The Mad Danes consist of four musicians. All coming from very divergent backgrounds -- jazz, celtic traditional, classical. Only two ever sing. Hotspur Hal, the bassist -- and Kit Marlow. Guitarist and violinist. How many faces does Kit own? Gone is the khaki, replaced with darkness. Black leather jacket...not biker leather...more Mod. Medium-length. A black shirt beneath that. Over pants of black leather, marked up as if by rapier blades and fitted. Hiking boots rounding it out. His voice is deep-soft rich and captivating in song. Sing-song verses rapped over jazz-based rhythms. And ending...now...with an Irish Lament. In Gaelic. Violin resting on a stool beside him, guitar slung behind his back, held...unused. It is an accapela. And ends with a hush. A grin curving at the mike. Ribald at the end of such emotion...And the crowd that was hushed for it, ends with a loud roar.
     And with that, the second set ends. The Mad Danes take a break. And the Mad Dane that heads them, removes the guitar and winds toward his table in the back of the pub. A pitcher of beer already on its way. The pub's lights and crowd create heat, and sweat is clinging at the hair against his neck. Kit tosses a lopsided grin at someone and tips back his head. That to take the first swallow of Guiness. There is a God....

     "Very nice," comes the voice, Soldekai sitting back at first and leaning forward as you approach. He's dressed in a pair of jeans and white shirt, a change of clothing in his bag. He chuckles a little, reaching for his own pint. Sol waits a moment until you can enjoy your drink, then he says softly, "How long did it take you to learn violin?" he wonders, a hell of a lot more composed now. He swallows some of his own Guinness, then runs his hand over his red-cropped hair.

     "I don't know," Kit quips, grin erupting. And he perches himself on the chair not-quite-across from you. It's more adjacent and turned. He smiles, and then sets the beer down with a sigh. "It seems like several lifetimes ago." And well it was. Dark grey eyes lift and look to you sidelong. A glint there. "The guitar is a bit newer for me, but I manage." A hand rakes through his hair, and it is artistically dissheveled once its done. Elbows rest on the table and Kit leans in a bit. Words halted as one of the pub's waitresses wraps her arms about his shoulders for a hug. Twisting in his chair, he looks to her as she moves away. "I could do with a snakebite!"
     And then Kit's attention is back on you. He sits settled in the chair now, a half-sprawl. Enigmatic smile on his lips. What is he thinking of? Who knows. "Glad you liked. I might do another bit before the night is out. Depends on the lads. You see..." Kit leans in again, lowering his voice, "...there are so many who look up and with a little song and music...will let aspirations...flow freely." Raven brows waggle.

     And who might that be? Certainly a song shall not move the great Chamberlain. And besides, you have already done that. Soldekai snorts, his brows arching and face lightening. "So, you always do two sets or one?" he looks around the room at the appreciative campus and neo-beatnik crowd, nodding.
     "They seem to like you a lot," amber eyes come back to you, blazing as they did before, "...Kit." A tease. And he likes you too, clearly. You know more about the Chamberlain in fact than perhaps his own Superior, who perhaps has guessed. Hence...she trusts him. He lets his head fall to his shoulder as he examines his pint, twirling it around the table by the lip and deft fingers. Thinking. He has already said and shown too much to give in to more freely flowing aspirations. "I'm glad, really glad, to see you here, Kit," using the public face, "...I see you really bring something to everyone here." He had not seen up close what Blandine's army could do...theory he believed...but now...he has his own proof of the power of Hope, Promise, Dreams and Darkness.

     No, that was not directed to you. Kit's eyes shift from you to the crowd. "I am still looking for the One...but...there are so many. What ...one song can do..." Both literally and figuratively. When his attention returns to you, the ribald smile returns. He leans back. "Usually we keep it to two sets. Two to three times a week. We're all students...just building a following...but it's not a gig-a-night, no." A tease. The smile twists. Yes, a tease. And he enjoys it. Kit takes another swallow of the Guinness and leans in again, arms and elbows upon the table. "I wanted to come here..." Eyes glint as he looks around. Hematite. They look like hematite. "It was a bawdy, madcap move to leave the Motherland." The Marches. But...that's just why he did it. If nothing else, than to be shocking. But...it is far more serious to him than that. An
old...spiritual warrior, Kit. "It will be worth it..."

     "I bet so," Soldekai smiles, still looking at you askance, changing kaleidescope view. At least when he sees you, he can have a different worldview, at least for a while. That is...if you let him again. And should he ask? Perhaps not. The Guinness turns and he picks it up, taking another long taste. Setting it down, he says, "Shall I ask you..." he says with eyes downcast, "...to keep...what has happened, between us?" As with most of his type, the words have to be said.

     There is a wave of his hand. A flick of his fingers. Slight motion, conveying much Understanding. Dark grey eyes are full of silver shards and they glitter past the half veil of raven black hair. There is a sudden serious expression. "You do not have to ask. The mysteries of Night are mine to keep and I keep them stringently -- particularly when they are my own." A slight upturning of his lips. An archaic smile. His hand motions between the two of you. Enough said. Or unsaid. The silver amulet at his throat catches the light. A sphere held by a silver chain. Kit takes another swallow of the Guinness. "You seem to be feeling more content..." Quiet. Both genuine-serious...and even slightly teasing.

     "I am," he says, inhaling as he sits up. He does feel it. Soldekai eyes flicker between you and the sphere. A finger reaches out to touch it lazily, leaving the Guiness for the moment. He is unsure why, or if he is sure, he speaks it not. It lingers between you. You have given him a respite. A blank space. He's keen to rest in it for now. "A dream touched me and gave me a restful release of my ache." A valve opened for a bit, pressure let go, then closed. "I am grateful." And wanting more. He will blame Andrealphus for that....seeing him shall take weeks of required release. He has one night under his belt.

     The sphere chimes. Not for human ears. There is the slightest tilt of his head to the Pure Sound. He thinks of Blandine. "It is the echo of my Word," he whispers, voice kept between you. "Hope is the respite from Fear. Aspiration the pure form of Longing and Desire. A wish to be enacted." Kit looks to you again. "You are welcome...gratitude is mine to see you so." And wanting more. Want...is not Evil, Soldekai. Andrealphus merely wishes to seduce us into thinking so. Pleasure is not his domain. He merely uses it to pervert the Word of The Father. It is all Love. Andrealphus merely cannot admit that. Kit smiles. Slightly, slanting -- and yet True. "I am grateful for your...dose of inspiration and fire. Fire should be consumed nightly...." he mulls, grey eyes lighting on you again.

     He grins. Inspiration and Fire he forgets is a part of his work. Often it focuses on blazing wrath. Others handle those sweeter aspects. You have reminded him. "What...did you mean..." as he tries to recall, "... before...about prophecy? About...us intermingling?" Us in the physical and the metaphysical senses.

     Lips pucker. He is trying to recall. "When Aspiration and Inspiration join....that?" A raven brow cocks up, a visible question mark. And the puckering of lips spreads into a slight smile. Wondering. In wonder. "When the ...spark of an Idea...Inspiration...collides with a dream held back, perhaps in doubt -- such a conflagration could birth stars in the sky. And wonder in the soul. Hope turns to Prophecy, and in its prophetic turn becomes Fate. That Which Is or Should Be. Metaphorically speaking." No there will not be a third set. He pauses to wave the other guitarist off -- a nice looking dark-skinned
man with spectacle glasses. Kit turns back to you with a quiet...smile of secrets. Mysterious. "And when Fire meets Dreams...I think it is a powerful combination, Sol..." Sol...Soul.

     Hmm. You sure you haven't been talking with Andrealphus? Soldekai smiles at you, a wicked look if he can muster one. "Your words and voice are too liquid, my friend," he says, retracting his finger, "...you could almost convince me that my own Desire...is appropriate." There, he often wonders. "But, I shall take your words...as you should know...and try to muse upon them and find a good resolution. "Destiny," he says softly. "I have a Destiny?" Brows rise and fall. "I think this is too much for the little fighter's head for one night, Herald of Dreams..."

     But the Realm of Dreams is not about appropriate. All dreams...all aspirations...are good. They are the raw materials for this War. The base elements of the Universe. The Clay of God. Beyond the labels of even angels. But he understands that it is only seen so...from a Dreamer's perspective. Kit chuckles quietly, and he wears a look of Guilt -- as close as he may approximate. "Ah well now...in my realm," his arms fold against his chest, "it is appropriate, Sol..." Lips curve into a slight smile, the echo of laughter. "Yes...Destiny. Though that is not my Word. You have to talk to the Old Man in the Shoe about that one. Out of my jurisdiction." Hands go up. Little fighter's head? That makes him laugh, smooth as stone. Liquid, as you say. But with an edge. He makes much of the bow that follows it. "My joy entirely, Bright
One..."

     "I guess...that's true." In your realm, all dreams are good. Soldekai smirks at the new perspective. He reaches down in the silence between you and finishes off his drink, finger touching his lips before moving to the dangling pendant you wear. "I will talk to the Old Man in the Shoe," as you put it. That makes him smile. Image of Yves ruined for all Seraphim Council meetings for a while. "But, that is destiny. If..." he looks at the stage and crowd, "...you have time after sunrise, perhaps you should let me show you...about the Fire of Inspiration." An offer if you've ever heard one, said low and in resonant baritone, eyes half-lidded as they look at the sphere upon his fingertip.

     "For the Fire of Inspiration, I shall make time," An acceptance to an offer if you ever heard one. Voice deep and quiet, lyrical. Liquid. And silver glints molten in the gaze of the Herald. The chime of Pure Sound again. Linking you. Moving around you. And the lips of the Herald are full...the smile the Keeper of Mysteries, Secrets. Dreams. Your finger might feel a ridge or two, very slight ..etched against and into the silver sphere. Only those with exceptional vision and a knowledge of angelic script could read the ancient sigil. "I shall let you, but where shall I find you..."

     "Like all inspiration, I shall come when you least expect it." Soldekai smiles. He has his moments of being cryptic. "No, seriously, I should see about a few things...then...after your work is done, I shall see to neglected parts of my own." Certainly a vision on the battlefield...that is where the Chamberlain's Word rests. Winged, golden Inspiration of the Fighter, Blazing Sword of Wrath to the unjust. It is he they see in golden armor of dreams, urging them on, when he takes on such duties. It is he the Other Side sees, more often, when their egregious cruelties outstrip normal channels. He grins and lets the sphere dangle freely once more, saying softly, "You should sleep a little too, hmm?" Essence is all. "Maybe I should see you mid-morning?"
     "Mmm," Soldekai lifts a finger, "...at the Forge." Urfiel's place. With that, there must be some plane motion that must occur. "I was thinking...a little trip to one of my favorite places..."

     A hand taps upon the table, and then the Guinness is finished. "Sounds good. I will look for you then. It's an...off day for me tomorrow. No classes. No gigs. I'll be at the loft most of the day resting for tomorrow night." When he appears in the dreams of...more than one. When he returns to The Marches...in and out of dreams. Your cryptic beginning however was not missed on him. A finger is pointed to you, and then waggles. A slant of a rogue's grin behind it as Kit rises. "I am beginning to rub off on you...this is a delightful trend." His voice carrying with that last statement. The wink is far more silent. A secret held. "Very well...I will drink Urfiel's beer. If you can convince him not to make me pay for it. He's a mean bastard...and I mean that in only the most courteous and considerate and respectful way..."

     He rises too. "We will only be passing through," Soldekai says with a grin, "...to Home and then out again." Through Tethers. "I'll see you then." He watches you for a moment before turning about to grab his bag. A wave and wink, he walks around the bar and towards the exit. Entering patrons for the second set part for him, most not really sure why...

     You will not have heard it, but there was...afterall...a third set. Just an acoustic number...with Kit and his guitar. Ballads tripped off his tongue. Some original. Some not. Some old. Some not. He closed the pub down.

Posted by rowan at May 04, 2003 04:29 PM