Participants:
| Scene Title | Upon Deaf Ears |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | She can't allow the others to see how deeply the losses are affecting her. |
| Date | Nov 20, 2010 |
Elisabeth (and Cardinal's?) Apartment, Dorchester Towers
Her fingers caress the keys of the piano coaxing music from them with deft movements. And objectively she knows it is beautiful. David Lanz speaks to her heart. "Nightfall" is a stunning piece. She knows her technique is good. Years of practice ensure that. The melody coming from the keys is haunting.
Which is appropriate, for Elisabeth herself is haunted. She cannot feel the music.
The kiss of sound waves is not entirely absent from her skin, but her sense of the way they fill the room… fill her soul in many ways… is lost. It is as if a part of her that she didn't even realize existed has been cut away. She feels cut off. Isolated and alone. And that very emotion informs the performance itself.
She never realized how integral to her life her ability had become over the years.
She has to hold them together. She has to hold herself together. No matter what comes, if we are torn asunder… they win. Her fingers slip from "Nightfall" into Wayne Gratz's "A Search For Certainty." And as the title itself comes to mind, brows furrow and blue eyes close as tears continue to slip down her face unheeded. She plays with her entire heart.
There is no certainty. There is not even the hope of it. Her connection to the underlying beauty of the tones of the piano is missing; she cannot even find solace in the music.
Her hands move without conscious thought, muscle memory carrying her through the piece of music that so suits her mood. She tries to keep her mind empty of all but the music, but so many thoughts swirl beneath the surface.
Delia. Dear God, Delia, come back. Don't try for him. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. The whisper of a prayer for the girl's safety wings toward Heaven. There is nothing to be done on her end to retrieve Delia that Elisabeth knows of. Only if the girl comes back, perhaps she can draw her to that space in her dreams that Hokuto helped her build for her own safety. The place that a shadow of a boy helped her anchor.
The thought of the shadow of the boy brings a brutal shaft of hurt, of abandonment. You could have talked to me. The music drifts into a different piece; "Two Solitudes" is a wholly unconscious choice. Her blue eyes open to the darkness of the room, illuminated by only the nightlight from the hall bathroom. I might have been upset, but I would have listened. You didn't have to run, love.
God knows, there have been times that she's wanted to. But there never seems to be time for that. Too many people need too much from her all the time — to run is a luxury that Elisabeth has not ever allowed herself in the face of adversity. Teo would be proud… a few tears where tears are needed, and then up by those bootstraps once more to do the job. A faint smile quirks her expression in spite of her tears. Perhaps it is a difference they'll never manage to overcome. All she can do right now is offer space, knowing he's at least alive. And safe. Her loneliness and loss are hers to deal with. As it always has been.
There is much to be done. Her fingers drift from Gratz back to David Lanz. "Before the Last Leaf Falls" plays beneath her fingertips. Eve must be spoken to. At great length and with great caution. Elisabeth needs the counsel of the oracle, but can it be trusted? She is unsure, but it is a risk that must be taken. And if the future version of her lover has someone put a bullet in her head when she goes… well, … some things are meant to happen the way they happen, aren't they?
She spares a thought for the future. No fate, she reminds herself. We're not fate's playthings anymore. But is she right? In two worlds, she's borne a son. Fathered by two different men. And in one of those futures, the boy's father went back knowing that to change the world would negate that boy's existence. Is the other child's father doing the same? Not that he'll do anything but lie to her if she asks. There is a blinding rage in the thought, though, and Elisabeth removes her trembling hands from the keys unable to play further.
Pushing back the bench to walk away from the instrument, she whispers softly, "You are not the man I'd die for. But you are the man I might kill for all of this."