Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-11-07 08:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, arielle chiaro, azalea cerelia |
Who: Ari and Lea
What: A coffee break
Where: Theatre District
When: This afternoon
Rating: PG
Status: Complete!
The one saving grace of Faram’s Mass music -- per Arielle Chiaro, who considered herself something of an expert -- was that the standard repertoire had more or less been memorized by any bard who actually made his or her living as a bard by the ripe old age of twenty. The preparations for the gala, therefore, were hardly taxing, and most of the musicians for the opening and closing numbers would meet once every few weeks, at most, before the show went on. The learning process mostly consisted of working out who would stand where for the purposes of blend. Having missed the first few days of rehearsal had therefore not put her behind in any real sense of the word. She had wound up in the front row -- quelle surprise, even in heels she did not exactly cut a commanding figure -- and after a few quick runs of the closing number, had been dismissed with nearly an hour and a half to go before she was scheduled to meet Miles (which rehearsal, at least, was for something entirely new, even if it did not involve any singing). She left the rehearsal room and headed down the hallway with half a mind toward stepping out for some coffee at the Wren, which wasn’t far at all, when she heard the sound of a familiar voice. The familiar voice, she thought, did not sound entirely pleased. She rounded the corner just as the man who had been receiving instruction scurried away, leaving the councilor standing alone in the hallway. “It’s so hard to find good help these days,” Ari said by way of greeting, approaching the older woman. “What did he do?” “Bygones,” Lea dismissed with a wave of her hand, leaning down to offer the bard a casual hug. If the machinist was at all frazzled by the newfound responsibilities this gala afforded, there was no indication. As always, she was clad in a pristinely pressed suit, her hair ironed pin-straight. Azalea’s wall of friendly professionalism was nigh impenetrable; as the organiser had just discovered, it was a pity when anyone forgot what she was capable of behind it. “He’s irrelevant now that I’m free for the next thirty-five minu—thirty-four minutes, I stand corrected.” She grinned. “And what are you up to, honey?” Ari returned the hug. She was in general completely indifferent to titles -- Lea had been a friend and occasional surrogate older sister for years, and her council position hadn’t changed that. “Ignoring unpleasant things until they go away -- I approve.” And she’d have enough backstage gossip anyway. Choristers were notorious for it, and she was sitting in the first soprano section. “I’m just merrily singing hallelujah, of course,” she answered. “Or, I was. Now I am in search of caffeine and sustenance, and considering you have… thirty-three minutes, I would be glad if you joined me.” She grinned. “The <>Wren</i> is less than five of those minutes away, and I am going to be terrible and eat an éclair in the middle of the day.” “Well then, let’s get walking,” came the easy reply (and it was always easy, wherever Azalea and caffeine were involved). The pair of thieves began to make their way out, dodging the various stage hands and performers that were as yet milling about. Unnecessary largesse, the urchins of the Guild might opine. But, in the greater picture, the productions of the Bards Guild were just as important as the heists of the Thieves Guild. The sterling front was what allowed the cogs beneath to keep turning, every arabesque on stage in counterpoint to the scurried tiptoe on the streets. “Heard about your arm, honey,” Lea said as they stepped onto the thoroughfare. “But I’m glad it’s looking great now. You did manage to enjoy the holidays otherwise?” “Fortunately,” Ari said, flexing the fingers of her right hand just because she could now that the hateful splint was off, “I managed to break it after the holidays, else I would have been disconsolate, to be sure. But no, the holidays themselves went rather well, if you discount a run-in with a murderous doll and that utterly ridiculous ball the day after.” That she and Aud had cleaned out the hopeful bridegroom a few days later was a point of pride, but not one of which she ought to boast in the middle of the street, of course. She had a notion Vivi would know exactly who was responsible, however. She had some hope that they’d at least made the Duckling’s proprietress smile. “And yourself?” she asked. “I didn’t see you out and about on Thursday or at Friday’s party, but then, I think half of Emillion might have been there.” “Friday was funny,” Azalea replied with a laugh. “The Wildes are opening the books, which is where I’d direct you if you were up to a little gambling. A murderous doll, though.” The councilwoman raised her eyebrows. “That’s a story I’d like to hear.” “That’s enterprising of them,” Ari said with a giggle of her own. Trust them to wring a gil out of anything. “But I wouldn’t begin to know where to put my money -- our dear Count has so many friends, I’d never be able to pare the list down. As for the doll,” she said as the Wren’s door swung open to admit them with the tantalizing scent of coffee and pastries, “I will admit, up front, that I was a little drunk, but not drunk enough to imagine it. One of those strange things that happen on Eve of the Holy Saints, I suppose,” she continued as they wound their way through the seated patrons. “That will teach me to play hide and seek with supposedly inanimate objects.” Lea, an academic by nature, was immediately skeptical. Then again, if a zombie insurrection within the city walls was possible, then one possessed doll was certainly plausible. That, or the promise of imminent caffeine had left the machinist much more forgiving of fallacy. “Where’d you encounter it?” she asked, taking one of the booths. “Not going cultist on me, are you, honey?” That had Ari laughing long and hard -- so long, in fact, that the waitress who had approached to take their orders had to wait for her to manage to utter something resembling a sentence. “No,” she managed at last, once the waitress had departed, “can you imagine? Me -- willingly stabbing people! Blood is so terribly difficult to get out of clothing, why would I ever?” Not to mention her general skepticism when it came to any sort of higher power. “I went exploring an old house in Nobles -- unoccupied -- with a few friends.” She left out the fact that Aud had brought the doll herself; her friend seemed to be terribly apologetic about it all, even if in retrospect it hadn’t really been particularly bad. “As I said, we’d been drinking, some of us rather a lot. And that, I am sad to say, was the highlight of my holiday this year.” “Definitely a more exciting highlight than most can admit to,” Lea said. “Myself included, unfortunately.” The older woman’s own Eve of the Holy Saints had been more businesslike in nature. There was no small amount of productions and schemes proceeding on such an occasion, and, as always, it fell to her to keep operations going. Really, Lea considered, she was a machinist in every sense of the word. “Although there is nothing like going through the Guild ledgers at the end of Saints’ Eve. Don’t see a killing like that often.” Legally, at least. “Faram’s Mass will only be better, of course.” “Better you than me,” Ari said with a grimace. Paperwork, on a holiday! She couldn’t imagine how that could be enjoyable for anyone. Counting money never had been as fun as spending it -- or even the process of acquiring it one way or another) in her book. “And speaking of Faram’s Mass,” she said as the coffee and pastries arrived, “I think we’d better enjoy these quickly -- unfortunately. You still have people to order around today, I would guess.” After a sip of her coffee, Lea cracked a smile. “Oh, do I.” And so, as quickly and subtly as thieves were wont, the ladies attended to their treats. |