[Introduction] All boundaries are conventions

[waiting4_6smith]

[Spoiler (click to open)]Made it to limbo. Blew my brains out in the bathtub with Ayr's handgun. Only felt the slightest pinch. Much greater pain seeing Sixsmith catching him at the last minute. Worlds of regret, but it's only a matter of waiting

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[alcuin_delaunay]

Alcuin follows the music into the ballroom, enchanted by it. He pauses in the doorway, seeing a young man at the piano: someone he recognizes. Frobisher, though he thought that was only a dream. The dream stayed with him, though, and he'd spent a few days melancholy that it was nothing but a dream. The music is beautiful and he doesn't want to interrupt.

Smiling happily, he returns to the kitchen and prepares a tray with a pot of English tea, some watercress sandwiches, and a couple of little creme brulees with fresh raspberries that he just finished making. He brings it to the ballroom, setting it down on a small table at the edge of Frobisher's sight as an offering, and then curls up on a sofa on the edge of the ballroom, admiring the music and waiting to be noticed.

[waiting4_6smith]

Smiling while playing - it's a better world and one he's wanted to see for a while. Odd how his hands have more feeling now than they did moments ago - but eternity is confusing. Could have been ages ago, he wouldn't know.

And odd, too, how it seems that everything is more real.

Is that the smell of tea? Tea, and caramel? No, crême brulée - hasn't had it since Paris and that wild adventure with those insane Americans. Didn't stay long - the music was vulgar.

Takes him a while to stop, until he does, eventually, come to the major chord - it's barely a breath of a chorus he finished playing, and the only reason he stops is he can feel a cramp. Hadn't felt that since Ayrs whipped him into dictation for hours and hours.

Makes no sense at all, none at all.

Looks up, spots the teapot. A movement, very slight, in the distance. A flash of blond hair, so fine he wonders if this isn't one of those angels from engraved catechisms.

Alcuin.

"You're back," he says, simply. "I did wonder how long it would take."

[alcuin_delaunay]

"I'm not back," Alcuin says, with a happy, shy smile. He's delighted to be remembered, since he does have a bit of a crush. "You're here. You came."

He rests his chin on his hands on the arm of the couch, resisting the urge to run and hug him. His shyness holds him back, and his fear that Frobisher isn't real at all, that he's only dreaming again. "I thought I dreamed you."

[waiting4_6smith]

A couch. For a time there was nothingness - shadows and shades but nothing as detailed or defined as this - aside from Alcuin, and the memory of his lips.

"I'm not a dream," Frobisher replies from the piano bench. He does recall, mutedly - how he was told, come with me, come to this place.

A covenant.

"You are though," he says. "Still as perfect as before."

A beat.

"Do you recall our arrangement?"

[fckingperfect]

Natalie's currently in the library, looking for some new music selections to play. She's looking for some good piano pieces--just to practice, since she wants to keep up her skill level and dexterity.

She sighs a little in frustration--after a while, everything is starting to look too easy for her. She should have ended up at Yale instead of the Mansion, she thinks to herself.

A distraction would be more than welcome.

[waiting4_6smith]

Frobisher may be distracting indeed. Looking for sheet music. Browsing the F composer section feverishly, like a madman.

Whatever this place is, it holds answers about the future - was the Sextet ever played, or was it only a merciful dream? Hard to tell.

Hasn't really thought of looking for records either. Just looking at who wrote what.

Messian.

Bloody poser.

[fckingperfect]

She sees him and decides he must be a fellow music lover, and also, she hasn't seen him around before. Interesting.

"What're you looking for? Maybe I can help? I, like, know this library inside out." She shrugs, smiling softly at the man. "I'm kind of a nerd about music. And other stuff, too."

[waiting4_6smith]

No idea what a nerd is. The girl speaks strangely - must be an American, but even those expatriates had more grace. Could use her help, though.

"The Cloud Atlas Sextet. Composed 1931."

A beat.

"Very helpful, Miss...?"

In canon, it's a rare piece - so the sheet music may not be available, but they might find a vinyl hanging around somewhere. It's unlikely Nat would have heard of it, unless she was the type to hang out in obscure music stores - there are 6 copies of the vinyl in the US, quoth his canon.

[thatcherly]

See Marlene, See Marlene in the kitchen, making tea (because damn it, she's British and she needs some in this godforsaken place).

She brews a little pot of some Earl Grey and then pours some into her cup and sits down at the table, waiting for it to cool.

Sometimes she thinks about home. Today is one of those days, because she's sort of bored here, frankly, recent apocalyptic events aside.

And she does miss people.

[waiting4_6smith]

Ah, the kitchen. Not his realm - enjoys food cooked by others but won't be his own purveyor in that respect. Doesn't matter - has the most delightful arrangement with one of the loveliest young men he's ever gotten to pursue. Won't be a problem.

First pangs of hunger come, confusing and bemusing. Has eaten for pleasure, but not yet for sustenance.

Wanders thus down to the kitchens, and eyes the young woman there, before he ambles over to the cold box, fetches cheese and bread, and makes himself a toast.

"I hope you don't mind sharing the space momentarily?"

Very polite, for a prostitute and a thief, don't you think?

[thatcherly]

"It's for everyone, isn't it?" she says, raising an eyebrow at him. "I mean, it's the kitchen." She laughs a little, lightly, as if amused by herself. "Help yourself, I suppose."

[waiting4_6smith]

Thinks she's being witty when in fact she's only being rude. Ah, a compatriot. They haven't changed much. Birds still come as pissy as they get.

Lovely. Get on with it, Frobisher, you know how to play this game.

Best contrite air, looking a little lost and bemused. "I'm sorry, I only just arrived and would be loath to intrude."

[britishbear]

So much malaise and pain to be had... So of course Bridget has to stick his ever-cheerful smile in to ruin everything. He's got a book open on the little table beside him while he sits in the common room and tries to figure out what 'turning the heel flap' means. He's making socks and if asked, he'll be more than happy to say who they're for.

Should Frobisher come across the young lady man from limbo, he will not be totally alone as his much less chirpy bear is with him.

[waiting4_6smith]

Went to the kitchen, met most difficult woman. Probably a good challenge - best to be ingratiated if this whatever is going to stick. More variety than limbo, certainly more entertainment to be had, therefore rather acceptable.

Wandering back to the ballroom - wondering if the piano stuck with old pal Frobisher, but lo and behold, another familiar face.

"You."

Couldn't help it, could he?

[britishbear]

Bridget looks up and breaks into a bright smile. "Oh! Hello! So you did come after all. I thought that perhaps it was just a normal dream."

[waiting4_6smith]

Unsurprised after the night spent with Alcuin - gave him more than he expected, very likely. Hardly able to refuse him anything, so it would seem the exchange is even.

"It seems it was not, for more than one of you. I do hope you aren't disappointed."

[chromaggia_diva]

Mag was on her way to the ballroom, for her usual morning vocal exercises, when she hears the scintillating music coming from the open doors. This might quicken her step and she'll tuck up her Victorian-Gothic skirts as she tiptoes into the room. She'll linger in the background, watching, listening, her attention wrapt, but keeping respectfully quiet in the presence of a fellow artist.

[waiting4_6smith]

Reworking the last few measures - can't help avoiding tertian harmonies and leaving it unfinished, as it should be, but does conclude with a chromatic arpeggio, just because.

Spotted the pretty woman a moment ago. Not quite a reminder of Jocasta, but almost. Had the same look in her eyes - something like fascination.

Can't resist sending her a charming smile when silence sets in.

[chromaggia_diva]

She'll return the smile, though there's a fey, sad quality to it: she's seen some hard times, but her heart and her spirit has managed to remain unfettered. Also she's likely prettier than Jocasta (though typist might be biased, since she's had a femme-crush on Sarah Brightman since typist's teen years). "That was well-played... were you perfecting that?" she asks, her soprano voice hushed, with awe and appreciation. "I'll take a step back, if you'd rather have your space: good compositions and their composers need time and space."

[waiting4_6smith]

Pleasant enthusiasm - clearly a woman of taste. A voice pitched for greatness - idly, Frobisher wonders if she sings.

“The piece is finished,” he replies easily, “but you only heard the march - the remainder requires further instrumentation and a choir, and as you see, I am well alone…”

Hands spread helplessly, a smile offered in apology: with his mussed hair and melancholy eyes, must be quite the temptation.

Newly arrived: better to make pleasant impressions - his extended stay will be all the more agreeable for it.