Post by Beta on Nov 24, 2012 14:39:15 GMT -5
The violin was a highly regarded instrument. Its sound could alternate from fast and joyful, to a more mournful lament - a broad, versatile,sweeping instrument capable of encompassing almost as many moods as the Fey themselves were capable of. Her father thought it important she practice it a little bit every day, among so many other tools of music.
In times of shock and surprise, the violin could also give a most horrid shriek.
The elder Fey's features narrowed in upon his daughter.
You hate me, don't you?
That's what she wanted to say - and failed to, as she tried to place her bow back in the right place and return to her mandatory practice. Long practiced in the art of hiding her emotions, the thoroughly unexpected nature of the declaration still caught her off guard enough. The screech was still enough - he knew.
"I thought you'd be happy," her father said, his quiet tone four steps away from the indignation. "This is a wonderful opportunity for both of us."
"Of course it is, father," she lied perfectly, and bow stroked softly across strings to return to an excitable pixie jig. If she was breathing faster, it was only because of the pace of the music. "You're the natural choice for the job."
"That's kind of you to say so," he replied, hands behind his back now. One foot tapped along with the music. "You were obviously not prepared for this."
No, really?
"One could hardly prepare for what was never a consideration, father," she returned tactfully.
"I know," he replied, slightly more giddy at that. "It is rather surprising, daughter. I was not even aware that they were considering such a position. A little more crescendo there. I say, for them to have chosen me, I must be doing something right!"
Or wrong, she amended to herself as the names of a dozen at court popped up in her head - names that would have rather seen the Pierce name far, far away, if not gone entirely. Merit probably wasn't the only reason for such a position.
"Yes, father; you would be the obvious choice..." she said again, very much sounding like there was another part of the sentence following.
Jean Pierce wasn't completely oblivious - partially oblivious, but not completely. He added in his own, "But..." to lead her on.
"But I am not sure I quite understand," she stated as the piece ended. She called up another one to the front of her mind, switching to a light wintry piece. "What do you mean by 'we are going'? We cannot both be the ambassador, of course."
"Of course," he replied back quickly - too quickly - finding the idea somehow humorous in his own way. "It is customary, I am told, for an ambassador to bring along one's immediate family. That is how the other nations do it, and it would not do for an ambassador of Arcadia to do otherwise. You are my daughter. You will accompany me."
He sounded so happy, as he metaphorically stabbed a carving knife into her personal life over and over again until it was a crimson excuse of a carcass desperately crawling away to escape.
"Ah. Of course," Beta replied succinctly.
She broke its neck quickly. It was the only merciful thing she could do.
In times of shock and surprise, the violin could also give a most horrid shriek.
The elder Fey's features narrowed in upon his daughter.
You hate me, don't you?
That's what she wanted to say - and failed to, as she tried to place her bow back in the right place and return to her mandatory practice. Long practiced in the art of hiding her emotions, the thoroughly unexpected nature of the declaration still caught her off guard enough. The screech was still enough - he knew.
"I thought you'd be happy," her father said, his quiet tone four steps away from the indignation. "This is a wonderful opportunity for both of us."
"Of course it is, father," she lied perfectly, and bow stroked softly across strings to return to an excitable pixie jig. If she was breathing faster, it was only because of the pace of the music. "You're the natural choice for the job."
"That's kind of you to say so," he replied, hands behind his back now. One foot tapped along with the music. "You were obviously not prepared for this."
No, really?
"One could hardly prepare for what was never a consideration, father," she returned tactfully.
"I know," he replied, slightly more giddy at that. "It is rather surprising, daughter. I was not even aware that they were considering such a position. A little more crescendo there. I say, for them to have chosen me, I must be doing something right!"
Or wrong, she amended to herself as the names of a dozen at court popped up in her head - names that would have rather seen the Pierce name far, far away, if not gone entirely. Merit probably wasn't the only reason for such a position.
"Yes, father; you would be the obvious choice..." she said again, very much sounding like there was another part of the sentence following.
Jean Pierce wasn't completely oblivious - partially oblivious, but not completely. He added in his own, "But..." to lead her on.
"But I am not sure I quite understand," she stated as the piece ended. She called up another one to the front of her mind, switching to a light wintry piece. "What do you mean by 'we are going'? We cannot both be the ambassador, of course."
"Of course," he replied back quickly - too quickly - finding the idea somehow humorous in his own way. "It is customary, I am told, for an ambassador to bring along one's immediate family. That is how the other nations do it, and it would not do for an ambassador of Arcadia to do otherwise. You are my daughter. You will accompany me."
He sounded so happy, as he metaphorically stabbed a carving knife into her personal life over and over again until it was a crimson excuse of a carcass desperately crawling away to escape.
"Ah. Of course," Beta replied succinctly.
She broke its neck quickly. It was the only merciful thing she could do.