him through her tears. “I was eight, and snuck out of my room to watch them dancing in the living room. It was the first truly sensual thing I’d ever seen, although I wouldn’t understand that till years later.”
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws
Bill’s mournful, unmistakeably gravelled tones joined the instruments, blending seamlessly with the Great Bard’s-caressing her to the depths of her wounded soul.
Oh I want you, I want you, I want you
“Oh you do, do you?” she said saucily, taking refuge in levity.
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lily
In some hallways where love's never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
His only answer was to continue singing, hand again possessively grabbing her ass, pulling her closer so that she could feel his undeniable arousal as his hardness pressed into her groin.
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand
Her gasp became a wordless moan and she stumbled in her surprise, momentarily losing the rhythms of the formal old waltz.
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and Death
Dragging its tail in the sea
Pressing his advantage, he kissed her-not the gentle, formal peck she was expecting to receive from him, but the kind that devoured her very breath. She moaned again as their tongues battled for supremacy, until finally, they broke for air.
There's a concert hall in Vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking
They've been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz it's been dying for years
I’m like this waltz, Laura thought, clinging to him as she tried to catch her breath. She felt safe in his arms as he sailed her effortlessly about the room, softly serenading her.
There's an attic where children are playing
Where I've got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of Hungarian lanterns
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow
He held her gaze, and in his fathomless, blue eyes, she indeed saw that all her sorrows, her hopes and fears and dreams were reflected in them. And for a moment-there in his arms-she could believe that her dreams would come true.
All your sheep and your lilies of snow
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its "I'll never forget you, you know!"
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and Death
Dragging its tail in the sea
Her voice didn’t fail her and it was his turn to stare in surprise as she began the final verse of the ancient song. She laughed inwardly at his shock; most Colonials-even the most educated-knew the Bard’s work in passing, but few knew it in any detail. And while he was still a hero among the lusty Leonis and cosmopolitan Capricans, the more repressed Geminese and Saggitarons had banned the Bard’s ancient works.
But Laura’s misspent youth as a wild child collecting friends from among poets, artists and other assorted Bohemians, had netted her almost every known recording of the Bard, which she’d cherished as she moved onto other, more adult, pursuits.
Until the Cylons had destroyed the Colonies, wiping away millennia of art and culture in a single day.
And I'll dance with you in Vienna
I'll be wearing a river's disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
With the photographs there, and the moss
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist
As Bill held her gaze, he marvelled as her lovely soprano soared-and then broke on the last part of the verse, which she whispered to him, her heart in her eyes.
Oh my love, Oh my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It's yours now. It's all that there is.
As the Bard’s female chorus’ voices faded, trailing off into gentle “La, la, la,” with crashing cymbals punctuating each phrase, she laid her head on his shoulder, tears soaking through his shirt while they swayed for the last few moments of the song.
#
To Chapter 2