Duffy
09-11-09, 04:38 PM
How Oddly We Meet (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZhhhD_c9xU&feature=related)
How oddly we meet, the stranger and I...
He, a man of the arts,
And I, a man of the sky.
How oddly we parted, the hero and me,
He, bound for greatness,
Me? Bound for tea!
---
You couldn’t fault a man for trying his luck. You couldn’t accuse him if he came your way to make his acquaintance purely based on the fact that you looked approachable. You were responsible after all for yourself, your appearance, your general demeanour. So when the gullible and aloof Duffy Bracken was approached by a noblemen, in broad daylight, and preferred employment…well, who was he to refuse?
He’d certainly have liked to, that was for sure. Ever since his exploits were made ‘public’ by the Harbour Master, his part to play in the ending of the Red Scourge people slowly started to recognise his face, recognise his demeanour, walk and swagger. It was kind of what he wanted, for the Tantalum to be part of the city, as much as the city was part of the troupe; but change was hard to deal with, for anyone. With the sun out as radiant as it was, and with the noise coming up at him, even when sat on the clock tower where he often sat, it was a difficult environment to think.
The employment offered was a petition to write a new play. Nothing too long, but certainly something containing an ‘essence of danger’ and ‘practical’ expansion for ‘further sequels.’ With Lysander’s Flock being performed by other troupe members across the city in matinee cycles, and with Ruby and Lilith experiencing somewhat languishing after effects of the High Summer Ball, somebody had to keep the gold dropping into the coffers…keep the wheels turning creakily. Looking down over the square, and at the Harbour Inn, the events of the previous week were hanging about like ideas, tantalising trinkets of explosive drama, hung on tenterhooks from a pure azure sky. He still ached from the conflict on the deck of the ship, but it had brought him a bounty more prized than gold, it had brought him opportunity.
Of course...“Who will play the captain?” That was the most important question. He couldn’t, evidently, as he’d be playing himself - that in totality was a true actor’s wet dream - no easier role on the hard wood altar could be garnered than to play oneself; living in the flesh. He could try Pete, but he was too young and no hint of comedy was to be added to the event, as per the nobleman’s instruction. “That won’t do…” Lilith? Role reversal was a classic tradition but she was busy and not at all inclined to act with swords, props or otherwise, so that left one person…Ruby isn’t going to like it… Her husband was the only man to play the part, a logistical issue he’d tackle later on.
For now he lingered under the sea twanged sky and counted the seagulls far above, soaring on heights he could only dream of reaching. Every few moments or so he took up his quill and dipped it into the inkpot, before delicately scribbling, if one could delicately scribble, a line or two that cropped up in his head onto the small crimson bound book he had rested on his lap. He had to add archaic notations to each line, turning his squallid slang and the scurvy addled insults of the ship’s crew into military jaunts and neo-naval expressions of kinship…already, one act in, and it didn’t feel like he was there at all, it felt like he was the villain!
The chiming of the great clock tower that was embedded into the front of the building he rested on began to tick, tock, tick, tock, bing, bong, bing, bong. Such a clock doing such a thing at such an hour as midday meant one thing only, that the troupe would be arriving, or at least a few of them, in the cool shade of the Harbour Inn’s thematic maritime bar in the streets below. You couldn’t start a first rehearsel whilst sober, could you? Not once in a hundred years had a Tantalum commanded his troupe onto the stage for the first time and debut without at least some wine flowing!
Pushing himself upright and tucking the book into his trouser pocket, such a troupe master made his way to the edge of the building and peered downwards. The people looked like ants, scurrying left and right and round and round the square as they did, morning, noon, night - the tall and ragged and bedraggled front of his favourite tavern loomed up at him, rising above the clock building by several floors. It brought back fond memories of the comet and the celebrations for Lucian’s Call; that had hurt immensely, and he had no desire to try anything of the sort today. He turned away and let the breeze squander into silent air as he made his way down through the building, passing clucking mothers over pools of children, arguing daughters and loving husbands, and appeared a moment later out on the street in the oddly cold seclusion of a side street.
He had that funny feeling, the one you got when you were certain something magical was going to happen…
“For once may it not be fireworks, snakes rainin’ from the sky, or Ruby singing with post marital tension…”
For continuation's sake, this is set at the end of Chapter One for Duffy. After all other current quests, once he has returned to Scara Brae from his trip to Radasanth. It is currently meant for Logan, but it's a light hearted conversation piece, so feel free to be in the bar or join in the proceedings; we've a play to rehearse!
How oddly we meet, the stranger and I...
He, a man of the arts,
And I, a man of the sky.
How oddly we parted, the hero and me,
He, bound for greatness,
Me? Bound for tea!
---
You couldn’t fault a man for trying his luck. You couldn’t accuse him if he came your way to make his acquaintance purely based on the fact that you looked approachable. You were responsible after all for yourself, your appearance, your general demeanour. So when the gullible and aloof Duffy Bracken was approached by a noblemen, in broad daylight, and preferred employment…well, who was he to refuse?
He’d certainly have liked to, that was for sure. Ever since his exploits were made ‘public’ by the Harbour Master, his part to play in the ending of the Red Scourge people slowly started to recognise his face, recognise his demeanour, walk and swagger. It was kind of what he wanted, for the Tantalum to be part of the city, as much as the city was part of the troupe; but change was hard to deal with, for anyone. With the sun out as radiant as it was, and with the noise coming up at him, even when sat on the clock tower where he often sat, it was a difficult environment to think.
The employment offered was a petition to write a new play. Nothing too long, but certainly something containing an ‘essence of danger’ and ‘practical’ expansion for ‘further sequels.’ With Lysander’s Flock being performed by other troupe members across the city in matinee cycles, and with Ruby and Lilith experiencing somewhat languishing after effects of the High Summer Ball, somebody had to keep the gold dropping into the coffers…keep the wheels turning creakily. Looking down over the square, and at the Harbour Inn, the events of the previous week were hanging about like ideas, tantalising trinkets of explosive drama, hung on tenterhooks from a pure azure sky. He still ached from the conflict on the deck of the ship, but it had brought him a bounty more prized than gold, it had brought him opportunity.
Of course...“Who will play the captain?” That was the most important question. He couldn’t, evidently, as he’d be playing himself - that in totality was a true actor’s wet dream - no easier role on the hard wood altar could be garnered than to play oneself; living in the flesh. He could try Pete, but he was too young and no hint of comedy was to be added to the event, as per the nobleman’s instruction. “That won’t do…” Lilith? Role reversal was a classic tradition but she was busy and not at all inclined to act with swords, props or otherwise, so that left one person…Ruby isn’t going to like it… Her husband was the only man to play the part, a logistical issue he’d tackle later on.
For now he lingered under the sea twanged sky and counted the seagulls far above, soaring on heights he could only dream of reaching. Every few moments or so he took up his quill and dipped it into the inkpot, before delicately scribbling, if one could delicately scribble, a line or two that cropped up in his head onto the small crimson bound book he had rested on his lap. He had to add archaic notations to each line, turning his squallid slang and the scurvy addled insults of the ship’s crew into military jaunts and neo-naval expressions of kinship…already, one act in, and it didn’t feel like he was there at all, it felt like he was the villain!
The chiming of the great clock tower that was embedded into the front of the building he rested on began to tick, tock, tick, tock, bing, bong, bing, bong. Such a clock doing such a thing at such an hour as midday meant one thing only, that the troupe would be arriving, or at least a few of them, in the cool shade of the Harbour Inn’s thematic maritime bar in the streets below. You couldn’t start a first rehearsel whilst sober, could you? Not once in a hundred years had a Tantalum commanded his troupe onto the stage for the first time and debut without at least some wine flowing!
Pushing himself upright and tucking the book into his trouser pocket, such a troupe master made his way to the edge of the building and peered downwards. The people looked like ants, scurrying left and right and round and round the square as they did, morning, noon, night - the tall and ragged and bedraggled front of his favourite tavern loomed up at him, rising above the clock building by several floors. It brought back fond memories of the comet and the celebrations for Lucian’s Call; that had hurt immensely, and he had no desire to try anything of the sort today. He turned away and let the breeze squander into silent air as he made his way down through the building, passing clucking mothers over pools of children, arguing daughters and loving husbands, and appeared a moment later out on the street in the oddly cold seclusion of a side street.
He had that funny feeling, the one you got when you were certain something magical was going to happen…
“For once may it not be fireworks, snakes rainin’ from the sky, or Ruby singing with post marital tension…”
For continuation's sake, this is set at the end of Chapter One for Duffy. After all other current quests, once he has returned to Scara Brae from his trip to Radasanth. It is currently meant for Logan, but it's a light hearted conversation piece, so feel free to be in the bar or join in the proceedings; we've a play to rehearse!