Eighth little lie ♰ There's a dance in the garden in the middle of the night

[beingdifferent]

[AUDIO]
[Congratulations, Barge, this morning you get something besides a regular voice broadcast. Today, you get music, the flowing notes of a recital played on the art room piano. The player is very competent, making only the most minor of mistakes - two missed notes, both of which stick in her memory like red flags to be noted the next time she plays. The piece itself is played from adagio to presto in different parts, lasting nearly six minutes, and when it's finished there's a heavy, exhausted yet satisfied sigh.]

That was Chopin's "Fantasie" Impromptu in c-sharp minor. I hope you liked it, it's taken me some time! But after how difficult it's been recently I thought some of you might appreciate it. [Plus she's very pleased with herself; you can hear the quiet pride in her voice.] I've been working on it for awhile, but now that I've learnt it I need a new piece to study. Can anyone think of a good one?

Not too difficult, please. There are some that I just can't play yet.

[SPAM]
[Esther is everywhere and nowhere lately, creeping through the ship like the proverbial mouse. After the other Barge she just doesn't want to face the people she was close to there, but it's a small ship and she can't avoid everyone forever no matter how awkward or saddening the meeting might be.

And she has to approach others for some things: to be let into the CES to chase leaves and roll in the grass, to give her time and supplies in the art room, to take her shift in the kitchen. For all these encounters she wears her bravest face and puts her best foot forward, praying that nothing gets too awkward.]

Comments

[CES spam]

[routemistress]

[Iris has become a regular fixture en route to the CES now, Solace and Elvis walking more or less nicely to heel on each side of her like a pointy-eared honour guard of enthusiasm.

They wag their tails and thrust welcoming noses forward when they see Esther.]

'Ey sweetheart. Did you want to go in first or take a chance with whatever landscape it gives me?

CES

[godsays]

[ He has Dani held against his chest, a dark-colored ball of fluff with attentive ears. He has put her in a kind of jacket of soft knit metal, made by Cassel - it looks like chain mail, or a little coat of armor. It's so he can have her on a leash even when she's out of reach, by virtue of his ability to push and pull metals.

His eyes fix on Esther, and he thinks, as he has more than once, there is more here than I'm seeing. ]

The piano was beautiful.

Do you want to go in?

[ Audio ]

[warisart]

[Well, that got SOMEone's attention. He listens to the entire thing with single-minded intent, tracking the notes as they play out across the communicator, and then replies immediately.]

I was unaware there was anyone else that played on board the ship.

[fire_punk]

[Kevin's been working on a paper mache replica of Jesse's face while she played. The music is like nothing he's ever heard before. He prefers hard rock and Yvette always played pop rock. It feels sad but... weirdly soothing. And boring since there was no band, no drums. He looks up as she finishes.]

Who's Chopin? And what about Three Days Grace?

[deshabille]

It's lovely.

[This is both a lie and a truth; from an objective perspective it is lovely, but Mal isn't fond of piano. Or classical. At the same time, she can appreciate the fact that Esther's worked hard on this. It's really a mixed bag.]

I'm afraid most of the pieces I'm familiar with are for organ, which we thankfully do not have here.

spam;

[lastrat]

[James hasn't been bouncing back well. There has been forgiveness all over, a willingness to brush aside what happened, and true to form, Bond hasn't mentioned it with others. He stays clear most of the day, but eventually he winds up to the deck to smoke the terrible Maledictions Stark gave him, and into the pub to drink. It's not good, he knows, but he has it under control.

He's not a man who looks to the past, not for any reason - and he's been avoiding it by drinking more. Better to get pissed than think on the man he was. The man he could have been. It should be easy to dismiss, he knows: James knows who he is, what he is, but that awareness makes it impossible not to acknowledge how he could have been that monster. He views women as disposable pleasures, not meaningful pursuits. Viewed.

It drives him to drink too much, to smoke too much. This is not a place to lose control; it's an hostile environment, and could become a warzone at any moment. He knows this, but knowing doesn't stop him from having one more scotch, one more, one more. If he kept track of a record, he's beaten it tonight.

When he does wander out of the pub, it's empty, the deck is empty, and he knows he's sloshed. He can feel it in the weight of his body, the way he doesn't walk easily. His head swims, and he's glad no one's about to see him. He takes the stairs, reasoning that he'll walk it off before heading back for a shower.

He couldn't say what floor he's on when he hears the music: it drifts in, attracts his attention, and like an old dog following a scent he turns toward it, pushing open the door and leaning a hand on the frame to steady himself.

He stares blearily for a moment at the empty room before stepping inside, eyes casting uncertainly about for the speakers. He can't place the song; it's bothersome.