strangetrip | OTA: Fly me to the moon

Caden stood on the edge of the wide room - the Main Dance Floor, the plaque on the door said, with its polished hardwood floor, hot pink chairs, incredible chandeliers and enchanting rafters, but he only had eyes for what stood on the stage. Gleaming, perfect, beautiful, grand.

A piano.

Before heading out, Caden had put on make-up as one would an armour, heavy kohl around his eyes, glitter on his temples, and dressed in some of the clothes he'd found in the boutique. The navy waistcoat and slacks did not feel at all like him; they would not make anyone look twice at him. The cut and the fit were decent, but the color was dull. But there was not much at the boutique that fit him even remotely like he wanted it to, so he made do with the suit, keeping his shirt unbuttoned down the V of the waistcoat, and it sleeves rolled up to his elbows. With his hair pulled back in a ponytail and a strand 'accidentally' escaping it to frame one side of his face, it was a good enough fac simile of the way he would have dressed for a night of work at the Blues Palace.

But Caden might as well have been wearing one of his brighter, more Aurellian crochet tops and a skirt, for all that he cared about his appearance the moment his eyes landed on the piano. The martini he had just acquired at the bar next door all but forgotten in his hand, he walked towards the stage, drawn by a swell of emotions that all mingled with hope, with love, with faith.

He set the glass on the lip of the piano, took a seat on the stool, and reverently ran his hands over the keys. It was a few moments before he dared to play out a small tune, making sure that the instrument was tuned. His hands grew in confidence as he went on, and it wasn't long before he was running through the notes of one of the first songs he had ever played - and sung - in front of an audience. How long had it been since he had played it? The keys came back, little by little, muscle memory eventually winning the game of trial and error, the rings he wore glittering in the light as his fingers slid over black and white.

Eventually, Caden felt happy enough with his play that he started to sing along, in a low croon, "Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars, Let me see what Canwyn's like Among the sun and stars... In other words, hold my hand... In other words, darling, kiss me..."

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Really, Curnen did not know jazz music anywhere near as well as she knew bluegrass or folk or country or old time, but this song was one of the exceptions. The lyrics held some appeal for a Tufa, especially one who had manifested wings and flown on the night wind. Her voice lifted easily, high and pure.

Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On a-Jupiter and Mars

In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me

Caden had planned on letting her sing the first line alone, then join in, but he hadn't expected the goosebump that broke out over him at the sound of her voice. Oh, her song was something. He very nearly fubbed a key on the piano, then focused back on it, and finally joined back in at the end of the first verse.

He was curious what a jupiter and mars might be.

They went on singing together, his tone warm and adoring, rather than the playful flirt it had been when he had only been singing the song to her, instead of with her.

Fill my heart with song and
Let me sing forever more
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore

In other words, please be true
In other words, I love you

Curnen smiled at the slip, though otherwise didn't react or remark. There was love in his playing, both for the playing and for this song, and she heard that more clearly than any mistake. As Caden's voice joined hers, she slipped up into a descant, her voice dancing above his.

She wasn't sure when her eyes became wet. There was no stab of pain, not a gaping wound, but there was a dull ache somewhere in her chest. Her voice never faltered, the notes clear and true to the end.

Somewhere along the way, she'd started singing to Brushy, and the realization that it wasn't killing her was both bewildering and a relief.

Caden stopped the song with a few graver notes, this time, and he remained quiet for a moment. Then he looked over at her with a soft, warm smile, and turned his hand over on the edge of the keyboard, an invitation if she wanted to take it. "Is this something you'd like to talk about?" he asked, quietly, his own throat a little tighter for the tears shining in her eyes.

Curnen blinked, swallowing the lump growing in her throat as she took his offered hand. "My husband," she whispered. "I was thinking about my husband."

Caden let her have his hand however she wanted, whether it was wrapping their hands around each other or threading their fingers together. Then he stroked her hand with his thumb, tilting sideway just enough to be an invitation for her to lean against him, if she wanted. "What's his name?" he asked, just as quietly. That was an invitation to keep talking about him.

"Brushy Dale," she said, and she swallowed hard and squeezed Caden's hand for a breath or two. "He... he died a while back." The measure of when varied considerably.

"And that song made you think of him," Cal offered gently. Another invitation.

Curnen nodded, slowly and almost distractedly. "It wasn't one of ours, but yeah. It's weird the shit I can see and hear and be fine, and then..." she sniffled and wiped her eyes with her free hand. "Well."

Caden's thumb still smoothed a rhythmic caress over the back of her hand, something physical and hopefully comforting in the backdrop of their conversation. "Grief is like a tide. It swells and retreats. Now's a swell." He wished they were talking in Aurellian, rather than the flatter Clovennian. This conversation deserved better than flatness. "Did he like music too?"

Curnen took as much comfort from the caress as from the fact that he was touching her hands without any hesitation. They took getting used to, she knew. But that wasn't at the forefront of her mind. "He was Tufa," she said, smiling faintly, "ain't a one of us wasn't made for music. Played the guitar better'n I ever will." She could catch up, she was sure, but she liked too many different things. So she picked instead of mastered.

Tufa. Caden tucked the precious word into a corner of his memory. The name of her people - of her apparently very musical people - was definitely worth remembering. "The guitar. I've never even tried it. What sort of music did he like best?"

OTA: Fly me to the moon

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