Breaking Apart Open Finished

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[font=Abadi MT Condensed Light]Well, there's broken silence, by thunder crashing in the dark (crash in the dark)...

The drifter sat across from Celynne, paying careful attention to what she said. Noting that this stepfather creates a less than happy response just by his mention, Elena resolved to keep him away from Cel if it was possible. The protective response, which often started later on in a friendship, almost startled Elena. Not being one to trust so early, it was almost confusing, but then again it was almost like fate had lined the girls up like dominoes. The right time, the right information, the right place, the right weather.

Call it fate, or luck, or chance, or what you will, but it must be something different than the normal cause and effect of the daily life that so many walked the path of. Then again, maybe a seer had some additional ability at following the threads woven around them.

And this broken record, spin endle-

Ourselves a target.

The worry in Elena’s head shattered, and it felt like she could breathe again. It was almost like the music in the inn ended, leaving behind only the storm and the gentle murmur of the few remaining patrons. There was a sense of kinship in that, and although it didn’t quite make itself known in her eyes, hope and wonder seeped through Elena’s bones.

“I’m sorry for your loss, even though she’s still here in spirit. If life has taught me anything, it’s worse to have a constant reminder that something you love just out of reach than to never see it at all.” The words were Elena trying to speak from her feelings, and for a moment she remembered a smiling laughing face with soft trusting eyes, then Elena shook off the memory, not willing to view it anymore lest the mood be ruined, “Across the Atlantic Ocean, this would be America correct? So, would we be doing this together?”

Elena sounded excited, but a little tinge of sadness still pervaded her voice, thinking about Eliza took a lot out of her, a little sister that was far away and so very safe, but that she’d never see again.[/font]

Mali principii, malus finis.

The young witch shook her head in response to Elena's offered condolences. "It's all right, I've gotten used to it. I'd much rather let her pass on than keep her here forever, but time will tell what happens," she remarked with a doleful smile of her own. The idea of getting used to something like that was alien to some, but then she would mention her past in such careless passing that they gasped in horror or rushed to rain their apologies down on her. And yes, maybe a polite "I'm sorry for your loss" was nice, but a full five minutes of preaching about death and parental love was maybe a bit out of order.

Next she pondered the implications of going all the way back to America. Elena didn't seem like the kind of person to mess around when she needed something, and that she liked about her. And as much as she wished she could say that no, she could send Elena across the ocean with a plane ticket and be well on her way, the Slytherin girl had no chance with Asher without her. Had a very small chance even with her, but it was better than nothing. "...Together, I suppose," she managed, the words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Seeing Asher was something that Cel had wanted to put off for all of eternity, like something she'd procrastinated on so long that it had nearly ceased to exist. Secretly, the girl knew that she could never let herself die without confronting him. Loose ends weren't things that her mind dealt well with. But that didn't mean it was something she wanted to do, more like something she needed to, for peace. Cel shuddered a little in memory of his scathing words, like tongues of flame reaching out to wrap her in their scalding arms, pulling her under.

How would he be after all these years? It had been so long... he was left alone, an alcoholic with no aim. Any shred of filial respect for him had been shattered with the memories that seemed far away enough that they hadn't seemed like hers at first, but she remembered vividly the slice of the bottle he threw at her head, the madness in his eyes, and not a shred of love.

"We probably can't get a Portkey, and nobody in North California has working fireplaces," she stated matter-of-factly. "Have you ever been on a plane?" Sure, maybe broomsticks were an option, but there was no way she was sitting her on a broom for that long when she could just take an airplane with comfortable seats and, like, sometimes good food, so Muggle transportation it was. Money was no problem; the Grays had enough currency for both worlds. Mostly she just had to convince Svana that this was a good and beneficial idea, and, well, she had a lot of practice doing that. For literally every single thing that she did. And yeah, she was probably going to have her skin for this, but Svana couldn't get to her if she was hidden away in America, right? "If you don't have a set destination in mind, would you be open to staying at my family's house for tonight? If we're going to plan this, it would make more sense. We could talk to my mother, and it's not like we could show up at the airport immediately and hope for tickets to appear."   

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[font=Abadi MT Condensed Light]Elena nodded slightly, and continued to listen. Not wanting to interrupt someone willing to help, there were so few she could think of in her life that do similar... although nobody would want to be compared to a grump so she kept those thoughts to herself, unlike most others.

“Once, last year. One of the other students took me to Germany.” Elena could feel a little at the memory of the snowball fight with Alan, but didn’t elaborate and didn’t pay it too much mind. That time was farther in the past than she was happy with recounting.

“I was just going to try and grab a guesthouse somewhere so I’d say that sounds like an excellent idea. Good point as well, plane tickets, especially in Summer, are supposed to be few and far between. They are in the books I read anyhow.” Elena hummed, the music in her head started up again but more excitedly this time, like something good was happening.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, as well, I thought I’d say. I can probably make it over and poke around somehow on my own.” Elena always offered to do it alone, and she wouldn’t blame Cel, or be hurt, this information was more than anyone before was willing to give.[/font]

Vivere est cogitare.

Maybe it was weird to invite someone she'd known for less than half a day to her house, but her instincts tended to be right, and her instincts said that this was safe. Besides, it wasn't like there was much anyone could do to harm her. The only thing she had to be afraid of for having Elena over was Svana's wrath, and, well, that was something she could run from before it got bad. Just like most things. Because Svana might've been a controlling hag, but if there was anything constant about her it was that she wouldn't lose her dignity for her life, and that meant not yelling at her daughter while anyone else was in earshot.

Briefly she wondered how her house must look to someone not accustomed to luxury. With all the tragedy that was laced through her life, she'd never once wanted for money, disregarding the few days that she barely remembered on the street. Parker's paycheck was too much for his own good, the Gray Manse was hardly a small mansion, and there was enough said about the Selwyn household—Asher could afford to drink for the rest of his life if he'd retired twenty years ago. A bit of a technicality, actually, since the inheritance belonged to Natalia, but since Natalia wasn't exactly there... well.

"We'll figure something out," Cel countered Elena's worry of the ticket market mysteriously, choosing not to elaborate. Money got you places that you might feel guilty about being, but it did a damn good job of it. Plane tickets were nothing in the face of Rasmus's wallet. Which was great, because if Dorian asked, then they'd probably get it. And Dorian would definitely ask, because Dorian was awesome. "I'm heading back in maybe an hour or so," she told the Slytherin girl. "Tamsin's probably going to ask me to sing again before then, but this inn's not the best place to mope past nine o'clock, just letting you know. That's when they get the Irish music out."

She scoffed at Elena's last statement, face smoothing before it could be taken offensively. "As much as I'd love to not see that bastard for a million years, that's not going to work out, I assure you. And you'll see why later." Ending it there, the young witch cut her gaze back at the front of the room, where the singer was finishing off the last depressing song of the evening. "Do you play any instruments, by any chance?" she asked nonchalantly.

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[font=Abadi MT Condensed Light]Elena nodded, because that was about all she was good at when it came to not making speeches.

“There’s a saying where I come from, it goes like this. If someone starts playing Danny Boy it’s time to leave the bar.” Elena laughed very softly, “Then again, judging by the environment I’ll need another saying. When you go walking into the proverbial lion's den, you start with a good breakfast. Or another round of whatever has sugar and bitterness in our case.”

Elena was resolved, in her own special way, to try and protect Celynne in return, maybe out of a sense of payback but more likely out of a sense of friendship. Although it seemed this one didn’t need any kind of protection at all.

“Instruments? Well, flute, fiddle, that’s about it.” Elena started drawing on the table with her finger, little runes on the table grains. Elena’s eyes glanced up at Cel, “What are you going to sing next?”

Elena watched the singer slide offstage and out of the inn, looks like everyone things the inn isn’t the place to be later at night. Although Elena doubted this much trouble could occur in a small town like this, then again looks could be deceiving.[/font]

E cantu cognoscitur avis.

Cel hummed in agreement as the singer bowed off of the stage and slinked out the door, people following in her footsteps, each one looking more bedraggled than the last. Soon the inn was empty save for the two young witches, Parker, Tamsin, Nesta, Caerwyn, and a couple of stragglers. With their exit, though, came the entrance of several more, decidedly more boisterous patrons, and the ambience suddenly shifted from melancholy and miserable to warm and welcoming. "This is when we shift from evening to night, and when we transform from a sad bar for drinking away your sorrows to a place to party."

She didn't add that this was usually when she'd slip out the door, pull an Irish Goodbye that she was so well known for, but tonight she would stay. Mostly because Parker wasn't going to let her leave, but if that was the case, she'd better be making the most of it, right? "I'm not completely sure yet," she answered after a moment of consideration. That was a lie; she did have a song in mind, after Elena told her that she played the fiddle. Before she could open her mouth to correct her mistake though, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

The young girl jumped and twisted, nearly going for a knife, before she remembered that she was in Tamsin's inn at nine fifteen and that the regular patrons would probably all murder anyone that tried to hurt her. As it turned out, nobody wanted to cause her harm, the realization flashing quickly in her eyes and letting her relax her posture as she stared up at Nesta's dark gaze, her aunt's wife, a Half-Blood with curly dark hair and wearing comfortable brown robes. "Hylô," the woman greeted somewhat sheepishly. "A ddychrynais i chi? Sori."

"Ie, ychydig," Cel responded with a nod, the old language flowing off her tongue. Many in Wales didn't actually speak Cymraeg, opting for English, and Nesta was certainly capable of both, but most in this town were witches and wizards, preferring to stick to tradition. Just like... pretty much all of Wizarding culture. Tradition was great, but it didn't work out well for people accustomed to the Muggle world, and also, half the issues in the magical world could be solved by Muggle technology. Not like any of them knew how to defend themselves against a gun, maybe that was why they tended to avoid the Muggles. "Did you want me to sing first?" she asked, switching back to English. At Nesta's nod and a quick "Ie," Cel turned back to Elena. "Hey, you said you play the fiddle—can you sight read? Or, do you know how to play Galway Girl, because sight reading sucks?"

Reducio

Hylô = Hello
A ddychrynais i chi = Did I scare you
Sori = Sorry
Ie = Yes
Ychydig = A little
For the record, this all comes off of Google Translate so please correct me if I failed miserably.

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[font=Abadi MT Condensed Light]Interesting turns of events are usually just inversions of known fact.

“Interesting, in my experience it’s usually the other way around. Party, mope, fight. In that order.” Elena’s lips quirked into a smile. The more party oriented crowd was having an absolute ball and they hadn’t even had a drink yet. Here, at least, maybe they came from their own backyard parties. Then Elena wondered if these people even had barbecues, wizards had to have barbecues right? They can’t all always eat wood roast dinner. Ovens and stoves, yes, they should need those too.

Then Elena frowned as she realised that the gas and electric people probably didn’t know this place existed and vowed to live in a normal city.

Brilliant blue eyes scanned the newcomer, and Elena nodded to acknowledge her presence, not wanting to intrude on the discussion. Although it was all in Welsh, which sadly Elena knew absolutely nothing about. Then sort of stared at her drink, watching thoughts roll across her mind but not bothering to reach out and grab them.

Because of this minor disassociation, Elena blinked a little at Cel’s question, “Oh um, yes, sight reading does suck. I can play Galway Girl from memory, it’s a classic. A modern classic, I suppose though, but yes. Why?”[/font]

Sapientia vino obumbratur.

Cel grinned as her aunt sauntered off in the direction of the bar, yelling something in Welsh at the crew enchanting the instruments that she didn't have the attention to translate in her head. She could do Welsh, but she wasn't good enough at it to be able to understand it without needing to shift some words back to English first. That was something that came with experience, and she usually spoke English while she was here, anyway. The other languages were used more often—and they had to be, lest she forgot them. Ah, the wonders of being a hyperpolyglot—using Russian idioms after accidentally translating them into Japanese, for example.

Performing after nine o'clock was always less nerve-wracking. The people were more focused on laughing with their friends than staring at a performer, and though they seemed to love her voice, they certainly made her feel at home on the stage—and those who frequented the night hours of the inn knew her well enough to be considered... well, maybe not enough to be considered friends, but not as threats at the very least. They were nice, really, even if some of them got drunk a bit more than strictly necessary.

"Midnight is for downing too many shots in this inn," she declared, tilting back on the back legs of her chair to draw her legs out from under the table without needing to hear the screech of wood against wood. It was almost as bad as the screech of wood against stone, or metal against metal. Seriously, nothing was worse than the sound of the Caltrain when it stopped, and she'd literally forgotten it before having to remember it again. "Sometimes people party to forgot about what they're moping about." And boy, did she know about that—it was something that she wouldn't admit to herself, to anyone, that the time she spent on all her studies wasn't to better herself, or advance her studies, or any of that, but simply so that she could... think about something else.

But right now, she didn't need a distraction. She already had one. A great one, actually, to take her away from the heavy promise she'd just agreed to. Cel held out hand, an offer to pull Elena up. "How do you feel about performing?" she asked with a grin, tilting her head toward the front of the room. "We've got fiddles, if you don't have yours. We can tweak them to your liking, too. I'd love to have company onstage. Honestly, I don't like performing alone." Usually she wasn't the person to do this, usually she was the person this was being done to, but the difference was that if she refused, the person usually pushed harder. And she knew immediately that if  Elena refused, she'd drop it.

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[font=Abadi MT Condensed Light]Nine at night already? The storm raging outside must've made her think the sun was just being blotted out.

"Wise words Celynne, although I always thought it better to face what you have to deal with. Otherwise it'll swallow you whole." Elena hummed a little bit, trying not to remember how haunted the shadows seemed back when she wouldn't face the world.

"I'd love to." Elena brightened up with a smile, "I don't have one with me but give me a minute to tune and I'll be all ready for this. I don't like performing alone either, too many eyes on me."

Eyes weren't all of the problem, there was also a modicum of stage fright and the fact that a flute didn't sound very good on its own. Fiddles worked but she preferred the silence and stormy skies to having to deal with a stage in an inn, performing with someone else was better though, that felt a lot better than wondering if nobody was listening. Then you knew that someone actually was.

It's amazing really, how Elena could look so calm and sweetly sad only minutes after almost having a heart attack of hope and joy. Maybe if she knew it was a trait her mother used to have she would feel comforted.

But nobody would tell her that, nobody really knew.[/font]

Nisi utile est quod facimus stulta est gloria.

With a nod, the girl turned to wave to Nesta, beaming—the kind of smile that lifted her cheeks and brighteed her eyes, the kind of smile that liked to make a living melting hearts and winning favors. The one that essentially got her her cat, paired with many nights hiding in her bedroom and failed attempts at getting her to go absorb sunlight. Probably the only thing that made people say that she was a sweet child, because if someone got to know her, that smile was pretty much the only thing sweet about her.

"Nesta?" she called, and as the brunette woman gave a nod of acknowledgement and began stepping towards her, she continued, "Ffidil iddi," pointing at the blue-haired girl next to her. "Bydd hi'n chwarae. Gyda fi." A fiddle for her, she'll play with me. A good use of practice, and if not perfectly worded or enunciated, certainly enough for Nesta and the closer patrons to hear. While her aunt grinned in encouragement, the patrons taking shots near them cheered, sending compliments her way. Cel could only blush under the attention, trying to politely ignore it—if there was such a thing—as she always did.

"Dyma hi, Cel," Nesta announced over her shoulder, wand arm raised to levitate the fiddle case over the heads of several members of the crowd and to their place in the inn. Smooth, dark velvet wrapped around the entirety of the case, edged with strong metal clasps and hinges. Cel accepted it into her arms, stumbling a little under its weight, but regained her balance and set the case on the table before them, careful not to knock over their drinks. Hers, at least, was still half-filled. "Diolch," she told Nesta even as the woman walked away, and turned back to the table before her. "There you go. There should be everything you need in there, but then again, I don't really know how fiddles or violins work."

Cel jumped back up on the table as she waited for Elena to tune the instrument, seating herself on its edge but leaving plenty of space on the other girl's side. She crossed her ankles and uncrossed them, switching their orientation, watching Caerwyn and Tamsin charm the other instruments for backup. Enchanted instruments did their jobs well, but there was nothing quite like a song played by a musician—that was a performance that was never quite replicated as precisely as magic would be able to, and in a way it was more personal, more unique. After all, if it was just magic that could do it, why have musicians at all?

The young witch cast a glance over at Elena after a while, grinning at what looked like was a nearly-finished tuning session. Or whatever it was called. Then again, she knew pretty much nothing about tuning, but she'd seen Parker tune his guitar more than once, and it couldn't be that different, right? Well, it could be, but at least she had something to base a guess off of. "Ready?" the girl asked, legs tensing to hop off the table.

Reducio

ffidil iddi = a fiddle for her
bydd hi'n chwarae = she'll play
gyda fi = with me
diolch = thank you