Wilted

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Miu Renayuki, Dec 20, 2012.

  1. The mansion was clamoring with people. It was a quaint get together, a ball of sorts, and every friend and family member had been invited, each adorned in beautiful gowns or suits, and conversing with one another to the tune of a faint piano. The sound seemed to come from nowhere however, for their was neither a radio nor a piano in the room. But this was of no concern to the guests and their rich personalities. All that they cared to speak of was their own grandeur, their fortunes in the past months, and the tragedy of the wife of the man who owned such an exquisite mansion's death. The death of such a woman was of importance to these shrewd individuals, after all.
    They say she had been killed by one of the butlers whom had been fired just a day before, for personal reasons. Something of an affair between the two was spoken of, but the family had chosen to deny this controversy to preserve the integrity of the fallen mother. Though, the press still talks of these things being true, and they hold on to such rumors with their petty lives. They insist the ordeal was known of by the daughter, and she herself had given the information about the affair. This get-together was thrown in the wife's honor, but truthfully, it seemed more like a way for the husband to pretend he was not bothered by the death. The powerful-looking man pretended this entire time, acting as if she had never been lost. Laughing with friends, but also drinking plenty of the rich wine he had set out to the point where he may have actually forgotten.
    "Where's that darling girl at, anyways? Shouldn't she be down here?" One of the women asked him, noticing an absence in the room.
    "Who?" He swayed drunkenly, raising an eyebrow.
    "Your daughter."
    "I-I have a daughter..?"
    "Yes.. Lucielle, Charlie.. I think you've had enough to drink for tonight." She reached to take his glass of wine from his hand, but he swatted her hand away. This wide swing of his arm only caused him to lose his balance, however, and he toppled over, the wine glass shattering across the pearly white floor. He stumbled back to his feet, glaring around at his company, which was now staring at him. "The hell are you all looking at!?" He shouted angrily, before turning back to the group he was talking to beforehand. They looked at him, who now appeared out of place with the crowd of etiquette acquaintances.
    "So.. where is Lucy, then?" One of them decided to proceed with the question.
    "Don't you hear the piano? That girl hasn't quit playing that piece of junk. She won't leave her room." They all stopped to listen for a moment. It was a sad, lilting tune, but nonetheless a beautiful sound.
    "That's her?"
    "All day, every day."

    As you go up the winding staircase, the sound of a piano would grow louder, and clearer. It was almost repetitive, but a tune that would not leave the mind for quite a while. As the top of the steps were reached, and you walked down the wide, porcelain-like hallways, it slowed in tempo, as if predicting your approach. As the rather large door was swung open, there was a pause, and you'd see a young girl sitting at a pure white, grand piano, with her back facing you. Her dress was a dark, grey and black patterned ensemble, with wide sleeves, both of which were lined with large white frills, which also lined the skirt of the dress, the waist, and the large white collar piece. Her hair was also dark, and flowed past her abdomen.
    The pause was short, and she began playing again, but softer this time.
    "Did father fire the butlers at my door, too?" She said in a soft voice, just loud enough for you to hear.
     
  2. Alistair sighed, clearly not enjoying the ball. He had been more or less forced to get dressed in fancy attire, brush out his wildly curly blonde hair, and brush up on his etiquette skills, simply for the sake of appearances. During more normal circumstances, he was seen wearing rugged clothes suitable for running through the woods, his hair was most often a wild mess, and he had the mouth of a sailor. Today, however, he was wearing a proper suit, and felt stifled in it, as if he couldn't breathe.

    For the most part, the ball was boring beyond belief, and Alistair was stuck leaning against a wall, occasionally moving so his mother could show him off to her friends, who probably also had young girls of their own, so that they would mention him to them, creating the possibility of a future wife. However, the sound of the piano intrigued him. Soon, he decided to see what its cause was, and pushed himself off of the wall once more.

    Following the sound towards a set of stairs, he found that he was humming the tune of the song to himself, softly. It was almost like he recognized it from some distant memory, but he couldn't quite place it. On the second floor, he continued to follow the sound, not caring about the hallways' decorations or architecture. Pushing open the door at the end of the hallway, he paused in his tracks as he saw who was making the lovely song.

    Startled by her sudden question, he responded with, "They simply weren't there. An unlocked door is an invitation," he stated, speaking nearly verbatim to what his father would tell him when he would simply walk in on him in his bedroom. Eventually, he had learned to lock his door, and his father's intrusions ceased. Straightening his posture slightly, he smiled slightly, enjoying the tune of the song she was playing.
     
  3. "Maybe to family members.. or thieves..," she replied in a rather monotonous tone, continuing to tap the keys. She began hitting them a little harder, as if that would help her get everything perfect. Had her face been seen it could be told that she was trying rather hard to play everything perfectly, but it could be seen that she had no sheet music to play off of. It was a song she had known by heart, but going by memory would not always be an efficient method. Upon hitting a wrong note, and although no one else would have noticed the error, she paused once again and silently chastised herself for failing another try.
     
  4. "Or simply a curious soul," he answered, leaving the door open in case she got worried if he shut the door. As she paused in her playing, he cut in, "You're very good...better than any I could ever play." After a moment of pause, he added, "How'd you learn to play without sheet music?" after noticing how she wasn't using any.
     
  5. "My mother taught me." She began playing again, making sure the tempo remained the same this time. It sounded like some sort of sweet lullaby, almost, but with a solemn kind of joy mixed into it. "This was my mothers song. It never really had any words, but it was something she sang rather religiously, nonetheless."
     
  6. Alistair nodded, smiling softly. "It's very nice. I've not heard anything like it." He shuffles uncomfortably for a moment, his shoes pinching his feet slightly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Your, um, father's making a mess of himself downstairs...I'm sorry about your mother. I recently lost my younger sister, so I know how it feels...to, um, lose someone."
     
  7. She sounded somewhat bitter for a moment as she spoke, "My father's been making a mess everywhere he goes. I don't know why he felt the need to throw a party. It's like he's celebrating her death." She paused from playing again, looking down at the keys with a sigh, taking up a more comforting tone once more. "And I'm sorry to hear that.. What was your sisters name?"
     
  8. "Anya," he told her, his voice saddening slightly. "She got sick...eventually, I think she just...just gave up, after she had been sick for so long..." he sighs, losing himself in his memories of Anya. She had been pretty, definitely inheriting her looks from their mother, and her smile could light up a pitch black room like a candle.
     
  9. "It's a pretty name." She stated softly, turning in her seat to face him. Her eyes appeared to be some shade of brown at first, but through examining her close enough, they were more of a crimson red shade than anything else. It was an odd kind of mutation she had inherited from someone in her family whom she hadn't ever met, and people who noticed it usually ridiculed her as if she were something evil. Remembering she carried this trait, she lowered her gaze to the floor at her feet. "How long was she sick? If you don't mind me asking about it." She asked, not really wanting to make him relive the pain, but it was conversation, and the people she had been raised around were known for their bluntness and dispassionate feelings towards others.
     
  10. "Two years...I spent so much time with her then that it was amazing that I didn't get sick, too." Barely noticing the odd shade of her eyes, he presses on. "When she would be feeling slightly better than other times, she would try to play chess with me. She would always win, but I would pretend that I didn't notice. But most of the time, she would be too weak to do anything, so I would sit by her side and read her stories..." He trails off, fighting back tears he knew were coming. Recollecting himself, he returns her gaze, asking, "What happened to your mother, how did she die? I've heard what everyone's said, but of course, it's not very reliable..."
     
  11. "She was stabbed to death in her bedroom." She seemed to state this rather blandly, her gaze remaining on the floor. "She was having an affair with one of the men who worked here. My mother was a good woman, a free spirit compared to all of the uptight characters my father endeared so much that she must have felt abandoned by him. He's always been accostomed to that life, even though by now he's probably writhing in guilt and acting like the town fool. He's just drowning himself in alchohol. Just yesterday he forgot who I was, and ordered me to go take care of the mess of bottles in his room. He thought I was his maid."
     
  12. "I'm truly sorry," Alistair said, meaning it. After a moment, he stated, "You probably think I'm a great nuisance, coming in here unannounced and uninvited, bothering you about your mother..." He trailed off for a moment, before regaining power, "I'll leave, if you want me to." He made to move towards the door, prepared to leave without ceremony.
     
  13. She looked up, putting on what she would hope to be a cheerful smile(although it almost did show how she was trying to do so), and waving a hand. "No, no, I assure you it's fine. You told of your sister, there's no harm in speaking of my mother." It almost seemed a little wierd, a sudden change in attitude, though she hoped it didn't border on a bipolar sort of change. But she didn't get company often, if at all. She usually dispised the public being near her; the only time she had left was when her mother died, but that was also when she had leaked information of an affair to someone she thought she could trust. That person turned out to be a news reporter, as her fathe had revealed rather angrily to her when the report appeared on television. Looking as though she just remembered this, she asked rather nervously, "Y-You.. wouldn't be someone to speak of any of this to the press, right..?"
     
  14. Alistair had to hold back the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course not. If I was, I would have either asked you more questions about your mother, that were more intrusive also, or I wouldn't even be here anymore, I'd probably have still left." He smiles warmly, before asking, "So, do you have a name?" Although he already knew it, from what he had heard of on television, he figured that it would be nice to hear it for himself, from her lips. "I'm Alistair, by the way."
     
  15. She smiled again in relief. It would be best that no more information be leaked by her, or else the press would be breaking her own door down as well. Although it was pretty obvious he wasn't one of the soul-sucking people who were so inclined to occupy her family's life. He seemed kind; unlike what she thought everyone else to be, which was why she hadn't ever felt the need to leave her house and go into the world like a normal person. "My name's Lucielle," she answered, knowing that he must have known it already. So she decided to let him call her by a nickname instead. "Lucy, if you don't mind."
     
  16. "Lucy," Alistair said, smiling. "It's a pretty name." Not sure what else to say, he let the silence drag on, shuffling uncertainly. Finally, he asked, "Would you play more for me? Your playing is very good, and I'm interested to hear more." He smiled warmly, trying to be polite and friendly towards her. It was clear that she hadn't experienced much reason to be happy recently, and he wanted to change that.
     
  17. She nodded once, before turning back to the piano, and softly setting her fingers back to the piano. She played a new tune; a more upbeat ballad, but it still held beauty in it's sound while it resonated throughout the room. Looking around, the room looked as though it would be impossible for the sound to not resonate as well as it did. It was nearly empty, aside from a bed and the piano, and it was quite a large room, made of white marble, like most of the interior of the house. Near her bed there was a small door, also, but that was more than likely just a closet. It was a wonder how she spent her time in here for so long, although the place was so large, surely some other room for daily activities.
     
  18. Gingerly, Alistair sat down next to her on the bench, listening to the sounds the piano made. Recognizing the tune as one for two people, he almost hesitantly placed his fingers on the keys, his playing definitely not as good as hers, but getting the notes out, he tried to keep up with her, keeping his eyes on the keys. A light smile came to his face, and he soon fell into the rhythm of the song, and was having less trouble keeping up with her.
     
  19. As he sat next to her, she turned her head to him and smiled warmly. It had been a while since someone had joined her in a piano session. Lucy closed her eyes blissfully as the sound of the harmony filled the air, and for a while the two lost themselves in it, seeming to separate themselves from the reality around them. The music was something to envy, and she was quite content with how he was able to keep up with her notes. She hadn't expected him to be able to play, too.
    "HEY, LUCY, YOU IN HERE!?"
    But their false reality was shattered suddenly, along with the marble wall in front of them. It practically exploded, large pieces of the heavy material shooting in their direction; one of which actually hit Lucy head on, nearly knocking her off of the piano stool. She held her head for a moment, before looking up to see two young men, a girl, and a child standing in the large hole in the wall, which opened up to a room on the other side. She shook in anger for a short moment, before picking the piece of stone which hit her, and chucking it at the largest man of the group; a brunette man in green and white formal clothing. It made impact with the side of his head, and he quickly bowed holding his head.
    "YOU IDIOTS!! Look what you've done to my room!!" Lucy fumed, her face reddened with either anger or the fact that the chunk of marble had hit her in the face.
    The other male of the group, a pale guy with dark hair and clothing, grinned impishly. "Yeah, she's here."
    "Where else would I be?" Lucy murmured heatedly, rubbing the side of her head again.
    This time the small, purple-haired child spoke up. "Well you weren't with the party, so.." She suddenly looked excited, noticing the boy sitting next to Lucy. "Hey, you've got a friend!"
    "Please tell me you didn't do this to the party.." Lucy looked as though she already knew the answer, slumping in her seat.
    The woman pushed her red-lined glasses up on her nose, her ever-displeased expression remaining. "We did."
    "Then why didn't you just use the stairs?" They all looked at each other upon hearing this, obviously having not thought of this. They all shrugged in unison.
    The larger man, having recovered finally, stepped into the room along with the group, and leaned against the piano. "So, who's the kid, Lucy?"
     

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  20. Alistair was practically speechless by what had happened. Indeed, all he could do was sit there, barely noticing it when a chunk of wall landed in his lap after bouncing against his chest. Snapping back to reality when he was referred to, he looked back up, standing. "My name's Alistair," he stated, answering for her. "I'm her friend."