Tap Dancing

[Duffy]

Some Time Later

Five friends, siblings, colleagues stood on the edge of a snowy square. A black-haired bard free of his burdens. A red headed matriarch with love rekindled. A silent swordsman ever watchful. A seamstress with the fire of home in her heart and a soldier still fighting the long war. For the first time in an age they gathered peacefully, no arguments and no worries besides those of the stage. The late afternoon slowly turned to dusk and the city they called home wound down from its hustle and bustle. Winter in Scara Brae felt more cathartic than usual.

No winds danced through its streets. No markets lined the avenues and boulevards, and no threat of war played on the minds of its citizens. This was the home they all remembered. It was the sanctuary they had fought so hard to preserve. At the helm, Duffy Bracken buttoned up his overcoat and turned up his collar as the temperature began to drop.

“I’m surprised I remembered my lines.”

“That’s what that debacle was?” Ruby raised an eyebrow.

“Well. Most of them anyway.”

“I think we can forgive a momentary lapse in your recall given it’s been forty years since we performed our coup de gras.” Ruby touched the feather in her hair and let the bridling strength of the Old God in her soul wash over her. Unlike Duffy, the snow was not an excuse to look anything except ravishing in red silk and leather doublet.

“It’s not a competition, we’re all rusty.” Lilith gave her sister a look and put her in her place. “Your dancing is as stale as Duffy’s delivery.”

“Alright, alright. I was just saying,” she replied defensively.

They had practiced for weeks in the sawdust smothered playhouse they had built in the ruins of the Prima Vista. Though their new home lacked the stained-glass dome of its predecessor, The Orlouge proudly displayed its purpose to the city, the need for secrecy abandoned and the pride of thespians painted onto the sign above the entrance for all to see.

“The real question is why we have to put all this effort in to freeze our tits off in the middle of winter.” Despite spending a lifetime in Berevar’s tundra, Leopold had grown too used to the warmer climate of the south. He wore a battered black overcoat and thick woollen jumper, but still felt the cold stiffen his joints.

“Sod the cold. Why did I give up a cracking pair of tits and thighs for this?” She gestured at her former self, and then to the peaceful Market Square.

“The Last Song.” Duffy said it softly, as though he expected them all to know what it meant without exposition. He hoped they did. It was the principle on which the Tantalum Troupe was founded six centuries prior. “The first great work of Wainwright Jones.”

“A song which can unweave the fabric of reality, re-write time, and kill even gods couldn’t have cut a girl a break?” She dropped her hands to her sides, only just realising how disappointed and frustrated she was. “We’ve gone from leading men and women of the world stage to rosy cheeked toddlers barely able to throw together three Acts.”

[Duffy]

Market Square seemed oblivious to the melodrama. Footprints crisscrossed through the blanket of snow and a single raven pecked at the frozen boughs of the oak tree at its heart. Bells rang in the distance to mark the arrival of five o’clock.

“This is our fresh start, Ruby.” Duffy turned to his sister, and then smiled at each of the troupe in turn. “We’re finally free of Oblivion’s curse. We’re free of all the things that have turned us against one another over the years. I for one would pay any cost to be able to stand here, with you, getting ready for Lucian’s Call.”

“Even frostbite?” She smirked.

“I haven’t heard that name in so long…” Lilith walked to Ruby’s side and nuzzled her shoulder. “Let’s not ruin the beauty of it. The snow brings out the best of the city, and my cheeks have never looked so rosy.” Ruby patted the assassin on the cheek to emphasise her point.

“This is like spring in Berevar, so it could be a lot worse.” Leopold looked skyward at the promise of the sun hidden away behind thick snow clouds as grey as his eyes and as heavy as the moment before a first kiss.

They moved towards the centre of the square, like revellers at dawn still drunk with the thrill of it. Arden followed behind, torso bare, sword in hand. Each of them had paid a personal price to get their do over. Though his right eye was healed, and he saw the world for all its glory again his voice fell away, memories of his life spent in the back alleys of his home returned.

“We all came to the troupe lost. The things we saw before that first magic moment as part of the crowd will no longer define us.” Duffy waved a hand over the tree before them, its trunk engraved with mourner’s favourite lines from the troupe’s plays. “Wainwright brought us together, one by one, and taught us everything he knew. Lucian’s Call reminds us of that, so if any of you can think of a better play to perform as our first I’m all ears.” He leant against the oak tree that marked the site of his first tomb and waited.

Nobody could. They gathered in a loose circle beneath the oak’s boughs and reflected on the days ahead. Satisfied they were ready to act out the Midwinter Revel, they thought about what was still to be done before they reintroduced themselves to Scara Brae’s citizens.

“I’ve not seen a winter this bad for nearly a decade. What are we going to do?” Lilith knelt and filtered a fistful of snow through her fingertips, careful to avoid any yellow patches. It was soft and light, undisturbed at the base of the tree by the toing and froing of merchants and mistresses.

“Ruby could put some of that smouldering and fiery temper to good-”

A snowball slapped the merchant across the face with a galosh. Ruby smirked from ear to ear as she bent to pat together another. Leopold raised his arms to defend against a follow-up, all too aware that returning the favour would lead to a night on the sofa.

[Duffy]

“We are not having a snowball fight.” Duffy folded his arms across his chest. “Not now…”, he grinned. “We have work to do.”

Ruby dropped the snowball. “Spoil sport.”

“I’m watching you,” he replied, pointing to one of the statues that stood around the site of the old fountain.

When the avatar of Hromargh had descended on the city, his rage had shattered the centuries old landmark that pointed out the city’s heart. In its stead, Valeena had commissioned a pantheon of heroes from the isle’s long history. An anatomically incorrect statue of Duffy leered down at them from behind a mask of pigeon poo.

“We could wait to perform until spring. The cold plays havoc with my soprano.” Lilith offered, eager to keep them on track. She looked around the square to size up the mammoth task at hand. Dress patterns and tailoring shopping lists filled her mind.

“Lucian’s Call is a celebration of midwinter, Lilith. It has to be on Yule.” Ever a stickler for tradition, Duffy felt anxious even thinking about going against the Queen’s wishes. She had been not-so-subtle clear about what would happen to the troupe if they put so much as a hair out of place. “She made about four thumbs across throat gestures in the throne room, in case you missed it.” Duffy had developed quite the longing for the good old days after they departed the palace, when coming so much as a stone’s throw near Valeena’s domain got a bard’s head cut off.

“I just thought she was being coy…” Lilith furrowed her brow. Now she looked bac, the Queen had seemed rather keen on the idea of using the Midwinter festival as a building block for something greater. “Does she really think it’ll breathe life back into the island?” As far as she knew, Scara Brae was every bit the melting pot of people and industry it had always been.

“Our patron thinks the deep winter is leaving her coffers out to dry.” Leopold had the privilege of being privy to the city’s affairs now he was the troupe’s quartermaster. He had to listen to ode after ode about how they mustn’t go so much as a half-penny over the budget ‘gifted’ to them by the royal household. “We’ve sent word to Corone and the Bladesinger councils. We’ve somehow been pressganged into the tourism industry.”

“That’s precisely what we set out to do, isn’t it?” Lilith smiled. “Spread the word about the Arts!”

“But Radasanthians are delicate little flowers, and the elves break in anything less than pure sunlight. How do we keep them warm for three hours of innuendo?” Ruby began to see the bigger picture, though made a mental note to pad the bra of her costumes, just in case.

“Which is just one of the many things we need to sort out before the big day.” Duffy tried not to think about how long that list was. “We’ve got a great space to work with, so let’s bash heads and sort out the details so we can build the stage and start live-rehearsals. He looked at Leopold expectantly.

[Duffy]

“Yes. There’s room in the budget,” the raven-haired dragoon rolled his eyes. Money talked in Scara Brae, Leopold just wished it wasn’t him doing all the talking.

“Good man. Any ideas about keeping the rabble from a cold death, or from going home to blankets, bosoms, and hot chocolate?” He pushed away from the oak and began to pace his height back and forth. His breath pealed into wispy vapours as day turned to night.

“Little fires in pits spread about the stage?” Ruby offered, only ever able to think of fire and gin when it came to the logistics.

“We’d never get a permit for that.” Leopold replied.

“There are braziers we could use, the Queen said we could help ourselves to ‘city property’.” Lilith liked the idea of having carte blanche.

“Oh! Yes! Like the good old days of Queen Lear or Bacmeth!” Ruby’s eyes glistened. “Ugh, why has it taken us six months to get back into shape?”

“You spent the first two months after our little renaissance of form feeling yourself up and flirting with bellboys.” Leopold frowned, but secretly enjoyed seeing his wife happy again after spending half a decade moping after Duffy’s fourth and hopefully final death. A look, don’t touch philosophy had saved their marriage. That, and finding himself with a body that didn’t perspire so much as thinking about walking up stairs.

“We’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Duffy turned to his family and pointed to the east road. “We’ll have guests come in that way and form a half circle around the stage. We’ll put braziers around the square to give people something to keep warm in between acts, and the Queen and whatever nobles deign to turn up can take to their usual raised stands on the far side so everyone, rich or poor, gets the same view of the play.”

“And someone can hopefully put an arrow in Valeena’s forehead.” Ruby dared to daydream for a moment.

“Or yours,” Duffy gave Ruby a suggestive look. “Any objections?”

Arden clapped to draw the troupe’s attention. They all turned to their silent brother. He clenched his right fist and waved over the soft and undisturbed snow at his feet. A single word appeared.

“Pentagon?” Duffy raised an eyebrow.

Arden wrote an addendum.

“Oh, the shape of the stage. Why?”

“Ha, yes, good point. Symmetry. Trying to get a crowd to stand around a circle usually ends up with someone falling off the stage or a barn dance.” The words disappeared and Arden went back to his observations. His calm, placid face odd at ease with the growing confusion and tired expressions of his siblings.

“That’s that sorted, then. Anything else?” Leopold finished off his hip flas and dropped it through the veil into his private vault. His hand re-appeared with a notepad and pencil to make amendments to his to do list.

[Duffy]

Ruby took a moment to steel herself. She checked Arden was out of earshot, then ushered the bard back towards the oak tree. When they arrived beneath its branches she folded her arms across her chest and gave him plenty of time to think his words through carefully. He looked at her heel nervously.

“There’s a rhyme in one of Wainwright’s diaries. One for the moments when all’s too dire, two for the times when suffering ire, three for the end of life recant, four for when a brother’s scant.”

“And knowing how little I like riddles…”

“If one of use sings it boosts morale. If two of us sings it can heal light wounds and reinvigorate another. If three of us sing we can change the tide of fate. If four sings…well, I think even you know what that means.”

“When a brother’s scant…cheat death?” Ruby’s eyes widened.

“I told you singing the Last Song would free us of Oblivion’s Curse. The charge of never dying, of never appreciating life.”

“Which it did…”

“But it doesn’t mean we’re mortal. Well, we are, run me through right now and I’ll be dead as a penniless man in a brothel. But…so long as four of us remain we can cheat death still.”

Ruby took a moment to compile her thoughts. Her eyes shone in the twilight, and glowed bright as the late afternoon became early evening. Lights appeared like fireflies along the edges of the square as lanterns were lit and fireplaces stoked. Scara Brae continued without them.

“Good lord, you’re never going to stop dropping bombshells on me, are you?” She tried to laugh.

“It gets worse.”

“Oh, really?” Ruby clicked her fingers and a bottle of gin appeared between them. She reached for it, thankful that some things never changed, and poured an ample measure straight down her throat. She smacked her lips and held it out for him.

“Amen sister.” He took it, but staved off the urge to down it until he’d said his piece. “When five of us sing the song, well, you’ve seen it. It can rewrite history. It can change reality. It can shape the world as we see fit, and it’s that use that I have always feared. I need you to understand that the Last Song remains a weapon…we should only ever use it if there’s nothing else we can do. I mean, the other verses, sure, but that last one…never again.”

“Never again? Duffy…why, think of the good it could do.” Ruby’s mind raced, half with revelation, half with perspiration of common sense.

“Think of the bad. If we hadn’t made the vow to refrain from singing it before Oblivion came to Scara Brae the world today would be very different. Wainwright taught us the song because he thought we, and we alone would use it responsibly.”

“That man’s judgement was never sound.”

“Neither is ours.”

“Yours.”

“Ours, Ruby. We’ve made so many mistakes over the years free of Oblivion’s influence.” He frowned. “I just wanted to tell you the truth, and I mean the last absolute truth I have to tell.”

“What do I do with that knowledge? You obviously didn’t truth me enough to tell me at the same time as the others.” Pouting, Ruby took another more delicate sip and spied her siblings through the gloom. Leopold and Lilith but specks of shadow on the horizon, and Arden cast in torchlight as he toiled away with the stage decoration and signs.

“If you die do you want us to bring you back?”

[Duffy]

“Oh.”

Life was a gift, a morale the troupe had learned the hard way. Duffy approached each of his family in turn, seeking their permission, and thoughts about their newfound mortality. He too had to think long and hard about wherever or not this was to be his final act as a man. They all knew of the dangers of using the Song to cheat death. They used it on Wainwright in their first life, and it had tormented his soul so much it split in two. They’d spent half a century fighting the wraith that was set free from their fearless leader, and half a century more picking up the pieces left in the wake.

“I don’t know…” Ruby bit her lip. She had never had to think about it.

“I mean, we can just leave you to rot if you like but I thought I’d ask.”

They positioned themselves on a low bough of the tree and sat in silence, swinging their legs and trying to find inspiration. Ruby watched her siblings finish off their chores and make their way back to the centre of the square. Each of them carried frosted beards and snow-mottled hair, and expressions that suggested they were about done with freezing their bollocks off.

“Did you say yes?” Leopold asked, sheepish smile informing Ruby that they had once again discussed her behind her back.

“Oh, like that is it?” She rolled her eyes. “After all these years you’re all still afraid of me.”

“Not you, dear,” Leopold stopped ten feet away and Lilith and Arden flanked him. “It’s those heels of yours, you see.” He pointed at his wife’s pointed shoes. “We’ve all been on the receiving end of a swift kick.”

“Or a flying heel across the dining room,” Lilith amended.

“Why do you even have to ask?” Ruby turned to Duffy, perplexed.

“Freedom of choice is something we’ve never had. You know the risks of the Last Song, and of using Wainwright’s sword…or even Arden’s blood magic.”

Whatever method they used to revive themselves from herein, there would be dire consequences. Risks within risks within risks. Even Duffy found himself asking the question. What was death like? Truly?

“We’re all done with the preparations. At least for the stage.” Ruby turned away and steeled herself for the journey ahead. “Let’s go home, we can talk about this over a hot meal and a litre of brandy.”

“Wait…” Lilith smirked. “You’re being civil?”

“We’ve turned over a new leaf, remember? This is me, you know,” she widened her arms and gestured at herself self-importantly. “Being a new me.”

The troupe shuffled their feet and looked anywhere but at Ruby. Duffy sniggered.

“Well. That’s something I’ll never forget you saying.”

The bard raised his wrists and shook his sleeves down below the wrist. He clashed the obsidian bangles together and disappeared in a whirl of blue ribbons and rumbustious fanfare. Lilith, Ruby, and Leopold followed suit, leaving Arden alone to silence thoughts and the dance of an evening breeze over freezing snow.

“I’ve a bad feeling about this…” He turned away, a wicked smile on his face, and business of his own to tend to before he truly gave up his old lives. It was too hard to teach this old dog new tricks.

[Philomel]

Name of Judgement: Tap Dancing
Judgement Type: Workshop Submission

Rewards:
Duffy receives:
3190 EXP
210 GP

As begun before Althanas Festival, is not due further rewards.
Did not have the cost of the 2AP for the Workshop request, so therefore taken from Philomel (judge).

“Hear the voice of the Bard! / Who present, past, and future sees; / Whose ears have heard / The Holy Word / That walked among the ancient trees.”
William Blake