poly_chromatic | Quest 321

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[It's not unusual to find Rosella out by the lake in Xanadu; over the years, she's frequented it countless times in every season. It's peaceful there, and shady, and generally quiet, and sometimes her lake monster will even sing for her if he's in the mood (pun intended) and she's lucky enough to hear him.

And in some fashion, that is what's brought her out here today--though if there's music, it's distant enough that only she seems to hear it, and she doesn't seem particularly contented as she plays audience from her perch on a large rock near the shore.

Occasionally, she moves; sometimes, once or twice, she even stands up--eyes fixed on the water, hair loose and blowing in the breeze. But whenever she does, she lingers still like a puppet for a moment, and then sits abruptly back down again, almost rigid in the way she perches.

In waves, it goes in and out--sometimes she's up, sometimes she's not. But she's doing a fair job of keeping herself to that rock, it seems. Which is likely a blessing, when the alternative seems to be to walk into the water in pursuit of the song that only she seems to hear.]

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[Things are strange and only growing stranger in the City. The curses seem more bizarre than usual. There's chatter in the streets. Graffiti is turning up again. Even the Deities seem unsettled.

Sometimes it does one well to clear one's head. Cain has certainly got in the habit of clearing his head with walks in Xanadu--and has for some years now.

And, yes, perhaps he does hope that he'll cross paths with one person or another in visiting the park and gardens. Perhaps even one fond of the lake and the rose gardens.

And, indeed, he does see her. But, once again, something seems amiss.

He holds back for a moment, watching with a critical eye (he's had little use for that kind of thinking of late, but perhaps he would do well to return to it, to try and untangle some of the riddles of the City). Something is very much amiss.

He moves closer, swiftly but quietly. Rubber-soled shoes are good for that.]

[As he draws near, the odd little dance takes place again: like a puppet feeling a jerk on her strings, she is up on her feet, and her weight shifts as though she is about to step forward--but then as if under great strain, she sits back down again, and her hands grasp for purchase on the weather-smoothed sides of the rock.

Is there, in fact, a wisp of melody on the wind? Perhaps there is, if one strains to hear it. Or perhaps there's really nothing at all.]

[Cain, at the moment, isn't listening for music. He's more watching this puppet-like dance.

After a moment:]

Rosella?

[How often has he begun a conversation with that name?]

[She doesn't turn around, of course; it'd take too much concentration, when her focus is already mostly commanded by her attempts at staying near the rock. But she doesn't need to turn around to know the voice, of course--or to hope that he's not here for the same reason she is.]

Cain?

[She bobs a bit, almost rising again, but managing to conquer it before she does.]

You can't hear it too, can you?

[If he does hear anything besides the sounds of wind and water, and the City out beyond, he doesn't pay it much mind.]

Hear what, Rosella?

Oh, thank goodness.

[Up again; down again. She puts her head down a little, as though that will somehow help to drown things out.]

Someone's singing, but I don't think it's Ellington. I keep--keep wanting to follow it.

Into the lake?

I do beg your pardon, Rosella, but I don't think that would be especially wise.

[Still, that explains her movements.]

Quest 321

[action;] | You knew I had to

[action;] | I promise I will not even drown him this time

[action;] | Much appreciated ;~;

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