Don't fall down when it's time to arise.

[oceantier]

Who: Lapis Lazuli, OPEN
What: Multiple prompts
When: Early February. After ghosts.
Where: Locations different for each prompt.
Warnings: None.
Background: Lapis has gotten herself a job as a dancer for Pride Records. Shapeshifting used for a human appearance, so no blue showing.


A. Lost? - Open to anyone in Pride

The keycard is new, unscratched from passes through the machine. After exasperated explanation from the guard, she finally manages to turn it in the proper direction, checking in. It's hard to say if she really absorbs the torrent of directions that he gives her as far as where she's supposed to go for practice; she stares back at him with grave, dark eyes as he rattles them off, gives the slightest of nods, and heads off on her own, a map of the building in hand.

Thankfully, she came early, because over the next couple of hours, she can be found wandering areas of the building that are decidedly not the practice room she's been assigned to report to for her first day of work. She doesn't manage the residential areas, but it seems that she hits nearly every other hallway.

Probably a good thing she arrived early.

B. End-of-day - Open to anyone in Pride

Practices are done for the day -- at least the formal ones. The late sun slants through the windows as the city lapses towards darkness in last notes of shimmering gold.

The remaining inhabitant of one of the practice rooms hasn't bothered with the lights yet, paying little attention to the dimming of the walls around her. Music is on -- something soft, more rhythmic. She seems to have slipped into it like warm water, almost floating, letting it flow in and around her, absorbing her in its grasp. She dances, twisting, bare feet feather-light on the floor, hands and fingers tracing through the air.

The music builds; her body arches, leaps more powerfully than it should be able to manage, lands and twists into the next movement. She's paying no attention to the world around her, absorbed into the strike of her feet against the wood, the currents of air shifting against her skin. Note by note, she translates the music into physicality, each phrase given weight and meaning.

C. Ocean - Open to anyone

The beach is cold, especially this time of year and this time of day, and the tides are higher, the water thrashing against the shore. The moon is high and clear, washing the sands in silver light; the stars are bright in the darkness of the night sky.

There shouldn't be anyone out . . . but there is. A figure perches on a rock on the remaining ribbon of sand, watching the water sweep in and out.

This is the temporary home that Lapis Lazuli has found for herself. Without much need for sleep, the Gem can often be found on the shore -- or in a fairly deep indentation in the cliffs. If her skin appears blue . . . it's probably just a trick of the light, right?

D. Have another idea? Want interaction with Lapis, but none of these will work? PM or poke me on Plurk!

Comments

[oceantier]

She would never, ever have entered the room had she realized that the music was in-person and not a recording.

How she had missed him over there in the corner would be anyone's guess, including her own. She'd only enjoyed the melody, letting herself do what Sparks had recommended -- do something for the pure enjoyment of it.

But when he starts to sing . . . very abruptly she realizes the fact that she isn't alone. The realization is like a sudden jolt of electricity; she startles and whirls to the voice's source, limbs pulling inward like a turtle yanking back into its shell.

In her human guise, she's much the same -- small and reed-thin and wide-eyed. The blue is confined only to her hair, tinging the under layer near her neck, streaking in a bold note through a section of her bangs. She's found a way to have it and still keep to some measure of human fashion.

She stares, all limbs tight and close. It doesn't seem to occur to her to apologize. She says nothing at all.

Only the barely-remembered fact that she's not supposed to be suspicious keeps her from bolting.

[variaboss]

It's a shame when she stops dancing like that. She had been so lovely. So free. It makes him almost feel guilty for singing to her. But he hadn't been able to stop himself. He had wanted to see her move with his words. But now, she's not and it's a damn shame.

He stops playing, scarred calloused fingers resting on the keys of the piano. His voice when singing is that rich pure baritone. When he speaks, it's much rougher. "You didn't have to stop you know. You're an amazing dancer. But I don't think I've seen you around before." He knows the Carnies don't have backup dancers, so it's no surprise that he's not seen her around.

Sorry -- I'm very slow the last few days.

[oceantier]

"Thank you." Her voice is quiet. She takes the compliment simply, no frills or blushing -- if anything, she seems uncomfortable with it. Her arms are up around herself, held on either side, just above the elbows.

Hesitation. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I . . . didn't think there was anyone here."

Note to self: Really check practice rooms before dancing in them.

[variaboss]

She certainly is shy seeming for someone who had danced so freely just moments before. He wants to see her dance again. It's a shame he interrupted her. "You didn't. I was just working on something for an EP I'm doing. I'm not used to the piano, but it's going to be an important part of the album, so I was practicing a little. You were too, weren't you?"

He turns his back to her and puts his hands back on the keys. "So, if you want to keep practicing, you can. It makes me a little happy, to know that someone can dance to my music. I'm so used to moshpits and fistfights."

[oceantier]

Moshpits are a mystery, but looking at him . . . she can understand the fistfights. He's muscular, honed as though he's more used to fighting than to music. As though he's used to battles rather than the delicate notes of a chord.

And perhaps she can understand, just a little. Her people are a warrior culture, aimed to destroy, to conquer and terraform their way to victory. In a way, it's a wonder that they ever made anything beautiful -- that they're capable of beauty beyond the destruction they leave in their wake.

"I'll stay." The words are soft in the room.

It's left her curious enough to want to hear more of his song.

[variaboss]

The scars covering his face and body probably don't help matters either. But he has a reasonable explanation behind them. But right now, he doesn't look like anything other than an eager musician, happy to play more for this elegant dancer.

"Thank you. I really want to see how this would look when put into motion. It's not my usual sound, not even close, so I'm a bit worried." He doesn't admit that sort of thing often. He's always confident about his music, so saying he's concerned about how something sounds is quite something.

Once more, his fingers light upon the piano. He sings, clear and Italian, with no anger or gravel to it. Just pure song, like he's singing to someone special and important to him and not just for his audience of one dancer.

[oceantier]

She listens at first, small and still in the center of the room where he left her. At first the song is quiet, contained . . . she listens silently, and doesn't move.

There's something wistful in it, almost, at first . . . longing. She can't understand the words, but song and voice has layers to it. She picks through them, listening, sorting . . .

Then begins to move.

A bit stiffly at first -- there's someone else in the room with her, and that's not easily forgotten. Then more in line with the music, her bare feet slipping over the floor, until she's in sync with it, sliding into it as naturally as water. She moves as though a partner is just a foot away, as though a ghost's hands support her and guide her through the twining notes.

Xanxus' song builds, and she does too, releasing herself to it as passion builds power into the melody. Clearly there are some things she truly needs a partner for, but she fills in as best she can, her skirts rippling around her as her feet toe the wood, the arch of her arms and her fingers building patterns in the air.

[variaboss]

He keeps singing for her. Playing for her. He watches her dancing to this music that's so different from what he normally does. It's almost freeing in a manner. That and she is so graceful. He almost wants to ask her if she would like to dance with him. However, he won't stop her music.

He ebbs and flows with her. But it's not really water, but the flickering crackle of fire. But not destructive. Warm and inviting. This is an Italian love song, after all. Something he swears he learned when he was very small.

It's so nice to see it in motion. But he knows it has to end. His voice trails off and he just plays the piano a while longer for her. Letting her dance as she will.