milliways_bar | (no subject)

Asmodean walked slowly towards the man with the notepad. He studied him for a few seconds before speaking. His voice was cool and dry.

"Have you need of a bard this evening, My Lord?"

Cole breaks his concentration from his writing, and turns to regard the man before him. "Not particularly. Though If you would like to sing, I'd be more than willing to listen."

Asmodean considered the man for a second. Then he looked to his harp. A slow sad tune poured from the harp. After a few minutes, Asmodean began to sing.

When the blackbird in the spring,
On the willow tree,
Sat and rocked, I heard him sing,
Singing Aura Lea
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with thee,
And swallows in the air.

Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with three,
And swallows in the air.

In thy blush the rose was born,
Music when you spake,
Through thine azure eye the morn,
Sparkling seemed to break.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Bird of crimson wing,
Never song have sung to me,
In that sweet spring.

Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with three,
And swallows in the air.

Aura Lea! The bird may flee,
The willows golden hair
Swing through winter fitfully,
On the stormy air.
Yet if thy blue eyes I see,
Gloom will soon depart;
For to me, sweet Aura Lea
Is sunshine through the heart.

Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with three,
And swallows in the air.

When the mistletoe was green,
Midst the winter's snows,
Sunshine in thy face was seen,
Kissing lips of rose.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Take my golden ring;
Love and light return with thee,
And swallows with the spring.

Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with three,
And swallows in the air.

Finishing with a flourish, Asmodean looked up with a blank gaze at Cole.

Cole takes a moment to let the song sink in, then claps lightly. "Thank you, sir. Well played. Though in my case it would have been chestnut hair."

Asmodean pauses, thinks, and then nods.

"There can be no dispute concerning taste, especially in women."

He paused.

"Would you like to hear another piece?"

Cole shakes his head. "Thank you again, but no. I really should get back to finishing this spell."

Asmodean nodded his head. Without another word, he turned and began to walk away.

*Witches-to-be?

Why, yes, we do happen to have one of those in stock. Meg waves cheerfully.*

Cole waves back to her. He looks slightly pleased.

*Meg grins at him.* You look cheerful. What's up?

"The spell writing is going a little better. I think I might be close to having one coherent enough to use."

He looks at her wrist. "Any particular reason for the new accessory?"

I just thought it looked nice, *Meg says airily, who feels that saying 'I donated some blood to Lucifer' is maybe not such a good idea.*

Cole agrees that it wouldn't be a good idea to tell him that. "Well, it does at that. How'd the choreography go?"

Oh, you know how it is - I handed it to my mother, she glared about it, argued with me on every single point and eventually took it in to implement, *Meg says cheerfully.*

Cole chuckles. "Some things never change. Did she at least credit you in the playbill?"

She doesn't make the playbill, *Meg says, with a grin,* and anyways, it only reads 'Giry', which could be either of us.

Cole shrugs. "Fair enough, I suppose. How long until the show goes up?"

*Meg looks thoughtful.* I think this one is going to be in about two weeks - most of the things were ready, you see, it was some last-minute choreography changes that needed to be done -

A nod. "What's it called? I went to a few operas while I was in San Francisco."

Cyrano de Bergerac, *Meg says, with a grin.* Adapted from a play about a man who pretends to be someone else to help him woo the woman that he's really in love with - all ridiculously complicated, in true Opera style, and the hardest part is making a man with a giant enormous nose look graceful.

Cole smiles. "Two men in love with the same woman. One with an unseemly face but with poetry to set a woman's heart on fire. The other handsome as can be but lacking any sense of words. I always did like that one."

The original author had a good sense of humor, *Meg says, with a grin.* Cyrano's last words being ma panache . . . Always made me smile. At least they kept that, in the Opera.

"I must say, I've never read the original novel. I may have to ask the bar for a copy of it."

You ought, *Meg says, with a grin.* Try and get it in the French, if you can - do you read French?

Cole shakes his head. "Not very well. Didn't have much call to use the language."

*Meg looks shocked.* But it's the most beautiful language in the world!

Cole is taken aback at the forcefulness of her statement. ~~Secretly, his mun agrees wholeheartedly.~~ "I suppose Demons don't really have much use for beauty." Except when it suits their purposes...

*Meg grins at him.* Oh, come on, don't be prejudiced. Demons can appreciate beauty just like anything else.

"Well," He says, teasingly, "If you want to mince words." ~~He sticks out his tongue.~~ "I suppose you're right though."

*Meg looks smug, and smugs about smugly.* Of course I am. Never argue with a ballerina.

Cole makes a mock bow. "Excuse me, miss. I had forgotten." He rises, a grin covering his face.

*Meg giggles.* You're forgiven. This time.