Dance, Dream, And Decide (Closed)

[Ruby]

Dance, Dream, And Decide


Closed to Cel.

Title, poem, and picture to follow when the site is fixed.

[Ruby]

Ruby leant back into the rickety chair, and tilted the cut glass flute to her lips. She took deep inhalation of the deep red wine within and instantly felt relieved. Sat at the centre of her meagre instruction chamber, the spell singer took to her vintage Shiraz like a duck to water, swimming in the bouquet and aroma with almost ecstatic strokes. It had, by all standards, been a ludicrously testing morning period. What made the matriarch quite unable to utterly unwind, was the presence of an even longer afternoon of lectures, private tuition, and debate with the other instructors of the Turlin School of blade singing.

Istien University was alive with activity once again, throwing caution to the wind, and ignorant of the fact that Raiaera lay in ruins all about its lofty, needle like, and gleaming towers. Ruby had to admire the insistence of the elven council to continue onwards despite it all. She crossed her tightly laced boots left leg over right, and extended her legs away from the chair’s serpentine legs. The folds of her dress flowed regally in the wake of her motion, and as she clicked her neck left and right, she at least started to feel human again.

The timetable she was now bound to as an instructor at the University left her little time to actually remember why she was doing this. She had been in Raiaera for only a month since they had departed Ixian Castle, and already she had abandoned any desire to return to the beleaguered landscape of Corone. She missed Scara Brae still, but she clung to the hope that one day Duffy would be able to find a way to defeat their ancient enemy. For now, Ruby turned her attention to the small table by the chair, and its contents.

“Well,” she sipped her wine, taking just enough to smother her tongue, “I dare say you have earned this Mrs Winchester.” The bitter after taste of the fine wine conjured a full-bodied, well balance, and sudden desire to accent it with her luncheon. She set the glass down next to the simple white porcelain plate, and scooped it onto her lap with her right hand. “Though,” she chuckled, speaking aloud to give herself something to respond to in the deafening silence, “I would give an arm and a leg for the elves to learn how to make chutney…” wistfully, she fingers the various sliced meats, wholemeal crackers, and cheese slices that were arranged elegantly on the plate.

As she popped a grape into her mouth and sloshed it around her cheeks, she set her gaze onto the open doorway that lead out into the cold stone corridor beyond. Only thirty or so minutes before, her previous student had departed on a wing and a prayer. Though it had been the first time she had encountered the young elf, she had been impressed with the form and the devotion she had to overcoming her demons. There was healing to be done, and Ruby’s voice was the poultice, potion, and herbal lathe.

“Who will be next?” she said sarcastically, spiting the inner narrative that raced through her mind whilst she tried to turn off for just long enough to actually enjoy her lunch. She did not wish to eat too much, lest she become lethargic, sluggish, and unable to fully expand her diaphragm. “Heaven forbid it be somebody that is not an elf…” her slur was not racial, but her frustration with the arrogance of her peers was gnawing away at her with every note sung, and with every chorus recanted.

She frowned. She picked up a cracker next, dipped it into something approaching a pickled preserve, and then pressed a slice of what appeared to be beef onto the rustic square. With a ritualistic count to three, a flick of her wrist to remove any excess, and a smile, she took a bite. The crack of the wafer thundered through the chamber, an ominous snap to attention for the slumbering guard just beyond the doorway. He grunted excitedly, but quickly faded back into idyll.

Several minutes turned into fifteen, and disdainfully, Ruby examined her laced bodice and neckline. She took a hefty swig of the Shiraz, set the glass onto the table with a chime next to her plate, and then slammed her heels into the stone to push her lazy form upright. An avalanche of crumbs descended to the floor, and she removed the remainder with artful pats of the crimson cloth. “Oh dear, dear me,” she chuckled, the rush of blood to her head wavering her senses. “If your mother could see you now Ruby Winchester,” she chided herself, but took several deep breathes to draw back her swooning and stem her need to make light of a serious situation. She coughed politely.

Freed of her crumbs, she checked the doorway, nodded with renewed vigour, and poured herself another glass from the dusty, waxed sealed bottle. With a loud, ominous, and sagely chime of heavy glass against mahogany, she set the bottle down and started to limber up. She rolled her shoulders, ankles, and neckline, and then jumped on the spot several times for good measure. “Send in the next appointment, would you Ratherr?” she snapped at the guard, who grunted to life and appeared briefly as he ran to the left.

Ruby listened to the sound of the door opening, and closing, and footsteps approaching he rectangle of heavy stone and stagnant air. Her voice was crystal clear, her breath stained with fruit and spice, and her hear heavy with the long haul to salvation that would come when she finally achieved her dream; to regain her lost doctorate in the Turlin Arts.

[Taste of Treason]

Perhaps I should have found someone else to ask directions of. Cel’s arms filled with goose bumps, as they always did when she found herself lost or alone. It was certainly taking some getting used to being outside again. Inside the home she had never been alone, even in the dark of night she could call out and a firm voice would yell back at her some obscenity that meant she was to keep quiet until her meds came the following morning.

Now, she could scream as loudly as she wanted to, and no one would hear a thing. The sun burned on her pale skin as she walked through what once had surely been a beautiful town. Foundations of houses still stood, wrapped in dust from their walls demise. Every now and then a building could still be recognized in the remnants of a saloon or a beauty parlor. The young girl bundled herself tighter in her long red dress and black oversized jacket, given to her by a nurse shortly before she was released.

Those final days at the home were filled with terror of the unknown. People were not often released from the place, most crazies were sure to be crazy forever, but it had taken little time for the doctors and staff to realize that Cel was less insane than she was simply unwanted. So, on her eighteenth birthday she would be released into a world she knew nothing about, with no money to speak of and no where to go. They had looked into schools for people with gifts like hers, no promises of acceptance, but perhaps it was the best they could do.

As a layer of dust covered her oversized black flats she began to see a structure on the horizon. Her heart fluttered even as her stomach dropped. This could be home, or it could be just another place she had no future. Her parent’s faces appeared in her mind, their faces twisted in pain not from sending their daughter away, but for the precious work they had lost to the child. She had spent years hoping to pull that kind of emotion from the pair, and when she finally had she knew she would never be welcome there again. She could almost imagine the sound of the pages crackling in the fire. She had smiled as her parent’s one true love went up in flames before her very eyes. She shook her head and stifled a smile, that was the night she went crazy.

As she approached the majestic structure she watched people, students she assumed speaking to each other as they walked from one place to another, laughing naturally. Some of the young people seemed distracted, probably with a particularly lengthy night of work ahead of them. Cel stepped through the gates, taking in all of this before an abrupt hit on her left side sent her flying into the dirt.

Within moments she was surrounded by a group of boys, one helping her to her feet while the others seemed concerned. The one with his hand extended pulled her up and looked her up and down for a moment. “Are you alright? Sorry about that, we were just playing around. I didn’t see you there.” Cel’s face flushed, and she looked down at her now torn hosiery, the one thing she wore that actually fit. Nothing seemed to be damaged beyond repair though. She looked up into the green eyes of the man and could not seem to bring any words to her lips. They stood there for a long moment before someone behind her snickered. She made out a whisper between the group, “Can’t even talk.”

Cel forced her eyes to the ground in front of her and turned quickly, breaking her way through the circle of kids. Tears stung in her eyes, but she would not cry here. Not on her first day or over something as stupid as being knocked down. Her black curls fell on either side of her face as she kept her eyes on the steps ahead of her. She made her way into the offices and after a short exchange with a secretary she was led upstairs and to some sort of teacher’s study. She nervously made her way through the door and took in the woman before her, nerves bunching up in her stomach. This was her chance, if she could just force her mouth to move.

“Ms. Winchester,” the words came out barely a whisper. “I was told to meet with you?” Cel’s eyes trained on the floor, heat rising in the back of her nape as she noted the remnants of a meal on the table. “I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

[Ruby]

Ruby’s face paused in the exact expression it had been enjoying when the girl appeared around the ancient stone verge of the doorway. She made no sound, no movement, and no attempt to greet her. In between a mouthful of cracker, wine, and matured Berevar Yak cheese, she had been caught quite off guard. She had left it in between her cheeks to mature, saunter, and grows strong. When she swallowed it, it left a bitter after taste on her tongue that soured her vintage. She reminded herself to not indulge quite so much until her day was through, in too many hours than she dared to count.

“No my dear, not at all,” she finally blurted out. Her deep eyes glimmered with a cheeky mischief. She continued to chew the remnant of her mouthful for a few choice seconds, and let a small trickle of the wine slip out of her right corner. She caught it with a lightning finger, and used it to redden and moisten her lips. It also left a spicy after taste of berry and bramble. “Please, do not dally on the frontier, we have much to do and I dare say not enough time to do it in.” She waved the girl over, and she reluctantly advanced.

With every anxious step towards her new teacher, Ruby could see that was intimidated by her stature. Though she was not altogether that much taller, perhaps due to her witch like heels, she doubted it was going to help the girl’s confidence. The girl’s physical appearance certainly was not helping Ruby’s. She was remarkably attractive, donning a curled weave and springy hair style that seemed to bounce back into place whenever she moved, and a simple pair of black flats which flapped against the stone. Her overall image was augmented with an ounce of dishevelled bohemian swagger, excess cloth from oversized clothing, and a strange aura that intrigued the matriarch.

“Thank you, thank you very much Ms. Winchester.”

“Stop there,” she instructed. Her right finger extended to highlight the flagstone precisely sixteen feet from where she was standing. “Distance and time are two critical components to projecting one’s voice.” Her dry tone was a bitter attempt at concealing her resentment. “Though before we begin, my dear, let us clarify one thing.” She smirked, suddenly relinquishing her motherly nature. It was her way to unnerve in the first few moments, to strip them bare to build them back up. “It is Mrs Winchester and Lady Winchester to those who are outside the echelons of Istien University.” She tightened the newly acquired golden sash about her waist, set her hair straight, and smacked her lips again.

The look on the girl’s face spelled a thousand surprised. Instinctively, she cocked her knees into lack lustre curtsy and bowed her head slightly. When she rose, she dropped her smile at the sour expression on her instructor’s face. “I am sorry milady, did I do something wrong?”

Ruby shook her head. “No, not at all. To you, it is Ruby. I have a stomach for many things,” she cocked her head on the extension of her shake towards the bottle, “fine wine, good company, and the imparting of one’s knowledge.” She rose on her heels, and then slapped their pins back into the stone. “Formalities are not one of them. Formalities have their place, their purpose, and their use in life. When you are done here, you will have made your first steps towards qualifying as a graduate of the college in which you stand.” She waved her arms wide at the meagre décor of the instruction chamber.

“I hope so…” the girl muttered. “I really hope so, Ruby.”

Ruby smiled. “What is your name my dear?” she asked, taking on a sterner tone that was soft, motherly, and yet friendly, too. “We cannot get very far in our introduction to vocal projection and a practical demonstration rattling through a myriad titles and traditional bows every time one of us comes close to breathing.” She scrolled the pattern of the girl’s girls a second, third, and a fourth time whilst she waited for a reply. Her tanned skin, dark eyes, and uneasy disposition was entirely opposite to the cool, cold, and calculated façade of her previous student.

This was everything Ruby had hoped for in a student, and she hoped she would be so much more. Only in a human’s heart did the truest of notes echo in the stars.

[Taste of Treason]

Cel felt out of place in the wake of the instructor, she was not used to standing before a woman who obviously knew a thing or two about the finer things in life. It felt as though she had stepped into a new universe rather than a university.

She very nearly ran from the room, giving up on the venture before it properly began. Then Ruby’s demeanor changed, something inviting was in her words. She held the keys to the world Cel dreamed of becoming a part of. When the woman gestured her forward Cel’s legs responded with little agreement from her mind. She was aware of the slap of her large shoes against the hard floor. The tear in her hosiery was worsening and her dress had become quite wrinkled during her journey. Why someone would take her as a serious student was beyond Cel’s comprehension, she was not even sure that she would be cut out for learning magic at all.

It had all started shortly after she arrived at the home. She had been poked and prodded, undressed and looked over. Her clothes had been checked for weapons, and once it had been decided they would be too distracting to the other patients she was instead given a simple white gown to wear. She was placed on suicide watch, alone for several days with only the words in her mind to keep her company. After nearly a week she was given private time in the outdoor enclosure, where she looked up to the sun and began to sing softly to herself. It was something she had seen parents do to calm their aching children, to stop the nightmares that so often crept into children’s minds. The home was filled with nightmares; no one knows the horrors of their own imagination until they are left alone with only themselves for company. As she sang, she closed her eyes, each note releasing some of the pain within her soul. She must have sat there for hours, eyes tightly shut as she relished the small amount of sunlight that made its way through the chained fence. She never even knew what was happening. An older woman, a nurse probably, came to bring her back to her room when she saw what must have shocked her. Within moments the entire staff seemed to be in the tiny enclosure, staring at several dozen animals that had come to hear Cel’s song. She was quickly placed back in solitary with the nightmares. It was weeks before they trusted her enough to let her back out.

When Ruby asked her name Cel froze for a moment. She had heard enough jokes in the home to know that her moniker was far from ordinary. “Cel, Miss, My name is Cel.” The teacher raised her eyebrows expectantly, and the girl continued. “It’s short for Cellar Door.” In way of explanation she simply offered, “My parents were poets.”

In the months before she left the home several meetings had been set up to talk about her future. It was rare for someone to leave the home at all, much less with no where to go. Several schools had been discussed, as a way to help her adapt to the outside world while still giving her some structure. She had sat terrified until they had mentioned a school far away, where gifts like hers were welcomed and built upon. She had always seen her ‘talent’ as just another thing to set her apart from everyone else. Here though, here she might be normal. She was determined to do whatever it took to prove she belonged.

[Ruby]

“Poets you say?” Ruby raised an eyebrow. There was an instant spark of recognition in the spell singer’s eyes that portrayed her interest in the girl. It was if a light had been sparked in her mind, illuminating a path to potential growth. “Now,” she mused, tapping her chin with a slender finger, “that is interesting.”

At the heart of every song, within each verse, line, and coupling there was rhythm. Poetry was to the written word that singing was to the spoken. They were art forms, by all means, but each was a living conduit for so much more than beauty, admiration, and meaning. If you had groundwork in one, you were well on the way to mastering the other. Ruby had never explored the written side of her creativity before, so the possibility of an exchange occurring, as opposed to a traditional single flow instruction only served to make her determined to help Cellar to reach a potential she did not yet know she had.

“Is it really?” the girl frowned. Ruby had heard her tone before, whenever somebody expressed doubt, shame, or guilt about their past. She had learnt how damaging that sort of relationship could be with friends, lovers, and family many years ago. “They’re just words…” she shuffled from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. Ruby, however, held no such reservations.

“Whatever you have learnt from your parents will be an invaluable tool to help you understand the basic principles of forming your own lyrics.” She turned back to the small table and approached it eagerly. Whilst she waited for the spark in her own eyes to finally cite enquiry in Cel’s, she stooped to reach to the small pile of archaic tomes beneath the mahogany vestibule. There, she found the second of the three Winterfell Tomes, and slipped it from the stack. The top two tomes tumbled back and clattered noisily onto the stone. “You will learn in time how picturing the sentence structure, grammar, and meaning of the words augments your notation.” She rose, turned sharply, and approached her newest pupil.

“I guess,” she simmered.

“Do not guess, Cel. Never guess. You can believe, hope, and pray when singing, but never guess. To guess,” she pushed the book towards her young charge and forced it upon her. Cel took it and tossed its weight up and down in her hands. “This is the book you will work with, study, and draw upon during your instruction with me. I do not know what other lecturers will instruct you, but here, in this chamber,” she waved her hands wide open to take in the expanse of the rectangular space, and rose on the front of her toes, “you will learn Projection, Diction, and Emotional Notation.” In the Turlin School, this was in essence how to add moral and healing into the way you sing, as much as the energy put into the lexicon and intention. If you did not sing with pious morals, then there was no healing to be had in its glimmering verse.

“What has diction got to do with singing?” Cel frowned again, becoming more open, but still uncertain with her teacher. Ruby chuckled and drew back her flamboyant mood.

“Everything, actually,” she quipped. She cut her thought path off short, took several steps back to make the gap between them the customary sixteen feet, and then pushed up her diaphragm, as if she were preparing to perform. “Now, however, we focus on a practical assessment of what I have to work with.” She smiled. “Sing, Cel. Sing.” It was a simple enough instruction, devoid of any further details by way of offering the floor, the air, and the stage to the girl. Whatever she came out with would allow Ruby to adapt the syllabus of her module to best help, suit, and aid the girl in her progress through the graduate diploma.

[Taste of Treason]

Cel’s mind repeated the teacher’s words. Never guess. A nervous laugh escaped the girl’s ruby lips as her instructor took a few steps away from her. She kept her eyes glued to the stonework floor, her hands plucking nervously at the sides of her leggings. The smooth material felt cool on her suddenly damp hands, and she swallowed hard trying to clear the lump that was developing at the base of her throat. The heavy book seemed to keep her feet on the ground even as she thought she might float away. It felt like it was staring at her, asking her to be brave. She closed her eyes and raised her head as a soft melody began to flow from somewhere deep inside. It was a simple song; (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bGtErjVV2b8&feature=youtu.be) one she often heard sung sweetly by children her dreams, something about it had always resonated within her. The meaning was lost on Cel, but she felt powerful when she hummed it. Surely that was what her teacher wanted her to feel as she sang. She took Ruby's advice. She did not guess.

Up in the meadow magic flies,
Each little flower ‘neath the skies,
The children will flock there as night falls,
Playing and laughing till dawn calls,

As she sang she could feel something insider her reaching out, and the sound of distant thunder began to reach the study. The hair on her arms seemed to stand up, and a shiver rushed up her spine. Something was changing within the space.

Sleep little one, hold out hope and I will come
Sleep little one, I will hold you in my arms

Raindrops began to fall on the windows, a soft tapping filling in as accompaniment. Cel closed her eyes tighter, her forehead creased as she made her voice louder. Each tone reverberated off the walls and stood stagnant in the air until the next note took its place.

Up in the meadow magic flies,
There will be no more pain this night
The children all flock there as night falls,
Praying for someone to save them all,

The windows began to rattle softly as Cel’s voice filled the room, a tear sliding down her rosy cheek as she felt each word deep in her soul. She brought her hand to her cheek, unsure of what was happening around her.

Sleep little one, hold out hope and I will come
Sleep little one, I will hold you in my arms

When her voice faded Cel looked to the now clear window, had the rain been only her imagination? She rushed over and placed her face against the glass, a soft smile reaching her lips as she took in the soggy students below looking up to the sky with curiosity. She felt the cool, smooth surface on her forehead, watching as a single water droplet skimmed the outside surface in perfect timing with the last teardrop falling from her cheek.

[Ruby]

When the droplet of salty tear struck the hard stone of the lecture hall, Ruby felt her heart sink. Whilst she declined the offer from her ducts to vent their emotions down her delicately painted face, it did not stop her stomach churning, her heart racing, and her nerves coming undone at their already frayed ends. Something stirred in the fabric of her being, and it gratified her sensibilities very much so. The energy, sound, and vibrancy that emerged from the girl’s voice were akin to the purist form of artistry – it made Ruby smile.

“Cel, that was truly beautiful.” Though the girl knew Ruby not, she would have little trouble discerning that the matriarch’s voice was devoid of lies. She was being utterly, radiantly, and entirely truthful. She was envious, by all means, for the girl’s ability to draw on something she found painful to use so potently. It had taken her years to discover what her trigger was, yet here Cel somehow seemed to have known all along. Her family, her poetry, and whatever past she was running from would serve her advancement through the historical annuls of spell singing at the University.

“Was it?” Cel frowned. Ruby half wanted to strike the self-doubt from her. She saw the doubt grow right in front of her. “It was just singing.”

“Singing is singing that much is true. When you spell out meaning and intent with those verses however it becomes something entirely different altogether.” Ruby tapped the point of her chin in contemplation, whilst she tried to think of different approach to putting across the basics of her instruction. “You sang about pain, childhood, and the dreary idyll instilled in a young heart by the descent into sleep.” She furrowed her brow to try and remember the rest of the lyrics.

“I sang about those things because they matter to me.” The meekness in her voice faded, snapping into a rigid determination that Ruby had to pause for thought to calculate.

“Well, that is good to know.” Her own voice found the girl’s discarded insecurity and wallowed in it.

“Was it really raining?” she continued, gesturing to the eastern wall with a wide wave. She remained fixated on the wall, and her shoes, as loose fitting as her ill fitted clothing remained securely on the same spot she had been instructed to stand. It did not take her long to recognise what the silence meant. She looked back at Ruby, and then slouched. “I did not think so…”

“You saw rain?” Ruby raised her eyebrows with half-hearted curiosity. Cel nodded, inciting Ruby to walk soothingly to her chair. She sat without much fuss, and crossed her right leg over her left knee. She began to bob her foot up and down and lick the dryness from her lips. She had intended to reply it Cel’s debut with a song she had prepared to illustrate her point. Her wings as the metaphor went had been thoroughly clipped. Instead she have to wait for some sign of weakness, some paltry notion of doubt to incite her own vocal chords to life even half as vibrant as Cel’s had been. “Sometimes the consequences of our singing can be utterly unpredictable.”

“I know that too well…” the girl replied. There was a weight of history in her words that might have shattered the flagstones and sundered the walls of the chamber, had they not been bound in cantrips, enchantments, and crenulations of heart song centuries ago.

Ruby grinned. That was all she needed to act on. “Cast away the melody, and stand amidst the sound. Fall together and be free, and live through every sound.” Though Ruby’s words were more controlled, precise, and full of energy, the matriarch saw rain start to patter against the windows along the eastern wall. She could not help but smile as she rose from her seat and threw her arms wide. She stepped forwards, but was careful not to close to Cel beyond the customary sixteen foot perimeter. Though more skilled than the girl, she had still been known to smash palisades and cause broken bones if she was not careful.

“Bind friendship in the memories, of love, and hate, and loss.” She tipped her head, nodded, and then drew her hands together. “Drink with friends and feast with enemies, and life will be without cost!” she clapped. A deep thud rang through the lecture room, and the guards beyond the border of the open doorway jumped with a start.

“What was that?” Cel raised an eyebrow, seemingly unparsed by the sudden noise.

Ruby smiled. “Some people go to the pantry to fetch a glass, or call on servants to dispense with the fine china at high tea.” The matriarch pinched her fore finger and thumb of her left hand together. She left them close together, just apart enough to grasp the tall wine glass when it crackled into view. Ruby witnessed Cel’s eyes widen with far too much pleasure. They sparkled with spurious glamour to the cut crystal. Ruby turned to the table and set the glass next to her own. As she filled them both with deft movements, and emptied the last of the Shiraz from the bottle born from antiquity, she arranged the violet words swirling about her head. She set the bottle noisily onto the stained table top.

“Soon Cel,” she picked up both glasses and turned to face her pupil. “You will conjure much more than that.” She advanced, her heels clipping against the stone, until she was in arm’s reach. “Here, let us toast,” she held the fresh glass out eagerly. “To the past and to the future and to the comfort found in the spring palls and the autumnal rains.” She glanced at one of the windows, just to check the illusion of their spell magic was just that – a portent of things to come.

Cel took the glass and took a sniff.

“Vintage, Shiraz, from the steppes of Berevar. It is produced in Raiaera, but it spends a season in the ice vaults of the High Guard to mature in sub temperate conditions. It gives it it’s,” she licked her lips, took a sip, then smiled with a reddened grin, “clarity. Have you drunken much before?” she asked, as a bid to break the ice before moving on to prizing Cel’s focus on the weather, her past, and her self-esteem.