Post by Liana Marceau on Jun 4, 2008 3:50:25 GMT -5
It had been a long day for Liana and for the first time in her life, she was sorely confused about things. On the one hand she was happy here at the Populaire. She had a place to stay with a warm bed, three hot meals a day, and something she loved doing to occupy her. She wouldn't give those things up for the world. Especially not the music. The music was the one thing that reminded her of her mother so much. For Liana, it was the music that binded her mother's spirit and her own in a way that could rarely bind two people across the divide of life and death. That music had always kept them close, but now, it did so even through death. Perhaps that is why she had found her mother's people and stayed with them as long as she did; they believed in music they way most people believed in God.
The gypsies were creators of music, masters of music, in a way few people ever could be. Since coming here to the Populaire Liana had of course found far more highly trained singers and musicians, but in the way of spirit, of truly feeling and creating in their arts, the gypsies were unparalleled. In fact, if Liana's intuitions about her mother's family were indeed as sharp as she thought they were, if they ever decided to drop their current profession and come to the respectable life of Paris as performers for the opera house, well, some of the current ballet rats and chorus girls at the very least were certainly in trouble. She had a feeling that the violin players would be in dire straights to if ever challenged by one of the caravans that tended to roam Paris frequently, if they didn't settle as her mother's had.
Liana smiled at the fond memories. She should visit soon if she had a chance. She missed hiding near them all at night, curled up by the fire until the wee hours of the night had given way to morning's brilliant colors shaping the sky for the day. She missed the stories, and the colorful music. She missed the casual and carefree dancing about the flames, the food, the joking. It wasn't that she didn't love the Populaire. It was hard to leave such a grand place as that to go back to her family, or put them in danger again for that matter. But, at the same time, it was something she had gotten used to; the people, the loving atmosphere, that was something the Populaire seriously lacked for her, and it was something she desperately missed sometimes.
Tonight for example she wished she had stayed despite the looming danger of someone close to her heels, despite the fact that she could be back home instead of free for those few extra days. Tonight was one of the nights she could not sleep, too haunted by the nighmares of her mother's fall, too troubled by the sneers and appraising looks of old suitors from before she left. Even the spots where her old bruises used to form bothered her on nights like these. If she had stayed she would have had some distraction. But she had not. She had to find a way to distract herself otherwise. Perhaps fresh air was in order. It had never faulted her before, and at the very least a little cold would keep her up.
With quick and quiet practiced motions, Liana grabbed her cloke and proceeded out of the dormitories to the safety of the stable. The cool night air of Paris was indeed refreshing. It hit her skin, sharp at first, and then eased into the cool familiar embrace of the night she had shared so often with her mother's family, with the gypsies. She smiled at the memory and started humming one of their old songs. The horses whinned a bit in protest, but then she started singing fully and they calmed a bit. Only one or two really made noise once she started to truely sing the melody, but others still seemed to dance in their stalls, prancing here, or moving a hoof there. It was funny almost, but calming in a way. At least they distracted her, and right now, that was all Liana asked.
The gypsies were creators of music, masters of music, in a way few people ever could be. Since coming here to the Populaire Liana had of course found far more highly trained singers and musicians, but in the way of spirit, of truly feeling and creating in their arts, the gypsies were unparalleled. In fact, if Liana's intuitions about her mother's family were indeed as sharp as she thought they were, if they ever decided to drop their current profession and come to the respectable life of Paris as performers for the opera house, well, some of the current ballet rats and chorus girls at the very least were certainly in trouble. She had a feeling that the violin players would be in dire straights to if ever challenged by one of the caravans that tended to roam Paris frequently, if they didn't settle as her mother's had.
Liana smiled at the fond memories. She should visit soon if she had a chance. She missed hiding near them all at night, curled up by the fire until the wee hours of the night had given way to morning's brilliant colors shaping the sky for the day. She missed the stories, and the colorful music. She missed the casual and carefree dancing about the flames, the food, the joking. It wasn't that she didn't love the Populaire. It was hard to leave such a grand place as that to go back to her family, or put them in danger again for that matter. But, at the same time, it was something she had gotten used to; the people, the loving atmosphere, that was something the Populaire seriously lacked for her, and it was something she desperately missed sometimes.
Tonight for example she wished she had stayed despite the looming danger of someone close to her heels, despite the fact that she could be back home instead of free for those few extra days. Tonight was one of the nights she could not sleep, too haunted by the nighmares of her mother's fall, too troubled by the sneers and appraising looks of old suitors from before she left. Even the spots where her old bruises used to form bothered her on nights like these. If she had stayed she would have had some distraction. But she had not. She had to find a way to distract herself otherwise. Perhaps fresh air was in order. It had never faulted her before, and at the very least a little cold would keep her up.
With quick and quiet practiced motions, Liana grabbed her cloke and proceeded out of the dormitories to the safety of the stable. The cool night air of Paris was indeed refreshing. It hit her skin, sharp at first, and then eased into the cool familiar embrace of the night she had shared so often with her mother's family, with the gypsies. She smiled at the memory and started humming one of their old songs. The horses whinned a bit in protest, but then she started singing fully and they calmed a bit. Only one or two really made noise once she started to truely sing the melody, but others still seemed to dance in their stalls, prancing here, or moving a hoof there. It was funny almost, but calming in a way. At least they distracted her, and right now, that was all Liana asked.