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

[mindinthegittern]

[points to the door on the left??]

[abardacttofollow]

Right! Composition, Performance, and the Gift, in that order.

[mindinthegittern]

See you in awhile, then.

[walking through the Composition door]

Composition 1

[abardacttofollow]

You find yourself in a back alley in what looks like a medieval city—or rather, some sort of stage set of it, decorated cloth hung up to cover the four walls to show city streets leading off, the back of some sort of house of ill repute . The smell of it is terrible, though, and a lot of the props around seem real as well—a cracked barrel with almost all of its contents leaked out into the flagstones under your feet, sewage running past in a small channel by one wall, garbage scraps of food around, most of it too rotten to eat. There is a huge pile of garbage in your path, and on the other side, you see the other door. The cord runs through the middle of the room and under that locked door.

At the base of the door are two huddled rag figures—an old lady, and a young boy with a lock of brilliant auburn hair hanging around his face. They are both shivering, and the boy looks to be injured or deformed, his leg at an odd angle and bandaged, wounds seeping, though someone familiar with the scam can probably tell it's all false paste wounds and his limbs carefully tied into those positions. His hungry eyes and sunken cheeks are real, though. One hand loosely clasps a moldy roll with a few bites taken out of it.

"Alms," the old lady calls in a weak, shaking voice. "Alms, please. If not for me, for my poor boy, alms!"

There is a cracked wooden bowl on the ground between them—sitting on what appears to be a weighted platform, attached to the door.

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

[mindinthegittern]

[digging in his pockets automatically to see if he has any money. probably some QM dollars?]

You're—Berte.

[abardacttofollow]

She squints at him suspiciously.

"Who are you? A fancy Bard from up the way?"

[mindinthegittern]

I guess.... that's what I am. I'm Medren.

[crouching down and putting the paper dollars in the bowl]

And you must be Stefen, too.

[abardacttofollow]

The scale under on the bowl doesn't shift. Perhaps they don't recognize it as money.

"What do you want with my boy?" Berte asks. Stefen shrinks back a little, shy, but with his legs bound up he can't really pull away.

[mindinthegittern]

I want to help. Not sure how, though. I haven't any coin, just that.

[abardacttofollow]

"If you want to help, find a way to get some? Help two beggars out..."

[mindinthegittern]

...

[hesitantly]

...you ought to let Stef sing, that should bring some in.

[abardacttofollow]

"Don't you tell me what to do with my boy."

[mindinthegittern]

Surely it's no harm if I teach him a tune...?

[abardacttofollow]

Stefen licks cracked lips and pulls on Berte's sleeve.

"Fine, I suppose," Berte says with a sigh. "What harm can it do?"

[mindinthegittern]

All right, Stefen. Let's see what you can do. Just follow along, but I'm going low and you'll have to go high.

[he starts a rhythm, clapping his hands and slapping his thighs, clap-clap slap-slap, coming in on the third bar of that with the bass line on the kind of pure, insistent working tune that a treble voice could carry easily and capture attention with, something with simple lyrics and an oft-repeating chorus that little Stefen should be able to pick up easily even if he doesn't already know it.]

[abardacttofollow]

Stefen listens intently, eyes bright. After a while, he joins in, his voice unsteady but pure.

[mindinthegittern]

[is there even anyone else here. this is a set piece. well, whatever. just in case it helps, Medren's putting his Gift behind it, making it a take-notice song and a hopeful song, something to draw a crowd and put them in a good mood.]

[abardacttofollow]

Stef... follows that too, unconsciously, pushing into it.

People start showing up, passing through the walls, throwing coppers into the bowl. The door clicks. Berte lets out a crow of delight.

Little Stefen is just absorbed in what he's doing.

[mindinthegittern]

[WELL it sure is a relief when that door clicks. he's going to finish the song before he goes, though, breaking into a little round of applause for Stefen.]

Well done.

[abardacttofollow]

Stef blushes hard and stares around in surprise and delight. He seems to have lost his voice again, shy, but he mumbles a soft, "Thanks."

[mindinthegittern]

I have to go now, but you keep on like that.

[waving goodbye and heading through the door]

Composition 2

[abardacttofollow]

The next room is a very small tenement room. There's a heap of rags making up a bed. In it is the same old woman from the previous room, snoring loudly and drunkenly. There's no mistaking her condition—an empty bottle is still clutched in her hand.

Stefen is huddled in the opposite corner from the bed. He is stretching out legs that are clearly sore, a shiner of a bruise on his cheek and his fingers are shaking, though whether it's hunger or pain, it's hard to tell. There are resentful tears unshed in his eyes as he silently goes about his business. He too is on a pile of rags, and he stares at you—then lights up on recognizing you, waving. A crutch leans against the wall near him. A rat scurries through the room as you take the image in.

As before, the cord runs through the room and under a locked door with some sort of weighted platform next to it. This time, there's no bowl, but it's clear something should still go there.

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

[mindinthegittern]

[waving back, trying not to make too sorry a face, keeping his voice down somewhat]

Hello again.

[abardacttofollow]

"Hello," Stef whispers shyly. "She won't wake up for a while, probably, but be quiet anyway, all right?"

[mindinthegittern]

[nods, tiptoeing over to crouch beside him, whispering back]

Are you alright...?