milliways_bar | (no subject)

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*Meg's sitting comfortably at a booth in the bar, engaged in sewing ribbons to two pairs of small ballet slippers.

If certain people - say, any students of hers - were to approach, these shoes would vanish LIKE THE WIND.

Meg is crafty like that.*

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Yeah, that's movies - lots of moving little pictures, really. I just have to change the CD, *Meg says, and quickly executes the elaborate procedure.

. . . of taking out one CD, and putting in another, careful not to damage it.

This time, when she presses the button, the opening strains of Carmen stream out.*

"Ohhhhh..."

This time, her eyes really do roll back. She just sways to the music, letting the language and the tunes wash over her.

*Meg grins, watching her.*

Now that, *she says, with satisfaction,* is Opera.

Every note, every syllable seems to imprint itself onto her mind.

"Oh, you have got to teach me this French. It's like..." She blushes and leans closer to Meg. "It's like how Tim made me feel that night. Only in music."

*Meg's grin broadens.*

And that, *she says, firmly,* is why French music? Is better than men.

*She eyes the CD, and then eyes Agnes, rather thoughtfully.*

- bet you could sing it better than that, too.

Her blush renews itself, and she shakes her head.

"I don't know about better. I could mimic it, perhaps. Can you make it go back?"

Sure - it's just this button, *Meg says, and pushes it, with an air of knowledgeability.*

It's called 'rewind' -

"That makes some sort of sense, I suppose. The music was helping me unwind, so to go back would re-wind me."

When the music starts forward again, Agnes closes her eyes and joins in from memory. She doesn't know what the words mean, but she can recall the pronunciation and intonation perfectly.

*Meg's eyes are wide as she listens, her hands clasped together in front of her - unconsciously, she's assumed the same pose she'd used to sit in when listening to Christine, back at the Opera house.*

- I knew it, *she says, quietly.* It is better -

Agnes would stop and blush if she'd heard, but she's too awash in the music now to notice.

This was why she'd joined the Opera. For the music resonating through her, filling her and just... overflowing.

She sings all the parts, male and female, her range shifting from soprano all the way to baritone, sometimes two parts at once. And when the disc catches up to where it had been, to the part she hadn't heard yet, she simply fades out and switches instantly from performer to audience, soaking in the new section.

*Meg's eyes have been growing wider throughout this performance - now they're practically the size of saucers.*

. . . . all right, that was beyond impressive.

When she opens her eyes to look at Meg, they're filled with tears.

"So beautiful."

*Meg rummages for a handkerchief, automatically, before realizing that Agnes already has hers.

It's an absent realization, though, because she's still trying to process the fact that:*

You sang an entire Opera.

All by yourself.

The handkerchief had fallen forgotten from Agnes' hand some time ago and is now rumpled on the floor.

Finally, Meg's words break through the haze of the music, and now, she blushes and looks away, embarrassed.

"Not an entire one. Only the part I'd heard."

But - all the parts - I mean, all the parts at once - you sang in harmony with yourself, I've never heard anyone be able to do that -

*Meg is essentially babbling, at this point.*

- I mean, you sang two parts together, why on Earth did your Opera house ever let you go?

"Well, it wasn't completely their choice. I had to come back to Lancre to become a witch. Granny Weatherwax can be very persuasive. Besides, they were moving away from Opera after the Ghost business. There was this new idea of a play with words and songs, and more emphasis on acting. And, well, I just wasn't made for that."

- you can't have words in Opera, *says Meg, shocked out of her shock.*

What would be the point? You sing the words, it's redundant -

Agnes shrugs.

"I didn't stay long when I realized they were serious. It's as though it's a normal play for the most part, except that at strange and dramatically appropriate times, the actors just... randomly burst into song."

She wipes at her eyes.

"But... it was okay? I got the words right?"

*Fervently:* Dieu, Agnes, it was more than okay, it was -

I mean. I worked at an Opera, all right? I've heard some good singers, and I've heard some great singers -

- but that -

"I'm never sure. No one at home appreciates it."

She looks down.

"In Lancre, the height of entertainment is Nanny Ogg with a mug of scumble singing the Hedgehog Song."

Great artists are never appreciated at home, *Meg says, sagely.* It's, you know, one of the first rules. I mean, at home people are too busy wanting them to wash the dishes and all, right? Can't really generate an air of 'mystique'.

"Or make the tea. Or clean the privy. But we are what we are, I suppose. And, like it or not, I'm a witch. I'll never be a great singer."

- well, if you're talking in terms of talent, you already are, *Meg protests.*

So why can't you be both?

*Meg herself can't really conceive of a greater goal than being famed on the stage - although she knows, mentally at least, that others might disagree.*

"Well, we're the Lancre Witches. There's got to be three, you see. Or else it doesn't work. Maiden, mother, and... the other one. And yes, Magrat left to become Queen, but she's Queen of Lancre -- she still never really left, she just sort of... moved house."

Her eyes widen suddenly.

"Oh, no."

- what? *Meg asks, startled.* What is it?