milliways_bar | (no subject)

Lilly wanders over and listens to the music for a moment.

"Nice music, if a bit depressing. My friend's harp is existential, what's up with yours?"

Asmodean nodded calmly to his audience. His dark eyes are unreadable, and seem to see right through her.

"Music comes from within, my lady."

Lilly considers this.

"So, you're an emo musician then?"

Asmodean gives her a rather blank look, not like it wasn't previously.

"I recall making a blanket statement regarding all music, not simply a particular variety."

"Well," Lilly says reasonably. "Not all music comes from within in my world. A lot of it comes from a pre-taped recording and only appears to come from within the singer, even less so if the recording gets screwed up. So I think your statement applies more to particular varieties of music than music in general, and I think the variety it most applies to is emo, really."

Lilly is being logical.

Asmodean just looks away. He wonders if they don't have metaphor in her world and time. His voice is calm, but cool.

"Must you take everything so literally?"

Lilly shrugs.

"No, I don't have to. But it's fun to do with blanket statements."

Asmodean blinked slowly. Then gave a long sigh.

"Would you care for some music, my lady?"

Lilly grins.

"Totally! Do you know anything by the Dandy Warhols?"

Asmodean shakes his head.

"No, I do not."

Lilly looks a bit disappointed.

"Well, play something you like then. Something from your world."

Asmodean considered calmly.

"Very well then."

He slowly began to play a grim, powerful march. Not a funeral march, but rather an anti-wedding march. Everything a wedding-march meant, this song spoke of the opposite. The piece spoke of betrayal, loss, sorrow, and pain. The bard poured emotion into the music, his face contorting on certain strains. Thoughts and memories of his fiance dying in his arms swirled in his head, as he gave them life through his music. The bard attempted to reach into the audience's soul with the keening melody. A powerful strain of hopelessness ran through the entire piece. Truly sublime.

He glanced up at Lilly as he finishes.

Lilly has her head tilted to the side, listening intently.

"You know, I bet if you remixed that it would be a total club hit."

Asmodean considered.

"I cannot say."

"Oh, I can," Lilly assures him. "Get some serious bass behind it and you'll be a DJ favorite in no time."

Asmodean blinked. He somehow had the idea that he was missing something.

"The bass has its place alongside the treble, and that particular melody makes ample use of the lower range."

"Uh, yeah," Lilly says. "I'm just saying, give it a beat and people will dance to it."

Asmodean blinked.

"When I wrote that piece, dancing was not what I had in mind."

"Really?" Lilly asks. "What were you thinking, then?"

Asmodean glanced away.

"Let us pause for a moment, given my earlier statement, that music comes from within and given the tone of the piece, do you really want to know?"

Lilly thinks about that.

"Bad breakup?" she guesses.

Asmodean smiled an acid grin. His voice is just as acidic.

"You could say that... There was an accident, and I boiled the blood in her veins trying to heal her."

Lilly blinks. A lot.

"...oh?" she manages. "Well. Hallmark doesn't really have a card for that, huh?"

Somehow, Asmodean understood the metaphor. The Memento is apparently good for something. He is slightly less acidic than before.

"Oh, they do. It is next to the one apologizing to your mother for feeding her to the Trollocs."

Lilly grins.

"If they have one where a mother apologizes for being the main suspect in her daughter's death, then I can shop there too. Awesome."

Asmodean says nothing. He looks away.

Lilly pauses.

"Uh. Were you serious? About feeding your mother to the troll things?"

Asmodean does not answer. Fire flashes in his eyes. He gestures with his hand and he rips a gaping hole in reality and steps through.

The portal vanishes behind him.

Lilly blinks.

"I will take that as a yes. Fucking Milliways. He didn't even let me ask where the trollorcs were so I could give my mother directions."

Rand, looking up at the sound of the music, sees Asmodean.

He blinks once.

The second blink sees the power spring into life around him. Weaves snap into place about Asmodean, ready to tighten at a moments notice should he try anything at all untoward.

Calmly, Rand stands.

Asmodean tenses as he feels the weaves. He continues playing his music. He does not look up. He retains his calm.

"Good evening, Lews Therin."

Rand's mouth quirks at the name, and he walks over to where Asmodean is playing, carefully not looking at him.

"Asmodean. I didn't expect to see you here."

He sits down again in a barstool next to Asmodean, ordering two cups of mulled wine.

"And, if you don't mind, I'd prefer Rand."

Asmodean did not look Rand in the eyes as he spoke. A faint nervous edge in his voice.

"My apologies, an old habit."

He paused.

"Neither did I expect to see you here."

Rand sets one of the two wine glasses down next to Asmodean when they arrive, sipping from his own, and looking over the large number of wine bottles that the bar has in stock.

"I had heard that you were about, though I must say I was surprised to actually have that confirmed."

Another sip.

"How have you found your stay in Milliways?"

Asmodean considered, glancing off Rand's right shoulder.

"I have found it rather agreeable. I play my music for the patrons of the bar, and live simply. I have a seemingly inexhaustible audience."

He paused.

"Any reason for your surprise?"

"Well, it's always a surprise to see something in the flesh when you walk in a world of dreams."

Asmodean chuckled, but decided not to respond that.

"...In the Waste, you were always full of questions..."

Rand smiles a little.

"And you were a willing enough teacher, given the circumstances."

He sips.

"I also hear that you've been having certain conversations regarding the use of Saidin. I politely advise not to do so without giving it thought first."

The weaves hovering around Asmodean shiver. In anticipation, or from barely controlled restraint, it's hard to say.

Asmodean tilted his head. He thought for a long moment. His voice is calm.

"As I was with you, I gave the answer to the question asked."

Rand nods.

"True enough. I must get back to my work, but I hope that we can reminisce some more when the time presents itself."

Standing, he finally looks at Asmodean directly.

"I'll keep an eye out for you."

With a nod and a tilt of his wine glass, he walks back to the table with the book, sitting down and going back to work.

The weaves hover for a few moments longer, then dissipate. The glow of Saidin can still be seen around Rand.

Asmodean watches him calmly. He was breathing a sigh of relief inwardly.

The March of Death plays.