themuseabandonsyou | Deerington IC Inbox

[It's been a while since the laboratory, since he got back and found both men that he'd tried to rescue, since he walked away from Steve Rogers again. And he's not doing well. In fact, he's doing pretty damn poorly, even by his ridiculously low standards, and he's not sure what the hell to do to alleviate some of this nervous tension that's driving him to keep moving even though his exhaustion.

He keeps making patrols around the town, even though it's useless and he has no idea what he's looking for, wide perimeter searches that take him to both familiar and unfamiliar territory. It's while he's on one of the loops of places that he's been before that he rounds a particular corner and hears a guitar. Hears a voice.

He very nearly turns and runs, memory of that voice singing to him and what happened.

But he's met Orpheus since. He knows it's not the same man, not the same creature, and that he doesn't intend harm. The sound of it still arrests his feet, though, freezing him in place just staring at Orpheus.]

[ Orpheus is not feeling particularly well today either. He's recovered from the lab and the existential crisis that came with it well enough, he guesses, but some days he just... misses Eurydice, misses Hermes and Persephone, misses the band and the bar, misses home. And the only thing he really has that he can do about it is sing, and play his guitar, sitting on the edge of a retaining wall on the college's campus. He doesn't notice Stefan approach, eyes closed and lost in the song. ]

You ain't never been blue; no, no, no,
You ain't never been blue,
Till you've had that mood indigo.
That feelin' goes stealin' down to my shoes
While I just sit here and sigh, "Go 'long blues".
I always get that mood indigo,
Since my baby said goodbye.

[ A flock of assorted birds has gathered around him - crows, songbirds, pigeons, and it's only when a little sparrow lands on his shoulder that he opens his eyes to look over at it, and only then that he notices his audience.

He stops playing abruptly, putting his hands over the strings to stop their vibration. ]

Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't notice you there. You didn't - you're okay, right?

[After the first few frozen moments, the initial panic response fades when he realises that his will remains his own. Orpheus' voice is clear, but Bucky feels no compulsion to walk to him as he had when the man had become a creature, which means he was likely telling the truth about lacking those powers.

And then--

--the song creates a hollow sort of echo in his chest, like a phantom pain. It conjures up images of bright red lipstick and cigarette smoke, of the smell of pomade in his hair. Nothing more substantial than that, no truly concrete memory, but... he knows that song. He knows it. That's what serves to keep him in place until all of a sudden it stops, even the vibration of the strings silenced in a heartbeat.

He doesn't look particularly okay, dark smudges under his eyes and a rumpled look to his clothes, a habitual tension in his shoulders. But he's ignoring the question to ask his own, voice quiet.]

What was that song?

Edited 2021-03-24 19:21 (UTC)

[ Well, Stefan isn't running away or trying to stab him or anything, so that's probably good? He does look a little - confused, or distressed, or something like that, though, and Orpheus looks at him with a mix of curiosity and concern. ]

It's called Mood Indigo, and it's by Duke Ellington.

[ As it becomes clear that the show is over for now, the birds that had gathered around to listen start to fly off, though the sparrow on Orpheus's shoulder stays for the moment, preening itself. ]

Why, do you know it?

I don't know.

[He takes a few steps closer and, despite the habitual tension in his body and the way he moves like someone expecting a fight, there's nothing overtly aggressive in the motion. He almost wants to hear it again, to see if he can tease loose the memory of why it makes sense, but there's no way that he trusts Orpheus enough to voluntarily hear him sing.]

I think I might have heard it a long time ago.

[He blinks, finally focusing properly.]

Sorry, I didn't know you'd be here. I can go, so you can keep performing.

You might have! My world is kind of different from a lot of the other places people are from here? But it seems like a lot of the music is the same.

[ Orpheus frowns a little bit, thoughtfully, and looks at Stefan. He looks a little out of sorts, which is understandable given all that they've both just been through, with the lab and being tiny on Mount Rheum, but it's still a little worrisome. He debates with himself for a moment, before offering; ]

I can also take a break for right now. I don't mind. We can just talk for a while, if you want to.

[He's not good at 'just talking', social situations are still fairly new to him when they're not just surface interactions at a store or on the street, and usually he would shake his head and keep walking on by. But he's so tired, and perhaps a little lonely even if he wouldn't admit that even to himself, and just a small amount of human contact might be nice.

So, after a moment of hesitation, he nods and moves a few steps closer.]

You don't need to keep doing this to earn money?

[He doesn't want to be taking food out of Orpheus' mouth.]

[ Orpheus shakes his head, smiling. ]

Oh, no, I don't do this for money. I just like playing in different places around town. It's fun.

[ Note the lack of a tip jar. Sometimes - at least, before the townspeople started having their various... problems - people would insist on trying to give him money anyway, but he always refused. It felt weird profiting off something he considered a gift from the gods like that, and he didn't really like it. ]

Anyway, I don't think money really matters here anymore? Most food is free, and my landlord, um. Doesn't have a face and just stares at the sun all day now, so I don't think he'll be collecting rent again any time soon. [ He grimaces, looking a little distressed. On the bright side, it does make things a little easier, but still. Oof. ]

[It's beyond strange to him that someone is not only okay with staying in one of the apartments owned by the locals, but is fine with paying them rent as if they're just a normal person. But then, most people don't have his life experience, and Orpheus does seem to be a very sheltered man.]

Alright then.

[An awkward pause, because now that he's faced with conversation, he has no idea what the hell to actually say. He's bad at this.]

Maybe we oughta get off the street?

Okay!

[ That seems like it might be a smart idea, honestly. Today the rain of bodies and lights falling from the sky seems to have let up a bit, but that could be subject to change at any minute. Orpheus is mostly just out here because he was starting to get too restless to stay inside by himself. ]

I live in the apartments, just across the street. We can go back to my place and have a cup of coffee? Or tea, or hot chocolate.

[Inside is probably safer, even with the abating of the people rain. Besides, now that he's committed to talking with Orpheus, it would be churlish to refuse the offer just because of his nerves surrounding the apartments and who might be listening in.

So he gives a little shrug and falls in beside Orpheus in a mute agreement to go and do just that.]

How long have you been here?

[ Orpheus trots along, seemingly much happier than he was earlier. How much of that is putting on a brave face now that he's around Stefan and how much of it is genuinely being thankful for the company is up for grabs.

He pauses, thinking about the question and counting off on his fingers briefly. Trials, music festival, roller derby, October, coma, ice beings, hotel, eyeball flowers, lab. ]

Nine months, [ he says, glancing over at Stefan as he walks next to him. ] What about you?

A couple of months.

[Nine months is such a long time, and it actually surprises him. Not because of the time itself, he's met people who have been here much longer, but because Orpheus is still managing to maintain his kindness and trusting nature in the face of it all.

Perhaps he's more resilient than Bucky thought.]

Nine months is a long time; hell, two months is too long.

It's a really long time to be away from home, [ Orpheus says, solemnly. ]

I like the people I've met here? And I've learned some things, that might help me with what I'm trying to do back where I came from. But it's still... really difficult.

[ And from his understanding, he's gotten off relatively easy, compared to a lot of the other people here. Either way, they've come to the apartment building now, and Orpheus holds the door open for Stefan. ]

You think we'll remember this place when we go back?

[His tone of voice doesn't give away whether he thinks remembering would be a good thing or a bad thing (always a good thing), as he steps inside the apartment building ahead of Orpheus.]

I've met people who think they've gone home for a while, and-- there are people here that knew me. Said I was here for a long time.

We don't, normally. Remember, I mean. But one of my friends is trying to figure out a way for us to keep our memories, and he's really clever. So we might be able to, someday.

[ An he takes a second to think about the rest of that, going up the stairs. There's a lot of them to go up, he lives on the seventh floor. ]

And you don't remember any of that? Do you think you died? Sometimes that can make people forget the things that happened here, and at home.

[He shakes his head in answer to Orpheus' question, not quite able to hide the disquiet in his eyes at the idea that he's been made to forget again. At least the stairs pose no problem, even if there are seven flights of them.]

I don't think it was me. Not really me, anyway. The things people have told me don't line up exactly, it's more like-- he was sort of me, shared my face.

Oh, I guess that's possible? [ He's heard of weirder things happening, at least, and if Stefan says it wasn't him, then he'd be willing to believe it. ]

That must be very strange though, having people recognize you when you don't recognize them. I've heard that happens to a couple of people here? But mostly because there are stories about them in other peoples' worlds, and not. Like that.

[ In any case, they've made it all the way up the stairs to Orpheus's apartment, to which he opens the door without unlocking it because it legitimately doesn't occur to him why he might want to. It's fairly sparse, with most of the clutter coming in the form of various notebooks and loose sheets of paper covered in a variety of different kinds of handwritten musical notation stacked on every available surface.

Orpheus leads Stefan into the kitchen, where there's a small table with a bright red carnation sitting in a vase on top. On the counter next to the stove is a small shrine constructed out of whitewashed bricks, decorated with feathers and flowers, the blessings basket that arrived with him sitting on top of it. ]

So, did you want something to drink? I have coffee, a couple of kinds of tea, or hot chocolate, or I can get you something cold.

Coffee, black.

[He gives the request without really paying attention to it, caught on looking around Orpheus' home. And that's the thing, it looks like a home, not just a random collection of furniture in a place provided by a magical kidnapping town. It looks like Orpheus has carved a life out for himself here, somehow, against all the odds.

It's alien and fascinating to him, and he finds himself walking slowly around the kitchen to look at all the little bits and pieces. He bends to smell the carnation, he reaches out and lightly touches one of the feathers at the shrine.]

What is this?

[He's curious, he's never actually seen a shrine before.]

You've got it, [ says Orpheus, filling a kettle with water and setting it on the stove before pulling out a bag of coffee grounds and measuring out enough for two cups into a small french press.

He glances over at Stefan at the question, eyebrows raised slightly before remembering that people here and probably on most Earths don't really do worship the same way he does. ]

Oh! That's a shrine to the gods of my world. Or, well, it's mostly for Hermes and Persephone, because I know them and I feel like if anyone can hear me here, it's them? But I built it for any and all of them.

[ The gods don't really like being snubbed in favor of any of their peers, but he's only got so much counter space to work with. They're kind of going to have to deal with it. ]

[Religion is a strange and abstract thing to him now. He doesn't know if the man he used to be believed in any gods, or held any faith, but he sure as hell doesn't now. The Soldier hadn't even had a concept of religion, and he has enough struggling with trying to find who he is as a man, without adding existential questions of belief into the mix.

The names of the gods, though, they sort of ring a bell. He can sort of remember reading about them long ago, books of myths from--]

Greek? [Or was it Roman? He's not sure.] Hermes was the Greek god of, uh, letters? Mail? [No, that can't be right.] Sorry, I don't mean to offend you.

Their old home was in Greece, yes, [ says Orpheus, brightly. It's still a little weird hearing people talk about his very living and immortal family members in the past tense, but Stefan is clearly trying, so he does his best not to seem too off-put by it. ]

He's a messenger god, mostly, but he also presides over travelers and gamblers and trade. And some other things.

[ The kettle is whistling now, so he takes it off the stove and pours the hot water into the french press, setting it aside to brew. ]

And it's not a problem. A lot of people here only know my gods as old stories. It's a little strange to think about? But I'm getting used to it.

I think most gods are just old stories, aren't they?

[He doesn't mean that in an offensive way, as if they're all fictional, but rather-- gods are, by their very nature, things that endure through the centuries and live on in faith and stories. Surely Orpheus isn't actually saying that he knew his gods, not in an actual personal sense?

He moves away from the shrine, not wanting to accidentally damage it, and looks about for somewhere to sit.]

Well, [ says Orpheus, pausing to think. ] I guess I mean stories in the sense that the people telling them think they aren't true. And I guess I don't know that all the stories about my gods are true either? I wasn't there for any but mine. But Mister Hermes told me most of them, and I don't think he'd lie about that kind of thing.

[ God of trickery as he may be, he's not a liar. Though he might embellish a bit, on occasion. ]

Oh.

[He looks very awkward for a moment, but-- why should he be surprised? Asgardians exist in his world, and some people still worship them as Norse gods, why shouldn't that be true elsewhere? Why shouldn't Orpheus have heard his myths directly from one of the gods?]

Must take a lot of guesswork out of belief, if you've actually met them, huh?

Deerington IC Inbox

action;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: vague body horror reference

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)