Breaking Apart Open Finished

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[font=Abadi MT Condensed Light]Elena wasn't a language whiz, when it came down to it.

Sure she'd tried a little from time to time, and was getting a bit of a grip on some basic Greek, out of pure academic interest naturally, but most others flew over her head when she tried to learn them. Pictures, now that was where it was all at. Give Elena a picture of somewhere or something and a story about it could draw itself in her head, a strangely accurate story too for the most part.

Elena's hands ghosted over the tuning mechanism of the fiddle, turning and feeling as the music turned to exactly the sound she was used to. It wasn't her fiddle, of course. Hers was battered and scratched, with every scar and mark on the wood and telling a tale of what it had cost to obtain it, where it'd been left, stolen, attempted destruction, glued together, sanded down.

This fiddle was almost new though, but it deserved the same care and attention Elena gave to all the instruments in her care, so she hummed and soon the tuning was complete.

Elena smiled and drew the bow across the fiddle for a short sweet note then nodded, "Absolutely ready!" [/font]

Post nubila sol.

Her feet landed quickly after she got her answer, and she beckoned toward the stage with a smile on her face, stopping for a moment to tilt her head at Nesta and signal their readiness. At her aunt's acknowledgement, she continued on her way, legs tensing as she stepped onto the edge of the foot-high wooden platform, still hiding in the shadows a bit until Caerwyn handed her a microphone. Again, it was mostly for show, but she was used to using them, just like the ear monitors she secured in her ears before emerging from the sides. Actually, scratch that. The ear monitors were lifesavers; she wouldn't go into a performance without them.

This song was a little different from the last, not only in emotion, lyrics and pretty much everything in general but also in its beginning. Instead of the slow-moving intro bars of idontwannabeyouanymore, Galway Girl started out on the first note. In situations like those, those with perfect pitch were given an unfair advantage, but other lowly souls were simply given a starting key note, just as Cel was given a clear A by the dulcet draw of the fiddle. The girl took a breath in, a breath out, and then it was a nod to the rest of the band behind her, and the clicks of two drumsticks setting a tempo.

"She played the fiddle in an Irish band
But she fell in love with an English man
Kissed her on the neck and then I took her by the hand
and said, baby, I just wanna dance..."

The words were sharp, short and wonderfully fun, full of the laughter and joy of a night in this inn after nine. They were met with appreciative whoops from the audience, new energy moving the resting ambience immediately. Cel didn't have the naturally confident stage presence of some performers, also known as most performers, but here her audience was her friend, and her stage a random place on the street. She wasn't on the spot, she was singing to a couple of acquaintances who wanted to hear her voice.

"I meet her on Grafton street right outside of the bar
She shared a cigarette with me while her brother played the guitar
She asked me, what does it mean, the Gaelic ink on your arm?
Said it was one of my friend's songs, do you want to drink on?
She took Jamie as a chaser, Jack for the fun
She got Arthur on the table with Johnny riding as a shotgun
Chatted some more, one more drink at the bar
Then put Van on the jukebox, got up to dance..."

Really, she didn't need stage presence in this inn. No, it was made up for the bright smile on her face, the tone of her song, even the adventurousness of the flourishes she dared to add to the original song. She didn't dance—dancing was ew—but she sang all the same, changing her posture and direction suitably. It was one of the few times she had fun while performing, and it was drastically different from a concert with stage lights beaming onto her face, even in a living room with a couple stony sets of eyes boring into her soul as her voice wavered uncertainly. No, this was much better.

"You know she beat me at darts and then she beat me at pool
And then she kissed me like there was nobody else in the room
As last orders were called was when she stood on the stool
After dancing to Kaleigh, singing to trad tunes
I never heard Carrickfergus ever sang so sweet
Acapella in the bar using her feet for a beat
Oh, I could have that voice playing on repeat for a week
And in this packed out room swear she was singing to me..."

It was a wonder how her voice could convince these near-drunken fools—affectionally called so, of course–to rise and begin to dance, despite the fact that she was doing nothing herself. Some simply clapped from their seats, others whooped, but most had gotten up and pranced around the tavern. Someone had somehow gotten a pair of reel shoes on—wait, no, that was Tamsin's friend—and had somehow begun step dancing. Why he had a routine to this song, she didn't know, mostly because she had no idea how step dancing worked. I lied, it's me, I have no idea how step dancing works.

"And now we've outstayed our welcome and it's closing time
I was holding her hand, her hand was holding mine
Our coats both smell of smoke, whisky and wine
As we fill up our lungs with the cold air of the night
I walked her home then she took me inside
To finish some Doritos and another bottle of wine
I swear I'm gonna put you in a song that I write
About a Galway girl and a perfect night..."

After a while of upbeat nearly-but-not-quite-really rapping, the rhythm slowed, people either sat back down or passed out, and Tamsin's friend had lost not only one but both of his reel shoes as well as one of his normal shoes. Cel had wandered back to the stool she'd sung her first song on for this bridge, but eased off it as the volume began creeping back up again.

"She played the fiddle in an Irish band
But she fell in love with an English man
Kissed her on the neck and then I took her by the hand
Said, "Baby, I just wanna to dance"
My pretty little Galway girl
My, my, my, my, my, my, my Galway girl
My, my, my, my, my, my, my Galway girl
My, my, my, my, my, my, my Galway girl, hey!"

Cel finished the song with a ridiculously fancy run in her whistle tone, then broke off giggling. Applause, laughter and random enthusiastic shouts rang out among the audience, most of them taking off for more drinks—that they didn't want to get while the performance was still going on—as soon as she finished. With an over-exaggerated curtsy and a tug on the sleeve of the jacket she still wore, the girl turned her attention back to Elena, grinning and beckoning for her to follow her off the stage. The nine o'clock performance was over; they could head back carrying high spirits now.