As You Were (Song for Magnes)

Participants:

wf_elaine2_icon.gif wf_quinn2_icon.gif wf_sable2_icon.gif

Scene Title As You Were (Song for Magnes)
Synopsis Three gather in tribute of the one they lost.
Date August 4, 2011

In Dreams


Finding a nice, secluded spot where one isn't likely to disturb anyone can be a bit of a chore. Finding one that isn't going to make you obvious to patrols, flybys, and other unwelcome peeping eyes and prying persons is even harder, particularly when one is intending to make a fair amount of noise, and unapologetically so. But that is no deterrent for those who are determined to go through with even the craziest, most misguided of plans. And while today's plan may not be that bad, it is one driven by passion and a promise, one not about to be let go of because of the usual prevailing sense of unease and danger that permeates everything these days.

Such a spot, for the time being, seems to have been found, tucked away in the recesses of Pollepel Island where the gathered trio are unlikely to garner unwanted attention or disturb anyone but the occasional passerby who might curious as to what they are doing. And in truth, it's nothing they haven't done before. BUt this time, rather than simply playing music for the hell of it, there is a sense of conviction in the eyes of Robyn Quinn, guitar in her lap and a frayed, barely holding together notebook sitting on a table between her and her songwriting companion.

There is a goal, a point in mind today. One that nothing will deter them from short of disaster.

Comes right down to it - and I mean when you really look the devil in the face, pull on his big ol' ears and all - so, like, when it comes right down to it - art? Art's a big ol' bandage. Living life? It hurts. It hurts bad, like a man of the house loses his temper when he's drinking, works himself like a storm time to time. And sometimes he just yells atcha, and sometimes he starts throwing things. But sometimes- sometimes life hits so hard, the hurt goes deep, opens you up in a way you can't easy figure how to mend. And that- that's where art comes in.

So sore this wound, though, it's taken Sable years to even start to dress this wound, deep as it is, and painful. Misfortune has not broken her, not yet, and her head is held high, but the ferocious good cheer and hard headed attitude lapses in favor of a certain kind of meditative repose as she sits across from Quinn, battered and scratched but still songworthy guitar set across her lap, the American Beauty Rose guitar strap looping across her skinny shoulders. She's as scrappy as ever she was, and more wiery for the life, but Sable never expected to live high off the hog - even in success she'd have sought to plunge, meteoric, through her fame. Even in fantasy, she ain't particular kind to herself.

"So like- figure is this thing gonna have words?" she asks, not sounding wholly certain of the proposition.

The redheaded woman breathes deeply from the air as she follows Quinn to their hideaway, grateful for the opportunity to get out for a while. While she's no songwriter, she figures in some way, her presence connects them to their purpose… and at the very least, it gives them the opportunity to have someone watch their progress. Musicians need an audience, right?

Seating herself next to Sable at the table, she leans against it lightly, eyes on the frayed notebook. She makes a mental note to try and find something new and fresh, but she scolds herself at the idea. It had character and it had memories, something a shame to take apart. Perhaps she'd find some way to repair it.

"Of course it has to have words," she says, gaze moving to Sable in an almost chiding manner. "You think he'd let us get away with something easy? It's an epitaph. A memorial. You leave it blank and it looks like no one cares. And we all know we did."

When Elaine speaks, Quinn looks at her with a thankful expression, giving a small nod as she adjusts the acoustic guitar in her lap. There's an upright bass that was salvaged some time ago sitting somewhere that's not immediately in arms reach, and instead in Quinn's lap sits her red, sparkling acoustic guitar, the sparkles flaked and dulled from age, but still carrying that distinctive red colour that they have for twenty years now. It, like Quinn, has managed to persevere, a sort of symbol of her continued dedication to music even now.

"Yeah. Yeah, it has to have words," Quinn says quietly. Wounds run deep indeed, and the prospect of working on this song always brings back memories that leave the Irishwoman quieter than normal. Fingers strum down her guitar, a sort of distraction in the moment, and she sighs. "We have to make it something worthy of him. Something he'd like. I only know so many words that rhyme with giant robot, though," she remarks, managing a small smirk.

A conformer, never, Sable wrinkles her nose and presents the opposing case, directing it first the Elaine - denying the charge that a wordless song is a song without feeling.

"Naw, darlin'- it ain't like that with music. I unnerstand that's how you think, babe, since y'all are so quick with words, but words gotta say what music can just make you feel. And honest- dunno what I'd say. I only know how I feel. So the music's what I know is there. Words- shit," she clicks her tongue, then grins, "I ain't so good with words as you, hon."

Her brow arches. "But no one said we all gotta put in th' same thing. If y'all got words to spare, Quinngirl, you c'n write the lyrics. Me- I'm just thinkin' 'bout how wild he'd want th' riff t' be, and how kickin' the bassline, seein' as that's what he'd've played, dig?"

"I didn't mean to say the melody doesn't mean anything, I just… you know. It needs to be a proper memorial. Magnes would want something people could sing along to. Raise lighters. Not that it's quite likely to happen, now…" Elaine admits slowly, a slight frown on her features.

She seems a bit distracted for a moment, staring at the wood of the table while she thinks before she looks back over to Quinn. "I don't think giant robots are quite the thing. I think it just needs to be something about heroism… sacrifice. Cause that's what he was about, day I met him until the day he died."

"Elaine, dear, I would hope the melody would mean something for you. This has to be a proper rock ballad, with a bit of violin in the back. Besides, I'm sure he'd want you to be a part of it." Quinn sounds confident in this, that small smirk fading a bit as she nods to Sable. "Alright… I'll see what I can do, I guess." Words are hard. No really, this time they are, Sable has it right. But Quinn's going to try regardless. It's the least of things she can do.

Fingers strum up and down a bit. Itt doesn't form any sort of continuous melody, just a but of thoughtful strumming. "Gimmie something, Sable. Give me a moment to think. It'll come to me when I hear the music," she says lowly, eyes closing as she takes a deep breath. "Maybe help me out, Elaine. We can have some lyrics, a nice instrumental part, and then a last tribute at the end, I think."

"I'm thinkin'-" Sable says, bobbing her head, "I'm thinking we start off soft-like. Like- y'all know first track off Wish You Were Here? How it rises up outta nothin', buildin' 'n' buildin', 'til there's that first killer riff? Sets the mood up, dig? Draws the listener in, lets them know we're taking this seriously, then hits them with this jolt!" All this with music, at least to Sable's mind's ear.

"See, that 'nother question, eh, if it's a tribute or a memorial or what th' fuck else," she adds, plucking at her strings and going through a couple experimental progressions, "figure Shine On's our best type-a model. Celebrates, but it's real sad. We can have it both ways then - awesome rock song, but respectful-like."

"You're the one with the incredible musical genius," Elaine points out, giving a nod of agreement. "You take charge. It sounds alright to me." She puts her head in her hands, leaning her elbows on the table as she thinks. "An awesome rock song is what Magnes would have liked. I mean, he would have…" She trails off, scrubbing her hands over her face.

"It shouldn't be this hard, but I'm still just mad at him."

"It is what it is," Quinn states somewhat obliquely. "It's a song for Magnes, just like he asked." Certainly, he would forgive them for needing a few years to work on it in honest, but that was what he had asked for, and that's Quinn's intention. "It's a little bit of everything. A tribute. A memorial. A song he would've liked. A powerful, meaningful rock song. No one thing, just like the man himself. Get it?" Quinn smirk fades a bit, looking down at the notebook, even the diplapidated back cover of which is scrawled with notes and words. "It'll be the perfect song for him, and to remember him by."

She picks up the notebook and gingerly flips it one, one years old page sailing out and across the floor. "I like that, as a start," she remarks to Sable, looking up from the notebook as her eyes move from one woman to the other, tilting her head a bit at Elaine. "And you think I'm not? Bastard should be here with us right now, playing music." Greanted, Quinn has less reason to be mad compared to Quinn, but the way she's smiling says she's joking either way. "I plan to let him know that, too, if I'm luck enough to see him again."

Sable, incredible musical genius, points at Elaine, narrowed eyes emphatic. "And never you f'rget it!" she says, then grins wide, leaning across to kiss her on the nose, "'course, not like I'm ever gonna let you." It's a spark of levity, and not one that Sable snuffs out, but rather stores for later. The work they have to do is serious.

But she's not mad. A slow shrug. "Like you said, Quinn. Is what it is, and he was who he was. Wouldn't be him if he wouldn't've gone and done the fool thing he did. Take the good with the bad; can't expect to love without losin', dig?"

Elaine grins at the kiss on her nose, the simple gesture seeming to help her pull her wits together. "I don't think his song should be perfect. Heavens knows Magnes wasn't, and at the end… him not being around is something I'm never gonna let go… and I think the song needs to reflect that… reflect his memory but point out that he was also an ass. I think that, more than anything, would be Magnes. An ass and a hero."

Quinn can't help but snort a bit at Elaine, chuckling as she shakes her head. "I never said the song would be perfect. Just a a perfect tribute to him," she remarks with a finger raised, as if there's a difference between teht wo and she's taking the moment to point it out. She chooses not to comment on Magnes' status of being an ass or not - they all know he was in different ways at different times. But they'll save that for another part of the song, if it makes it in.

Instead she leans back fully in her eat, ceasing her isle playing for the moment as she flexes her fingers, joints older and not as accustomed to playing for lengths of time as they have been in the past. So instead, she hangs her head back, and begins to hum a bit of a soft melody mostly for her own benefit.

The humming sloly solidifies into a melody. And from there, something comes when she hadn't expected it.

"I remember you / Now and once again / As you always were / I remember you / A spirit they can't contain / As you always were." She wrinkles her nose a bit, not sure she likes the lyrics taht come to mind, not reall ysure they're fitting od the song they want to write. But it's a start.at least.

"Hey now," Sable says, a touch of warning as she crosses her arms, "I won't speak no ill of the dead, 'specially not of him." This, apparently, is a hard line, not to be crossed. "Worst I'll attest is he's a damn fool, but like- like they got in that deck 'f gypsy cards, dig? Strollin' right for th' cliff, eyes lifted t' th' sun."

"Shit, gal, father of your child we're talkin' 'bout," Sable snorts, "y'all should be saying what a cute ass he had, 'stead of how he was 'n ass."

Quinn steals her attention as she begins to sing, however, and Sable tilts her head, listening birdishly before getting to her feet all of a sudden, and scrambling over to grab ahold of the standup bass. It rather dwarfs her, but her nimble fingers take their proper places, and she starts to thudd out a bassline, testing one, then another, then embellishing the one she prefers.

"Just because he gave Adel some great genes doesn't mean I can just ignore what he did. You know how she would've loved having him around, and that's the ill I'll speak of him. Because I can look at her and see a little girl who was missing out on a great thing," Elaine says, lips in a firm line. This is likely an argument that neither of them have ever caved on, nor are they likely to in times to come.

Elaine falls into silence, though, as Quinn finds some words to fit to lyrics and Sable chimes in with a bassline. Her hands fold neatly into her lap, eyes closing as she listens.

On the matter Elaine and Sable argue about, Quinn remains quiet. She's made her thoughts known in the past, but it's never really been her place when it comes to bringing things around to to the father of Elaine's child. Not when she's actually talking to them, at least. Instead she keeps her eyes closed, hands flat on the strings of her guitar, continuing ot hum a melody between lyrics. The bassline starts, and she perks up a bit, her foot beginning to tap along with it.

"I remember you / Standing tall against it all / As you always were / I remember you / Bright against the dark / As you always were." Hands drum a bit on her knees, head bobbing just a little. "I need more…" she remarks, letting out a sigh.‚ÄĚThat can't be all of it…"

Oh yes, the argument runs long and pretty deep, and Sable's reasons for dissonance range from defense of Magnes to a breed of weirdly contradictory resentment as if to say 'ain't I father enough?' Love is not easy. They all know that well. And mourning love lost is no easier, makes that love no simpler.

The steady thud of the bassline is simple, though, at it's heart, and the clarity of music finally unlock's Sable's words, despite her fearing she had none.

"And then off you went, though we said 'don't you dare' / An' you stepped off th' cliff, right int' th' air /This world keeps on turnin', and though you ain't there / You're here, in this song- as you were."

"Good," Elaine murmurs, although she's hesitant to breathe the words mostly because she doesn't want to break the creative process, fragile as it may be at times. She opens her eyes, mostly so she can look back at Quinn and Sable, nodding her agreement with the lyrics. "You've got it, just… keep it up."

The hand drumming is no substitute for the real thing, so Quinn abandons it in favour of setting her guitar properly in her lap, playing around with a few notes and strumming a few times as she tries to find something that will properly mesh with the bassline that Sable has going. Nothing is coming immediately, though Quinn keeps trying, mostly focused on this task rather than singing any further lyrics taht come to mind (Hint: there aren't, yet.)

She does look over at Elaine, angling a smile her way. "Did you bring your violin?" And with that, she looks over to Sable, as if daring her to call it a fiddle, something which grinds her gears even to this day. "We could stand to have a little sweet, calming backing to all of this."

Oh paaahdon Sable for not using the propah term for the vye-oh-linn. Normally this would be grounds for a little sparring match, a virtual invitation for Sable to give Quinn a hard time - she has aged, but that doesn't mean she has to mature any, does it?

But it's neither time nor place.

"So this is th' song that y' asked for / And I pray that we're doin' right by you / And if not, well then boy, come on back now / And pick up that bass like you'd do- yeah play that ol' bass, for no time can erase, how we knew y'- as you were."

Elaine smiles at the lyrics, perhaps a little sadly, and she nods in Quinn's direction at her question. Of course she has it. Wouldn't be caught without it, these days. The violin in question is carefully recovered from its case (quite battered by now, but well loved) and the red hair of the woman is swept over her shoulder so she can lift the violin in place to play it. While she doesn't join in lyrically, her violin chimes in, sweet and sad, a tiny musical voice in the background of the melody.

Listening to the violin as it plays against bass takes a bit, but ultimately it's what lets Quinn find that proper melody, slowly beginning to work in and mesh along with the other two, Quinn tapping one of ehr feet in an accompnaying percussive beat. The only thing that could make it better is if she had a piano to play, or someone here to be an actual drummer. Ah, well, can't always ahve what you need, so work with what you have. It's a good motto to have these days.

"I remember you / I remember you / I remember you / And I'll never forget / What you did for me / All those years ago / I remember you / As someone that I love / As you always were." Her eyes open, looking between the other two with a satisfied smile on her face.

It's not the end of the song, by a long shot. But it's certainly the beginning of something great - a loving ttribute to someone they'll always love… as they always did.


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