Today's the day

[tomboy_22]

There's a small little woman on the mansion grounds.  In complete silence, she performs the routine she's been practicing for years, now.  Her eyes are intent on the absent target, her mind is focused on what she is doing, but when she strikes, she cuts the quiet as violently as her hit, her jab or her kick would find its target.

The short cries

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[ofdoriath]

Lying back with his dark head resting on a rock, eyes up at the sky, Daeron would appear to not be paying attention at all. In fact, he is watching Anita, with half lazy curiosity, the thoughtfulness even more pronounced, eyes a little brighter, perhaps, than they've been in a very long time. More alive.

[ofdoriath]

"Always. Also makes them rather irrelevant, doesn't it?" A shrug. "This way I don't have to remember much, at least."

There's something about him almost reminiscent of Locke, in away - in the dryness and underlying melancholy.

[tomboy_22]

"Pretty much what I think, yeah," she replies, chuckling a touch.

Yeah. He's got the Locke thing going a touch.

[ofdoriath]

He shifts, to stand, and lifts the very old fashioned harp onto his shoulder. "Were you done, or am I interrupting?"

[tomboy_22]

That's an intriguing thing you got there, Daeron. "You're not. Musician?"

[ofdoriath]

"One might say that." Just a bit of a smile, incredibly wry. "Call it a hobby."

[tomboy_22]

"Interesting hobby. Antiquities, or music?"

[ofdoriath]

That does get a bit of a laugh from him. "Both, in a way. Stories. Mythology."

[tomboy_22]

"Wouldn't mind a story or a song if you were up to it."

[ofdoriath]

He examines her, a moment, then his mouth quirks.

"I can manage that."

[tomboy_22]

"Well, er," she finds a place to sit, makes a hand gesture of sorts. "Harp away, no pun intended."

[ofdoriath]

He sits, carefully, tests the strings once, bends his head, and plays. It's very old, a lament, as always, for things lost, things that will never return, of the fading of memory and the dissolution of monuments.

[tomboy_22]

By the time he's done, Anita is a little ball of emo, and has her arms around her knees.

[ofdoriath]

He lets it fade, his expression little changed from what it was before, though perhaps a little more thoughtful, watching Anita.

[tomboy_22]

She looks over from her curled up position.

"Well, aren't you the joy of the party."

[ofdoriath]

His voice is a little softer. "I lost the art of playing anything more joyful a while ago." Forswore it, in truth, and then lost it, but.