afabulouskilljoy | the light behind her eyes

Poison never uses an instrument on stage. He has the band of that, and he moves around too fucking much to be responsible for remembering to do more than sing. But at the moment he's in the park, sitting on a bench with an acoustic guitar, just sort of strumming away as he decides what he wants to do.

He owes her a concert, he knows that. A farewell. His girl is out there, somewhere, and she's fighting again, and surviving, and she deserves to be remembered for everything she was here. As he plays, he misses her like an ache. He sings, for her, for all of them.

"Be strong and hold my hand. Time, it comes for us, you’ll understand. We’ll say goodbye today, and I'm sorry how it ends this way. If you promise not to cry, then I’ll tell you just what I would say if I could be with you tonight, I would sing you to sleep. Never let them take the light behind your eyes. I’ll fail and lose this fight - never fade in the dark. Just remember you will always burn as bright."

He remembers how her little hands felt in his when she was a toddler, and he remembers how small she still was when she was all grown up. But she was so big inside - she is so big inside - that he knows she'll be alright.

The Song

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There is never a lack of noise in Darrow, not at all. If one took the time to go far enough outside the central area, it got quieter, but the forests are more solitary than Galadriel would prefer.

So when she walks through the park this day, as is a habit now - it is the quietest and greenest place that remains in close proximity to everything else - it is with quite a bit of joy that she stops to listen to a song. A sad one, but not altogether dark. As the final notes die away and the singer, who appears rather oddly dressed, but no less so than most of the town, grows quiet again, she walks over.

"Do you sing for anyone in particular? It sounds rather heartfelt, and in this matter, I have some experience. There are many for whom I have sung similar tunes. Alas that long years means long laments!"

"My uhm. My daughter."

The Girl isn't his child by blood, but he'd raised her from infancy, so he's pretty sure that makes him her parent. Poison tries not to stare at the woman, but it's kind of hard not to. He's not prone to blushing but he swears he feels his face get a little warm. What the hell? He looks down with a small smile and gives the guitar an absent strum.

"She was here, for a while. Like, the last time I saw her she was six years old, but when she appeared here she was eighteen. All grown up. She disappeared again a while back, and I miss her a lot. Also, all my friends are dead back where I come from."

It's fuckin morbid when he thinks about it too long, but it is the truth.

"That is...quite sad," she responds, not quite sure how else to respond at first. "Not only to lose your daughter so soon, but also to hear of your lost friends. Were I among my kind, I would say to await their return from the Halls of Mandos, but despite my long years, I still do not know what happens to you Edain."

The instrument also catches her attention. She's seen its kind a lot since arriving here, and it strikes her as a very pleasant one. Perhaps something for herself to learn. Her gaze moves back to the singer himself, and she decides to share a bit more of her own thoughts.

"My granddaughter is lost to me as well. She chose love, and love meant mortality." With a sigh, she sits down beside him, taking care not to disturb his instrument. "Perhaps she will live for another few centuries, but time will claim her, and her destiny is beyond my knowledge."

The things she said-- Poison's eyes get a little bigger, because she fuckin looks like every illustration he's ever seen of--

Holy shit.

He manages to keep himself together, though, because he doesn't know how to deal with the fact that he might be talking to an honest-to-fucking-god elf.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm pretty sure we just die. There's the legend of the Phoenix Witch where I come from, that she takes you to wherever it is you're supposed to go after, but." Poison shrugs. "I don't think I saw her before I showed up here."

"The legend of the Phoenix Witch? I have never heard of such a thing. Please, tell me this tale. Is it a long performance?" she asked, thinking back to some of the lays she knew which could take days to be told and sung in full. With a name so ominous, it surely seemed like the type. "You are welcome to join me in my quarters, such as they are, if it is long enough to require refreshment."

Poison laughs a little and makes a dismissive gesture. "It's not all that long. She's just... someone that people believe in, where I come from. I don't really know if she has an origin story, or if someone just started telling someone else about her so you don't feel like your friends are abandoned when they die."

He isn't sure he could bring himself to be indoors right now, but he does move over on the bench, making room if the friggen elf wanted to sit down.

"She guides the souls of the dead. She takes everyone, eventually. It helps if you can leave an offering or two with the dead, a personal thing, to help her find them and get them on their way."

"I'm sorry to hear that. There are so few songs here, and what music there is to be found is buried under the noise of these vehicles and all the rest," she says, gesturing around at the cityscape.

For a few moments, she's disappointed to find out that there is no ballad to accompany this strange persona. Then she shrugs slowly, as there is little else to do. With room on the bench, she takes a seat, and the juxtaposition between their appearances strikes her, resulting in a smile and slightly-concealed laughter. This, too, is brief, and followed by a question.

"Do you know some tales that can be sung? Or is that, too, not a custom here?"

"I think you just have to look in the right places for songs," Poison says as he looks down at his guitar. "I mean, I used to think the desert was nothing but heat and wind, but there was music there, too."

He looks over at the woman, who he's pretty sure is a freakin elf.

"The city has music. The noise is music, if you listen to it right. And yeah, I know some stories that can be sung. Uh, bear with me."

He considers a moment. It's been a while since he's heard the poem he's thinking of put the music, but he eventually figures out something to play, and sings:

"Willows whiten, aspens shiver. The sunbeam showers break and quiver in the stream that runneth ever by the island in the river flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle powers, the Lady of Shalott."

the light behind her eyes

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