Post by Kor on Oct 12, 2023 19:44:07 GMT -6
The last of the patrons had filtered out of the tavern, but the owner let the children of the troupe lay their claim the dining room for the night - it was the least she could do to repay the unexpected show they'd brought with them. It seemed like the walls still buzzed with music and song, wood soaked with lively ambience that left the big space warm despite the dwindling candlelight that struggled to reach shadowy corners.
Drawing the last of the thick velvet curtains, Natale cast a glance at Katrina. Taking his cue, she unfolded her arms and moved from her place by the wall. Giorgie's eyes followed the swaying hem of her black skirts towards the table where Rickard and Claude sat. Rickard averted his gaze, a nail tapping the tabletop, as Katrina stopped in front of Claude.
Even with her head cradled in the crook of an arm, hand still idly on the base of a wine glass, Katrina's looming presence made her slowly, reluctantly lift her head. They met eyes for a moment, breaking when Claude glanced towards the door; Natale blocked her view of it as he came to join Katrina, a reassuring smile that did nothing to ease the cornered animal look in Claude's face.
"... What?" Claude finally said, meek.
"You tell us," answered Katrina, unbreaking.
Tell them. Show them. They pulled her towards the bag. Claude resisted, curling nails into palms.
"It's obvious something's wrong, Claude. I mean, an unannounced visit?"
That earned Katrina a glare, and Rickard one, too, when he didn't quite hide his smirk on time.
Show us to them. A sharp pull, sending a ringing pain up her arm, and Claude stood, abruptly enough Katrina took a step back. Writhing in invisible pain, she decided, was worse than just showing them. "Fine," she murmured, faint voice ill-fit for the sudden motion. She cast her eyes down at the pack as she lifted it from the floor. "But I'll have no answers or explanations for your questions, so please spare me them." She set her pack on the table, opened its shadowy depths, and with a wide gesture, scattered wooden controllers across the surface. Then she stepped back, retreating to stand away from the table and the others.
Rickard, still sat before the bag, was the first one to look inside; Sharply, he pulled back his hand, chair scraping the floor. He looked to Giorgie; "Something touched me."
Giorgie was next to creep forward, gently raising the fabric. Her lips parted as, with enough room to exit, out came a puppet, a painted foxling of wooden joints. It stopped in the threshold to look at Giorgie, then sniff at herhand above it.
"For the record," murmured Rickard, "I have nothing to do with this."
"Thanks, Rickard," said Claude, simultaneously to Katrina's, "Shut up, Rickard."
She met his eyes where she stood near the piano, arms folded; Taking his signal, she rose from the wall. Giorgie's eyes followed the swaying hem of her black skirts towards the table where Rickard and Claude sat. She stopped at the tableside in front of the latter.
Rickard, who'd been told to keep his mouth shut, averted his gaze, a nail tapping at the tabletop. It wasn't that, but the waiting presence of Dani beside her, that made Claude raise her head from the cradle of her arms, one hand still idly holding the base of a wine glass. The trace of a pleased smile on her face disappears under Dani's gaze and her fingers retreat. Her eyes flickered briefly towards the door, but defeat promptly washed away the panic; She hadn't made it out the door the last time she'd tried to run, and that was when she'd been sober.
Finally, she pushed herself to sit upright, then gave a wide ceremonious gesture and inclination of her head, as if to say, well, alright, go ahead, then, though she still didn't look at all at ease.
"Well," echoed Daniele, shifting her weight. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or are you just going to sit there looking sweaty."
Claude sat there looking sweaty. Rickard's eyes flickered between the two of them, not having been in the loop at all.
"Tell us," Natale chimed in, leaning back against a nearby table.
Dani rolled her eyes, then focused back on Claude, extending a hand to her side. "Now, Claude. You've always been a bit of a dick, but an announced visit? It's just not like you." That, at least, got an irritated huff from the puppeteer. "And," Dani continued, "You've never been a good actor, dear sister."
That one made her hang her head back over the chair - it was true, but that didn't make it bruise less. With a deep inhale, Claude straightened her neck, then rose to her feet. "In my defense," she started, half-mumbling, "I don't think any of you would believe it if I didn't have a way to show you." She lifted her bag from the tavern floor, and with a wooden clunk, set it upon the table. It knocked over the wine glass. It rolled across the table, off the edge, into Natale's waiting hand; He craned his head.
As the sound of the bag dropping faded, the five of them looked on it under the flickering firelight. Almost impatient, Claude stuck out her arm towards it. Giorgie was the first to move forward, the first to lift the fabric and peer inside. When she gasped, the others except Claude recoiled; But just as soon, Giorgie moved her hand back forward, lifting the fabric once more to allow the puppet an easier time to nuzzle its way out. The painted wooden foxling brushed then against her fingers, then wove in between them with glee, until its strings tangled among them. "Careful," breathed Giorgie, working on untangling them; When the foxling didn't stop weaving, she lifted her hand, raising the puppet off the floor by its strings. It flailed under her hold, silently whining.
As Giorgie set it down onto its small wooden feet, she became aware of the others staring on in horror. She glanced between them as she backed away from the living marionette, cracking a smile. "... It's friendly," she told them, meekly.
"They aren't harmless," corrected Claude. "Not in numbers. Or around anything fragile."
"There's more?" murmured Daniele.
"There's more. And... There's worse."
The marionette stood upon the stage.
Where the littler puppets had drawn curiosity, amusement, this one left even Giorgie's expression wary, looking upon its smooth mask and painted lips. Natale's viola had been set upon a sidetable, and the children watch as Claude, offstage, stepped forward, hand raised as if to hold a controller; and the children watched as the marionette stepped forward, balljointed hand taking the viola's neck. Natale all but winced, watching the puppet raise his work, but it faded as, with an elegant movement, it pinned the chinrest in the crook of its neck. Claude, mirroring the gesture with the empty air, shut her eyes to focus.
Upon the candlelit stage, the puppet played an aria for the children. Deft wooden fingers on strings, guided by their master; Stepping forward as the short ballad crescendos, its head bowed, an illusion of the eyes of the mask closing, a presence almost as natural as any living musician.
The song ended. For a moment it held still, Claude's eyes opening, looking over her cousins; Finally, she let the puppet release the viola from its chin, lowering it and the bow delicately to its side. Claude's breaths came in slow but shaking; The puppet's chest remained perfectly still.
Bow. Unable to resist, Claude dipped into a bow, and the puppet came down with her, its bowhand extended past its middle.
Light applause - only from Rickard, patting at his other palm, a trace of a bemused smile on his thin face. The small crowd of puppets that had crawled from the bag behind him joined him, though their tiny hands were not quite audible.
As his brother's hands tired, Natale climbed up the stairs to the stage, moving carefully towards the puppet. Curiously, he held out his hands, and it placed the bow and viola back into the hands of their owner. A smile touched his face, too, and he looked towards Claude. "She's incredible."
With grim sincerity, Claude said, "If you hadn't taken the viola back, I'd make her drop it, Nate."
Eyes glittering, he retreated from the marionette, albeit not without one last fascinated glance.
"If everyone's done ogling her," Claude declared, voice raised, shocking the others out of their stupor, "I'll be getting rid of her now."
No one objected; They watched with near-equal awe as Claude hopped atop the stage. The puppet stood with its head proudly raised as Claude drew her sword and sliced through the air above its head, through strings that weren't really there, and the puppet went limp for just a brief moment before it vanished completely.
When Dani set a hand on Claude's shoulder, she almost flinched. She didn't turn around, peering back over her shoulder.
"How did this happen?" Dani asked in a whisper.
Claude glanced over at the table where the others had crowded back around the puppets from the bag. "I don't know," she answered. "It's been months and I still hadn't let go of the hope it might just be a bad dream. And it's not going to get any better, Dani."
Expression turning even grimmer, "What do you mean?"
Wearily, Claude met her eyes. "I didn't make it hand the viola back to Natale. It did that itself."
have the puppets pull on her to reveal them; that's the part she still can't admit.
Or lead in with "*Must* you torture me, Dani? Am I not clearly already tortured enough?"
Drawing the last of the thick velvet curtains, Natale cast a glance at Katrina. Taking his cue, she unfolded her arms and moved from her place by the wall. Giorgie's eyes followed the swaying hem of her black skirts towards the table where Rickard and Claude sat. Rickard averted his gaze, a nail tapping the tabletop, as Katrina stopped in front of Claude.
Even with her head cradled in the crook of an arm, hand still idly on the base of a wine glass, Katrina's looming presence made her slowly, reluctantly lift her head. They met eyes for a moment, breaking when Claude glanced towards the door; Natale blocked her view of it as he came to join Katrina, a reassuring smile that did nothing to ease the cornered animal look in Claude's face.
"... What?" Claude finally said, meek.
"You tell us," answered Katrina, unbreaking.
Tell them. Show them. They pulled her towards the bag. Claude resisted, curling nails into palms.
"It's obvious something's wrong, Claude. I mean, an unannounced visit?"
That earned Katrina a glare, and Rickard one, too, when he didn't quite hide his smirk on time.
Show us to them. A sharp pull, sending a ringing pain up her arm, and Claude stood, abruptly enough Katrina took a step back. Writhing in invisible pain, she decided, was worse than just showing them. "Fine," she murmured, faint voice ill-fit for the sudden motion. She cast her eyes down at the pack as she lifted it from the floor. "But I'll have no answers or explanations for your questions, so please spare me them." She set her pack on the table, opened its shadowy depths, and with a wide gesture, scattered wooden controllers across the surface. Then she stepped back, retreating to stand away from the table and the others.
Rickard, still sat before the bag, was the first one to look inside; Sharply, he pulled back his hand, chair scraping the floor. He looked to Giorgie; "Something touched me."
Giorgie was next to creep forward, gently raising the fabric. Her lips parted as, with enough room to exit, out came a puppet, a painted foxling of wooden joints. It stopped in the threshold to look at Giorgie, then sniff at herhand above it.
"For the record," murmured Rickard, "I have nothing to do with this."
"Thanks, Rickard," said Claude, simultaneously to Katrina's, "Shut up, Rickard."
She met his eyes where she stood near the piano, arms folded; Taking his signal, she rose from the wall. Giorgie's eyes followed the swaying hem of her black skirts towards the table where Rickard and Claude sat. She stopped at the tableside in front of the latter.
Rickard, who'd been told to keep his mouth shut, averted his gaze, a nail tapping at the tabletop. It wasn't that, but the waiting presence of Dani beside her, that made Claude raise her head from the cradle of her arms, one hand still idly holding the base of a wine glass. The trace of a pleased smile on her face disappears under Dani's gaze and her fingers retreat. Her eyes flickered briefly towards the door, but defeat promptly washed away the panic; She hadn't made it out the door the last time she'd tried to run, and that was when she'd been sober.
Finally, she pushed herself to sit upright, then gave a wide ceremonious gesture and inclination of her head, as if to say, well, alright, go ahead, then, though she still didn't look at all at ease.
"Well," echoed Daniele, shifting her weight. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or are you just going to sit there looking sweaty."
Claude sat there looking sweaty. Rickard's eyes flickered between the two of them, not having been in the loop at all.
"Tell us," Natale chimed in, leaning back against a nearby table.
Dani rolled her eyes, then focused back on Claude, extending a hand to her side. "Now, Claude. You've always been a bit of a dick, but an announced visit? It's just not like you." That, at least, got an irritated huff from the puppeteer. "And," Dani continued, "You've never been a good actor, dear sister."
That one made her hang her head back over the chair - it was true, but that didn't make it bruise less. With a deep inhale, Claude straightened her neck, then rose to her feet. "In my defense," she started, half-mumbling, "I don't think any of you would believe it if I didn't have a way to show you." She lifted her bag from the tavern floor, and with a wooden clunk, set it upon the table. It knocked over the wine glass. It rolled across the table, off the edge, into Natale's waiting hand; He craned his head.
As the sound of the bag dropping faded, the five of them looked on it under the flickering firelight. Almost impatient, Claude stuck out her arm towards it. Giorgie was the first to move forward, the first to lift the fabric and peer inside. When she gasped, the others except Claude recoiled; But just as soon, Giorgie moved her hand back forward, lifting the fabric once more to allow the puppet an easier time to nuzzle its way out. The painted wooden foxling brushed then against her fingers, then wove in between them with glee, until its strings tangled among them. "Careful," breathed Giorgie, working on untangling them; When the foxling didn't stop weaving, she lifted her hand, raising the puppet off the floor by its strings. It flailed under her hold, silently whining.
As Giorgie set it down onto its small wooden feet, she became aware of the others staring on in horror. She glanced between them as she backed away from the living marionette, cracking a smile. "... It's friendly," she told them, meekly.
"They aren't harmless," corrected Claude. "Not in numbers. Or around anything fragile."
"There's more?" murmured Daniele.
"There's more. And... There's worse."
The marionette stood upon the stage.
Where the littler puppets had drawn curiosity, amusement, this one left even Giorgie's expression wary, looking upon its smooth mask and painted lips. Natale's viola had been set upon a sidetable, and the children watch as Claude, offstage, stepped forward, hand raised as if to hold a controller; and the children watched as the marionette stepped forward, balljointed hand taking the viola's neck. Natale all but winced, watching the puppet raise his work, but it faded as, with an elegant movement, it pinned the chinrest in the crook of its neck. Claude, mirroring the gesture with the empty air, shut her eyes to focus.
Upon the candlelit stage, the puppet played an aria for the children. Deft wooden fingers on strings, guided by their master; Stepping forward as the short ballad crescendos, its head bowed, an illusion of the eyes of the mask closing, a presence almost as natural as any living musician.
The song ended. For a moment it held still, Claude's eyes opening, looking over her cousins; Finally, she let the puppet release the viola from its chin, lowering it and the bow delicately to its side. Claude's breaths came in slow but shaking; The puppet's chest remained perfectly still.
Bow. Unable to resist, Claude dipped into a bow, and the puppet came down with her, its bowhand extended past its middle.
Light applause - only from Rickard, patting at his other palm, a trace of a bemused smile on his thin face. The small crowd of puppets that had crawled from the bag behind him joined him, though their tiny hands were not quite audible.
As his brother's hands tired, Natale climbed up the stairs to the stage, moving carefully towards the puppet. Curiously, he held out his hands, and it placed the bow and viola back into the hands of their owner. A smile touched his face, too, and he looked towards Claude. "She's incredible."
With grim sincerity, Claude said, "If you hadn't taken the viola back, I'd make her drop it, Nate."
Eyes glittering, he retreated from the marionette, albeit not without one last fascinated glance.
"If everyone's done ogling her," Claude declared, voice raised, shocking the others out of their stupor, "I'll be getting rid of her now."
No one objected; They watched with near-equal awe as Claude hopped atop the stage. The puppet stood with its head proudly raised as Claude drew her sword and sliced through the air above its head, through strings that weren't really there, and the puppet went limp for just a brief moment before it vanished completely.
When Dani set a hand on Claude's shoulder, she almost flinched. She didn't turn around, peering back over her shoulder.
"How did this happen?" Dani asked in a whisper.
Claude glanced over at the table where the others had crowded back around the puppets from the bag. "I don't know," she answered. "It's been months and I still hadn't let go of the hope it might just be a bad dream. And it's not going to get any better, Dani."
Expression turning even grimmer, "What do you mean?"
Wearily, Claude met her eyes. "I didn't make it hand the viola back to Natale. It did that itself."
have the puppets pull on her to reveal them; that's the part she still can't admit.
Or lead in with "*Must* you torture me, Dani? Am I not clearly already tortured enough?"