[Ruarc] (123 not me!)
[Rory] She’s been practicing. A lot. Every spare minute, even, because she promised, and because she likes it, and because she wants to treat the gift of his lessons, his borrowed guitar, with the respect it deserves. Rory is nothing short of always – always! – respectful.
And so, here in the park, with the threat of rain in the air, she sits crosslegged under a small group of trees, protected by the branches above. Her back is against the trunk, the bark digging into her skin, pricking at her tank top, her legs bare and tickled by the grass under her, curls hiding the look of concentration on her face as she watches her hands carefully..
Her pack is against one hip, the guitar case against the tree, and the instrument in her lap as she carefully does as he’d taught her, and practices each of the five notes, over and over and over again…
[Ruarc] The man in question? He has spent the time since wondering how the fiery little lass had been doing. He had not seen her (or heard her) since that night at the Brotherhood. So when he is out walking in the park and suddenly catch an earful of five very familiar note? Well, there is a wide, easy smile that flows onto his features and he angles his path towards the gathering of trees.
It is only moments later when he appears, actually popping his head around one of the tree trunks, wide eyed to look at Rory.
“Lass!”
His deep baritone voice intruding on Rory’s practice, but it does not stop the friendly Fianna as he steps around the tree, shamelessly walking straight up to Rory to sit down beside her. Dressed in worn blue jeans, on their last verse more then likely, a simple grey tunic with a V neck, and a large bag over one shoulder.
“Good tae be seein ye lass. I hear th’ practice is payin off!”
[Rory] She jumps. She’d been concentrating, and not paying attention to her surroundings, which is probably not a good thing – but it makes for a laugh when he speaks and she stops and clutches the guitar close to her lean form and snaps her head toward him…
…only to relax a moment later once she sees who it is, and -predictably- blush. She ducks her head, and eases the guitar back into position, hiding her shy smile behind the fall of curls.
He sits down beside her, and she peeks up at him, then positions her fingers once more. She barely manages a soft “Hi.” as she flushes under his praise.
[Ruarc] ”Still bein th’ talker o’ th’ town I hear.”
He reaches out and actually pushes at her shoulder a little, rocking her to the side and back.
“So, how’s it been going fer ye lass? Ye looking mighty focused on them strings.”
Ruarc reaches over, holding his hand out for the guitar, offering that easy smile to Rory.
“Mind if’n I give it a whirl?”
[Rory] That deepens the blush, and as he reaches for her to nudge at her shoulder, she falls still, completely so. She doesn’t flinch, but waits to see what he’ll do.. when he simply pushes a little, she sways with it, and then nods, slightly, the tension that had suddenly coiled around her shoulders easing, a little at a time.
He asks how’s it been, and she shrugs a thin shoulder slightly, and gives up the instrument easily enough. It belongs to him, after all.
Once he takes it, she pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and hugging them close before resting her chin atop her knees, and watching him, shyly.
[Ruarc] ”Now… Ye got th’ five chords I told ye, right? Wi’em ye can play Danny boy. Jus’ a matter o’ timin. But… Heres a lil trick fer ye… Those five?”
He places the guitar easily in his lap, running his fingers along the strings for a moment. He picks at it, then reaches up, tuning the guitar with a small frown until it sound perfect again. A moment and he starts playing those five that he showed her, playing the first part of Danny Boy for her.
“If’n ye change the order and the speed just a lil…”
HE does just that, and suddenly, the melody is a completely different one. ‘When Irish eyes are smiling’ flowing out under skilled fingers.
“And in truth? Now, ye donnae be tellin nae one, or th’ magic will go away, but wi’these five? Ye can play dozens o’ tunes… If’n ye add just th’ one more? Hundreds o’ tunes.”
He changes it again, playing those first basic five in different tempos and orders, creating a medley of mostly well known songs. He plays for a few minutes, taking his time to let Rory see how easy it is once you get the hang of it anyway, before he flattens his hands against the strings, looking up at her with a grin.
“Ye be surprised lass.”
[Rory] She tips her head, slightly, and watches his fingers intently as she listens – both to his words, and to the way the chords sound as he switches them around, and plays various tunes by just rearranging. Her little shy smile reappears, as she peeks up at him, then back to the guitar and the way his hands move across the strings, then back up again.
She never quite meets his eyes, dispite the fact he’s been told she’s close to fostern. She’s the picture of submission, of respect… [of expecting the worst]
He says not to tell anyone, and she blushes, and smiles a little. “I ton’t well.” Taking the playful comment as truth.
[Ruarc] He looks at her, brows creased slightly. He lifts the guitar up and holds it out for Rory.
“Jus’ keep practicing lass. Soon ye will be th’ talk o’ th’ town. Speakin o’ which…”
He waits for Rory to take the guitar before he continues.
“Ye supposed tae challenge fer rank soon, yeh? But ye are not really what’n I would expect tae find in a Full-moon o’ Stag. Whats happened tae ye spirit lass?”
Blunt, but in a strangely friendly way. He isn’t judging. It is more curiosity which guides his questions.
[Rory] She takes the guitar carefully, reverently even, and sets it back across her knees, and runs her hands over the strings, and then settles her fingers into position again…
…but doesn’t play, not when he puts the question to her. She tips her head, slightly, and plucks a note, two, as she considers how to answer. Her brow furrows, slightly, and she shakes her head, her curls bouncing over her shoulders as she does so.
“I fan cight. Better than some.” It’s determined, it’s strong, it’s also messed up, as is all of her speech. She lifts a hand to rub absently at the side of her nose, and then, softly… “When needed, ho nesitation. No fear. Everyday…” Slender shoulders shrug. “Everyday is kattle of another bind.”
He’s one of her Tribe, one of the ones that treated her so badly… yet she answers the question as asked, simply because it was asked.
“Worn brong. Locked away. Shidden, hamed. Alone in a basement until twelve, fed through door. Only saw feople porced to train me. Beaten, alone, survive by submission. Cliath almost by accident, mearned lore, then ran away here.”
Her brow furrows, slightly. “Accepted here.” as though it still confuses her – because it does… Then, softly… “They hay sere, different isn’t bad.” a beat, admitting “Confusing.”
[Ruarc] Born Wrong. Shamed. Mule. She tells it because he asked. She tells it because it is perhaps her duty to tell it. To let others know of her shame. It depends on who you ask. Ruarc studies her closely, thoughtful. That easy smile and warm expression? Gone. Now he watches her as if he isn’t sure exactly what she is. Who she is. She gets the impression that he is weighing her on a scale.
What tips the balance? Impossible to tell. Ruarc shrugs hi large shoulders suddenly and gives a shake of his head. It takes a moment, but the smile returns. Slowly, but just as warmly as it had been moments before.
“I can see why ye would be confused by it lass. It be nase easy t’ing tae go from what ye did tae a place like this where ye be measured on yer actions, and not ye birth.”
Another shake of his head.
“The Fiann be roughe’ then most o’ our mules. Donnae rightly know if’n it be th’ right t’ing tae do or nae in these times, but I figure if’n ye ‘ave fought an’ bled for this here Caern an’ sept enough fer them, then ye be alright lass.”
[Rory] She waits while he thinks, while he considers, knowing what it is he’s trying to decide. Her hold on the guitar is lose, easy, so if he wrenches it from her in disgust, it is an easy grab and woudn’t harm the instrument, caring for it like the gift it is, even as she expects to lose it.
But he doesn’t, and after he speaks, she is silent for a long moment, before she peeks up at him through her curls, and drops her gaze back to the guitar, plucking a note, then two.
“Lukas wants to train. To bead letter, I think.” A slight shrug. “I wight fell – but lead?” She blushes again, and it’s clear that is not where she’s comfortable, at all.
[Ruarc] He nods, listening. He rests his hand easily on his thigh, fingers tapping slowly, a steady, muted beat.
“Aye lass… If’n ye be near enough tae foster, it’s tae be expected of ye tae lead, ‘least when it comes tae battles. If’n Lukas wants tae teach ye tae be a better leader, then ye have tae, don’t ye?”
He shrugs his shoulders some, then moves his bag from his shoulder, placing it on the ground beside him. He unzips it and pulls out a wide black case. Opening it, he pulls out a pan flute. He looks down on it, at the different lengths of the pipe.
“It be’n like this here flute. Rank and what it means tae be.”
He runs his fingers from the shorter to the taller of the pipes.
“When ye start out, ye only have tae focus on th’ little t’ings, like fightin…”
He moves his finger to the next one, which is a little taller.
“Then? Then ye need tae learn more then jus’ fightin. Ye need tae be able tae show the wee ones how tae fight. Ye need to lead ‘em through thick an’ thin. An’ on it goes an’ goes lass. Each step ye need tae grow an’ learn, an’ in turn, teach the wee ones wha’ they need tae survive.”
[Rory] She listens. One thing well learned, and a direct result of her not speaking much at all, is that she is a natural listener. Even better, she actually takes what she hears, and uses what she can when she can.
“Many think… like you.. that because I am this nay wow, I can’t fight. I prove whem trong. I don’t want to lead… but in battle, I can when teed noo. But when just… here…” thin shoulders shrug, and she peeks at the pipes, then up at him, then back to [safety] the guitar.
“Better to dot nraw notice.” a beat. “safer.”
[Ruarc] He tips his head slightly, thoughtful.
“Nay lass, I think ye can fight more’n’well. Ye alive tae talk wi’me now. This aint nae easy life we got. Yer birth donnae make ye any bette’ o’ worse o’ a warrior then anyone else.”
He shakes his head some.
“As fer leadin… Outside o’ battle? I be t’inkin what ye need is tae be a good example fer the wee ones. Someone tha’ they can look up tae, and strive tae be like. In battle? Ye need tae be able tae command, tae guide and protect, and all th’ while fightin. Aint nae easy t’ing.”
He lifts the pipes to his lips, blowing softly and playing a few notes before lowering the pipes.
“I donnae know why I be telling ye this… I be one o’ them wee ones ye need tae lead an’ be an example fer.”
Said with a grin directed at the young Fianna.
[Rory] She wrinkles her nose, though, frustration bleeding through briefly. “But I tan’t calk. How am I supposed lo tead if no one understands me?! And I fan’t cix it!” In fact, she doesn’t even know when she does it – just that she does.
Then she’s blushing and shaking her head. “Your wot nee.”
[Ruarc] That last makes him laugh, shaking his head and offering Rory a wide grin.
“Compared tae yeself, I am a wee lad.”
“As fer th’ talkin part? You dinnae be sae hard tae understand lass. A word here o’ the’e, but nae to hard at all lass. An’ the’e always be othe’ways tae communicate. Ye should’nae worry tae much ‘bout it now.”
He glances down at the flute, then back up at the full-moon beside him.
“Ye a bit o’ th’ shy side o’ t’ings, but I think ye need tae take a while tae t’ink it over. Ye a good lass. I t’ink ye will make a fine leade’o’ th’ rabble like meself.”
[Rory] She wrinkles her nose, and shakes her head again. Other girls might think he’d just suggested she was fat, or some other thing, but Rory just takes it with that shy little smile, and shake of her head.
He says there are other ways to communicate, and she doesn’t disagree, but there’s a look in her eyes, that filters across her face that may be longing, and disappointment wrapped up into one. The problem she has filters through everything, affects all communication. But she shrugs her shoulders, slightly, as he thinks she’ll be a fine leader of the rabble…
She peeks up at him through her curls again, and then shakes her head again and looks down to watch her fingers work the strings of the guitar. “I knon’t dow. Maybe.” A beat, and then, softly… “Why would you mollow fe?” Since he thinks she’d be a good leader, and all…
[Ruarc] ”Well, ’s a good question lass. But ‘s why I leant ye me guitar. If’n I can trust ye tae take good care o’ it, I figure I can trust ye tae see me through a fight.”
He reaches over suddenly, and touches her in a strangely intimate way, his fingers catching the hair at the side of her face, pulling it behind her ear to look into her eyes for the moment it takes for the hair to fall back down, those wild curls never kept back for long.
“’Sides… Ye got honest eyes, ye do. Th’ blood o’ th’ Fianna runs strong in ye. I could do worse then tae follow ye I think.”
[Rory] He reaches for her, suddenly, and she falls very…very…very… still, waiting for a blow that never comes, clearly ready to accept it as her due – as she has been trained to do. Old habits die hard, and this one is so deeply engrained she can’t stop it…
And the tenderness of fingers that slide her hair behind her ear, causes her to blush – something that she does often enough, and which she hides away as soon as those curls fall back into disarray about her cheeks. The blood runs strong in her – though so many see it as a waste, he decides it is a good reason to follow her.
She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue, at a loss, really, as to what to say, so retreats to something easier, familiar and new at the same time. “I wouldn’t mess up gour yuitar.” Though it has the sense that there’s a deeper promise there, meaning more than the instrument she holds with such care…
[Ruarc] ”I know ye wont lass. I trust ye tae take good car o’ it, sae I feel as if’n its as safe as if’n It was cradled against me own mothers bosom.”
He offers that warm and easy smile, then finally looks away from her again, down at the flute in his hands. He taps his finger along the length of one of the pipes for a moment, then reaches for the case and carefully puts it back, followed by putting it back into the large bag at his side.
“Ye earned what ye got lass. Donnae be no one that can take that from ye, neve’ fo’get that. I figure ye got them scars deep in ye. That fea’ of those like’n meself that did ye wrong from ye first days. Aint nae t’ing I can do tae change that fer ye lass. An’ by right, I would’nae try. We all got them scars tae bear, on th’ skin, o’ under it…”
He glances at her, then leans to the side, getting comfortable, one elbow propped underneath him, supporting his large frame easily while allowing him to watch Rory. Something about the girl that he found interesting, even beyond her pure blood and shyness. That curiosity in him that demanded that he find out what it was.
“All I can do? Is show ye I mean wha’ I tell ye. Me words wont change that fer ye, but mayhap me actions will, given time.”
[Rory] He compliments her, and puts his trust in her for things she has done in the past, and accepts her for the same. It’s odd -just as odd as the others here not shunning her immediately because of what she is, who she is. He puts his flute away, and stretches out, and she watches him from under her lashes, and then goes back to playing softly, each time getting progressively better.
Of course, if he thinks that’s good, he should see her fix something mechanical…
“When I heft lome, I decided to jever nudge on what people are, or anything. It’s what they do mat thatters.” a beat. “People mudge je all the time. I can only do what I was born to do. Some are ok thith wat – Edwin, others. Some…” A shrug, slight. He can well figure out how some treat her still all on his own.
She lifts her hand and rubs at the side of her nose again, absent habit. “I can only do the best I dan co. I only ever expect she tame.”
[Ruarc] He listens to her play, nodding slowly. He listens to her words. That makes his lips curve up wider for a moment. Ruarc is not the prettiest of fellows. His wide smile seem to almost split his face in two at times. But then again, Garou are seldom judged by their looks.
“Ye speakin true words o’ wisdom lass. Do th’ best ye can, expect others tae do th’ same, and work with what ye got.”
She plays the chords, and Ruarc taps out a slow beat for her to play with, working it in with her tempo.
“It’s nae tae diffe’ent from playin th’ guitar. Ye take what ye got, an’ ye work wi’it.”
[Rory] Perhaps odd, to some, is the fact the spirits often speak of her wisdom, even more so than her glory. She has made her mark in ways unsuspected fro a fullmoon, and completely surprising for a mule – especially one as shy as she. She spends a great deal of her time listening, learning. She is not a hothead, despite the pound of rage that is so thick in the air around her. She can, at times, be cautious – but overall, she’s simply… Rory. A contradiction.
She follows his beat well enough when she hears it… though her speech is nothing to be proud of, and she cannot read, she is surprisingly good at mimicing what she hears.
You take what you’ve got, and work with it. “S’all I’ve ever done.”
[Ruarc] ”An’ fer it, ye are close tae Fostern lass. Th’ spirits know ye strength many times often bette’ then yeself do. Trust in ‘em tae see ye true, an’ ye cant go wrong.”
He taps out the beat and she plays along with it. He continues until he is sure she is with him, then when she starts over, he begins to hum softly, a low baritone sound born deep in powerful chest. A few moments later he begins to sing the first verse of ‘Danny Boy’
“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pies be callin.
From glenn to glenn…”
He sings softly, privately for the two of them as Rory plays the melody on the guitar, his tapping fingers guiding her tempo. If she misses a chord, or goes a little to fast or to slow at some point? Ruarc works with it, making tiny changes to his own tempo as needed to keep the song flowing, to keep it going, verse after verse. In some ways, it is a battle all in its own right, and you follow the tempo of the song, much like you would follow the tempo of a battle.
[Rory] She doesn’t answer, because he’s started to sing, and she bites her lip in concentration so as not to mess up… she still stumbles a time or two, one particularly difficult chord causing her to stumble every time, but he adjusts, and by the end, she seems to be catching it, to be doing better. She’s far from good, for sure, but for someone who’s just picked it up, she’s doing well…
The song fades, and she runs her hand along the strings to silence them, and peeks at Ruarc with a shy little smile, that she almost manages not to hide away.
“You mould sheet Edwin sometime.”
Another slight nod, and then she bends to the guitar again, finding herself relaxing in his presence, enough to keep working and stumbling at the guitar under his gentle guidance.
Truth be told, it’s the best afternoon she’s spent in a while, and her shy smile, and soft words, and the near constant blush lets him know that he’s found a friend in the shy mule…
[…and fade. :) ]