(2018-04-10) Sad Sad Song
Sad Sad Song
Summary: A bundle of Lost get a musical performance they did not expect.
Date: (2018-04-10)
Related: None
Player Characters: Eddie, Ida, Denver, Elijah

Lounge - The James Joyce - Downtown
A claustrophobic hallway the length of a compact car corners left at the end before emerging into the club itself. Side-by-side along this are blue doors marked with symbols for Venus and Mars, ladies and gents.
Further in, the old red brickwork is half-obscured by knotted pine wainscoting at waist level, ledged along the top of the wood for drinks. An ancient oak bar, polished with years and elbow grease, runs three-quarters of the way down the right-hand wall of the narrow cellar. A row of small tables follows that lead along the left side, each with a different colored lamp illuminating it softly. The back of the space is taken up by a raised circular platform, steps curving up to it, perhaps large enough for a jazz/blues/creole combo or an enthusiastic standup routine despite the closed confines.
The main lighting scheme comes from tracks above the bar and gelled spots over the stage, hollowly re-doubled via countless scattered mirrors and diffused with haze from the inevitable smouldering tobacco treats.

A haze of tobacco smoke wafts through the interior of the James Joyce tonight. The Joyce flouts non-smoking ordinances and has for the many years it's been in business. They get fined, the fines get paid, or made to go away. It's a thing.
You don't come to the James Joyce unless you know what you're getting into. Which is usually: dimly lit booths, cigar smoke, and jazz or blues.
The song being sun by the sweetly melancholic voice is not quite jazz or blues, for all of its utter heart rending quality. Most would consider it "pop" or "alternative".
Yet, no one is complaining…
"Oh I need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness, oh I need this…"

He has been here so very little time, and yet as he wanders the streets, he thinks he has always been here. He can't explain it. Elijah has to struggle past an urge to crouch down along the entrance hall, but he has no difficulty in having his ID checked and gaining admittance. To the humans he is but a tall, built man in a suit, a sense of refined statesmanship about his features. To any changelings, of course, the metalflesh is just as tall and just as well built, but his copper skin is lined in circuits that light with electricity from time to time… and his hands. Even to the humans they look unusually large, but to the changelings, they're massive. After he steps into the club proper, he rubs those hands together, and electricity arcs lightly between his fingers as the heavy mantle of Autumn rests comfortably upon his form. He furrows a brow as he looks upon the singer, his expression of confusion plain. He takes to the bar, and after a moment, orders a dry white wine. A hand reaches out to claim a beer nut in a bowl nearby, the nut almost seeming to be a grain of sand in comparison to the hand that delicately holds it before he pops said nut into his mouth.

The table in the middle of the room is bathed in emerald light, and there sits a strange trio to both Lost and human eyes: the tall and striking Ida, Wasp Fairest of the Many Knives, the medium sized monstrous fly sleuth Eddie, and the small and fiery lava Ogre Denver. Their colorations uniformly shaded to various green, they are perusing some papers spread across the tabletop, murmuring amongst themselves. A curious bystander would get an eyeful of schematics and various written reports, both typed and hand written. Maybe they are planning a bank robbery. Ida, espying the tall semi-familiar shape of the copper Elemental, waves a polite greeting to Elijah.

Confusion at the song easily turns into an ache. An ache deep, deep in the chest. As remembered sorrows and heartaches come to the forefront of one's mind as the singer crones on her sad, sad song.
She's statuesque with skin so pale she seems to glow underneath the spotlight, with hair so dark it seems to be made of shadows… Save that she does not appear to be a changeling.
A chilly, mournful pall seems to settle over the crowd as she sings on.

"I still think living down in that basement away from the sun, surrounded by that creep factor is enough to do serious harm to someone's brain," Denver offers softly towards the pair. The woman is dressed in her usual jeans and snarky t-shirt, a large, metal case tucked under her chair. She's leaning both elbows on the table as she peers at one of the papers in front of her, a frown drifting across her features. "I'm gonna go cross eyed looking at this stuff. Not like I can help anyway," she mutters with a melencholy moan. She catches sight of Ida's wave, following the gesture to spot Elijah, lifting a hand in greeting, expression unchanging. She shifts uncomfortably, starting to glance around the room.

"That the one you were telling me about?" Eddie asks his companions, looking over to Elijah over the frames of his battered reading glasses. There can't be that many other copper people in town, but he already knows at least one other, so you never know. He's doing his best to contribute to the veil of smoke that clouds the room, occasionally dropping ash directly into his coffee cup, shuffling through the scattered papers in front of him apparently at random until the music starts. He gets a little lost in it, almost immediately. It's his kind of music. Maybe a little too much his kind of music, he realizes, brow furrowing as he squirms around in his seat to get a better view of the singer. "You guys feel that?"

A huge hand rises and makes an elegant gesture of a wave for Ida's greeting, but for just the moment, Eli is staying at the bar. He might reconsider that. He is drawn towards the singer, the sadness; he feels the emotion like slik passing beneath the skin. The texture of it, so familiar. What is this, why is it? His mind drifts through memories of sorrow. Sad and fear are cousins, however distant. His attention is drawn to Denver, and he gives what can only be a regal nod to her and her companioni, even as he lifts his beer to drink it back.

The flood of sorrow strikes against Ida fruitlessly, washing away without finding entry, mongol horde against the Great Wall, a hurricane against the sea. "Quite. Someone is being quite rude." And she rises to her full height, looking around the room to stare at the singer.

The singer is seems as unaffected by Ida's standing as Ida is of her sorrow-song. Her impossibly dark eyes focus upon Ida and she seems to pour even more emotion into her woeful lyrics. Croning as if directly at Ida, though it blankets the entire crowd.

"I can't not feel it." Denver offers that as an aside to Eddie as she gestures towards Elijah to join them if he wants to. Then she drops her hand, slumping back against her seat. Eyes lift as Ida stands, widening every so slightly as her momentary amusement goes to war with the wash of sadness. "I think Ida's about to smack someone." She spies the way the the woman turns to focus on Ida, her eyes starting to narrow. "Oh, she's definitly doing it on purpose."

The song is … almost drugging. The weight of the sorrow dragging one down. Causing one to feel almost sapped of their energy.

This time, Elijah grabs a handful of the peanuts which might possibly mean 'all the peanuts', and with the handful, he makes his way over towards Denver and Eddie, "Greetings." The Bridgemason bows his head deeply, his left hand bearing a rough bronze ring on each finger, a mark of his status. But the elemental can not keep his eyes off the song, settling down into a seat, drooping. And it takes some effort for a giant elemental to droop. "She sings beautifully." he remarks, "But my heart aches for thoughts I have not had for a time."

Eddie leans over the back of his chair, an uncomfortable position with the chairs they've got in here, watching and waiting to get a look at the singer's eyes. When he finally does he finally does he asks the Dragon what it knows, and frowns when it just sort of shrugs at him. "I don't know," he says, turning back around to face the table, "it's kind of nice. I wonder if we could get her for the Winter social next year." He's feeling that drain and that melancholy feeling, the same as everybody else, but he's also feeling the Sorrow-tinged glamour seeping out of the rest of the crowd. He gives a little wave at Elijah's approach, a lazy, almost drunken gesture.

"And she is making everyone drowsy." Ida's voice is flat. Her fingers are getting twitchy, and to Mortal eyes her pupils seem to get bigger yet - to Lost, the black of her eyes starts overtaking the white, and her voice has gotten a slightly humming edge to it. A low dark sound. She looks at Denver. "Can you stand? Walk? Beat things?" Staring back at the singer. Smiles, showing those pearly whites. Challenging.

"Ain't anything nice about having emotions shoved into you when you don't want them there." The normal anger that might be in her tone is missing it's edge as she slumps a little lower into the seat. "You should…" the words taper off a little bit as Denver tries to surpress a yawn. "You should go slap her right in the mouth, Ida. Hello new friend." The greeting is drowsy but offered easily enough in Elijah's direction. Chair pushing back, Denver scrambles up to her feet, wobbling a little bit and reaching out for Ida's arm to steady herself. "Tired as I'm feeling right now, I might just be able to hit her without punching her head off, yeah."

"Really?" Eddie raises an eyebrow at Denver. "That's kind of what we do. Or are you a fruitatarian?" He's had all the Glamour he can eat, already, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy it washing up against him. "It reminds me a little of Audgrim's trick with the violin, actually." For all that he's feeling the effects of the song, it doesn't show much on his face. Melancholy is his resting state, after all, and he doesn't even close his eyes to sleep. Still, his judgment might not be at a hundred percent right now.

Elijah, settled, picks nut after nut from his huge palm to delicately put into his mouth, as he sways slightly, caught int he music. A tiny ball of lightning crawls up out of his fingers, and with little arcing legs looks almost like a spider as it crawls up his arm. He doesn't notice really, his mantle. "Is this a haven of the Winter?" he asks, uncertain, for he is swept along in the sorrow.

"It ought to be," Eddie answers, a little dreamily.

The song slowly comes to a close, and some of that sorrow starts to ebb away. There's still a faint tiredness, the sort of lethargy that comes with a bone deep sadness. But it isn't quite as pressing now as she stops singing.
Her voice is sweet and low pitched as she says into the microphone, "Thank you, you've been a wonderful crowd…"
And then she's heading to the back.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License