[She'd been mainly walking around the music room as they texted, messing with the speakers and some of the output levels.
Hanna's standing on the chair that would normally be set behind the drum kit, adjusting the angle of one speaker when he walks in. She smoothly steps off to approach him.
With a mildly melodramatic sigh, she brings her arms around him, wrists crossing behind his neck.]
You're not missing out on much. Being rich is overrated. Too much politics. But. I can definitely fix your dancing.
[ D'Artagnan smiles as she bounces down to see him. She's obviously been here a while, managing the equipment herself. He falls naturally into that hug, pulling her so tightly against him that it lifts her feet off the ground a little. ]
[She feels so ridiculously spoiled right now with affection and she loves it.
Hanna chuckles softly and ducks her head.] My lady. I don't get that one often. [She looks back up to him, arms still around his neck.] Well, sir, first answer me this. [She cocks her head a bit, chewing her bottom lip, trying to think of a way to word the following without sounding incredibly stupid or incredibly... well whatever.]
Do you still think I'm magic?
[Lately, most of her thoughts had been swarming to when she first arrived, and already how much she had changed, and what the future would and could hold for her. They're doing better than before, even with their fight long past, but...
Armada wants her to be harder. So much has changed since they met, and he's still here, and yet...
She shakes her head.] You don't have to answer that. That was a stupid question.
[ Magic? Dear God, did he really say that? It seems like a long time
ago, but he remembers how strange Hanna’s abilities had seemed to him at
first. How he’d seen her on fire and thought she would be hurt, and dumped
snow on the flames only to realise that hurt her more. In his world they
would have called her a witch, he has absolutely no doubt about that.
They’d be wrong, though. ]
I don’t. Your powers, they’re just a part of you. You’re not magic, you’re
the woman who’s always warm. And never has to ask for a light.
It confuses me now, when you seem afraid of your powers. I still think
they’re amazing, Hanna, but they’re not all that you are. Why did you ask
me that?
Whatever had seemed to come over her, it disappears just as fast. She only smiles. She's glad he, along with others, see her as more than her powers.
How long that would last here, she doesn't know.]
Just curious. [She leans back, drumming her fingers lightly on his chest.] Someone asked me the other day if I was magic. I thought of you. I've got a thousand names lately.
[ If he knew what she was thinking, he would tell her not to worry. She could be the most powerful creature in the universe and he still wouldn't fear her, because she's Hanna. She's his friend, and that matters far more than the power under her skin. He trusts her as a person.
But they've had that talk before, anyway. He smiles as she leans back, letting her out of his embrace. He moves to look at the instruments, many of which he doesn't know. He makes for one he does, though - the piano. ]
My world doesn't have anyone who can do things like you can. It looked like magic at first. A lot of things did.
[She grins a little.] Kinda liked it when you thought it was magic.
[She sighs lightly, rounding out to the opposite end of the piano. Her fingers come down on a few keys. The notes she plays aren't quite perfect (she's rusty with the piano), but as she progresses, she falls into rhythm easier, faster. The tune of Moonlight Sonata was one of the first she remembers getting right, or at least most of it.]
No, just what they think of me. Back home, they call me superhuman, or powered human, for the politically correct. Pyros, for my kind specifically. Angels, demons, abominations, that sort of thing. People really like the whole angel thing. [She fumbles a note, and for a moment she hesitates before starting again, from the top.] Here? Mutant. Inferni. Magic. Firebender. [She chuckles softly.] I'm waiting for someone to call me a dragon or something.
[ After moving around the instrument, he comes to where she’s sitting on the stool. He sits on it sideways, a leg on either side, his attention all on her. ]
You’d have to be meaner to be called a dragon. Maybe take a few heads off. Shout at people.
What you can do is amazing. But the only thing I want to call you is Hanna. You’re a good woman. You’re kind, and loyal, you’re brave. All of that, it’s far more important than your powers. That’s how people should think of you. That’s what I think, anyway.
[She wrinkles her nose a little.] I don't know, I'm pretty good at yelling at people.
[The thought of curling up against him, of letting her guard down a bit more occurs to her, yet she remains focused on the piano. Again, she stops. She spreads both of her hands across the keys, mentally flipping through the songs she knows she can play. The tune changes to something more upbeat, something more modern, as she bobs her head slightly in time.
Some people know the facts of her world. A few even know what she thinks of it, and how she's running from it. There's so much she wants to tell him, but she keeps stopping herself short. His opinion won't change of her, she knows, but the fear still preys on her mind: what if he does change? What would he think of her if she said to him that all she is really is a girl scared of herself and unsure of what to do next? She doesn't think herself brave, and kind isn't a word she'd use for herself either lately, not with what she'd become back home. So many people had so much faith in her, but what if she failed them all? The pressure of being... whatever they wanted her to be, or whatever they thought of her, weighed heavily on her.
Faith, in short, had run out long ago for her. Now, she doesn't know what to do with it.]
People thought of me as a weapon back home.
[Her eyes flicker. He didn't come here to listen to her grievances. She shoots him a crooked grin as she keeps playing.] But that's for another day. We're here to fix your dancing. Think you can handle it?
[ He glances at the keys as the music changes. At first he thinks that she’s done with the conversation and just wants to play. Then she speaks again and he hesitates, not sure what to say to that. In his world she wouldn’t have been supposed to fight, much less be a weapon. The thought of someone doing that to her, treating her as something that’s not even human, makes his blood boil.
He doesn’t even really react when she tries to change the subject. One of his shoulders lifts up in half a shrug, and that’s all. ]
I didn’t come to dance, I came for you.
[ His head tilts, while dark eyes settle on her. ]
You know that’s stupid. What they wanted from you. I don’t want you to think of yourself like that.
[The music pauses. Her fingers hover over the keys.
Yes. In ways you can't imagine. They hurt me over and over. They made me break and they put me back together. They put me back together to break me again.
To this day, she still doesn't know how long she'd been in the cells. Sometimes, she swears she'd been in the darkness for years. Other days, she wonders if it was real at all.
Hanna doesn't look at him now. She only shrugs. She has no physical scars to prove what had been done to her. She only has the memories and the clearly defined limits of her powers.
Her right index finger comes down on the piano softly. The tune is clearly unfinished, and the music barely progresses with how she continues.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Oh. Meet me halfway, I'm in the music room.
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I can meet you there instead. I didn't mean to sound improper.
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What? No it's just a really long walk, it'd take me a while. You're more than welcome to come if you want to hear me bang the drums though.
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I'll meet you, so long as you're sure.
[ Propriety between cultures is hard. ]
FROM: dartagnan@cdc.org
I'm on my way, all right?
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I'm sure, I'm not going to kick you out of the music room. I'll be here.
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[ ooc: do you want to action or handwave? ]
FROM: dartagnan@cdc.org
All right, I won’t be long. Will you play your music? As long as it’s better than Noh-Varr’s, I won’t complain.
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FROM: talbot.hanna@cdc.org
It probably is. I can play the piano a little if that makes anything better. If not, you're stuck with the drums or whatever I feel like playing.
FROM: talbot.hanna@cdc.org
Wait do you know how to dance?
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FROM: dartagnan@cdc.org
Dance? I don't know. What sort of dancing?
FROM: dartagnan@cdc.org
If you mean ballroom, I think you'd have better luck with Jack.
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I'm not talking about Jack I'm talking about you. We need to change that obviously.
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Rikki taught me a dance, at the barbecue. She called it a tango. I don't know that I'm very good, but I could try.
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That's a pretty big leap from whatever you know. Pretty sure the tango doesn't exist in your time but I can show you a few things.
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It doesn't. It was new to me, completely new. That's why I don't think I was any good.
FROM: dartagnan@cdc.org
Are you a dancer?
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Not professionally, but it's like one of the only things I kept up with after I left my parents.
FROM: talbot.hanna@cdc.org
Rich kid upbringing etc etc
action
That must be where I went wrong. I was never rich. But it's all right, you can fix that.
[ ...at which point, he walks into the music room, putting his blackglass away. ]
Can't you?
action
Hanna's standing on the chair that would normally be set behind the drum kit, adjusting the angle of one speaker when he walks in. She smoothly steps off to approach him.
With a mildly melodramatic sigh, she brings her arms around him, wrists crossing behind his neck.]
You're not missing out on much. Being rich is overrated. Too much politics. But. I can definitely fix your dancing.
no subject
Maybe you'll like my dancing the way it is.
[ Unlikely. He sets her down again. ]
So then, my lady. What do we do first?
no subject
Hanna chuckles softly and ducks her head.] My lady. I don't get that one often. [She looks back up to him, arms still around his neck.] Well, sir, first answer me this. [She cocks her head a bit, chewing her bottom lip, trying to think of a way to word the following without sounding incredibly stupid or incredibly... well whatever.]
Do you still think I'm magic?
[Lately, most of her thoughts had been swarming to when she first arrived, and already how much she had changed, and what the future would and could hold for her. They're doing better than before, even with their fight long past, but...
Armada wants her to be harder. So much has changed since they met, and he's still here, and yet...
She shakes her head.] You don't have to answer that. That was a stupid question.
no subject
[ Magic? Dear God, did he really say that? It seems like a long time ago, but he remembers how strange Hanna’s abilities had seemed to him at first. How he’d seen her on fire and thought she would be hurt, and dumped snow on the flames only to realise that hurt her more. In his world they would have called her a witch, he has absolutely no doubt about that. They’d be wrong, though. ]
I don’t. Your powers, they’re just a part of you. You’re not magic, you’re the woman who’s always warm. And never has to ask for a light.
It confuses me now, when you seem afraid of your powers. I still think they’re amazing, Hanna, but they’re not all that you are. Why did you ask me that?
no subject
Whatever had seemed to come over her, it disappears just as fast. She only smiles. She's glad he, along with others, see her as more than her powers.
How long that would last here, she doesn't know.]
Just curious. [She leans back, drumming her fingers lightly on his chest.] Someone asked me the other day if I was magic. I thought of you. I've got a thousand names lately.
no subject
But they've had that talk before, anyway. He smiles as she leans back, letting her out of his embrace. He moves to look at the instruments, many of which he doesn't know. He makes for one he does, though - the piano. ]
My world doesn't have anyone who can do things like you can. It looked like magic at first. A lot of things did.
What names? I hope no one's being rude.
no subject
[She sighs lightly, rounding out to the opposite end of the piano. Her fingers come down on a few keys. The notes she plays aren't quite perfect (she's rusty with the piano), but as she progresses, she falls into rhythm easier, faster. The tune of Moonlight Sonata was one of the first she remembers getting right, or at least most of it.]
No, just what they think of me. Back home, they call me superhuman, or powered human, for the politically correct. Pyros, for my kind specifically. Angels, demons, abominations, that sort of thing. People really like the whole angel thing. [She fumbles a note, and for a moment she hesitates before starting again, from the top.] Here? Mutant. Inferni. Magic. Firebender. [She chuckles softly.] I'm waiting for someone to call me a dragon or something.
no subject
You’d have to be meaner to be called a dragon. Maybe take a few heads off. Shout at people.
What you can do is amazing. But the only thing I want to call you is Hanna. You’re a good woman. You’re kind, and loyal, you’re brave. All of that, it’s far more important than your powers. That’s how people should think of you. That’s what I think, anyway.
no subject
[The thought of curling up against him, of letting her guard down a bit more occurs to her, yet she remains focused on the piano. Again, she stops. She spreads both of her hands across the keys, mentally flipping through the songs she knows she can play. The tune changes to something more upbeat, something more modern, as she bobs her head slightly in time.
Some people know the facts of her world. A few even know what she thinks of it, and how she's running from it. There's so much she wants to tell him, but she keeps stopping herself short. His opinion won't change of her, she knows, but the fear still preys on her mind: what if he does change? What would he think of her if she said to him that all she is really is a girl scared of herself and unsure of what to do next? She doesn't think herself brave, and kind isn't a word she'd use for herself either lately, not with what she'd become back home. So many people had so much faith in her, but what if she failed them all? The pressure of being... whatever they wanted her to be, or whatever they thought of her, weighed heavily on her.
Faith, in short, had run out long ago for her. Now, she doesn't know what to do with it.]
People thought of me as a weapon back home.
[Her eyes flicker. He didn't come here to listen to her grievances. She shoots him a crooked grin as she keeps playing.] But that's for another day. We're here to fix your dancing. Think you can handle it?
no subject
He doesn’t even really react when she tries to change the subject. One of his shoulders lifts up in half a shrug, and that’s all. ]
I didn’t come to dance, I came for you.
[ His head tilts, while dark eyes settle on her. ]
You know that’s stupid. What they wanted from you. I don’t want you to think of yourself like that.
Did they hurt you?
no subject
Yes. In ways you can't imagine. They hurt me over and over. They made me break and they put me back together. They put me back together to break me again.
To this day, she still doesn't know how long she'd been in the cells. Sometimes, she swears she'd been in the darkness for years. Other days, she wonders if it was real at all.
Hanna doesn't look at him now. She only shrugs. She has no physical scars to prove what had been done to her. She only has the memories and the clearly defined limits of her powers.
Her right index finger comes down on the piano softly. The tune is clearly unfinished, and the music barely progresses with how she continues.]
It's a long story.
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