(no subject)
A beaming, blue-haired woman enters the Nexus, clad in tuxedo and tails, carrying a comically oversized brandy snifter. The glass is empty, and the woman gives a cheerful wave to no one in particular before making her way to a piano that drifted into a plaza near the sign earlier in the week. She sets the snifter on a corner of the instrument, flicking the rim to elicit a clear, crystalline tone and humming along. When the tone has died, she seeds the glass with a rumpled dollar bill, before taking a seat at the bench. She runs through a few scales and warm-ups, throwing in snatches of tunes, a rambling medley that drifts from from Mozart to Broadway to the top 40 before settling on a soft melody to which she adds her voice.
"You might wake up some mornin'
To the sound of something moving past your window in the wind
And if you're quick enough to rise
You'll catch a fleeting glimpse of someone's fading shadow
Out on the new horizon
You may see the floating motion of a distant pair of wings
And if the sleep has left your ears
You might hear footsteps running through an open meadow."
"Don't be concerned, it will not harm you
It's only me pursuing somethin' I'm not sure of
Across my dreams with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love."
"You might have heard my footsteps
Echo softly in the distance through the canyons of your mind
I might have even called your name
As I ran searching after something to believe in
You might have seen me runnin'
Through the long-abandoned ruins of the dreams you left behind
If you remember something there
That glided past you followed close by heavy breathin'."
"Don't be concerned, it will not harm you
It's only me pursuing somethin' I'm not sure of
Across my dreams with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love."
She lets the thread of melody slip, vamping quietly through another verse under her voice--speaking, this time. "It's the end of the holiday season, where I'm from," she opens, grinning with irony, "and I say that like there's a season without holidays. But with Samhain, Thanksgiving, Yule, and the Gregorian new year all in a row, I can see where people would get that idea. So, wherever you're from, if you're here tonight, how did your holidays go? Were they what you expected? And," she trills her fingers on the keys, "any requests?"
"You might wake up some mornin'
To the sound of something moving past your window in the wind
And if you're quick enough to rise
You'll catch a fleeting glimpse of someone's fading shadow
Out on the new horizon
You may see the floating motion of a distant pair of wings
And if the sleep has left your ears
You might hear footsteps running through an open meadow."
"Don't be concerned, it will not harm you
It's only me pursuing somethin' I'm not sure of
Across my dreams with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love."
"You might have heard my footsteps
Echo softly in the distance through the canyons of your mind
I might have even called your name
As I ran searching after something to believe in
You might have seen me runnin'
Through the long-abandoned ruins of the dreams you left behind
If you remember something there
That glided past you followed close by heavy breathin'."
"Don't be concerned, it will not harm you
It's only me pursuing somethin' I'm not sure of
Across my dreams with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love."
She lets the thread of melody slip, vamping quietly through another verse under her voice--speaking, this time. "It's the end of the holiday season, where I'm from," she opens, grinning with irony, "and I say that like there's a season without holidays. But with Samhain, Thanksgiving, Yule, and the Gregorian new year all in a row, I can see where people would get that idea. So, wherever you're from, if you're here tonight, how did your holidays go? Were they what you expected? And," she trills her fingers on the keys, "any requests?"