A/N: None of the songs are mine, they're all traditional pieces (as far as I know). Tom and Michael aren't mine either, they're real people who belong to themselves.
"Are you going to Scarborough Fair..."
The haunting, lilting voice caught Smith's attention and froze him in his tracks as he approached the park. Solace wasn't there, but from the music coming from the small outdoor auditorium down the way, someone was performing. It probably wasn't a scheduled performance, but it had definitely drawn the attention of most of the usual park inhabitants. He followed the singing, intrigued.
"Tell him to reap it in a sickle of leather..."
Smith was running a query on the lyrics of the song, and so missed the next verse. He barely caught a glimpse of the singer as he looked up belatedly, suddenly realizing that this was the final verse of the song.
He stopped in his tracks, shocked and surprised.
Solace?
"Remember me to one who lives there... for he was once a true love of mine."
Applause greeted the final verse, and she blushed pink and shining in the sunlight that fell through the trees. The wind whipped her skirt around her ankles as she descended from the stage, and then she was lost in the not-inconsiderable crowd.
Smith stood there for several minutes, frozen. Someone else with a guitar had wandered up to take her place, and it didn't look like the crowd was going to leave anytime soon. The guitarist began a second song (less melodious and pleasing to the ear, Smith thought, and then was angry at himself for thinking it) and the noise from the crowd died down.
"Hey there, Sunshine..."
Smith turned and stared at her. Apart from the sheer startlement that she could have snuck up on him... "Sunshine?"
"You look happier than usual. Or at least, less deadpan."
"I..." he stopped. He schooled his face into its usual blank expression. "Ah."
"It's almost a pity..." she was smiling that Mona Lisa smile again. "You looked handsome with that sort-of smile on your face."
"I what?"
She laughed. "Gotcha."
"... oh."
"Did you like the singing?"
He couldn't very well say no, now. "Yes... you have a beautiful voice." What in the name of the Matrix had possessed him to say that?
She blushed. "Thank you... I like to sing... I haven't had any formal training." Her words tumbled over themselves in their haste to escape her mouth.
"You sang beautifully," he repeated, not knowing why. They stood there in silence for a little while as he fumbled his sunglasses off, for lack of anything else to do. It was so awkward. Neither of them knew what to say; he was unused to giving compliments so freely and openly, and she was unused to hearing them from him as much as she might have desired them.
"Sol!" It was a man's voice calling for her. Smith looked up to the stage where the guitarist was motioning her up, and it wasn't until Solace stepped back from him that he realized he'd been glaring. "Hey Sol!" the guitarist cried again, oblivious to the near-death experience he'd just had. "Come do a set with me! Beach Buchaillin Deas Ag Sile?"
She gave one last look at Smith before moving to the stage, to the sound of raucous applause and cheering. "All right... but just a few songs, okay?"
The guitarist grinned. Smith thought it was a particularly unpleasant grin. "All right. Hey, Beth!" he gestured to another woman, who protested half-heartedly and finally flounced her way onto the stage even as he was pounding out the opening chords.
Beach Buchaillin turned out to be an Irish song. The music was closer to a slipjig than the sad melodies he had most often heard. Towards the last verse (in which the guitarist chimed in, spoiling it all) Solace had ended up lifting her skirt to below her knees and dancing about the stage. He'd had no idea that she knew how to do that. Another woman all three seemed to know came up and danced with her, followed by another man.
Smith failed to notice the crowd of people that shrank back from him as he glared at the man who was dancing with Solace.
"Mattie Groves!" Someone else in the audience called out. The agent looked around in vain for the speaker, and the guitarist slid right into the second song without pause to rest his fingers. The other two women descended from the stage, but the second man stepped up to the microphone and began singing.
"Oh holiday, oh holiday, the first one of the year..."
Smith listened in astonishment, not able to believe that the audience was cheering the song. The strange man took the man's part and the bulk of the song, but Solace chimed in (in a harsher voice than he'd heard before) with the woman's part. It was a song of infidelity, betrayal, and murder... he shook his head again. For humans to be cheering such a song... why would they do that?
He missed the next song entirely while he was thinking about the lyrics to the last one. It wasn't until Solace's voice rang clear and clean above the crowd that he looked up again.
"Chuaigh me chun aonaigh is dhiol me mo bho Ar chuig phunta airgid is ar ghini bhui or..."
Smith nearly went cross-eyed trying to decipher the lyrics. It seemed not to be a pleasant song either. At least he could understand the cheering for this, though; most of the humans in the audience wouldn't have the slightest idea what the lyrics meant. They would simply be cheering the sound of the song, which was satisfactory.
"O caide sin don te sin nach mhaineann sin do."
There were two more songs after that, both traditional songs of various kinds. Neither of the songs was what a human would have called happy. Then Solace seemed to take her leave of the stage, and the two men and other woman took up a different slipjig that had several members of the audience in the front performing that strange human dance activity that they called 'moshing.'
Smith tried not to think about the mechanics of 'moshing' to Irish music.
"I don't know about you, but I need a drink." She had magically appeared at his elbow again. He thought that she must have been navigating crowds from an early age, to be able to move so quickly through the press of people.
"Who was that man?" he asked, and cursed himself for asking, and then wondered at both actions.
"The guitarist was Michael... he's the father of a young friend of mine. And the dancer was Tom... who is actually almost pathologically shy, although you wouldn't guess it from the way he loves acting on both stage and screen."
"Oh."
"Why?"
"... Nothing."
She paused, narrowing her eyes at him. "No, it's something. That's a something expression I see there. What's wrong?"
He wasn't sure who he was more annoyed at: her, for pressing the question, or himself, both for feeling the original emotion and then feeling annoyance at feeling the emotion. And the annoyance... that was just a downward spiral. "Nothing."
She skipped until she was standing, facing him, directly in front of him. Her arms folded over her chest, and she frowned. "Look at me. What is it?"
He turned away.
There was a gasp of recognition, of astonishment. "You're jealous. You're actually jealous!"
"I am not." He said it although he knew that that exact reaction would seal the emotion in her mind.
"You are... you're jealous of ... who? Michael? Tom?" she laughed a little at the thought, and he didn't find it amusing in the least. "Oh dear... poor Tom. Are you really jealous of...."
"No."
"Oh, my dear. My poor, poor dear..." she was chuckling, and it infuriated him. "Never be jealous of Tom. Among other things, he's quite happily married."
That got her a startled look ."He is?"
She nodded. "To a very wonderful woman, herself. They're so in love with each other that it's almost sickening."
He forced himself to settle down. It didn't matter, anyway. "I suppose it was strange, seeing you with a crowd of friends. I have never ..." he paused. This was an opportunity that he shouldn't ignore. "I suppose, despite the fact that you've talked of your friends before, I never really expected to see you with a number of them."
The look on her face said quite clearly that she wasn't buying whatever he was selling, but she would accept it and not press the issue. Thoughts of a treatise on the potentials in socially acceptable fictions passed through his mind, and he filed them away for a later report.
"It doesn't happen... things like that concert in the park, they don't happen often. But today it seemed like we all ran into each other, one after the other after the other... and then Tom got up and started singing... so we all had a sort of an open mic session."
"Oh."
She slipped her arm into his as they walked. After a few steps he realized that she'd meant the gesture to be comforting, and allowed himself to relax. Even fifteen minutes later it all seemed far away, and it was only the two of them and the occasional pigeon, squirrel, or crazy homeless person again.
"How many languages do you speak?" he asked after a second, remembering an earlier puzzlement.
She laughed. "Speak? Only one. Sing? I can sing a lot of languages, but it's more mimicking the sounds than speaking. I understand what I'm singing if I'm given a translation, but..."
"Ah..."
"Some languages just have pretty songs... and I like to sing. Singing expresses a lot of feelings that words can't."
He wasn't sure what to say to that. They walked along a little more, and she started to sing again.
"Are you going to Scarborough Faire..."
"Are you going to Scarborough Fair..."
The haunting, lilting voice caught Smith's attention and froze him in his tracks as he approached the park. Solace wasn't there, but from the music coming from the small outdoor auditorium down the way, someone was performing. It probably wasn't a scheduled performance, but it had definitely drawn the attention of most of the usual park inhabitants. He followed the singing, intrigued.
"Tell him to reap it in a sickle of leather..."
Smith was running a query on the lyrics of the song, and so missed the next verse. He barely caught a glimpse of the singer as he looked up belatedly, suddenly realizing that this was the final verse of the song.
He stopped in his tracks, shocked and surprised.
Solace?
"Remember me to one who lives there... for he was once a true love of mine."
Applause greeted the final verse, and she blushed pink and shining in the sunlight that fell through the trees. The wind whipped her skirt around her ankles as she descended from the stage, and then she was lost in the not-inconsiderable crowd.
Smith stood there for several minutes, frozen. Someone else with a guitar had wandered up to take her place, and it didn't look like the crowd was going to leave anytime soon. The guitarist began a second song (less melodious and pleasing to the ear, Smith thought, and then was angry at himself for thinking it) and the noise from the crowd died down.
"Hey there, Sunshine..."
Smith turned and stared at her. Apart from the sheer startlement that she could have snuck up on him... "Sunshine?"
"You look happier than usual. Or at least, less deadpan."
"I..." he stopped. He schooled his face into its usual blank expression. "Ah."
"It's almost a pity..." she was smiling that Mona Lisa smile again. "You looked handsome with that sort-of smile on your face."
"I what?"
She laughed. "Gotcha."
"... oh."
"Did you like the singing?"
He couldn't very well say no, now. "Yes... you have a beautiful voice." What in the name of the Matrix had possessed him to say that?
She blushed. "Thank you... I like to sing... I haven't had any formal training." Her words tumbled over themselves in their haste to escape her mouth.
"You sang beautifully," he repeated, not knowing why. They stood there in silence for a little while as he fumbled his sunglasses off, for lack of anything else to do. It was so awkward. Neither of them knew what to say; he was unused to giving compliments so freely and openly, and she was unused to hearing them from him as much as she might have desired them.
"Sol!" It was a man's voice calling for her. Smith looked up to the stage where the guitarist was motioning her up, and it wasn't until Solace stepped back from him that he realized he'd been glaring. "Hey Sol!" the guitarist cried again, oblivious to the near-death experience he'd just had. "Come do a set with me! Beach Buchaillin Deas Ag Sile?"
She gave one last look at Smith before moving to the stage, to the sound of raucous applause and cheering. "All right... but just a few songs, okay?"
The guitarist grinned. Smith thought it was a particularly unpleasant grin. "All right. Hey, Beth!" he gestured to another woman, who protested half-heartedly and finally flounced her way onto the stage even as he was pounding out the opening chords.
Beach Buchaillin turned out to be an Irish song. The music was closer to a slipjig than the sad melodies he had most often heard. Towards the last verse (in which the guitarist chimed in, spoiling it all) Solace had ended up lifting her skirt to below her knees and dancing about the stage. He'd had no idea that she knew how to do that. Another woman all three seemed to know came up and danced with her, followed by another man.
Smith failed to notice the crowd of people that shrank back from him as he glared at the man who was dancing with Solace.
"Mattie Groves!" Someone else in the audience called out. The agent looked around in vain for the speaker, and the guitarist slid right into the second song without pause to rest his fingers. The other two women descended from the stage, but the second man stepped up to the microphone and began singing.
"Oh holiday, oh holiday, the first one of the year..."
Smith listened in astonishment, not able to believe that the audience was cheering the song. The strange man took the man's part and the bulk of the song, but Solace chimed in (in a harsher voice than he'd heard before) with the woman's part. It was a song of infidelity, betrayal, and murder... he shook his head again. For humans to be cheering such a song... why would they do that?
He missed the next song entirely while he was thinking about the lyrics to the last one. It wasn't until Solace's voice rang clear and clean above the crowd that he looked up again.
"Chuaigh me chun aonaigh is dhiol me mo bho Ar chuig phunta airgid is ar ghini bhui or..."
Smith nearly went cross-eyed trying to decipher the lyrics. It seemed not to be a pleasant song either. At least he could understand the cheering for this, though; most of the humans in the audience wouldn't have the slightest idea what the lyrics meant. They would simply be cheering the sound of the song, which was satisfactory.
"O caide sin don te sin nach mhaineann sin do."
There were two more songs after that, both traditional songs of various kinds. Neither of the songs was what a human would have called happy. Then Solace seemed to take her leave of the stage, and the two men and other woman took up a different slipjig that had several members of the audience in the front performing that strange human dance activity that they called 'moshing.'
Smith tried not to think about the mechanics of 'moshing' to Irish music.
"I don't know about you, but I need a drink." She had magically appeared at his elbow again. He thought that she must have been navigating crowds from an early age, to be able to move so quickly through the press of people.
"Who was that man?" he asked, and cursed himself for asking, and then wondered at both actions.
"The guitarist was Michael... he's the father of a young friend of mine. And the dancer was Tom... who is actually almost pathologically shy, although you wouldn't guess it from the way he loves acting on both stage and screen."
"Oh."
"Why?"
"... Nothing."
She paused, narrowing her eyes at him. "No, it's something. That's a something expression I see there. What's wrong?"
He wasn't sure who he was more annoyed at: her, for pressing the question, or himself, both for feeling the original emotion and then feeling annoyance at feeling the emotion. And the annoyance... that was just a downward spiral. "Nothing."
She skipped until she was standing, facing him, directly in front of him. Her arms folded over her chest, and she frowned. "Look at me. What is it?"
He turned away.
There was a gasp of recognition, of astonishment. "You're jealous. You're actually jealous!"
"I am not." He said it although he knew that that exact reaction would seal the emotion in her mind.
"You are... you're jealous of ... who? Michael? Tom?" she laughed a little at the thought, and he didn't find it amusing in the least. "Oh dear... poor Tom. Are you really jealous of...."
"No."
"Oh, my dear. My poor, poor dear..." she was chuckling, and it infuriated him. "Never be jealous of Tom. Among other things, he's quite happily married."
That got her a startled look ."He is?"
She nodded. "To a very wonderful woman, herself. They're so in love with each other that it's almost sickening."
He forced himself to settle down. It didn't matter, anyway. "I suppose it was strange, seeing you with a crowd of friends. I have never ..." he paused. This was an opportunity that he shouldn't ignore. "I suppose, despite the fact that you've talked of your friends before, I never really expected to see you with a number of them."
The look on her face said quite clearly that she wasn't buying whatever he was selling, but she would accept it and not press the issue. Thoughts of a treatise on the potentials in socially acceptable fictions passed through his mind, and he filed them away for a later report.
"It doesn't happen... things like that concert in the park, they don't happen often. But today it seemed like we all ran into each other, one after the other after the other... and then Tom got up and started singing... so we all had a sort of an open mic session."
"Oh."
She slipped her arm into his as they walked. After a few steps he realized that she'd meant the gesture to be comforting, and allowed himself to relax. Even fifteen minutes later it all seemed far away, and it was only the two of them and the occasional pigeon, squirrel, or crazy homeless person again.
"How many languages do you speak?" he asked after a second, remembering an earlier puzzlement.
She laughed. "Speak? Only one. Sing? I can sing a lot of languages, but it's more mimicking the sounds than speaking. I understand what I'm singing if I'm given a translation, but..."
"Ah..."
"Some languages just have pretty songs... and I like to sing. Singing expresses a lot of feelings that words can't."
He wasn't sure what to say to that. They walked along a little more, and she started to sing again.
"Are you going to Scarborough Faire..."