Songs To Be Sung

Participants:

huruma3_icon.gif ryans3_icon.gif

Scene Title Songs To Be Sung
Synopsis The Sun and Moon work in tandem, and eventually so can someone else.
Date November 7th, 2011

Somewhere outside Jade City, British Columbia, Canada


The time spent practicing inside the Arkham armor was worth it, in the end; the trio now have at least a firm sense of how the things function. It will make things a lot easier once they get into the meat of things. But for now, it has come time for the team to let themselves rest, and let themselves get mentally prepared for what is to come. There is still a drive ahead of them soon, and Huruma can tell that nobody is looking forward to it even without use of her power.

The suit practice has left Huruma’s undersuit a damp mess with how much she had been getting into the muck; her own and the others have been strung to dry along with Huruma’s street clothes. She has borrowed something from Hollis in the meantime and made herself right at home; the dress is noticeably not made for someone her height and comes to knee instead of calf. An old shirt style from decades ago that absolutely was dug out of the depths of an upstairs closet. It's cream. With flowers. That in itself is uncharacteristic enough— but even moreso, Huruma does not seem to mind it. For now. She is branching out, alright?

The vinyls have gotten some good use while they are there; someone seemed to have zotted out some of the wiring on the old record player, but an assisting hand and some extra bits of wiring seem to have brought it back from an early grave. It helps that Hollis loves her tunes. Huruma peruses the different albums in a crate, and chooses one with several artists before she lays it on, pausing there with one hand on the phonograph as a woman’s smooth voice lilts in her ears.

She is there for a time before taking a few steps here, and there, dark face tilted towards the floor and following the course of her feet. She settles on the couch with a sigh, hands twined with one another in an idle fidget. Her senses are open, though constrained to the cabin in an attempt to restrain herself. It's been a concerning couple of days when it comes to her ability. Sometimes it is nice to tuck things inward.

Eyes on the fireplace, it's no surprise that she finds her mind wandering.

There is a creak of wood, from the direction of the room Ryans is sharing with some of the other guys. With the tension between him and his supposed fiance, it is the best option for him. Though his steps are light, even with sock clad feet, the sound of the old wood flooring betrays him. Even more so, you can’t sneak up on an empath, so the old man isn’t even trying.

“Huruma,” Ryans sounds tired – drained — when he acknowledges her presence, but he also feels a little more relaxed emotionally then he was earlier in the day and yesterday. A day of being humbled will do that to you. “Is there still a warm pot of –” his words trail off as he sees what she is wearing and his path towards the kitchen comes to a halt.

In comparison, Ben’s clothing is simple, nothing like she is wearing; a pair of worn blue jeans and a long -sleeved shirt — with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A white undershirt peeks through the collar. Practical really.

“Why do I suddenly feel underdressed?” A single brow ticks up with the question, eyes of blue lifting to meet her darker ones.

Huruma listens to the creak of the floor, the crackle of the fireplace, the spotty hiccup of the repaired record player, mulling over her share of it. The orange light on her face seems to echo the contentedness of a feline sprawled out in the same spot, eyes half lidded in the warm flicker.

Idle hands are creased at the hem of the skirt over the bend of her knees, and it's already clear that it is a bit of a cry from her comfort zone. Still, there's a sense of self that never quite escapes her— so despite the play of fingers at fabric, her legs are folded and shoulders shrugged with poise against the corner of the couch. Ryans' words trail off at the same time as his attention shifts, and she swivels her head to look back, a silent inquiry at first. She seems to take a moment to remember what she has borrowed, pale eyes blinking once in a short spell of embarrassment. Right.

"Oh, this old thing?" It's definitely an old thing. Huruma lifts from her seat to turn and regard the path to the kitchen. Her hand flattens one side of the skirt, a smirk on her face. "There is still coffee, if that is what you were asking."

There is an echoing smirk, if only faintly on Ben’s own lips, as he regards her form in that ‘old thing.’ Amusement, not in a mocking way, more like an appreciative sort. “Style suits you.” He compliments quietly, deciding to acknowledge her appearance. Maybe a reflex of a man who has been married before.

His mission for coffee continues, turning for the kitchen. A mug is retrieve and regarded, for its cartoon like elephants on it – only for a moment – before he is reaching for the coffee pot. As the dark liquid spills into the cup, he glances back up at her. “You look like you should be dancing along with the likes of Ginger Rodgers or Fred Astaire.” Not only does the comment date him, it is also – surprisingly – another compliment in its own way.

Reflex or not, it seems to serve in dividing Huruma's attention from the stark contrast to her usual. She looks down at it again, a plane of unfamiliar color. Maybe she needs more of that.

"Mph." Is her answer to the first, though her crook of smile comes back between watching him suffer the cartoon elephants and the compliment-of-sorts. Huruma steps out from the shelter of the couch, glancing back to where things are hung near the fire to dry out. "I borrowed it." A laugh huffs out, her hands held at her sides when she decides to step into a lazy spin. "Do I? It is too bad all I've got is you, then." He knows by now when she is teasing him, and given the flash of a more silvery smile, it's definite.

There is a click as the pot is placed back in the machine, followed by a moment of silence as that first, wonderful sip of coffee is taken. All this is done while he watches her, maybe it is a trick of the firelight, but there is amusement filling his bright blue eyes, when she offers her assessment. Oh, little did she know.

“Hey,” Ryans starts, allowing that amusement color his voice, elephants settled on the counter, fingers still curled through the handle. “Mary would say otherwise,” there is a little grimace as he admits that, a flicker of memories coming to him unbidden. She can only feel the echoes of his past emotion. Classes taken to keep him from embarrassing Mary at their wedding, ended up being outings for them when he was in town.

As her teasing takes a small hold in that amusement he gives, Huruma can't help but give a small laugh. It is quickly followed by a dubious look, a narrowing of her eyes and a twist at one corner of her mouth as she drifts over. "Oh?" Despite his moment's grimace and the shades of something long ago, that look remains to carry past it. "My skepticism is strong enough to want you to back up that claim."

Huruma lingers there just outside of the kitchen, words punctuated by the idle sway of her frame on her feet, timed against the record. "Or are you too old for that?"

“Is that a challenge, Huruma?”

Ryans knows it is, but asks it of her anyway. Fingers slide free of the mug handle, that seems to be shaped like an elephant trunk, and offers that hand out to Huruma. Why he is doing this, he does not know, but… a challenge is a challenge.

Or maybe, he is just still in a good mood from earlier shenanigans.

“Care to dance?”

Ben asks, despite knowing, and Huruma laughs, chin tipping back with it as he offers out a hand to her. Ah, now he's got the message. Fingers slide into the outstretched hand, a gentle tug to lead him away from the kitchen. Free ones move to mock a curtsey with the old dress. Closer it is much easier to tell that it's for someone more slender. There could be worse things. The record eases into the close of a song, the crackle distant as it rotates towards the next.

"Absolutely."

Stronger fingers curl with her much darker ones, adjusting their grip and lifting to suspend the hands at head height. They were at a closer height then he and Mary everywhere, so he can pull Huruma close, hand settling – lightly, platonically — in the center of her back, elbow raised. His posture is almost perfect, his voice kept at a low rumble.

And then the music starts to play, a familiar turn, crooned out by that lovely feminine voice.

Gentle pressure on her back, will direct her into the first twirling steps of a Foxtrot, which is able to keep up with pace of the song. While he does not have the sheer grace of his dance partner, Ryans begins to move with an ease and litheness that comes from a lifetime of combat experience of one form or another; the dance lessons didn’t hurt either.

You make me feel so young

You make me feel so spring has sprung

And every time I see you grin

I'm such a happy individual

The moment that you speak

I wanna go play hide-and-seek

I wanna go and bounce the moon

Just like a toy balloon

That Ben can indeed back his word up is half the battle fought; now he has to keep it going. Huruma's frame under touch is as coiled a machine as it ever seems, hands instinctively settling in their places in hand and at shoulder. The beginnings of the next song have a charmed sort of laugh reaching her chest, smile less ribbing and far more pleased. Ryans takes the lead, and she follows at first with more meditative steps in his wake, gauging just how much he knows.

The dance lessons definitely didn't hurt. Once Huruma realizes this, her steps come more naturally, a humming on her lips along with the first verses they move to.

Ryans steps are purposeful. Precise. Even measured.

There is a grace, as he goes through the motions, that you wouldn’t normally see from a soldier like him, except on the battlefield they have been fighting on. He uses that grace to guide them around the room, deftly avoiding furniture. Only the occasional creak of a board might give away what they are doing.

No doubt his daughter would be more than a little surprised to see her father right now.

Taking a step back from his dance partner, he guides her into a turn, before pulling her back close. There may still be some unease on his part, being so close to someone that he considers a friend. Dance can be one of the most intimate things between two people.

As the music continues, they seem to move like one mind. To the people on the outside, it would seem like they were working as one person. Sometimes, you do not have to have abilities to be able to work as a team.

“I have to admit. This is not the sort of thing I expect from you.” it isn’t said as anything mean, more like a pleasant surprise.

You and I are just like a couple of tots

Running across the meadow

Picking up lots of forget-me-nots

You make me feel so young

You make me feel there are songs to be sung

Bells to be rung and a wonderful fling to be flung

And even when I'm old and gray

I'm gonna feel the way I do today

'Cause you make me feel so young

Hands clasped gently, Huruma follows his lead as they move, the rise and fall of music matching her pace. Bare feet leave little sound behind, the turn made effortlessly on the ball of her foot, skirt hem catching the air by a thread. As she returns to his side there's a small smile, and despite his own unease there doesn't appear to be much from her. While not weightless, her shoulders feel far less burdened. Though she is tempted to sweep that feeling out of him while they dance, she decides against it.

Maybe she won't need to.

Ryans’ words have her face tilting, eyes narrowing in an amused look.

“People tend to see what they want to see.” Huruma's dark features tickle with a new laugh, small for what is typical. “Even you, sometimes.” Her laugh remains tame, even for the playful cadence of her words.

“Even me,” Ryans admits, with a soft rumble.

There is no reason to deny it, with their past, he is bound to make some judgements of her character - Even if they are at times flawed.

He grows thoughtful, but not in a bad way - at least, in what she feels - listening to the music. His feet still move, while his mind is turn inward, almost as if on their own. Socks allowing him to slide with ease across the hardwood floor; each of his steps, complimented with hers.

You make me feel so young

You make me feel so spring has sprung

And every time I see you grin

I'm such a happy individual

The moment that you speak

I wanna go play hide-and-seek

I wanna go and bounce the moon

Just like a toy balloon

You and I are just like a couple of tots

Running across the meadow

Picking up lots of forget-me-nots

Ryans' assent seems to bring a spark to Huruma's eyes and a purse to her smile, in a way that only validation by someone you respect can do. The segue into thought comes with a test of his mood; the lack of negativity trailing there helps to smooth the curve of her dance steps and eases any last strings of tension which he can feel vanishing in the lines of her frame.

The music keeps on, the female voice a clear, charming chime. Huruma doesn't interrupt his thought, at least not in the traditional way. She shifts their course rather suddenly, and for all that the tempo of the song is casual, the tempo of the dance picks up to see how well he does, some more intermediate steps put to use. She is testing him.

You make me feel so young

You make me feel there are songs to be sung

A sudden change in the patterns they are weaving together, causes a slightly distracted Ryans to stumble a few steps as their feet bump. It does the job she intended, as his eyes focus on her again with a small quirk of his brow.

He knows what you did there.

Even with the stumble, he manages to keep up; though there are a few flaws to his steps. Legs brush, occasionally feet bump, but at least they are not in a heap on the floor. His ballroom education with Mary only took them so far.

As he starts to recognize the new patterns in her step, he studies her. The cast of firelight on his face, aging him a little, showing something of the tired soul under the youthful appearance. As the song starts winding up towards the closing bars, he uses their clasped hands to turn her, a half turn so that her back is to him, with her arms crossed in front of her. “Believe… my dear friend…”
One hand grips her tights and pulls her out into another spin, letting her stop, for a moment, lips pulling to one side with amusement. Then with another tug, he brings her back in; hand resting at her back again. There is a soft chuckle, before he adds, “Guess we are proof that people can change.”

And bells to be rung

And a wonderful fling to be flung

There is no uncertain bit of joy when Huruma gets him to hiccup, smile a cat's and eyes on the look he gives. Still, she seems to carry him a touch further in those more complex steps, aiding his attempts to keep time and learn from her movements. Huruma sees him studying, picking it up as he is apt to do. Test passed.

Light dapples her neck through the thin collar of the dress, the sleeves bunching over the curves of muscle at her arms when she turns. Her back is a sloping plane that bumps only lightly against him, skimming away as she is clasped and then turned around again, fingers still twined as she spirals outward once more. The pause gives her a view of the small smile, answered with a matching smirk before they gravitate together. All around, the dance becomes a delicate sort of balance.

Huruma's chin dips, brows arching in a thoughtful murmur of agreement. "And proof of the value of second chances?"

And even when I'm old and gray

I'm gonna feel the way I do today

Now that she has tricked Benjamin once, she’ll find it harder to do so again. The old man is on to her now, alert and aware to each change, observant of each subtle hint. It was his skill that made him such a good agent.

Though she is one of the few to best the former Company man back in the day; the scar on his shoulder was still there.

Yet, despite all that they — two individuals, who once faced off with each other — are making one last turn around the living room floor. This time not as foes, but as friends. In perfect unison their steps match, complimenting each other’s movements. A perfect team.

In this moment, as the music winds down to a close, Ryans realizes – just like he did in a fading dream of the future – this woman has made a place in his life. He recognizes this a step back, hand still clutching hers, and gives her a small gentlemanly bow.

“Indeed.”

'Cause you, you make me feel so young

You make me feel so young

You make me feel so young

Ooh, you make me feel so young

It's hard to resist trying to one-up him again, but Huruma manages; the moment is perfect just how it is, taken for its full worth. There is no need for more. They are matched, a final turn leading into the close of crackling music and the repose between songs.

Her fingers are light in the curl of Ryans' hand as he steps back to give a last bow, brown against the pale, a contrast as they ever are. The gesture earns a softer laugh, not as full but not at all lesser as she bows slightly in return. Huruma's next words could mean a lot, but there is a certainty. For the chances, for the words of change, for the dance— the good things.

"Thank you."


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