QUIET MOUNDS - STEF HEART

[abardacttofollow]

You find yourself in a stone room that looks like some sort of medieval dungeon. There are (thankfully), no torture instruments, but there is a man strung up here. One large manacle is around his neck, chaining him stiffly to the door. His hands are free, but each foot is manacled to the matching bottom corner of the doorframe. There is a visible lock on each of the three manacles.

It's Stefen, and there's a knife in his chest. Despite that, he's alive, apparently alert, and doesn't look to be in pain, perhaps due to the lulling, sense-dulling music that seems to be coming from nowhere at all—in fact, if you were in pain before you entered, it's gone here. His wound is bleeding, but only a little, and he smiles his usual bright smile at you.

Behind him, but in front of the closed door he's bound to, you can see three double sets of strings running vertically. Where they meet the floor, they are fastened, and then each runs across the floor to the three doors on the opposite wall, then under them.

There is nothing else in this room.

((OOC: Here's how this will work! Since we're doing individual runs, rather than me putting up individual top levels for areas, just jump the post itself, and I'll run everything for you within your one thread. If you're wanting to do a run with someone else, just stay in the same thread together.))

Comments

[splashofbourbon]

[he takes a look around first, no one's taken notice of his presence, have they?]

[abardacttofollow]

Several people have glanced toward you, but apparently it's not so strange for people to listen in on lessons.

[splashofbourbon]

[he scowls a little, watching the teacher a moment longer before he just steps up to check out the empty desk]

[abardacttofollow]

Several of the students whisper among each other again. There's some nudging and eyebrow raising and smirking.

The desk has some writing materials, and a stack of handwritten music.

[splashofbourbon]

[checking out the music, ignoring the onlookers]

[abardacttofollow]

Several pieces, all love songs. One has a title "Ode to Boys".

There's another titter as you look through his music. (Stef is just so—)

[splashofbourbon]

[he shoots a look in the direction of that titter]

He's what now?

[abardacttofollow]

"Are you even from the court? Or are you a pimp from his past?"

The teacher clears his throat. "That's enough chatter like that. If you have time to harass visitors you have time to listen to the lesson."

[splashofbourbon]

Best be watching your tongue if you don't wanna lose it.

[he's making his way to the front of the room now, to the scale]

[abardacttofollow]

The teacher sighs but doesn't stop you.

[splashofbourbon]

[cool, can he just. push on it to even it out? what's going on here?]

[abardacttofollow]

It doesn't move when you touch it with your hand.

[splashofbourbon]

[hrm. is there anything on it alrady?]

[abardacttofollow]

[There is not]

[splashofbourbon]

[is it listing to either side right now?]

[abardacttofollow]

It's just one scale half, a weighted plate attached to the door.

[splashofbourbon]

[well, he's gonna go take that ode to boys and set it on the scale]

[abardacttofollow]

[click; the door unlocks]

"Is that Stefen's?" the teacher asks, interrupting himself.

[splashofbourbon]

[bingo]

Sure is. I reckon it might not be to your liking though.

[abardacttofollow]

"Doesn't matter whether I like if personally if it's any good. I thought when he skipped he hadn't got anything done." The teacher holds his hand out.

[splashofbourbon]

Well, long as you leave it in one piece.

[he hands the music over]

[abardacttofollow]

The teacher puts the music behind the lectern and goes back to teaching.

[splashofbourbon]

[eh, McCree shrugs, going through the door]

Performance 2

[abardacttofollow]

The next is a shared dorm room, small and cozy, with something like corking up all over the walls. It makes it not the prettiest room, but it's very quiet. Even that background music that won't stop is muffled here.

There are two twin beds crammed in, with a small desk beside each. Both desks are absolute messes of writing utensils and musical instruments and parchment. One bed is made up like it hasn't been slept in, while the other is all rucked up and has a sweet, but slightly sweaty, scent coming from it.

A young man is here—a much younger Medren, brown hair at an awkward length and his shoulders just a little too big for his current form. He's maybe twelve or thirteen at most. He's sitting on his bed, plinking away at a song on a gittern and laughing about it, the sound warm.

As before, the cord runs through the room and under a locked door with some sort of weighted platform next to it.

A sign on the door reads: "What is the weight of family? What of love?"

[splashofbourbon]

[takes a look around, assessing, before he nods to the roommate]

Howdy there.