Log:Musical Chess

Kinshasa Raid 2020/07/23 Magda Fauna 1

Though the Appalachians proper are well to the north-west of Colonial Bay, closer there are stony ridges, rock outcroppings, water-made gorges and, in general, the sort of geology that makes for a good vacation spot but a poor farm. One such area is of about a hundred acres, with a single cabin on the edge of a natural amphitheater that takes up maybe three acres of the land. Once, the place might have had a minor meadow on either side of the water-course that cuts it in half with oak and maples digging deep into the stony soil around the rest of the bowl, but now much of the taller foliage is gone; the maples and oaks crown the ridge, a master oak that might be a hundred years old holds pride of place beside the stream, and the rest is deep-rooted grass. Not generally well-trimmed, but it's clear that from time to time a mower comes through to keep the growing mania from becoming vegetative mayhem.

The land has been owned, in that time, by one family -- a family that, in later days, turned out to be just one person, Magda Gutzu. It was a seven-day wonder in town when her identity was revealed, but as she'd been only an occasional visitor (so far as they knew) and hired local boys to cut the lawn every two weeks during the summer, well, live and let live, right? Quiet neighbors, good fences, that sort of thing.

'Quiet' ... may be a bit of a misapprehension, to be entirely honest; it's just that she has /lots/ of land between her and her nearest neighbor, and so what she does on the privacy of her own land is her own business. And what she does -- what she's doing on a mild summer's afternoon -- is ... orchestration. Music, of many instruments, which may draw Fauna out of the woods to listen ...

Venturing outside city limits used to be a very rare activity for the wild girl with the adopted moniker denoting her connection to the wildlife of the world. Not for fear of what would be found, but for the solitude. Some prefer it. Fauna does not. She did manage to lose her way but has no present urge to find her way back. All too easy when one can soar and view distant features. Plus the number of guaranteed friends that dwell this far from the city are delightfully many.

The first sounds of the orchestra reach the semi-feral girl's ears before long, though it takes her a little time to realize what she is hearing. Several of the sounds, she can identify. The rest are quickly figured out. She bounds from tree to tree rather than going by ground, able to better take in the music over time if she isn't focused on getting there as quickly as possible. What emerges from the trees is a fur-covered girl wearing only a cape and a satchel with loops both over the shoulder and around her waist. It's a gorgeous-looking cape. Earth tones, but finely spun silk. She emerges from the treeline, fascinated.

It would be easy to imagine there being more players than there are -- fifteen or twenty at least. Instead, there are perhaps that many instruments, but only one player, a silver-haired woman standing on what looks to be an old wooden apple-crate with a music stand in front of her. She holds a baton and conducts the invisible performers, coaxing music out of the assortment of instruments. The music drawn forth from the several strings, woodwinds, and percussions as you come over the hill is dark, threatening -- and to an extent, struggling to get past that, striving to reach something beyond the present terror the music implies. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UTkq8ZhbvcM)

The practicing apprentice musician within the fur-covered girl finds the experience of the live orchestra thrilling, and the musical piece resonates with something deep inside her. She naturally interprets it to be aligned with part of her own past. While the conductor ensures it plays out with the intended vision, Fauna takes a sitting position not far away, behind, and sets her recorder from satchel to lap, resting there. She isn't confident enough to join in, even if she was momentarily of mind to try.

It is perhaps a good thing that she does not, for the strings get muddled, clashing with each other even more harshly than they should be, until with one exasperated "Gah!!" and an upsweep of her arms, the entire lot fall silent. It is clear she is frustrated; it is equally clear that the music's power affects her as well, and it is something against which she has to fight in order to remain focused enough to bring it into being.

With a turn and lowering of her hands, the instruments lay themselves down on the ground, any necessary accoutrements (such as bows for the stringed instruments, or sticks for the drums) settling down next to them. She sets the baton down on the music stand, then picks up the PDA that's been projecting the score for her to read and direct -- simultaneously play -- the various instruments. It isn't until she steps off the apple-crate that she realizes there's a second person there, and she startles. "Oh!!" A couple of blinks, and she states, "I'm sorry, I didn't feel you arrive."

The frustrated display comes as a bit of a surprise to the observing girl, not quite aware of what went wrong but able to guess given context. A face of puzzled concern is what can be found upon the visitor, who rises to her full height of... rather a short girl. Young-seeming, necklace bearing the letters spelling what passes for a name, recorder in hands held at her abdomen. A chirp sounds from her, one of a dozen songbird species could have made the same sound, a bob of her head in physical greeting, then a lift of her chin to feature the necklace plate.

Fauna

A girl who looks to be just entering her teen years, wide eyes, adorable face, constant hopeful and friendly sort of expression unless situation dictates something more dire. Featuring bright red hair that seems to flow everywhere and green eyes that seem to always be in motion, she bears a necklace with an embossed name on a plate: 'Fauna'. Her clothing varies on a whim, and she is often found with a recorder (musical instrument) on her person.

Magda

Magda is a petite female human who has the sort of handsomeness that can keep a woman appearing the same from her early 20's to her late 50's -- the sort of thing of 'attractive twentysomething one minute, an old crone the next'. Whether she wears her silver hair loose, bound, or braided, it falls past her waist, setting off her aristocratic taste in style no matter what the clothes she wears -- and though it is not visibly armored, the clothing she wears is known to ripple at a thought and transform into her superhero armor. She has the sort of attractiveness -- attracting attention, not prettiness or cuteness -- that any painter or photographer, current or classical, would want to get down on canvas or film, a quiet confidence and presence that permits others to share the space without giving up a micrometer of her own. Electric blue eyes are both serious and lively, a blend of gypsy, German, and Israeli blood and cultural heritage that is entirely her own.

The girl could not have done anything more encouraging -- or more cathartic -- than exactly what she did. The woman, who in her bare feet just makes a meter and a half in height (4'11") and is so not all that much taller than the girl (4'8"), gives a sudden, brief sob -- or maybe a choked-off laugh. Her eyes close for a moment, intensity evident in every line of her barefood blouse- and dress-clad form, and then the electric-blue orbs open again, and she lifts a finger to the girl. A whistle comes from her as she trades the PDA for the conductor's baton again, tapping the latter upon the metal stand to bring the instruments floating back up into their ready positions. A gesture of her finger upon the PDA brings the next movement to the screen, which she shifts through to study for a long several moments, the instruments awaiting her.

And then she gestures gently, and the flutes (regular and base) give off a sonorous, mournful tone ... which slowly buds into contemplation, which bursts into a fierce rush of sound that rises into triumph -- and then joy.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypNgvc6c6Cc)

From the satchel, a grey disc-shaped device is drawn, and set upon the ground, with Fauna sitting with it. A press to its power button brings it to life, though behind the conductor, and its operator through gestured interface with holographic projection (and intense concentration to recall the steps involved) arrives upon some form of music-oriented series of applications. It, and Fauna, both listen to the musical flow, though the device is much better at recalling what it has heard and predicting what might come next, and its operator then joins in. Her accompaniment is gentle, easing her way into the piece and while not keeping to the exact notes of the wind section, she moves well with it, complimenting.

The cape, the fur, both are missing upon a re-look. The girl's ears are protruding from the sides of her head, but she looks much more human, and she has managed to don a shirt and shorts befitting of the weather.

There are woodwinds in the piece, and the girl's recorder blends, if not seamlessly, at least well into the ascendant music. Rising, it triumphs without needing to triumph /over/, drawing into a clean pure ending that is part farewell, part final rest. It draws to a close with soft but emphatic tones from tubular chimes, rung at deliberate intervals, and which are eventually allowed to fade.

The woman gestures once more for the instruments to settle themselves down, and they do, after which once more she sets the baton down. "Thank you," she says to the girl. "I think I needed that."

One moderately excited Fauna rises, cleaning the mouthpiece. It's a plastic instrument, probably one from many identical in a box that can be found shipped to elementary schools. Once clean, it is slid into a nylon sleeve and then into the satchel, hidden from the world. Fauna practically beams at the gratitude, replying with a different chirp, though similar to the first in tone and species, then picks up the disc and waves a hand over it to set it into a standby mode, which she then proffers, the hand, in a position that could be taken as handshake or simply grasping for whatever purposes one might grasp a hand.

Magda studies the girl for a long moment; there is intelligence there, clearly, but the silver-haired woman has met enough Powers and enough children to know that the girl's intellect is ... not conventional. Finally, though, she reaches out to grasp the hand offered, gives it a single firm shake, then asks, "Would you like some food?" She gestures past the stream-side oak to the small cabin on the other side, then lifts her hand to tap one finger on her lips.

Other than the bird sounds, Fauna's attitude seems more or less typical for socialized girls. If a bit excitable. Added to the sound of bird, a chittering. Raccoon? It came at the offer of food, and at the same time the satchel's contents were accessed. From the side-bound container, a series of laminated cards bound by a metal ring, with pictures. One of them is a cartoonish representation of Fauna holding utensils. Turned over, it bears printed information. [ Allergies: No. Dislikes: Unknown. ]

There is a sense of wonder about Fauna when she offers the cards for inspection, her attention on the face of Magda as the words are shown, keenly interested in discerning whether there is understanding. The disc is set back into the satchel.

'Understanding' is not something that immediately appears, in part because there is a patience present in the invisible orchestra's conductor that is not usual for ... well, most anyone. Comprehension of what's given her, yes -- the various pictographs, and the words on the back of each laminated card, are clear enough, and she takes time to study the image-face of each card before turning them over to read the back, each time as if she's memorizing both the face that the girl understands, and the meaning and information behind it.

But there is a deeper understanding to be had, one which some might not realize at first, but which the lightning-eyed woman (color, not actual electricity) possesses as she finally looks from the cards to the girl, handing them back. "You have someone who cares for you; good. Someday I may want to meet them." A brief smile about such a concern, but then she holds out her hand for the younger (ha!) female to take, and walks with her to splash across the stream (there is a bridge, but it is some distance up the way), cross the other side of the meadow, and climb the bowl's far slope to the cabin. The instruments float obediently along behind the pair.

The cards are numerous, each with helpful information. One denoting the girl's illiteracy, presented in first person. A similar first-person denotes her fondness of games. The cards are placed back into the satchel rather than dropped, sturdy as they might be, she is still taking care of them. Her face lights up at what is said, another chirp sounds from her, and she flips the necklace plate over to reveal contact information of someone named Evelyn.

The stream crossed, but a slight pause midway as Fauna has a moment of drinking. The result is wet shorts and face, and hair but it is probably of little concern. It goes everywhere.

The care taken with the cards is watched with thoughtful seriousness; Magda then studies (and memorizes) the contact information on the reverse of the necklace-plate with equal solemnity. She has to let go the girl's -- Fauna's -- hand as she goes down to drink from the stream, and an expression of bemusement comes onto her face. "You really are a wild thing, aren't you?" she asks with a touch of humor in her voice. "Well, perhaps you'd like a bath too. Hot water and bubbles, and a good brushing-out of your hair." She glances up towards the rim of the dell, then about a bit; while there's no underbrush that close to the house, the acreage certainly has it, and of course there's the rest of the world to consider. "Tangled hair catches," she states with an air of some experience.

Inside, the cottage appears to be a single room -- kitchen island over here, table here, couch there, bed over there. The only door is to an extrusion hiding one corner of the room, undoubtedly the water-closet; even the bath-tub (no shower) is out in the open, though there is drainage around the claw-footed tub's base to cope with inevitable splashing. The instruments proceed dutifully to cases which open for them, the woman giving them occasional glances to ensure proper seating before they close up. The wide and deep shelves upon which they sit then sink into the floor, revealing gaps in it where they were; a minute or so later, those gaps are filled by other shelves, mostly carrying books, but one with a small assortment of games of varying complexity. She gestures that way, to call your attention to them, while going to the 'kitchen' to begin preparation of several sandwiches.

The observation of wild brings forth yet another chirp sound, while mention of bathing has her looking herself over for signs of accumulated soils and saps after her romp through the forest. The end result is an amicable shrug, and with a momentary shimmer of the necklace, she draws a previously unseen hood up over her mess of hair, drawing strings to close it for an especially bulbous appearance. Like a bag of leaves.

Fauna is careful to wipe her feet before entering, habitually going without shoes by the looks of her. Possibly for years. Her steps within the one-room cottage are measured, taking in the surroundings with a sense of novelty, quickly attentive upon the bathtub as something that seems new to her. She approaches it with a soft chittering sound, tapping its side lightly with her knuckles and seeming amused by the percussive sounds that result.

She's soon after where the games are stowed, recognizing their shape and with the same care she has shown for the contents of her satchel, she shows for the boxed passtimes. Setting down the stack, moving the top box to view the next, tracing some of the patterns with her finger. Her attempts to divine the nature of the only unfamiliar game by simply looking at the pieces meet with failure, but required reading can be a steep obstacle to overcome for her. Once she has gone through the selection, she has chosen a checkers/chess board, depending on pieces in use in that moment. Replaced are the others, not in their original stack order. The board she brings to the nearest available table, and the chess set is rapidly placed in starting position. Then the disc is set beside it, and a holographic checkers game is soon visible, projected just above the disc.

Magda hopes you like turkey, because she does -- with mayonnaise, honey mustard, flat bread-and-butter pickles, crisp crunchy lettuce, and sliced tomatoes. Four sandwiches have been made, but they've all been cut in half, then those halves in thirds, and placed upon a platter with a half-dozen slices of cheese and sausage as other bits of finger-food. Two glasses accompany her, along with a pitcher of milk; she sets the platter down next to the disc, one glass in front of you, and the other next to her; milk is poured with the seriousness it deserves, and the pitcher set aside as she considers your choice of games. The meaning of the checkers set up alongside the chess is contemplated, but since she isn't certain what you mean, she reaches out to take two pawns, one white, one black. Putting them behind her back and fiddling with them until they're scrambled, she gets one cupped loosely in each hand, then proferrs both to you: the traditional way to randomly select who gets which color.

Fauna's attention is split between food and board, and when it's clear the chess board is favoured, the disc is moved aside and put back into a sleeping state. Without looking she indicates one closed hand by tapping, and a touch to her necklace is followed by another adjustment in wardrobe. Similar to a poncho, but with a horizontally set ring in front that acts as some kind of plate holder, just large enough for the sandwich bearing surface, and held in place by the fabric of the poncho. Practical for several reasons, one of which being Fauna's table manners. Many crumbs that do not escape to the floor and attempt to join into some kind of mushy collective.

Fauna is very familiar with how to move chess pieces and the rules. Strategy is what she lacks. She plays with enthusiasm and an extremely direct approach.

'Direct,' when it comes to chess, is typically a phrase best translated as 'bloodbath' -- and not just for the losing side. Magda, while familiar with the game, has never been a great disciple of it; in part, she doesn't agree that the game teaches one to think either tactically or strategically, nor that the strategies and tactics developed via the game are of use in the real world. Reality, /people/, have so many more /messy/ reasons for doing what they do, and nobody ever has as restricted options as game pieces do. So when it comes down to it, between Fauna's bloody-mindedness and Magda's baseline intellect, it's pretty much a coin-toss as to who wins any particular game.

They're fast, at least.

The battles are numerous, brutal, and delightful, in Fauna's opinion. She loves the game, just playing with someone is her idea of a good time. Even when she falls so far behind as to render her position hopeless, her excitement and enthusiasm never fade.

Getting Fauna to consent to bathing is surprisingly easy. The girl's enthusiasm and excitement are calmed and she even sits relatively still for the attack on her hair. The hard part is getting it to stop appearing unruly. It simply does not agree with efforts to that end. There is no card explaining this. Fauna seems content with it. It's only a glance at the window when the time of darkness has swept the land does Fauna seem motivated, in this case to depart, using the flip side of the necklace as an indication of what has her hurrying.

When she has moved herself outside, she sprouts a pair of large bat-like wings to carry her skyward and citybound.

Magda has had rare chances to care for young ones; Fauna is a strange blend of young and ... well, not young. Working the definitely-not-store-bought hair concoction through the girl's hair isn't easy, but the snarls that are in it are fairly readily freed afterwards -- though whether that's a function of the 'shampoo' or of the woman's expertise (considering her own very-long hair) is up for debate. Drying is a matter of attention to detail, and a bit of her powers; the trace minerals in the water give her ample grip upon it to draw it off Fauna's hair.

The post-dusk departure gives Magda a moment of concern, but she knows that someone like this, with the powers she's already evidenced, is more a threat than anything she might come across, in the woods or (likely) out of it; Magda does walk out onto the porch to see the girl off, though, and watches as the wings sprout and carry her off. A brief 'hmm' comes after, and a mental note to make contact with the woman named ... but then she goes back inside, to do some studying of her own.