2nd Lie ❧ [Video]
[Video feed begins. "Claus" is seated in the corner of an Anatolian bar, a harmonica on his lap, a newly emptied wine glass at the table beside him. On the floor at his feet is an empty, overturned hat.
Suddenly, he taps his cane thrice against the floor as if to get attention from his fellow barmates. When he is ignored, he picks up his silver harmonica and plays quite loudly to himself with incredible skill - a sad, slow song, like a dirge.
Eventually he manages to turn a few confused and otherwise bored heads. At once, he pulls the harmonica from his lips and stands up straight, puts his hand to his chest - and begins to sing a powerful and heartful ballad. He does not speak Common to his small audience - it's in his own native tongue. His eyes closed, he sings with genuine sorrow and passion about losing a loved one and joining them in the afterlife. Those of the Scorched with a musical background may recognize its english version, or various translations.]
Szomorú vasárnap száz fehér virággal
Vártalak kedvesem templomi imával
Álmokat kergető vasárnap délelőtt
Bánatom hintaja nélküled visszajött
Azóta szomorú mindig a vasárnap
Könny csak az italom kenyerem a bánat...
Szomorú vasárnap...
[As he concentrates, for the briefest moment, a weak, transparent image - almost like smoke - of a young boy appears in front of him. Lucas opens his eyes, and the image flickers and disappears into the air. He had seen it for only a fraction of a second, and by then, the Anatolians had already turned their chairs around in disgust. Not one of them gives him so much as a single ivory for his performance.]
What..?
[He blinks. That's odd. He usually makes something, even if just a pittance. What was different this time? He stares at the wall, uncomprehending. The Forge times out.]
[[ooc: It will take a few months, but Lucas is slowly beginning to discover his non-canon power. More information here.]]
Suddenly, he taps his cane thrice against the floor as if to get attention from his fellow barmates. When he is ignored, he picks up his silver harmonica and plays quite loudly to himself with incredible skill - a sad, slow song, like a dirge.
Eventually he manages to turn a few confused and otherwise bored heads. At once, he pulls the harmonica from his lips and stands up straight, puts his hand to his chest - and begins to sing a powerful and heartful ballad. He does not speak Common to his small audience - it's in his own native tongue. His eyes closed, he sings with genuine sorrow and passion about losing a loved one and joining them in the afterlife. Those of the Scorched with a musical background may recognize its english version, or various translations.]
Szomorú vasárnap száz fehér virággal
Vártalak kedvesem templomi imával
Álmokat kergető vasárnap délelőtt
Bánatom hintaja nélküled visszajött
Azóta szomorú mindig a vasárnap
Könny csak az italom kenyerem a bánat...
Szomorú vasárnap...
[As he concentrates, for the briefest moment, a weak, transparent image - almost like smoke - of a young boy appears in front of him. Lucas opens his eyes, and the image flickers and disappears into the air. He had seen it for only a fraction of a second, and by then, the Anatolians had already turned their chairs around in disgust. Not one of them gives him so much as a single ivory for his performance.]
What..?
[He blinks. That's odd. He usually makes something, even if just a pittance. What was different this time? He stares at the wall, uncomprehending. The Forge times out.]
[[ooc: It will take a few months, but Lucas is slowly beginning to discover his non-canon power. More information here.]]