flickerflash | [Accidental Video]

[Accidental Video]

[Katie's been living in the woods for the last few weeks; it shows in the tangles of her dirty hair and the thinness of her face. Not that anyone can see those right now, because right now, Katie is slinking through the forest toward the northern edge of the village as a grubby kitten. She hasn't gone into the village since she found Helios for the second time. There doesn't seem much point, and it's easier, that way, to fight the nervosa without the creature unwittingly involving the more sensitive villagers into nightmares. Mostly, she can keep the upper hand.

Some nights are a little worse than others. She's let it go on too long.

Katie is so tired. And worried. And sick of being away from human contact, and wondering why she should bother trying to avoid them anyway.

And hungry.

She's trying to ignore that last part.

It's very easy to let herself into a house full of pirates, because she is a ninja. Eternally at war with you lot, she is. It's just a matter of scaling the side of house #6 and opening her own private door through the brick wall. It swings shut behind her, no harm done.

This was Brook's room. He's no longer here, of course, just like Sigmund and Edward and Svala, all gone. Katie is so, so tired of people leaving. Brook left twice. It's not very fair. She wonders what she would do if she saw him on the street again today. He rather deserves to be hurt just as much, she thinks. (But that's not fair either, and really the only reason she's snuck into his room like this is she misses him. Brook was her first friend here. He carried an orchestra with him wherever he walked. It was marvellous...)

Jack's still here.

Jack hasn't left. But if she stays in the attic, he'll get involved, and not in a good way. And Norrington-- well. If she stays, she'll kill him. Or he'll kill her. That's the way of such conflict. It feels like a betrayal, really. She's just not sure who's doing the betraying. (And then, of course, these are silly notions altogether, and some days she wonders what on earth she's thinking. Today is not one of those days.)

Katie-the-kitten winds her way around the legs of Brook's bed (is it still too short for him?) and through the adjoining door into the music room. All the instruments are still here. No skeleton, but you know. These were precious to him.

Maybe she should break them.

She changes, human hands reaching out for the guitar. She could smash it on the ground, lots of little pieces, spell out welcome home in chips of wood and warping strings. From there, she knows, she won't stop. Sanji would be so disappointed. But he wouldn't hurt her, would he? Because Sanji's--

Sanji feeds her fish all the time, and he knows her. And he didn't run away. He's still here.

It's not fair. She's not being fair.

Her hand hovers over the neck of the guitar, and then fingers close gently and she pulls the instrument into her lap instead as she sits down.

She knows how to play. She had a guitar at home. Still has, in the attic. It's a child's guitar, nothing like this one. This one's a little too big for her to handle properly. She plays, anyway. Bink's Sake, for Brook; he taught her to play it, but she's heard it since the very day she arrived in Luceti. Maybe when she's done, she can just pretend he congratulates her on a job well done.

She doesn't intend to be overheard. But her much-battered journal is at hand, and in taking the guitar she's let it fall to the floor. At least it won't pick up her image. Just the music.]

[Accidental Video]

[The journal switches on to show...nothing. Well. Some carpet and what might be a music stand by a window, and a whole pile of sheet music off to one side. Nobody is visible, but someone can be heard tuning a guitar. It hasn't been played in a while. Poor thing.

When the guitarist switches to playing, it's clumsily picked out by rusty fingers, but the music itself is probably highly recognisable by a handful of people. The piece gets more fluid the longer she plays, until a couple of minutes into the song, when her fretwork first slows, and then trails off completely.

When she starts again, it's this piece instead, played through to the end.]

...twice more. [The voice is young and distant and distinctly Irish, and she giggles.] D'you think he'd come?

[And she starts playing again. Faster.]

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[...it's someone who knows the second piece. She wasn't expecting that in this forsaken place. For King of the Fairies, Geordie's accompaniment is welcome and Katie doesn't miss a note. And after two lines,she joins in, though her voice is much softer and barely heard, a child's voice at the edges of Geordie's singing.]

By the craggy hillside, through the mosses bare
They've planted thorn trees for pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring as to dig them up in spite
He'll find the sharpest thorns in his bed at night.

[He smiles when she begins to sing with him, happy his intrusion isn't minded.]

High up on the hill top the old king sits
He's now so old and grey he's nearly lost his wits
He's rising with the music on the cold starry night
To sup with the queen of the gay north light.

[She laughs quietly as the song comes to an end, clearly appreciative.]

Where did you learn this song, boy?

[It's a little strange to be called a boy by a girl who looks much younger than him but he's encountered stranger personalities since coming here.]

I'm a fiddler by trade. Irish and Celtic tunes tend to be my favorites, though I'll happily learn any song taught to me.

And are you from so-called modern times or earlier? What century?

I guess we'd call it modern if asked. The twentieth century. 1979 to be exact.

Such dances making it all the way to an esteemed age... it's a little hopeful, I suppose. And I'm not even born yet. [She giggles.] Sort of. What's your name, fiddler?

[For a few moments there, he's reminded of the Crow Girls. It's in the giggle and in that tone, some hint that says her appearance does not at all betray her age. Jilly says that with the Crow Girls, it's because they've been around since before Coyote brought the world into being. Geordie has his doubts, but here? Here, he's slowly starting to suspect, anything might be possible.

Either way, it's not difficult to entertain a small girl.]

Geordie Riddell at your service, m'lady,

[He steps away from the journal so the camera can capture a small bow.]

Oh, I like your name! It's like a puzzle. [And she approves of the bow, her first genuine smile surfacing, though she's careful to keep mostly off screen herself. Adults like to ask questions about grubby little girls.] It's a pleasure to meet you, Geordie Riddell. I am Fiona, of the house of Kath-er-ine. But I'm nobody special.

That makes two of us then. [His voice is gentle but still friendly. Honest. At the end of the day, a child is just a small person, no more or no less capable of some of the same things as an adult.] But it's still a pleasure to meet you, Fiona. Do you know any other songs?

Well now, I'm not sure. Sometimes I only remember I know a song when someone reminds me. What other songs do you know?

By now, it certainly feels like hundreds. The result of being a musician, you see.

[He pauses for a moment and then grins, amused.] Tell me if you know this one:

In the town of Athy one Jeremy Lanigan
Battered away 'til he hadn't a pound.
His father died and made him a man again
Left him a farm and ten acres of ground.

[Her face brightens.] Lanigan's Ball! I'm afraid I don't know it at all.

[That doesn't stop her from matching him with accompaniment on the guitar, mind.]

[Though he looks like he wants to respond, Geordie doesn't stop singing. Especially when she joins in with the guitar.]

He gave a grand party to friends and relations
Who did not forget him when come to the wall
If you'd only listen, I'll make your eyes glisten
At the rows and ructions of Lanigan's Ball

Myself to be sure got free invitations
For all the nice girls and boys I might ask
In less than a minute both friends and relations
We're dancing as merry as bees round a cask

Lashing of punch and wine for the ladies
Potatoes, cakes, there was bacon and tea
There were the Nolans, Dolans, O'Gradys
Courting the girls and dancing away

Six long months I spent in Dublin
Six long months doing nothing at all
Six long months I spent in Dublin
Learning to dance for Lanigan's ball

They were doing all kinds of nonsensical polkas
Round the room in a whirly gig
But Julia and I soon banished their nonsense
And tipped them a twist of a real Irish jig
Oh how the girl she really got mad and we
Danced that you'd think that the ceiling would fall
For I spent three weeks at Brooks Academy
Learning to dance for Lanigan's ball

Six long months I spent in Dublin
Six long months doing nothing at all
Six long months I spent in Dublin
Learning to dance for Lanigan's ball

[As she plays, she nudges the journal with her foot so she can get a properly clear look at who she's singing with. Which also brings her own grubby face into view, eyes bright green and a small smile on her face. She's clearly enjoying herself.]

[The corners of his brown eyes crinkle with happiness. There's few feelings like bringing joy through song. And if the look on the little girl's face is any indication, she's enjoying herself. The fingers of one of his hands tap restlessly against the table, itching to play along with the fiddle still not here. Drumming away on a hard surface just isn't the same.]

And I stepped out - and I stepped in again
Learning to dance for Lanigan's ball

The boys were as merry, the girls all hearty
Dancing around in couples and groups
Till an accident happened, young Terence McCarthy
He put his right leg through Miss Finerty's hoops
The creature she fainted and cried "Meelia Murther"
And called for her brothers and gathered them all
Carmody swore that he'd go no further,
Till he had satisfaction at Lanigan's ball

Six long months I spent in Dublin
Six long months doing nothing at all
Six long months I spent in Dublin
Learning to dance for Lanigan's ball

Boys, oh boys, tis there was ructions
Myself got a kick from big Phelim McHugh
And I soon replied to his kind introduction
And kicked him a terrible hullabaloo
Casey the piper was nearly being strangled
They squeezed up his pipes, bellows, chanters and all
And the girls in their ribbons they all got entangled
And that put an end to Lanigan's ball

Six long months I spent in Dublin
Six long months doing nothing at all
Six long months I spent in Dublin
Learning to dance for Lanigan's ball

And I stepped out - and I stepped in again
Learning to dance for Lanigan's ball ...

[She plays the chords of the refrain through once, and then stops.]

We should play together one day. Where's your fiddle, Geordie Riddell?

[He smiles widely at the end of the song. Even if all he could contribute was his voice, it was a song well played. There's magic in music - in the notes and the words and the way it can bring people all together.

But at mention of the fiddle, his smile falters into a frown. It's the first time that he's ever been without it.]

Not here yet. I've been told items can take their time showing up from home.

I shall have to keep a look out for you. A musician shouldn't be without his craft for long.

[She gets a big smile in return. Another set of eyes looking for his fiddle. He'll take all that he can get.]

I agree. It's a lot like missing a limb in some ways. Thanks.

You're most welcome. If I find it, my only price is you must play with me.

I'll play with you whenever you wish, Ms. Fiona.

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