Song and Holy Violence

Theatre District, morning.

The sky is a fair-weather blue today in that kind of blue that only a winter sky in Alexandria can provide. A fresh coat of snow adorns the Theatre District today, as well as the slick of ice here and there from puddles that were allowed to freeze overnight. But the colorful streamers tied to poles of mana-lamps endure and remain despite the chill of the season.

There's one woman who steps out of the Flame's Hope Theatre, a woman who wears a dark violet cloak lined with what looks to be white downy-feathers. She wears a new necklace wrought from amethyst and platinum, resembling almost webwork in its intricacy. "I hope the lyrics are to your liking, Mr Weaver?" she asks with a small smile to a gentleman lingering at the doorway behind her, holding the door open for her exit. "I know you said you had that small problem with your other lyricist."

"He threatened to _sue_ if we performed in a week with his old lyrics," the man at the door complains. "You really helped us out there."

Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon smiles, violet eyes alight. "Well, I'm glad to be of help," she says. Then when the individual identified as Mr Weaver heads back into the Theatre, Cor'lana mutters, "And I hope this show is better than the last," as she takes a few steps away from the theatre.

Lazily striding down the road is two figures: shadow elf clad in a familiar green buckle jacket with a yule themed scarf wrapped around her neck and covering her face, and beside her a bushy haired woman of half the elf's height, hand jammed in her jacket pockets as she plods alongside Aryia. They stop before the Flightwright Theatre, only half the conversation heard in the morning chill as one had no words.

"Don't worry about it." Muddled words. "Just keep up what you're doing." A raised voice that quickly dies down to a sigh. "I know. We'll figure something out. Take the day off."

The Lucht woman gives Aryia a look before saying something of a farewell before slipping behind the theatre.

Shaking her head, the mute resumes her gait down road, only to run into Cor'lana. A knitted gloved hand in yule colors greets her with a wave. "Bit early for a show, right?" she motions before gesturing off to the Hope Theatre. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Verna is not one whom most would consider a patron of the performing arts and perhaps not even a dilettante. The shoppes and hawkers in the vicinity -do- offer rather novel, conspicuous, and even ostentatious offerings, however. She browses a selection of small jewelry and other colorful accessories not far from the theatre proper. While her gray cloak is present to shield from the elements, the winter dress below is a vibrant emerald.

The voices' volume draws her attentino to the egressors, and the familiarity of one, then two, maintains it. "Good morn to you both," she calls, voice uplifted enough to carry. She then echoes Aryia's question somewhat with, "Are there performances so early in the day?"

Cor'lana smiles at Aryia and Verna both, giving them both a wave. She's wearing gloves herself, albeit leather ones that look like they're tailored to her slender hands. "Good morning, both of you," she offers in turn. "No, typically there are no shows this early. I was actually dropping off some work I was commissioned for. A lot of composers turn to me to write the lyrics for their playbills, and... Well, it looks like Handel Boyd Weaver had a falling out with his usual lyricist. Again."

She sighs, but it's accompanied with a little smile. "So I had to produce lyrics for this new song that they added somewhat last minute. Apparently the test audiences thought that Weaver's latest show is lacking a certain something, so Weaver added a ballad, and he'd asked his lyricist to provide lyrics for the new song--which he did, but then they got into an argument and now those lyrics can't be used. The drama is not always contained to what's on stage."

"Hey Verna. RT." Aryia bobs her head along, offering a vague gesture that equates to good morning. "I see. Haven't been to many shows of late- I forgot how much drama is in the drama."

She tilts her head to the side. "Didn't know the theatre commissions you from time to time. Makes sense, you do words pretty well. Better than me, at least." Her gaze dips down briefly. "New things?" she inquires, fingering her scarf as if it was a necklace. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Verna ahs softly at Cor'lana's explanation. "I unsurprised that they would seek your expertise, sister, nor that they are better for it. I should make an attempt to attend a showing of this latest production, if just to witness your work." As to the drama, she comments, "There is room for disagreement, and poor handling of such, in most professions required interpersonal interaction. I was fortunate enough to rarely be placed in such a situation; the deceased rarely offer complaint any more than pleasant conversation."

"New things--Oh!" Lana exclaims, gesturing in the direction of her necklace. "Yes, this was one of Telamon's Yule gifts to me. It's wonderful."

She looks at Verna and grins just a little. "Well, I would be _very_ concerned if the deceased offered any complaint," she says. "Short of communing with the dead, in which case, you _do_ expect the dead to speak."

Cor'lana then adds, "I've written lyrics for a song about that, actually. It's a bit surreal to put lyrics to a ritual to speak with the dead for a theatrical production, rather than a religious one, but... Business demands it. It pays coppers compared to adventuring, but I'm not really doing it for the pay."

work, so no rush need here. :)

Aryia leans forward to inspect the necklace, her appraising with a seamstress's attention before huffing an approving sound and smiling. "Looks good. Fits your style," she signs before giving a thumbs up.

She looks to Verna, the pugilist snickering. One cannot see the smirk from the scarf, but her eyes crinkle with one. "Song of the dead. Sounds like some kind of old history thing." Her gaze drifts a bit, then grimaces, seemingly remembering something. "Probably best to leave a song like that be. But I get it, I don't make clothes for the coin." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Your song would be far more entertaining and ...lively," Verna notes to Cor'lana, "than a communing, itself, I expect." A dip of her head in a nod to both follows. "When one enjoys a craft, whatever it might be, it need not be one's livelihood. Nor does that limit one's achievements. You both quite excel in your respective hobbies in my experience." Aryia's grimace then catches her notice and Verna's countenance turns inquisitive. "Is something amiss?"

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perform/Sing: (8)+16: 24

"It was very much a song that was described as _not_ being a Vardaman religious rite," Cor'lana replies, a little embarrassed. "It actually goes like this..."

She clears her throat. And while she's not warmed up, _and_ it's cold out... She manages okay. But it's a jovial song that's clearly a jaunty tune.

"Come around, stick around,

Have a ball, don't be small,

I've got a new place for you,

A little thing or two~!

Here in the Halls of the Dead,

There's a never-ending party

For the damned and the led,

With their faces dyed red

And there's a man at the mirror

Who's a nine-foot cheerer

For the procession of the dead!"

Cor'lana looks a little embarrassed. "Much of my work is... more poetic, but they wanted a bombastic, playful tune, and lyrics to match. The mirror was a focus for a ritual spell, and the man in question is supposed to be a man by the name of Lysero, an angel of Vardama who greets the dead with a song... For the purpose of the story of the show, of course."

"Thanks," Aryia motions simply to Verna. "I try to not half ass things." Her hands rise to continue the thought, but still as Lana clears her throat. They drop to her sides.

She blinks as a song spills forth. Long ears twitch. Halfway through, one can spy a gold knitted finger tapping against her thigh in rhythm. At the end, she gives a little, muted applause. "Pretty good. I like the premise. Last time I went to the Halls-not dead, just in person- it could have used some jaunt to it."

She glances to Verna. Shifts a bit. "... might need a hand with something, if you two are interested," her hands hesitantly motion. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Verna's minor curiosity is piqued further even as it shifts to Cor'lana. She listens to the impromptu performance with attentiveness and spends several moments after in silent consideration. "Intriguing... Most pleasant in melody, lyrically, and the scenario conveyed by the latter. I believe that She would approve of the sentiment conveyed," she opines with a light smile, "though not likely enough as to hostess a never-ending party within Her Halls."

Her focus and curiosity then return to Aryia once more, now with a purposeful shift. "How might I be of assistance, Aryia?"

Cor'lana smiles, just a little, at the fact that Verna seems to approve. "Yes, I thought the part about a never-ending party was a bit much myself, but apparently it's actually the most popular number in that show," she says. "It's basically inviting the audience to have a good time. And that's ultimately part of why people go to the theatre--to laugh, to cry, to have a good time."

She looks at Aryia and the jovial nature of the discussion dies when she notices Aryia's motions are more hesitant now. "I am," she says. "What can I help you with?"

"I figured the Harper would like it at least. She seemed nice enough," the pugilist mentions. "But, I'll take a good song in a play over something boring. Like RT says- I'm there to enjoy myself. If I wanted to be bored but be dramatic about it I'll just lay on my couch and stare into the void."

Aryia shifts a bit. Her hands vanish into her sleeves as she opens up her coat, shoulder robing it to hide her hands with it, only for the two of them to see. She inhales. "Right. So. There's this fucked up weapon me and Seldan are trying to like, remove from existence. Problem is, we have to either find the fucking thing that made it, which is in the Iron Hells, or find the complete opposite. A celestial's hammer. Now- this shit doesn't leave between us because I trust you two greatly- we think we know where a hammer is. Problem is that it's locked away with some fucked up song that drives people mad. That song has been erased from man's ears because of the celestial, but we can't let it out when we get this hammer. So we have to go in deaf," she explains, frowning behind her scarf, ears drooping some. "And we have to be very selective on who goes with us. Because if some singular dumb fuck gets too curious, we'll have a disaster worse than the Wight invasion." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Verna's lips purse as Aryia surreptitiously expounds. The more is revealed, the more her countenance turns towards frown. "Sir Seldan appears to hold some proclivity in acquiring vile weapons requiring destruction and most novel methods to do so. This is now the second of which I am aware." She pauses to pinch the bridge of her nose with two gloved fingers as she processes all of this.

"So," she recounts softly, "do I understand correctly that the options are to either venture to the Hells to coerce a fiend, which I recommend strongly against... or retrieve a specific celestial object whilst intentionally deafened to prevent both personal madness as well as some manner of Ea-consuming earworm?"

Cor'lana nods a little. "I've been briefed on this a bit already," she says softly. "Sir Seldan met with Telamon and I to discuss it. Needless to say--I am pledged and ready to assist."

She looks to Verna and nods. "Sir Seldan was of the opinion that the latter ought to be done," she says. "With which I agree. We'll have to make use of a telepathic bond, or Handspeech. I've not lost any of my knowledge."

Aryia dips her head. "Vile weapons tend to be the norm for such horrible people, and Seldan is good at keeping them from influencing others," she motions. "But, yes, those are the options. And I much prefer the latter instead of the former. I've had enough of the Iron Hells to last an elvish lifetime."

Her brows quirk upwards at hearing that Cor'lana has been filled in. "Good, saves me the trouble of the details for you, as I wouldn't want to explain further out in the open."

The pugilist's uncomfortableness abates, as if asking for aid on something was outside her operandi. "Have to teach Seldan Handspeech, but telepathy would be good. Just mildly worried if something fucks one of us in the head there, if it'll get the rest of us." A beat, then she smiles. "It would be nice to speak if you all though. That'd be fun." Fun? <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Understood and I wholly agree that the latter is the least troublesome and/or more palatable of the options," Verna concurs. She has no wish to return to the Hells. Her time as a wall decoration, while not consciously personally experienced, was unpleasant a notion all the same. "Whilst Handspeech would suffice, as most or all of us appear capable, telepathy can further be provided. If naught else, they would provide multiple options for communication. I am at your disposable, yet I should warn that the lack of hearing can make use of magic difficult for many in most circumstances."

Cor'lana nods in firm agreement. "There's upsides and downsides to both options," she says. "For instance, I won't be able to talk and cast concurrently if we opt for handspeech, although most spells require the use of my voice in addition to gestures."

She looks at Aryia and Verna both. "And... Well, there are things that I have endured that might be unkind to inflict onto either of your minds. I suppose we're all in that boat, however. The life of an adventurer is not one without peril."

Aryia nods, a satisfied huff spilling out from behind her scarf. "I know the mages will have a bit of a harder time, but I think that handicap is better than the Hells. Glad we're in accord."

She looks to Cor'lana, a flat look to her expression. "I can handle some mental screaming for a delve into a dungeon for a while," she shrugs before lightly smiling. "Anyways, I appreciate you both. Wish I knew someone a bit heavier on the hitting things side, but those I do know are retiring or I don't trust them to not fuck this up. Now-"

She waves a hand, as if dismissing the drab topic. "Anything new going on? Don't think I've touched based with the both of you in a minute." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"We need not share what we would not wish to," Verna offers concerning any linking of minds. "As well, should any become mentally imbalanced," a gloved hand gestures to Aryia, "Aryia has proven more than capable in assuaging such maladies. Concussive treatment is rather effective."

She then merrily follows the segue to more casual topics. "Very little of note for myself. All has been quite calm and unhassled. That, of itself, is perhaps a novelty compared to times past, but a pleasant one."

"You would actually be very proud of me for this one, Aryia," Cor'lana says with a small smile that's rather pleased. "My Grandfather's cousin--a nasty individual by the moniker of the Corpse-Eater--is dead. Auranar's gambit worked, and Telamon, her, and others came to destroy the Corpse-Eater. He is gone and will trouble everyone no more. Hence why I'm out and about like this."

She smiles. "Lily-of-the-Valley was a _little_ upset that I wasn't having a baby after all, but I think she'll recover. Eventually."

Aryia glances to Verna an apologetic look crossing her visage before a snort escapes her. "Yes, I am rather decent at keeping friends sane, I'd like to think." There's a nod, as well as a soft sigh. "I'm glad to hear that for you. Peace is greatly needed."

She turns to Cor'lana, her brows shooting up at the news. "No shit? Fuck. I /knew/ something was off about those rumors with you. Didn't believe it, but kept my mouth shut. Fuck yes, I'm glad that plan payed off, you looked fucking miserable," she bluntly gestures. She's probably garnering a smirking tease, we're the way her face twists anything to go by.

She shrugs. "She'll get over it the moment a hot guy walks down the road next to the garden." <HAndspeech>

Verna simply nods with Cor'lana's statement. "All the more reason all is peaceful at home... at least so far as myself. Auranar is the one oft adventuring, now. She secures our safety and feature, and the same of others. Meanwhile, I am content to read, and bake, and otherwise attempt to rest assured."

"I _was_ miserable," Lana says, sighing. "At least, every time I went outside. But now he's gone, I get to have my life back again. You're right about Lily-of-the-Valley, though; she has the attention span of a fly when... Any kind of man comes around, really." Cor'lana looks for a moment like she's remembering something before shaking her head.

Then she looks at Verna with a smile. "Auranar was, I'm told, very fearsome in that battle. It seems being Grandfather's protege has done her well. Trained by fae to kill other fae--it's the way of the world, sometimes."

As though the mention of a certain pixie could summon her, there's a little giggle nearby, and Lana raises a brow. "Lily-of-the-Valley, _is_ that you?"

"Yes it is, Lady Lupecyll-Atlon!" Lily-of-the-Valley descends from a window on the nearby theatre to sit on Cor'lana's shoulder. "Don't tell Mirabilis, but sometimes I come here to ogle the shirtless hunky actors when they're rehearsing. Respectfully. From a distance. By myself. Little secret!"

Aryia raises a brow at Verna, curious. "How's your baking coming along? I know you've done a little bit last time I was up there, should I crash on by to sample?" She's grinning.

The mute tightens up her scarf, shifting it some to cover the tips of her reddening ears to shield it from the chill.

She blinks at Cor'lana. Auranar being vicious? The mute hadn't pegged the pink hair sil to be as such, but the news comes as a surprise to her. "Good shit." Aryia approved.

The tiny giggle gets the coach to whirl around, looking around and- there. "Why am I not surprised you're around here. Sounds like you need a tiny chair strapped to the ceiling for the shows. And the shows. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn has arrived.

Aelwyn goes East <E>

Aelwyn has left.

Verna cannot help but smile at mention of the name alone, but it grows further with Cor'lana's other words and Aryia's approval. "She is as stubborn and determined as she is generous and kind. I am not at all surprised that she can be as vicious as gentle, when circumstances dictate. I would not wish to earn her ire, though her recounting of events was rather modest."

The giggling is a surprise and Verna is briefly distracted by Lily. Her smile dims slightly, but also twists. "At times, I wonder which of you takes after the other, Cor'lana." She then promptly shifts to Aryia and baking. "You are more than welcome to visit and sample, Aryia. The more often Auranar is away, the more time I spend in the kitchen, and the fewer are present to consume the results. There is ample supply for sharing."

Cor'lana grins a little. "That is being faeblooded for you," she says. "The capacity for viciousness in addition to a zest and joy for life. And baking, if Grandfather's any indication."

"The Feathered One has _buns_, all right," Lily-of-the-Valley says with a dreamy sigh. "Dangerous, dangerous buns, that I can only admire from a distance."

That prompts a blink from Cor'lana. And then a grimace. "Please do not describe my ancestor's posterior as 'dangerous buns', Lily-of-the-Valley. Maybe I ought to have you burn off some of that energy by making you spectate Aryia's Colosseum matches."

Lily-of-the-Valley's dark eyes shine a little brighter for the notion. "Oh! OH! VIOLENCE. Yes, I'd sign up for that in a HEARTBEAT."

Aryia gives a subtle fist pump. "Excellent, I'll be sure to swing by soon. I am always down to sample. Extensively."

There is a mild nod about fey things. They are viscous. Good thing she doesn't get tongue tied with them for many reasons. But she does blink, only to bust into into a snickering, coughing laughter at Lily's antics.

The hacking coach doesn't stop to sign, "Shit? Really? Sure, come on by, you can watch some violence." <Handspeech>

Verna has no counter, nor need to, for Cor'lana's knowledge of fae. Even less so when Lily-of-the-Valley, as if on cue, exactly demonstrates said statement to be true. Still, she blinks. "Indeed." After another moment she adds, "there is much about the fae that I may never fully comprehend, regardless of my studies and exposure..." Preferably exposure to the zest and joy.

Lily-of-the-Valley flaps over to hang out next to Aryia, because Cor'lana is old hat already. "VIOLENCE!" she cheers, until she gets an idea. "Hey. Hey Aryia. I have an idea that will sell _so_ many tickets to the Colosseum. Hunky men. Shirtless. Wrestling. FIGHTING."

Cor'lana looks like she's swallowed a frog for a moment before she just leans in a little closer to Verna. "All you need to know about this one is that she likes cute men and she likes incredible violence. That's it. That's all her brain has room for. Everything else has completely rotted out."

"Yes, I don't get it either, Verna, you're not alone on that matter. Shit don't make a lick of sense to me but whatever, I just know enough of what /not/ to do," Aryia's colorful hands sign before turning her attention to the little faire flapping about next to her.

She stares at the idea. Blinks. "... you... do realize that is the daily religious proceedings for the Temple of Aragorn? They wrestle every day as their prayers. It's too cold out here for that but you can find that there."

Oh no. What information has she given the battle-lust seeking faire? <Handspeech/Tongues>

"So it seems," Verna comments aside to Cor'lana, eyes on the blood(or otherwise)-lusty fae. She is also aware of Aryia yet, and gives the mul'niessa a nod. "Perhaps she could sate her ... vigor there?" It is not a terrible suggestion. Even moreso, were it to prove a poor idea, it would be a poor idea somewhere else. Somewhere it might be more tolerated, in fact.

There's a sound like a tea kettle about to go off from within Lily-of-the-Valley's tiny little pixie body. "There's a Temple? A faith? For hunky boys who wrestle???"

Cor'lana looks mildly alarmed. "Lily--"

Very suddenly, the pixie is on Cor'lana's shoulder, kneeling there on one knee, her voice solemn. "Lady Lupecyll-Atlon... I know I have never asked for anything, ever. Other than to watch you and Lord Lupecyll-Atlon kiss. And to proofread my short stories I wrote about you. And other really tiny little things that don't matter. But this... This is important. I have found faith. I wish to go to this Temple. I wish to know more about this Angoron and their--"

"His," Lana corrects.

"HIS? EVEN BETTER," Lily-of-the-Valley shouts into Lana's ear, before she clears her throat and resumes her solemn voice. "The noble Angoron and his very impressive hunky boys who wrestle. I would like to learn more about their faith. It appears we share many values that we hold to be very, very dear to us."

Cor'lana looks like she's eaten a second frog, whole, to go with the first. She sighs. "Maybe on the way home... I will drop you off at the Temple of Angoron. But you have to be respectful. You can't just fly in there and go, 'I love hunky boys, praise be to Angoron'."

Aryia's grin goes past her scarf, reaching her eyes. Her thoroughly amused and pleased at Lily's reaction to such news. It shifts into her silently cackling behind her scarf. "He's also a patron of expecting mothers," she adds. "One of my good Angorinte friends told me about that. Something about giving them strength to get through the trials."

Aryia what are you doing? Aryia?

She has the biggest shit eating grin standing there, her bouncing on the balls of her feet. Seems like even Aryia isn't immune to the zest of fey. <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Angoron not only espouses strength," Verna adds her own theological knowledge to Aryia's, "but also encourages its use to protect the weak and/or vulnerable. You would do well to encourage and compliment their displays of might, athleticism, and physical endurance. As well, it would prove a great boon and honor to them were they to have one smaller and more fragile-seeming than they to uplift, protect, and otherwise coddle."

The Mourner is rather neutral-faced throughout this factual offering. "Should you wish to both explore more of Angoron's teachings as well as aid His in espousing His dogma, of course."

Aryia and Verna are both feeding great and terrible things to Lily-of-the-Valley, who turns and grabs a handful of Cor'lana's hair in her fist. "Lady Lupecyll-Atlon... I am _called_ to this Temple! I will learn how to be a good faerie midwife to you and Lord Lupecyll-Atlon when you two _actually_ have children! AND I will be protected and uplifted by hunky Angoron boys!"

Cor'lana looks so, so tired. "You will be one of Angoron's most fervent worshippers, of that I'm certain," she adds, before she looks at Aryia and Verna. "I'd probably get her to this Temple, then, or she might try and fly off without--"

"I MUST ANSWER THE CALL!" Lily-of-the-Valley flies off Cor'lana's shoulder. "PRAISE TO ANGORON AND HIS HUNKY BOYS!"

The sorceress takes a deep breath. "Okay," she says. Before she murmurs a spell, whereby wings of violet fading into blue at the wingtips sprout from her back. "I better go catch her before she flies into the wrong temple entirely. Farewell for the moment--and send me word when we are ready for the journey ahead of us, yes?"

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Overland Flight. Caster Level: 19 DC: 24

Aryia picks up on what Verna is putting down, the mute doubling over with her arms clutching her gut, her down on a knee against the ice and snow. She starts coughing in that hacking manner, only pausing a moment to hack a gob of blood from behind her scarf.

She makes a weak motion, a fist rubbing a circle on her sternum, a flick of a thumb under the chin, and another circle. "Sorry, not sorry."

The shadow elf deeply inhales, getting herself under control as she rises back to her feet. "Fuck me, I needed that," she admits, eyeing the wings that sprout out from her friend. "I'll strive to do so once we get ready to go. Best to catch up to her, because they start their sermons at noon- where the light shines down into their sandpit wrestling area. Have a good one." <Handspeech/Tonges>

"Her zeal is ... commendable(?)," Verna opines after the fae zips upwards, if less-than-certain concerning her choice of adjective. As her sister-in-bond sprouts wings and excuses herself, she nods. "Fare well, Cor'lana. I hope that your unplanned visit to the temple does not prove overly unpleasant."

"I'll catch up to her well before then," Cor'lana adds with a tiny grin, adding a little wave to Verna and Aryia both. "A good day to you both!"

With that, the half-sil sorceress takes to the sky, trying desperately to find her wayward pixie-servant... and to ensure she doesn't get lost in her newfound quest for faith that dovetails entirely too neatly with the pixie's long-going quest to admire all the world's boys.

-End Scene-