imdb-flu

[sunbaked_baker]

Sunshine does her dead-level best to keep to her room while she's sick, letting the rats bring up food and water and tea at regular intervals. Some hallucinations are sensible - Lois Lane knows better than to put her coworkers at risk by bringing illness into the office - but some are not. And Rae can't really blame any of them for not wanting to be cooped up in boredom and misery when their lives tell them they should be out and about.

Her efforts work for a few days, but then -

Singer, performer, and prospective starlet Delysia LaFosse makes her way down the staircase in the self-assured, graceful way that suggests someone who isn't suffering from the flu, but is full of good cheer, graciousness, and vibrant energy.

The word she's going for is vivacious. It's just the sort of thing influential movie producers are looking for in a love interest. For casting a love interest, too.

But none of that is going to happen if she doesn't keep in practice. A strikingly pale fellow in white is idly improvising at the piano when she approaches. Thank goodness it isn't Michael; he would just be his impossible, insufferably handsome self at her and throw her off her stride with protestations of love. Delysia sweetly cajoles the pale fellow at the piano into playing accompaniment for her so that she might practice for tonight at the night club, and he kindly agrees.

Delysia knows a little about setting up microphones, and soon has a makeshift stage in the area just behind the pianist. And then the music begins:

"If I didn't care," she sings into the microphone, fever-bright eyes fluttering closed, "More than words can say..."

If I didn't care, would I feel this way?
If this isn't love then why do I thrill?
And what makes my head go 'round and 'round
While my heart stands still?

If I didn't care, would it be the same?
Would my ev'ry prayer begin and end with just your name?
And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare?
Would all this be true, if I didn't care for you?

If I didn't care, more than words can say.
If I didn't care, would I feel this way?
Darlin', if this isn't love, then why do I thrill so much?
What is it that makes my head go 'round and 'round
While my heart just stands still so much?

If I didn't care, would it be the same?
Would my ev'ry prayer begin and end with just your name?
And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare?
Would all this be true... if I didn't care for you?

Comments

[littlegreycells]

Poirot did not expect a performance as he settled in for lunch. But he did not mind. The music was to his liking. And why wouldn't it be? It reminds him of times before the war, before the passing of time.

And so he applauds politely at the end of the song.

[sunbaked_baker]

Delysia beams at him, delightedly clasping her hands as she gives an appreciative little approximation of a curtsy. Even when one is not feeling one's best, it is so wonderfully heartening to be appreciated.

"Thank you, thank you."

[littlegreycells]

"I had seen the piano, of course, but I did not know that so talented a performer as you sang here." The piano player? Well, Poirot had noticed him as well, but never gave it any thought and wasn't doing so now.

[sunbaked_baker]

This particular performer is, by her reaction, quite susceptible to compliments. She even gives the insinuation of a blush. "You flatter me," she beams, giving a personable little laugh. "But I'll admit, this isn't my usual venue - I sing at Nick Calderelli's Scarlet Peacock most nights. Do you know it? It's one of the swankiest nightclubs in London."

Swanky, but nevertheless the kind of nightclub to which guests wear tuxedos or fine dresses, and spend the evening sipping wine and dancing.

The piano-player, assuming he has been relieved of his duties, has gone back to improvising something appropriate for the general atmosphere of early spring, when the sun holds a bit more warmth, the days are getting longer, but winter doesn't yet want to relinquish its hold.

[littlegreycells]

"I am afraid I do not know it, but there have always been many clubs in London, even in the bad times." She is dressed in a style that bespeaks the 30s, so he is careful not to mention a war she has not seen yet.

[herr_bookman]

Autor pauses on the stairs as the music washes over him, watching the young starlet with an odd look. He crosses the room, standing near the piano, and waits until she's finished singing before applauding.

"That was beautiful, Rae," he says. "I didn't know you could sing so well."

[sunbaked_baker]

Delysia beams at him as he applauds.

"Thank you, thank you," she says, in a sweet, playful almost simpering tone that is nothing like Rae's. Her smile is bright, like leaf-dappled sunlight seen through old glass, its minute changes and surface shine belying how thin and potentially fragile it is. "So sweet of you to say. I do my best, you know."

[herr_bookman]

Autor blinks at her. "Uh," he says, furrowing his brow. "Are you... Okay, this is going to be a weird question, but are you sick at the moment?"

[sunbaked_baker]

"I wouldn't go so far as to say sick," she blinks at him, wide-eyed and coy. Her cheeks are pink, but not from a blush or makeup. "You think I'm the kind of girl to let a little thing like the sniffles stop me?"

[herr_bookman]

Autor considers this, tilting his head this way and that. "I actually don't know what kind of girl you are. We've never met," he says. "My name is Autor. What's yours?"

[imthepilot]

Elias sits by the fire, sipping ginger lemon tea and listening with a warm smile. He applauses when she finishes.

[sunbaked_baker]

Delysia beams and gives a coquettish little curtsy, delighting in the applause.

"Thank you, thank you," she says sweetly, clasping her hands.

[imthepilot]

"You have a lovely voice. But if you don't mind me saying so, it doesn't seem like a song you'd choose for yourself?" Elias asks, softly and gently.

[sunbaked_baker]

Her smile falters for a moment, before coming back full force, her cheeks pink with a blush or with a fever. "It's one of the songs I sing at the Peacock, is all. One of the few that only have piano accompaniment."

There isn't exactly a brass band in the bar, her glance around the place says. "I'm to perform tonight, and wanted to practice."

She isn't going to mention not feeling well - in star business, one off day could mean you're off forever.

[imthepilot]

Elias notices the flush and stands to offer her a seat. "May I ask what you like to sing, given your own selection?"

[livinginmyglass]

Viola applauds, a touch shyly, when the song ends. She's got a coin in her pocket, and the custom of her own time would be to offer it, but it seems so crass to offer money to a lady who looks so very elegant.

[sunbaked_baker]

The singer beams at the applause, clasping her hands and dipping slightly in a coy little approximation of a curtsy. It's the curtsy of one to whom grace comes naturally but who also knows that seeming a little awkward and naive can be an endearing quality, and uses it to her advantage. "Thank you. Thank you, really."

[livinginmyglass]

Viola decides to go with honesty.

"It is the custom in mine own time and place to offer some payment for a song well-sung." Her voice is husky anyway, but what with all the illness floating around, it's maybe even a touch deeper than usual. But that's all to the good for seeming like a boy, really. "But I would not wish to cause offense."

[sunbaked_baker]

"Oh, honey, no offense taken at all, but you don't have to do that," she is touched, really, but understanding. "I just needed to practice, is all. Something's gotten me a little under the weather, but I wanted to make sure I'm ready to perform tonight at the club."

[livinginmyglass]

"You need not fear, my lady," Viola says. "Though I cannot make compare betwixt your accustomed voice and this, I will declare it fair and true, and well worth the listening. It is your trade, madam, to sing?"

[cook_the_rude]

There is a gentleman sitting near the fireplace who applauds after she has finished singing.

[sunbaked_baker]

The singer beams, delighting in the applause, and gives a coquettish little curtsy in the man's general direction. "Thank you, thank you."

[cook_the_rude]

"You have a very pleasant voice," the gentleman says. "Would you like some champagne?"

[sunbaked_baker]

"Oh, you're very kind," she says, smiling a wide, slightly coy smile at the gentleman. Hers is a bright smile, its joy and light all brittle surface shine. Delysia thanks the pianist for his help, letting him go back to his unobtrusive improvisation, before she steps with conscious grace over towards the gentleman by the fire. "Yes, thank you. Champagne would be just the thing."

[cook_the_rude]

"I think I saw a bottle of pink Pommery somewhere here," the gentleman says, waving at a passing rat.