Nov 06, 2009 18:22
Ever since the arrival in Jericho, the palace servants and courtiers have been awkwardly preventing the worldwalkers from seeing the King. Like, "Sure, the audience will be tomorrow!" and then ... it isn't. That kind of awkward.
By this point, it's pretty clear that it's intentional.
cassandra of troy,
jean yves,
!event,
bonnie mccullough
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Comments 24
They were saying words. Something about the king and business and schedules and nonsense like that.
Bonnie wasn't really paying attention. She was staring intently at the servant girl's throat, watching the light beat of her pulse under her thin, fragile skin.
Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips, green eyes narrowed as she stared.
She could practically keep track of time on that pulse. "Tick-tock, tick-tock," she whispered in a song-song voice.
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Frustrated and uncertain what else to do, she found herself haunting the hallways of the palace, falling back into her standard patterns from Troy. It wasn't healthy, she knew, to become a ghost again, but she certainly didn't know what else to do.
That's simply the way it was. Cassandra roamed the halls, singing a bawdy song, hissing at anyone who gave her a peculiar look:
"Good mistress, I'm a plowman and I've come to plow your field, to slip my blade beneath the soil and see if it will yield. Good sir, I have a bonny field that many a plow would see. If you know of a blade more firm than yours, please send him here to me."
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So the first time he heard a woman’s voice, singing in the hallways, he remained where he was, staring at a blank page in the journal, thinking of nothing worth writing.
The second time he opened the door, only to see Cassandra coming. He’d couldn't recall having heard her song before, but the tune reminded him of at least a half a dozen he’d heard in various taverns. "Where did you learn that song?" he asked from the doorway as she passed.
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And, with that, she elected to treat him to a second verse, her voice ringing out clear and bright in the echoy halls. "Good mistress, I'm a locksmith, with a key to fit your door. I'll slip it in more smoothly than was ever done before. Good sir, the key is not what matters. Locks are but as good as the length and strength of the sturdy bolt they thrust into the wood."
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And Erin never would have sung it through an inhabited hallway. He let her finish her verse before speaking again. “Why do you sing it now?”
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She flashed him a toothy grin. "Seeing as we've already attempt the direct approach of asking to be heard, there's nothing better to do than take an indirect one." Not that she actually believed the trick would work, but she would let JY think she did.
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