Rising of the Moon


abby6_icon.gif eileen_icon.gif elaine_icon.gif hannah_icon.gif huruma3_icon.gif

nora_icon.gif quinn2_icon.gif raith_icon.gif rue_icon.gif shannon_icon.gif

Also Featuring:

magnes_icon.gif vincent_icon.gif walter_icon.gif

Scene Title Rising of the Moon
Synopsis An impromptu concert is given in the dining hall of Bannerman Castle, meant to boost the spirits of those dwelling there.
Date December 7, 2010

Pollepel Island: Bannerman Castle - Dining Hall

The room converted into Bannerman's dining hall, although long and narrow, can accommodate up to one hundred people, but despite the amount of use that it sees, it isn't hooked up to the castle's electrical grid, which means that after dark it's lit up by gas lanterns strategically positioned on the wooden tables with bench-style seating that occupy the space. A giant hearth set into one of its walls provides the hall with additional light and warmth, as well as a place for the castle's residents to convene when it isn't in use during the hours when breakfast and dinner are being taken.

The walls themselves are bare stone with no decoration except for the four windows opposite the fireplace, and these are covered with heavy pieces of plain canvas cloth at night to prevent the light from leaking outside, where it might be visible from the shore or the air. During the day the canvas is pulled back to brighten the room and make the gas lanterns unnecessary, but on mornings and afternoons when the sky is overcast, there is very little to combat the gloom and so the fuel is burned anyway.

There is little cause for celebration among the Ferrymen, but where there is life there is hope, and with so many warm bodies on Pollepel Island, it was only a matter of time before someone got the idea to bring a dulictone, salvaged from Staten Island, into the dining hall, which is filled with the smell of hot food and yesterday's stale bread made more palatable by dunking it in bowls of venison and potato stew served with a thick helping of cottage cheese on the side. What's left of the cheap beer that was smuggled onto the island for fight night has been distributed fairly between the tables, along with several bottles of wine from the storeroom, and while it's a mystery how the wine found its way onto Pollepel, the council recognizes its power to relieve hurt and soothe simmering tempers.

There's music in the air, too, and not just the melodious notes of the dulcitone with a tall, dark woman at its helm, but a shrill, haunting violin and and husky keytar as well. The voice accompanying them is louder than the murmur of the crowd and the tinkle of silver on porcelain in the background, immediately recognizable to those who know it but nevertheless captivating to those who do not.

While he's been meaning to catch Eileen, with the music going, Magnes is instead focused on studying a bit with what time he has left. It's not like he needs to study all that much, but it helps. He's rapidly scribbling in his brown leatherbound notebook, looking up at the gas lanterns as he makes rough sketches of the hall with lots of numbers and arrows, using mathematical formulas on the drawings of the lanterns, ceilings, and walls for some reason.

He's in his long black leather jacket, blue jeans, and black sneakers, not seeing the need for anything fancy right now. Who knows when he'll have to go out and club a rabbit, for fear of being emasculated if everyone suddenly decides he has to provide… are they going to ask him to provide? And then there's that Lord of the Flies movie… The ommatidia of the drosophila melanogaster has 760 units… god 760 cupcakes would be awesome. Abby would probably like 760 cupcakes, Eileen would probably like 760 birds.

Even on a full stomach, Huruma always can find room for wine, regardless of where it came from. The fact that she has been in a mood most pleasant helps, even if half a glass didn't. She saw the dulcitone when it first came in off a boat, following it like a ghost until she found out what people were going to do with it. Though she hadn't had her hands on keys for some months, she is as able as ever when asked to provide her talents. It goes to show that the most surly people can have something about them that ends up being fitting- yet maybe a little surprising.

The melody is a light one, but steady in its beat; the dulcimer matches the pace quite well, seeming to fit right in with the Irish jaunt, mainly because of its simplicity in sound. Huruma was always more for the classics, or songs that she can personally sing- but this is not for herself, it is for the people here. One unselfish thing at a time.

Elaine's just listening, quietly. Leaning against the wall, the redhead's mostly taking things in and being a passive observer. Really, that's all she's doing. Maybe a little humming along, a tiny smile creeping up on her features, but for the most part she's just quiet.

It's an Irish Jaunt sung by a southern woman. There is bound to be some leprechauns somewhere who are whining about the way Abby manages some of the more awkward words, but with the practice they had before, she managing well enough. It's no church with rising rafters and pristine well cared for white walls, wooden pews of white gracing the length of the house of God. Neither is this the kitchen or bathroom of her condo where she'd sing to Caliban while baking or soaking. This is a room in Bannerman Castle and she sits straight in amidst the people who are playing.

"And come tell me Sean O'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so. Hush a bhuachaill, hush and listen and his cheeks were all aglow. I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon. At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon. For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon."

Legs crossed, hands in her laps and her eyes closed, the dark hair tucked behind her ears and barely staying there, she's warm up on the the impromptu stage area as she helps the little concert they have decided to put on for the group, making sure that she's heard with and a little above the music and that she's as close to pitch perfect as she can get. She's a choir girl, not a music star. It's more than good enough though.

Some people aren't much for celebrations, like the perpetually surly and sarcastic Shannon, but here she is. She's wandered in, perhaps drawn by the sound of the music. She looks around, not only at the musicians, but at everyone who's gathered, then she heads over to a wall. A nice, comfy wall that she can lean against. Arms fold over her chest and she stills, to watch and listen to the music, while being as unobtrusive as possible. And she's good at unobtrusive.

It's true: There is little cause for celebration among the Ferrymen, and really, that makes the one they are now having all the more important. It's the perfect opportunity for everyone to unwind and get to know their neighbors for reasons other than necessity. It's an occasion that is a mixture of pleasure and business for Jensen Raith. Pleasure because, hey, it is an opportunity to enjoy music, establish new relationships and strengthen existing ones. Business because he is still responsibility for the safety and security of everyone, and while it's unlikely that the party will be crashed, there is always be the lingering doubt, the lurking fear in the back of his mind that at any moment, something might go wrong.

And so far, it hasn't, and it probably won't, but he has still be conservative with how much food he's eaten, and hasn't touched any of the wine or beer: His only vice for the evening is a single cigar, finally smoldering down to a barely-enjoyable nub. Enjoying his cigar, however, still takes second place to both being aware of everyone in attendance- even the unobtrusive Shannon, although he'd lost track of her more than once- and having a good time. So far, he has been successful at both.

A keytar would not have normally been the instrument Quinn would have picked for something like this, but it was the one she'd brought with her out to the island when she'd come with Ygraine, in the hopes of using some of the time she wasn't helping about the island or searching for work to do once she returned back to the mainland to work on writing music. Which would be a total bitch given the electronic nature of the instrument, but she was lucky the Roland AX-Synth could run off numerous AA batteries as well as being plugged in, and she had a backpack practically full of them just for that purpose.

The song choice hadn't been hers, but of course she was familiar with it. It was a song she'd learned years ago on guitar, and at one point had taken up a more piano centric version of the tune, something which greatly aided in this particular instance, even if the instrument itself looked very out of place among the violin and dulcitone. A wide smile is worn on the Irishwoman's face as she bobs her head and plays, occasionally contributing a quieter backing lyric when Abby comes over what passes for the song's chorus.

Her back to a wall, Nora sits at a bench, wiry arms wrapped around thin knees huddled to her chest. It seems that she's on her best behavior — there's a mug of coffee rather than a bottle of the cheap beer on the table in front of her. Her fingers tap upon her fleece-blanket-covered knee; dark glasses covering her eyes make her expression hard to read though she smiles once in a while.

It's probably a good thing she can't see that the blanket around her is a pink and purple Sleeping Beauty blanket.

Even Eileen, whose reputation is for being pale and forbidding, seems to be enjoying herself with her chin tucked in and violin bow held between her fingers, but it's an understated kind of enjoyment: all furtive smile and half-lidded eyes eclipsed by their lashes. A hint of colour in her cheeks is the only sign that she's also partaken in wine — just two glasses, and not enough to affect her performance. Enough, though, to get her to agree to it.

Alcohol makes people do things they wouldn't normally. This includes dancing, and there are about half a dozen men and women who have abandoned their food and drink to spin and be spun near the lit hearth and the flames lapping at the brick, crumpling wood. Hannah Kirby is among them, another woman in her arms, perhaps for lack of available male partners, her dark head thrown back and laughing.

Laughter rings in the air as Hannah's partner twirls around, a tangle of crooked arms and ginger curls, and a blur of red tunic over black leggings. Rue Lancaster isn't feeling the chill in the air between the activity and the wine she's consumed, both having brought a healthy flush to her cheeks, eclipsing her freckles.

She tumbles back into the darker woman once their little circle's been completed, wrapping an arm drunkenly around Hannah's shoulders and giggling something that may be an apology. Or maybe not, from the twinkle in Rue's eye.

Huruma, as an empath, feeds off of emotion; be it fear, or determination, or contentment. The dining hall may have its trickles of trepidation, but for the most part, the ambiance of fire and song has given many people a better mood, a calmer mood. The music probably carries out into the halls, distant and flickering, a warm bit of audible candlelight peeking between the stone walls. Huruma keeps her eyes between her fingers dancing over the keys, and the sheets laid out for her. If she glances up, it is only to steal a short look to the tables, or to the people in the hall. Maybe she's looking for someone, or maybe she's just expectant of more people to try and take a cue from those nearer the hearth.

Whatever the case may be, this is perhaps one of the better ideas somebody had lately. It seems to help that strung tension bleed away a little, in favor of a break from the grind.

Abigail's voice still goes with the tune, rising and falling adding her southern lilt where there should be Irish, her toes wriggling back and forth in time with the tune, cracking her eyes open a sliver to watch the people around the room dancing then to Quinn when she harmonizes on the chorus. She'd up and join them but she's never really been a dancer and Caliban can attest to that.

"And come tell me Sean O'Farrell, where the gathering is to be. At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me. One more word for signal token, whistle out the marching tune, with your pike upon your shoulder at the rising of the moon. At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon, with your pike upon your shoulder at the rising of the moon"

Huruma's calm infection as she sits relaxed on the chair, mind and emotions calm as a lake. It really is almost as if she was at church. Might as well be for her.

There's a bit of an awkward moment where the sound of the keytar falters as Quinn attempts to adjust the instrument in her arms - it's not too big for her, certainly, she's not Sable after all, but it is a bit larger than the old AX-1 she used to own. The music resumes it's proper place and tempo after that brief moment, though, Quinn's foot tapping as she looks around the room, nods of recognition offered to several dancing and waiting around the dining hall.

Elaine can't help but continue her light humming. She's not planning on dancing. She's not quite in the mood for that. She leans back against the wall a little more, eyes scanning those dancing with a tiny smile. She's clearly, at least, enjoying herself. Or rather, enjoying herself enough, which is all that might be asked of her.

The dancers are watched, the musicians are watched, as are the drunkards like Rue. Silly Rue. But Shannon remains where she is, preferring her little spot of wall. It's comfy here. And safe. And since she can't dance worth a damn, it's smart. It'll save dozens of toes and loads of embarrassment. There is a little smile on her face though, so it seems she's enjoying herself in her own way.

Eileen's breath whispers in and out with the rhythm of the music, and although she does not tap her foot to keep time, she plays with an intermittent flourish of her wrist and arm that serves the same purpose. The topmost button of her high-collared dress has been unfastened, perhaps due to the band's proximity to the hearth, but the longer she plays, the more strands of brown-black hair free themselves from the fashionable knot she wears at the nape of her pale neck.

Whether or not it was an accident, Hannah doesn't seem to care — or notice Rue's glittering blue eyes beyond the way they flash when the light hits them just right, the girl's irises illuminated by the golden glow of the flames. In contrast, Hannah's appear even darker than they normally do: twin pools of fluid black ink with a texture like polished volcanic rock.

"Jensen Raith!" Hannah shouts out over the heads of the crowd, and maybe she's a little drunk too. "Do you dance as well as you shoot a gun?"

Was Raith expecting someone to call out his name? Absolutely not. Was he expecting a question about dancing? Absolutely not. Is he going to make up an excuse for why he can't dance? Absolutely not. "Only if I have a partner!" he shouts back. Silently, he does wonder if maybe, just maybe a little bit of wine wouldn't hurt to have. "Know anybody that needs one?"

Nora's head tips in the direction of Hannah's voice; she grins at that, and then laughs aloud at Raith's answer. "Don't let her bully you, Mister Jensen," she calls out, reaching for her coffee carefully, bringing it to her lips for a sip. Her hand still bears the burn from the last time she spilled it.

One foot taps the bench it rests on in time with the music, fingers tap the mug lightly as she holds it as well. Now and then she tips her head and her brows furrow above the dark glasses that still shield her eyes, as if concentrating on something else entirely, or deep in her thoughts.

Rue angles a glance back over her shoulder to the man Hannah addresses, then back to Miss Kirby herself. "Oh honey, if you think dancing with me is awkward," given their height difference, of course, not their gender, "it's gonna be worse with him!" It never once occurs to Rue that Hannah may be subtly asking the man to cut in and save her from her current enthusiastic partner. Who wraps one arm firmly around the shorter woman's waist while keeping a grip on her hand before dipping her low.

You see that, Quinnie? Rue can totally have fun with other girls. So there.

Abby should by all rights be delving into the last of the lyrics, two refrains left - and not the blue kind - but she leaves the music to the others, letting them keep playing on their unconventional instruments, Hannah and Raith's joviality also as infectious as Huruma's calm. Off the chair she goes, dipping through the dancers till she's in front of Nora. She coughs, slightly, a warning, before her hands take that cup of coffee away and slide back into where it formally rested, pulling the blind woman up to her feet. "Three steps forward gets you in the clear. Move your feet how you like, I'll dance with you, don't worry, you won't bump into anyone and if you do, just kick em, they'll move. I got the eyes enough for the both of us."

"…And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon. By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon" She finishes off the refrain round about where it should be, launching into the next, keeping time with the music and a smile on her face.

Elaine can't help but laugh at the mess of dancing. Well, it's not all messy, but people are being dragged in and there's alcohol and usually that ends up messy, somehow. She giggles, leaning back against the wall as she relaxes. She is, at least, relaxing.

At every party, planned or spur of the moment, there has to be one person who refuses to have fun. Don't worry boys and girls, Shannon's shouldering that burden for tonight! She does leave her post though, wandering over to find herself something to drink. Alcohol may not be the wisest thing, but it's what she goes for!

"Hey — what — no-o," protests Nora in turn to the theft of her coffee followed by the information that she's meant to be dancing. "I'm not a dancer! Even if I could see your feet, I'd probably be better at breaking your toes than… fuck."

Her hands grip Abby's tightly and she mutters, "Making me dance," under her breath as she begins to move in time with the music. Her rhythm is good for all she says she isn't a dancer, and there's a certain raw-boned grace to her coltish limbs, but her teeth bite down on her lower lip as the blind teenager concentrates on not falling.

"You sang great," she adds, after the verse is finished, cheeks coloring a little at suddenly being on the dance floor, unsure how many people are watching.

Quinn can't help but laugh herself, looking over at Eileen with a grin as Abby runs off to Nora. Granted, she knows the other woman can't quite smile back with the violin resting against her chin, but the gesture is given anyway - this is just fun, and fun's what everyone needs right now. Of all the people here, you'd think Quinn would have partaken healthily in the alcohol, but for once the musician has chosen performance over inebriation.

But that doesn't mean she's not eyeing a bottle of wine not sitting terribly far from her.

Leaning forward a bit, Quinn scans the crowd - pausing for a moment as she looks towards the callout for Raith, spotting Rue. Her eyebrow quirks as she moves her gaze over to Elaine, a grin forming on her face. "Elaine!" she shouts over the noise. "Go dance with Raith or somethin'!" Assuming, of course, that he's not angling his way to Hannah.

"Now there's one helluvan idea!" Raith even emphasizes what an excellent idea it is by pointing his finger in the general direction that it came from- meaning Quinn's. And that is the story, short though it is, of how Elaine came to find herself confronted by none other than Jensen Raith, his mood suddenly improved. "You heard the lady!" he tells her, offering the crook of his arm, "You don't have a partner, and I ain't dancing without one." Perhaps that will settle the matter then and there. And if it doesn't, well! Let's just see how this goes.

Prone to eating after everyone else and nowhere very specific at any given time — save maybe for the specificity that he is typically difficult to find anywhere on Pollepel Island — tonight, at some point, Vincent happens to be near enough at some point to hear the ruckus. Because that's what it is.

A ruckus.

Seeing as his last public appearance in ink and vapor form was somewhat ill-received, he opts to walk in this time, stubbornly mundane from shaved head to dark sneakers. All citizen'd out in a blazer, blue jeans and dark sneakers, the only thing governmental about him is the intensity of the skepticism on his face when he sees that there is a keytar present.

Rue may be taller than Hannah, but Hannah has almost ten years on her, and when she's dipped there's incredulity in her expression. Amusement, too, and the moment she's upright again she arches both her brows at her, dubiously inquisitive. "He's a little old for me, I think," she says, and she's a little old for Rue, though it isn't clear whether or not this is the real meaning behind her words, or if she's only trying to reassure her that she isn't about to be abandoned.

Eileen doesn't catch Quinn's glance. The fat little robin perched in the rafters and bobbing its head with the music, however, does, and if Quinn is looking for it she'll notice the corners of the Englishwoman's mouth curl up into a smile more noticeable than its predecessor.

Elaine's caught like the deer in headlights. Oh dear. She wasn't expecting to have to dance, and she surely wasn't drunk enough for this… giving a small smile to Raith, though, she looks at the offered arm and takes it. She'll be a good sport. "Okay, I guess we're dancing then!"

Beer achieved. Now Shannon can find a spot to actually sit and watch people. While hoping that someone gets drunk enough to make a fool of themselves. Because, really, what's a party without it? The gods of partying demand it.

Even with a couple of the girls trailing into more interaction with friends, Huruma, at the least, carries on with her long fingers at the dulcitone. With the song closing in on seemingly everyone, it's up to her to keep the accompaniment. Nearby, she can feel Eileen more than she watches her; Eileen was never someone that Huruma would attribute 'a good time' with, but it looks like everyone has a little bit of surprise to give. The tiniest smile on Eileen's lips manages to also register itself with Huruma's, borne of amusement of the young woman's contentment.

Eventually, when this song ends, she has another couple of sheets on the top of the box- it will just be a quick shuffle to something else equally fitting- equally mellow in tone and certainly not depressing.

Rue's far too tipsy to care about letting Hannah take the lead if she doesn't seize it for herself, really. Not that she would have any qualms about yielding to the other woman. She cants her head to one side, considering Hannah's assertion about age and shrugs. "As far as gents go, he's pretty easy on the eyes." Rue's way of saying she finds age - his or hers in comparison to Hannah's - entirely irrelevant.

"It's okay, if they break, Eileen can set em. Blind woman broken 'em, blind woman can set them. Howard'd probably be happy, but then again, he might be halfway through the bottle of really old scotch that I brought him back as an apology." Abigail smiles, no alcohol induction required.

"Far better than me, your dancing that is. So you see, a blind woman dances far better than me, what will my husband say, hmmm? Probably want to divorce me. Because I can't dance. That's saying something for my co-ordination." Nora in her current state is better than Abby. Abigail's got a waltz down and that's really about it. She didn't do much dancing before she met her husband and she didn't do much dancing after to warrant lessons or a time to even take them. These tunes they aren't a waltz.

"Raith has got Elaine up and is dancing, Hannah's making a fool of herself and so are a bunch of others. Eileen's smiling, just a bit. I think the world is going to end, we'll have to get her frowning aga-" And there's Vincent. She hasn't seem him in… years? Years. But she doesn't forget him.

"You don't dance badly," Nora argues, even as her feet stumble just a touch — not for want of vision, but because her boots are just a bit too big for her small feet. "Does Eileen not smile? I don't know what anyone looks like," Nora says a little plaintively as she lets Abby lead her through the steps of the makeshift dance.

"But let me guess. You're a little taller than me — maybe 5'8"? And you're a Southern belle. Scarlet O'Hara, maybe, with dark curly locks and dark brown eyes, all sass and petticoats and fiddle-dee-dee," the teen offers, lips curling into a smirk. "And Raith sounds like … a scary cloaked thing on a black horse."

Quinn catches that smile, oh yes she does. It just makes her smile widen, particularly when she sees Raith retrieve Elaine from where she had been standing. There, now almost everyone's involved and truly having something resembling a good time, and the more, the merrier. With the movement on to the next song, Quinn doesn't yet abandon her music playing post, though she's considering attaching one of those plastic bottle holders to her instrument. She doesn't have the sheet music for whatever it is Huruma decides to play next, but there was practice earlier, and she things she remembers this well enough to go along with it.

And if not, well, she's never been too terrible at improvisation.

"Don't worry, it's not fast," Raith says as reassuringly as he can, leading Elaine to where there's a bit more space before he assumes a half-proper dancing position, "And I'm leading. Don't worry, I got this." And got it he, or rather they do, with the ex-spy keeping it simple and guiding Elaine through some simple steps, first at half-speed, and then in time with the music once she's gotten a bit more used to it. Easy, nonstressing, and hey, maybe even fun. Don't forget to smile.

Elaine's smiling! She laughs a little bit, getting used to the steps in time. She's not a bad dancer, she just didn't really know what she was doing. Still, she's good at following the leader, and hey—Raith's leading, after all. She laughs a little bit. "This isn't so bad. I just don't get to dance very often!"

People are dancing. Like, with other people. And the beastly thick disaster of a manilla file folder that was 'Huruma?' is now a large woman at a small piano.

Blackly bewildered, Vincent sidesteps automatically away from the inconvenience of having to figure out how he feels about that and edges nearer to Abigail and her posse by default, right hand raised in such a way that it is convenient for someone who is too busy to look him in the face to push a beer into it. "Thanks."

"Too much facial hair," is Hannah's final verdict as she releases Rue, sweeps fingers through her hair and gives the redhead an easy smile as she moves away at the conclusion of the song, retiring to the nearest table where she sits down on the bench with her back to the food, and rests her hands on her knees. There's a fine sheen of sweat on her brow, messy curls of hair plastered to her temple, but she isn't having any difficulty breathing, and when she picks up a half-finished bottle of beer she drinks not in a misguided attempt to rehydrate but simply for the sake of drinking.

Vincent isn't too late to take advantage, and with everyone in such good spirits the young man who bestows his bottle upon him is more concerned with finding a dance partner than he is identifying the newcomer, and even if he wasn't— Walter Trafford does not discriminate. He grins wolfishly at Abigail and Nora on his way past, then shoulders deeper into the crowd.

After having been quiet for quite a while, Magnes' scribbling suddenly stops as he becomes aware of everything around him, and quickly stands. "Mirrors!" he yells, then awkwardly clears his throat and sits back down, shaking his head. "Ah, uh, excuse me," and leans right back over his book to continue writing.

Rue bestows upon the back of Hannah's knuckles a kiss before she can escape entirely. "That was a lot of fun. So," she's sure to say, "thanks!" Because her mother raised her to thank people who do something nice for her!

She wanders back to the table she had been seated at before she spied her quarry in need of a dance partner — really, Hannah Kirby is cute if you ask Rue, so she really had to take the chance — and retrieves the wine she was drinking from a coffee cup. She also drinks the sweet liquid for the sake of drinking itself. Well, and maybe to wet her her throat.

Wine should be savoured, but Rue takes hers in a large gulp, setting the cup back down with a dull thunk! before she's strutting back to what serves as the dance floor. The heady rush of inebriation puts a spring in her step, tossing her hair on her way to raising her arms up over her head. Proclaiming, "I need a new partner!"

"Again?" Nora supplies for Abby's cut off word — she can't see Vincent, and she can't see Walter's rakish grin. With the song ending, she lets go of Abby's hands but realizes she's lost her inner map of the room, having turned a few times in the course of the song. "Thanks for the dance, Abby," she says a little shyly. Having grown actually warm from the exertion, dressed as she is in so many layers, she pushes her sunglasses off her face to rest on her head, wiping her brow a little; eyes still blotted red drop downward, lest her gaze make anyone uncomfortable.

"You're lying, you can see!" Abigail admonishes, carefully setting Nora up for a spin. By that, it means Nora stands still and Abby goes through the motions instead of making the teenager spin. "I'm actually normally blonde haired, blue eyed, buuuuut… Scarlett is my cat. Rhett is my dog and Ashley is my turtle. I might be a little fiddle de dee, don't you swear in front of me, and I really do talk like this. You should hear me slaughter Italian. Or Russian. I make Teodoro wince."

Abigail looks over towards Raith, her tone one that takes on a tint of something that's not kindness. "Raith is Raith. Tall, dark, loves guns and things that go boom." Someone has no love for Raith. None at all if you go by her voice. "Lesse, I would guess that you are…a girl who likes walks in the woods, dogs, doesn't like unicorns and has a hatred of clowns. Oh"

Here comes another spin. "Likes music. You're welcome. I should flee, should go and check in on folks in the infirmary." Magnes acts like Magnes and gets a glance. "Frankly, never thought that I'd see again. Your seat is… four steps to the left." There's a curious look thrown Vincent's way. I see you.

It's not a cartoonishly small piano, but Huruma is a big lady. There is naught better to do than to keep her fingers moving, her field up, open, able to feed off of whatever she can get. It may not be the most perfect of events, or the most planned- impromptu things like these make the world go 'round. Even Vincent, who she can spot slinking in the corner of her vision, sees enough of a chance to grab a beer and indulge himself in the moment, as it were.

Huruma learned enough about Vince to keep an eye on him; he hasn't been untoward with anything other than his entrances, however, so perhaps her continuing wariness is not so necessary. Or maybe it is, who knows.

Vincent's appearance doesn't initially earn much from Quinn, though there is a bit of a double take when she remembers that's Tasha's father. She had forgotten that little fact in the mess of the day that she had found out that bit of information. She wrinkles her nose a bit, before her smile returns to the fullness it previously possessed. She looks over in Rue's direction at the proclamation of needing a dance partner, but quickly looks away. Noooow might not be the best time to volunteer for that, or at least Quinn thinks.

"Do it more often," is Raith's advice, "It's good for you!" Whether this is true or not is perhaps debatable. Certainly, however, it isn't bad for her, and if nothing else, Raith has enough skill in dancing to avoid steering them into other dancers. "I'm going to spin you now. Ready? And, spin."

Elaine gives a laugh at the spin, shaking her head a little. "No occasion to dance more. Maybe I would if I did, but I don't. It's fun, though. You're pretty good at this. Dancing a hobby of yours, or is part of the job description?"

It's difficult to talk and play her violin at the same time, but this is exactly what Eileen does when her robin notices the swiftness with which Quinn turns her head away from Rue. "Go on," she murmurs in a voice just loud enough to be heard above the music from her spot beside Huruma's petite little dulcitone. "We'll manage just fine without you for a few."

Quinn looks over with surprise at Eileen, blinking a bit. The music doesn't falter, and Quinn's not entirely sure what she's surprised about. but the expression is there none the less. There seems to have been a bit of a misunderstanding, and Quinn rolls her shoulders in a weak shrug. "I, ah- probably shouldn't go-"

And she stops. You know what? Forget it. She hasn't danced danced in a while, and there aren't many other people free. She should get in on it while she can.

She lets that grin return, giving a nod back to Eileen. "Alright, I'll be back up in a song, then." And the keytar is unshouldered and set gently against the wall, and rather quickly Quinn's passing past Raith and Elaine and towards Rue, trying to approach from the side so she can't be seen. "Hey," she says when she reaches, tapping the natural redhead on the shoulder. "You an' I are gonna dance, hmm?" Because, clearly, there's not much of a choice here.

Rue is taken by surprise when Quinn shows up and asks her for a dance. Her blue eyes flutter wide and she blinks dumbly at the other woman for a moment. Samara's pep talk fills her ears, and mixed feelings from the other night churn her gut. A dance is just a dance, and it's innocent enough with a girl one hardly knows. But with a girl one knows so intimately?

"…I have a headache," Rue murmurs, turning to quickly flee the floor.

"Oh," is given as a quiet response to Rue's statement, but only after a moment. Quinn isn't surprised, not after the other day - and yet, she kinda is. This… is a bit of a headscratcher and a little bit of a mood killer, so she just watches Rue for a moment before she wrinkles her nose and turns back towards where the other are finishing up another song. She'll grab her keytar and play a bit more, that'll fix that little mark on the evening.

She's almost surprised she isn't followed. It shouldn't surprise her, Rue reasons. Or she might reason if she weren't quite so… Oh look. An unattended bottle of wine. It's hers now. And after going back to her room to pull on a couple more layers of clothes, it's going to come outside with her, where she can sit on the front steps and clear her head.

The music continues for another hour or more, and Huruma is not the only one to experiment with the dulcitone and its slender ivory keys. Eileen's ears grow tired before her arm does, and she joins Raith for a cigarette, then two more glasses of wine before she disappears with one of the glass bottles of deep emerald but not her violin or violin case. These she entrusts to her comrade— friend, but only after she makes him promise to return them to her in the morning, a small hand clutching his bearded chin and her lips moving along with the words when he speaks them.

Hannah and Walter retire arm in arm some time after, leaning against one another for support, to keep from careening out into the corridor. They do not notice that Nora is more than a few steps behind them.

When people begin to drift out, Nora lingers, moving to the dulcitone and running her fingers along the keys to get her bearings. "Hold on," she murmurs, seemingly to herself.

Soon, at first uncertain, her fingers begin to press the keys — right hand "pinging" a high note a few times before the left hand begins its harmony; those familiar with Pink Floyd's "Echoes" will recognize the eerie and haunting opening, translated to keyboard, the dulcitone making it sweeter and more innocent in mood.

Nora's rendition of the opening is much shorter than the original, only playing for a minute or so before her voice begins on the minor melody.

It's a more quiet performance, a more somber song than those played earlier in the evening, though Nora smiles now and then throughout it despite the obscure and melancholy words. It's seems an odd choice for a blind girl to sing, even to a dwindling (or invisible) audience, given the repetition of the word eyes throughout. At the final verse, she pulls the song to a last minor chord.

And no-one sings me lullabies

And no-one makes me close my eyes

And so I throw the windows wide

And call to you across the sky.

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