Log:Siren's Song
| Siren's Song | |
|---|---|
"I know it's early, but Happy Christmas." | |
| Participants | 3 December, 2017 When one member of Adventure Time! loves another very very much, he builds her a biplane. |
| Location | |
| Reggie is, on his worse days, just sort of a layabout drunk. Might he be an alcoholic? Certainly, that might be one's suspicion after exposure to him. But then he has these weird bouts of sobriety, too. His hands don't shake, and he doesn't get angry with anyone. On the contrary, he tends to be somewhat manic. It's been like that off and on for the past several weeks. He'll disappear into the pole barn, and for hours there will be nothing coming from the barn but blaring tunes from the 1940s and 30s. That, and the racket of machine tools and the crashing of steel. And then finally, today, Reggie comes waddling out of the polebarn in his coveralls, stained with paint and beaming, only to practically drag Esther back out again. He positions her in front of one of the closed garage bay doors and instructs her simply, "Close your eyes." Let's be honest, Etsy has a casual relationship with marijuana that is more than passing, and really loves cheeroot, which has a mildly narcotic quality. These things happen when you're a high-Wyrd oracular mermaid who's worried about the fate of the ... everyone. And so when Reggie comes to drag her out, she's wearing a fluffy-comfy dress made of nicely-drapey fabric, and is mildly high on cheeroot, having had her afternoon nap in the salt water tank. "Ooooh, is a surprises?" she gasps, wrapping herself up in a warm, fluffy robe and floofing after him. The mrbl doesn't follow: it sulks in the house. It doesn't like being around when Etsy and Reggie do the Kissing Thing. Dutifully, the mermaid closes her eyes and trails light-footed after him. "Okays, is having a closed eyes!" Reggie then rubs his hands together vigorously and waddles back to the garage door, poking in the security code. It slowly rolls upward, treating the ears to some rather loud Charlie Parker tune. What is slowly revealed to those who might be peaking is a brand spanking new bi-plane, positioned somewhat crooked in the bay so that the viewer has an ideal view of the craft. It's not a very large plane-- bi-planes tend not to be --and it doesn't look particularly built for speed. On the contrary, it's sturdy and strong and looks like it might float if you were to breathe on it too hard. Plenty of wing to weight, big plump control surfaces, and a sixteen cylinder engine fronted by a broad two blade propeller. It has been expertly painted to look something like a crashing wave from tail to nose, fading from azure blue to seafoam green to a frothy white. The roil at the cowling carries with it a sultry mermaid who perches upon the curling water like a cherry on a sundae, looking coquettishly over her shoulder. It carries the name 'Siren's Song' and has the name 'Esther Swift' painted alongside the cockpit. It has no registry number yet, not having been inspected. But what hasn't been painted the color of water gleams in fresh chrome. Except for the coning on the nose, which has a big obnoxious bow on it. "Okay," Reggie says once the door finishes opening, "You can look." Oh, she doesn't peek. These are important things, secrets. And so she knits her fingers together, carefully, because of the webbing, and rocks gently on her feet, back and forth, back and forth. Etsy hums to herself while she waits, rocking back and forth in time with the Charlie Parker. She hums an elaborate countermelody to the song in question, almost dancing in place and not paying much attention to anything but the song. It's one way to make sure a siren stays distracted, put on good music. And then he tells her she can open her eyes, and ... ... well, they don't call the noises that police use on their cars sirens for nothing. The sound that comes out of her is high-pitched and her hands start flapping and flailing and she might scare dogs if there are any nearby. And if there were any doubt as to how she feels about all of this? Her eyes have turned a color that can only be described as Carribean blue, the sort of blue that is so clean and perfect that you can see every grain of sand by your toes standing in water that blue. Reggie sees that color other times, too. It's just usually that he sees that color riiiiight up close. And naked. "You enjoyed flying so much, you know, and you can't exactly drive yourself around without using my car and driver, and I thought I could give you a little autonomy back. You can travel this way and that, visit other states and so on. Or just go up for a joy ride. I'll need to fly it in for an inspection and to get its registry number and so on, but since I have an instructor's license, you can come with me and we can log those flight hours towards what you will need for your own license. You'll need to practice, of course. But this baby is almost impossible to stall and hard to over-fly. I even put the rudder controls on the wheel, since your fins wouldn't make pedals very comfortable. It'll take me some getting used to, but..." Reggie could natter on for hours if he allowed himself. Instead, he removed his newsboy cap and grips it before himself with a hopeful grin, "I know it's early, but Happy Christmas." "I can do a drives," Etsy answers, once she can breathe again. "I had to learn to do a drives to become a Couriers." Of course that's the sort of thing that she would say first. "Do not have a cars anymores, should get a cars but ... oh! Is such a way to become a flying mermaids!" Her hands clasp together in front of herself again, and she draws them up to her chest. Her eyelashes flutter delightedly, and she listens to Reggie talk as if every word that drops from his lips is a radiant ruby glowing with the might of a thousand Springy suns. "... you... you made it so... " Her hands cover her mouth for a moment, and Etsy's eyes brim over with tears, running down her pale face, its cheeks shimmering with subdermal patterns much like scales. "... marry me," she squeaks quietly. Hopefully she means Reggie, and not the plane. "I'm sorry, what?" Reggie knows what he heard but he's pretending he didn't hear what he heard because he's British and also an avowed lifelong rake and bachelor. Adventure is his bride! Well. Adventure and really good sherry. "Now? I haven't anything to wear. And there's no Vicar. Are there even Vicars in Vermont? We'd have to go back to England. Or into Canada. Can you imagine being married by a Canadian Vicar? Constantly apologizing and speaking with rounded vowels. Do yooou take this man, Reginoold Dangoor to be your laoowfooly wedded husband? Eugh. I couldn't get through it without laughing. Or drinking. And it's winter! No good flowers in winter, and we shan't have a wedding without proper flowers. And I need enough time to leak it to the press so that I can appear put upon when we're photographed leaving the parish, on our way to the airport for a two week vacation to the south of France for topless bathing and excellent seafood." Reggie counts on his stubby little fingers, "Not till June, surely. Oyster season. And then there's the lobster. Can't have off season lobster at the wedding, that's all anyone would talk about. Our decidedly unimpressive winter lobsters." There's a long look from Esther at Reggie, then, and she tips her head to the side, her teeth catching her lower lip. And her eyes shift from that soft Carribean blue to their usual brackish-green, a rather confused color, as well as something close to the default green that they so often are. "... we don't have to have a doings," comes the mermaid's soft reply, almost inaudible. Because clearly what Reggie is doing is making excuses and putting her off. You know. Like every other guy has ever done. Now it is Reggie's turn to be bemused by her reaction. "Well, if you're going to get married, Esther Swift, you should do it properly. That's all. There ought to be a ring, and announcements. Planning. A honeymoon. I have lots of important people behind my career, you know. Now that Leonardo has his Oscar, I'm sure he's waiting only to receive our ricepaper encased gilt scripted wedding invitations. He still owes me for the Aviator, you know." Reggie takes a pair of steps forward, covered in paint and clothed in the clothes of a common workman with grime under his nails and everything. "Shouldn't a fairy-tale lady have a fairy-tale wedding? What's the point in marrying rich if you can't have a truly disgusting wedding with all the trimmings?" There's a long pause, and then Esther's lips, all soft and pale blue, part slowly. The color of her eyes slides from brackish-green back to that lovely blue that's so close to the color of the sky. On a perfect day in the Carribean, the delineation line between sea and sky is almost impossible to determine. It's that kind of blue. Fitting, really, given the givens of plane and half-breathed proposal. Her hands fold in front of herself, then drop down to in front of herself, and Etsy shakes her head a little bit. "Would marry you without one dollars," the mermaid asserts. Despite the fact that she's quite happy to let him spoil her, this is, apparently, the unvarnished Fairest truth. Her Mantle, all sprawling vines and tiny white flowers, the breath of Spring filling the air around them and twining with his own Mantle, grows and grows once she's sure he's serious about all of this. And then she realizes, folding her hands over her mouth. "Oh no! You are a traditionals! Is not supposed to be a mermaids-ladies!" What a terrible faux pas! "Well, I don't think anyone needs to know just how modern a woman you are, Miss Swift," Reggie demures politely, taking another step or two closer to her. "It can be our little secret. It's not as though I've any family left to speak of. Not that I could invite them if I had. On account of being officially dead, and all." Reggie and Etsy are standing just outside of the pole barn. One of the bay doors is open, and Charlie Parker music is playing over the stereo inside. The open door reveals quite a lovely bi-plane. A trainer, to look at it. All fat wings and small body, enormous control surfaces and so on. But it's freshly painted, and what isn't painted glistens in chrome. It fades from azure blue at the tail to seafoam green, then into roiling white like a crashing wave near the nose. It's been painted with a coquettish mermaid on the nose cone, and been given the name 'Siren Song'. "Yes mama. No mama. Of course you're right, mama. Yes mama. Mama, listen, y'all don't need to, y'see, Ah'm a grown as.... yes ma'am. No ma'am. Of course not, yes ma'am. Of course." A pause as B-Ray is speaking around a cigarette - unlit, a cooler dragged behind him with fresh grilled meats and a bottle of gin, a Wal-Mart martini set, Bud on ice. The small man almost seems like a kid again as he responds to the verbal whiplashing. "Heya Uncle Ke... yes. Uh huh. Really. OK. Yeah. Sure. Yeah, tell 'em ah said .. yep. Oh Lord no, please. Tell 'er ah love her. Yessir. Course. Ayup," he says as he hands up the phone and steps in, whistling wide and low. "Look at that!" he says, "That sucker c'd rock twin fifties easy 'tween the propellers, two bomb racks, an' that paintjob!" "You can do a proposes properlies, if wants to," offers Etsy. Well, he did just offer to do up all the pageantry, didn't he? "Am not so moderns, anyways. I am an old ladies. I am older than you ares, almost twenty years." She's facing Reggie, looking rather contrite and hopeful all at the same time. "So... um. Yes." Etsy might have said more on the topic, mind, but then there's Billy Ray, who does apparently have living family. "It's my plane," she half-whispers to Billy Ray, covering her mouth with her hands, as if she's afraid something will hear and destroy her plane before she even gets to fly it. "He makings it with hand controls so I can do a flyings without having to pushing a pedals with a fins." | |
