Log:Appalachian Concerto

2020/08/10 Magda Arthur Pendragon Talia 1

Though the Appalachians proper are scores of miles 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, rising and fading, which might draw the attention of a horse-rider through scrub fields and meadows ... and/or entertain a colleague.

The wilderness is a place where Bethany can get out and just let Snowmane -run-. Any horse that can run at interstate speed limit levels needs a lot of space. The Appalachians -are- a good place for that. As for a seven day wonder, In her Pendragon guise, the once and future Queen... okay that's a title that needs more work. Maybe a focus group. Anyhow, Pendragon finds herself on the back of the ginormous horse... and when I say that, I mean.. a horse that's about eight feet tall at the shoulders, making her look like she's riding on the back of a giant organic mecha.

Either way, Snowmane is finally able to just... run. Thundering through the countryside and reveling in the speed. Of course, Snowmane is smarter than the average human.. and -not- merely animal intelligent. But Pendragon is glad for her coif, if only to keep her hair from, whipping her face in seventy mile an hour wind.

But the thundering hooves aren't exactly what anyone would call stealthy. An Avalon Warhorse is not used to sneak into enemy camps. However, Pendragon herself is mostly unaware of any Seven Day Wonders. She keeps herself mostly attuned to mystical happenings, and visits Avalon more often than not herself.. oh, and spending whatever downtime she has on her college degree.

Arthur has been invited for the entertainment and to get away from the city. Given the rocky past between he and Talia, he extended the invitation to the archeology student. In part to make amends, and in part to keep an eye on the young woman who seems empowered or perhaps possessed by the Pale Cinder Queen he's allegedly encountered in the distant past.

Who knows how he managed to get the untrusting student to come out here in what could certainly seem like a sketchy murder cabin given the implications of a young professor inviting out a student, but Copycat hasn't even considered that. She's too curious to find out more about the Pale Cinder Queen and wants to help Talia. So it is that Copycat, as her undercover persona Arthur, arrived here shortly previous and is now listening with interest to the orchestra in the woods.

Standing nearby, Talia has her arms folded across her chest while she appreciates the mountainside meadow and the orichalcum orchestra that is helping to set the scene for the academics in the area. Talia's hair has been cropped short again, back into its traditional pixie cut, and she's dressed appropriately for the area. Hiking boots, high socks into which are tucked the legs of her khaki pants, and a light-weight t-shirt inside of a light-weight flannel shirt are the order of the day.

"This is a very beautiful location," observes Talia, watching Arthur out of the corner of her ocean green eyes.

One person does not normally an orchestra make, but as Bethany and Snowmane crest the edge of the grassy bowl with the stream running through its center and the house on the other side, she can see what Arthur and Talia, adjunct professor and graduate student, are being entertained by a generous number of instruments -- strings, horns, percussion, and all -- playing a classical piece, the Sorcerer's Apprentice, by way of a classical cartoon, 'The Band Concert'. While the pages of the score are not flown about (they're actually on a PDA display anchored to the petite silver-haired conductor's music stand), /everything/ else is, including the conductor, in a thirty-meter-high seeming-whirlwind of apparet chaos and desperate mayhem which -- though it isn't the /other/ classic cartoon -- does give the impression of the scramble of the apprentice to stop the broomstick from flooding ... well, seemingly the entire world.

(The first song, and the classic cartoon is The Sorcerer's Apprentice, from Fantasia: http://video.disney.com/watch/sorcerer-s-apprentice-fantasia-4ea9ebc01a74ea59a5867853. The second cartoon is also Disney: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KFvruPLyAg)

Arthur is not at all dressed for the weather. He's in his usual adventuring gear, although he has draped his scarf and jacket over a chair. He's not bothered by the heat or humidity anyway. Rather immune to it, in fact. "It's more splendid than I expected. And I certainly wasn't expecting the orchestra. Or the entertaining way that it plays," he smiles, rubbing his chin as the chaos.

Talia is technically immune to the heat and humidity as well, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want to look like she fits in. She keeps her arms folded across her chest, watching Arthur out of the corner of her eyes while she listens to the musical performance. With a tip of her head, Talia smiles and adds, "I certainly wasn't expecting this sort of a welcome," to Arthur's observation.

A charging charger named Snowmane comes over the rise, and the sight of a Fantasia style concert makes Pendragon pull the reins gently and say, "Hold up Snow. This is -not- normal woodsy behavior." she says to her mighty steed. "Think we found some Narcissistic supervillain's ultimate vacation house?" she asks him.

THe horse snorts and bobs his head in a 'could be' sort of affirmation.

But, Pendragon takes a deep breath and shrugs, "Alright, in we go." she says as she aims him down the slope but at a far more controlled pace. Trotting along and doing the classic... butt-lift-trot posture as she approaches.

Seemingly on their own, limned only in an eerie electric-blue St. Elmo's Fire, the bows stroke the strings, the sticks strike the drums and xylophones, the valves on the horns flick up and down, closed and open. In the midst of it all, the conductor -- also surrounded by the same aura -- drives the piece through to its conclusion. She herself is the only thing that sinks back down to the ground at the 'coming of the Master' portion, but the instruments stop going this way and that, being 'pushed' into marshalled ranks, the way the orchestra is meant to be, just three or five or fifteen feet in the air ... and at the final denoument, they all drop to the ground.

The electric-blue cuts out the instant all are laid to rest, and Magda laughs with the delight of having managed it.

Arthur observes the degree of intense control it must take to manipulate so many instruments at once with such precision. He applauds at the end of the pieces. "Very impressive."

"Bravissima," cheers Talia as the performance comes to an end. She applauds as well, having unfurled her arms in the final moments of the piece. Arthur may be going unobserved by Talia for the moment. Not even Jason Vorhees would reveal his true, sinister intentions after such a fabulous performance.

Or so Talia thinks.

Magda laughs again, setting the conductor's baton down upon the music stand, then shakes her hands out, lifting her gaze and noticing the horse and rider now descending into the bowl. "Come down, come down," she calls out, gesturing the pair around. "Join us. Just a little practice, a bit of showing off," she calls out -- and confesses -- to both the rider and to her fellow professor. "Phew. Just need to bring them all inside, now, tuck them all away. It isn't the control, it's keeping the instrument lines seperate in my head. I can play any of them with my hands just fine -- okay, some more fine than others -- but conducting is really stretching my ability to follow different lines of, well, thought. Simultaneously, at that." She shakes her head, and her eyes cross a little.

"Greetings," she finally says as the rider gets close enough to speak to comfortably, "and welcome. To whom do we have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Showing off." says Pendragon softly to Snowmane, "Obviously." But she shrugs and says, "Might as well wander closer. So, tally ho noble steed." She says as the horse moves closer, slowing to stop just at the edge of the area and bending one leg and knee so that Pendragon isn't jumping down off the giant eight foot flank of the monstrous horse.

As she slides to the ground, her cape and such flutter about to show off -that- sword. The one that looks in the eyes of any viewer in the way that anyone might -expect- deep down the sword Excalibur to look. Everyone sees it differently. It's just that weird. What?

Either way, she drops to her booted feet, the chainmail armor jingling as she lands, and then she turns to face the conductor. "How do you actually force the -air- through the wind instruments?" she asks as she grows nearer.

"I guess you didn't really hear the performance," remarks Talia, thoughtful. She doesn't immediately expound upon the thought, tilting her head as she studies Pendragon, Snowmane, and Excalibur.

. o O ( That is a freaking amazing sword. Absolute beauty. )

Arthur doesn't prove Talia's worst fears about him just yet. "I imagine the motion of them through the air was forcing air through them?" he theorizes.

Magda looks, for a moment, baffled by the question, but then she smiles. "The movement of the air is easy," she replies to the -- knight, apparently -- who has shown up on /almost/ the doorstep of the small cabin. "It's creating the vibrational membrane that's the hardest part of the brass. Woodwinds are easier; strings still more so. Percussion, of course, is the easiest, but I will confess that the xylophone part is, ah, more difficult than it maybe should be." In truth, the quality of the instrumentalism was, perhaps, at the level of 'adequate collegiate orchestra', certainly not a proper symphony.

A glance sideways at Arthur, and she says, "No, brass and woodwinds both require much more direct, pressurized airflow -- the difference between breathing and whistling," she suggests to him. "Anyhow. It's getting cooler, and I'd like to get the instruments inside -- shall we adjourn for coffee and the nice flaky apple strudel waiting inside?"

"Coffee sounds lovely," Arthur smiles at the offering. "As does strudel." He looks to Talia and motions ahead of him. "After you, Miss Sintergaard."

"After you, Professor Aevus," replies Talia. She gestures for Arthur to take the lead. She smiles politely at both professors while slipping her hands into the pockets of her khaki pants.

There's a moment where he regards Talia at the counter offer. Arthur's attempts at civility may have failed. He nods and smiles to her, then takes the lead inside.

Magda smiles, a little impishly; she hasn't missed the interaction between the professor and the graduate student. Giving a courteous nod to the cavalier as she seems to hear something, remounts, and rides off, she leads the way, giving a gesture that lifts the instruments into the air and draws them after her -- and after the other two.

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 line the corner behind the large, solid table with its six chairs; the cases open for their instruments, Magda 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, these laden with books.

Remember, Arthur, you're dealing with Talia Sintergaard, not with the Pale Cinder Queen. Talia certainly is not preparing a flaming dagger in her pockets to drive into your back. It sounds very much out of character for Talia; the Pale Cinder Queen on the other hand...

Talia smiles cheerily and follows after Arthur, looking over at Magda curiously. For the moment, Talia is content to observe the goings on around her without much in the way commentary. It's entirely possible that Talia is a little spellbound by Magda's display of power and precision.

"It must've taken you considerable time to master all those instruments and then control them all at once," Arthur praises as he picks up his coat and scarf on the way to the cottage. As he steps inside the cottage, he makes way for the floating instruments and moves towards the couch.

Some things are best done with your power; others are more satisfying to be done by hand. "A while," she agrees as she works with hot water, and a manual coffee grinder (which she actually turns by hand), and a French press. "Multiple-object control was a relative early mastery -- at least for a few objects. The more you practice, though, the better the control gets. For the instruments, well -- I'm Romany, so I've been playing, or at least playing with, instruments since before I could walk. And once you have one in a family, the others are much, much easier -- refinements of what you already know. Flutes, clarinets, and saxophones have the same fingering, that sort of thing." She pours coffee into three cups, refilling the heavy cast-iron kettle with water and putting it back on the stove that fills the room with the aroma of its burning wood, and hands the cups about before turning to the pastry.

Talia listens quietly, observing without much in the way of judgement. What would she really judge? When offered a cup of coffee, Talia accepts it and politely intones, "Thank you."

Arthur accepts his cup of coffee. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Dr. Gutzu," he smiles and takes a light sip.

Magda cuts wide slices off the long apple strudel, and puts them on plates; the forks, at least, she conjures up from the drawer off to one side, taking them by hand to put with each one before handing them out. "Magda, please, Arthur." She gestures for the pair to pick seats amongst the conversational group in the middle of the room -- two armchairs and a good-sized couch, none of them matching the other and all of them most likely chosen purely on the basis of comfort -- and settles herself down on the third. "So. What do the two of you have against each other?"

My, she's blunt when she wants to be.

"Bad first impressions," replies Talia while she balances a plate of strudel on one leg and her cup of coffee on the other. Talia adjusts her position fractionally, hands hovering over both sets of foodstuff while she tries to get herself properly settled into the chair. Her eyes flick over toward Arthur for a few moments before looking back to Magda, smiling politely as she adds a shrug before her fingers fully grasp coffee cup and strudel plate.

There's a long coffee table set between the couch and the armchairs; it's a lean-forward reach for pretty much anyone on any of the three. The table is, in truth, well-worn and -ring-stained, so obviously it's chosen for utility and, again, comfort.

"I for one have nothing against Miss Sintergaard," Arthur answers honestly as he accepts the plate. He sits down in one of the arm chairs and sips his coffee bforee setting it down on a coaster on the coffee table.

Magda tilts her head one way, then nods it in the other direction as she uses the fork to cut out, then lift up, a bite of the strudel. "Mmmm," she murmurs, more-or-less to herself, at the taste of it; it's /very/ good. "I really don't pay Leon enough," she says, then considers the answers both of them have proferred. "First impressions," she says slowly, as if offering an idea neither of the two may have previously contemplated, "do not need to be permanent impressions. However, if I might intrude a touch more, may I ask the circumstances -- and actions -- of the first impression?" She is, after all, a psychologist and therapist.

"Time heals all wounds," remarks Talia at Magda's comment about impressions. She takes a long sip of her coffee, bobbing her head appreciatively as the dark, bitter liquid fills her mouth and drains down her throat. Talia closes her eyes for a few moments before crossing one leg over the other so she can rest her plate and cup again. When she re-opens her eyes, Talia smirks a little bit and looks over Arthur.

"Oh yes, Professor. Why don't you regale our host with how we first met."

"No," Magda disagrees with a murmur, "it does not. I tell you this as a physicker of both body and mind -- time heals /small/ wounds. It takes work to heal the deeper ones."

Arthur cuts a piece of strudel with his fork. "Hm? Oh, yes. Let's see. There was some sort of lab incident and Miss Sintergaard was erroneously blamed for it, and I spoke well on her behalf to explain she had nothing to do with the incident." That incident, in fact, was why he had to travel to the past and set himself up as an adjunct professor at the university in the first place. All so he could clear Talia's name. He takes a bite of the strudel. "Mmmm. That's delicious."

"Lying," sing-songs Talia.

She promptly looks shocked that the word lilted out of her mouth. Talia promptly plugs her mouth with a small section of strudel.

Arthur looks offended by that slander. He's only trying to protect her secrets. "Well, then, Miss Sintergaard, considering you were unconscious for most of that, I invite you to tell the tale."

Gesturing with her fork, Talia indicates that she cannot currently speak. What with her mouth being full of delicious strudel.

Magda's eyebrows lift and her lips curve up in a smile at the accusation -- or, more probably, the manner of it -- and she looks between one and the other. "I suppose I should ask if the two of you /wish/ reconciliation. There are few things more pleasureable than a well-nursed grudge, but they /do/ eventually become burdensome."

"Again, not bearing a grudge. I'm just respecting a student's privacy in this matter by keeping the details vague," Arthur sighs and takes another bite of strudel, hurt by Talia's comment still.

"I'm not bearing a grudge either," replies Talia after finally swallowing her strudel. Offering a shrug and a surprisingly polite smile, Talia explains herself only a little bit, "I am merely observing great caution around an adjunct professor. Sometimes, I suppose, that can come off as catty, but I don't allow that cattiness to interfere in a professional or academic capacity. Certainly, were I ever on a peer review council regarding something that Professor Aevus published, I would recuse myself and not taint the review process."