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Post by Cian Lawrence on Mar 6, 2010 21:28:58 GMT -5
Cian was having trouble. Lots of trouble. He could not make this song work. At all. At his feet laid numerous crumpled balls of sheet music (notes crossed out, rests added, volume controls switched) and journal paper (lyrics with circles, arrows, scribbles, doodles in the corners). His guitar was on the couch next to him and his pick between his teeth. He was having trouble. But he was pushing through. His journal was resting on his lap, pen dancing over the page as it poured out words that actually worked. His eyes glanced from the journal to the sheet music on the coffee table before him. Reading the next few lyrics, he dotted in a few notes on the tab staff, converting that to the music staff next. A few more. More lyrics. More notes. Tabs. Words. And finally. Done. With a grin that lit up his whole face, Cian grabbed his guitar and took up his pick. Strumming out the intro, he closed his eyes as he fell into the song. Soft words fell from his lips as he continued the gentle melody. It was some combination of ballad, lullaby and requiem. But happy. Reminiscent of his favorite; "Here Comes the Sun." And it was perfect. |
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Post by Azrael on Mar 6, 2010 22:50:20 GMT -5
It sucks. Came the voice within Cian's mind. Hell. I could create much better music than that with my own body waste. It was an unfamiliar yet familiar voice that was not supposed to be there at all. This had not been Azrael's original plan. But Cian's mind seemed good enough for him to dwell. Besides, he could do a lot of damage to him.
Bet you're wondering how long until someone throws up from hearing that nonsense you've whipped up. Azrael was wondering a bit as well. I'm sure I'll be the first one.
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Post by Emma Lawrence on Mar 6, 2010 23:27:39 GMT -5
She thanked the God she had met that they'd converted the extra room into a space for working. And playing. Depending on which one motivated them. Right now she was trying to first, not get fired and finishing the papers Isaac, and second, work on a new composition. She heard the familiar strumming of guitar strings outside of the room and smiled, knowing she and Cian was on the same wavelength. Taking the sheet music between her fingers, she went eagerly to where she heard his voice sprouting from, and listened before cutting in. "Hey, sorry to interrupt you. Think you can play these four bars," she specified with her pen (whose end was weedled down from her biting on it), "here? I can't seem to get the last line." It was a lame excuse for her to hear him sing, and possibly get the opportunity to make out, but she was willing to look pathetic once or twice for his voice. |
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Post by Cian Lawrence on Mar 6, 2010 23:44:05 GMT -5
Something squelched low in his stomach, almost like nausea. Like stage-fright or the feeling he used to get walking into a class and just realizing that there was a huge test and he hadn't studied. Just a general...inadequacy. His voice broke off as his fingers kept up the tune distractedly. Something wasn't right. More than not right.
The melody was suddenly a cacophony. It physically hurt his ears to hear it. "Fuck," he swore softly. He reached to scribble out the line of notes before he finally realized Emma was standing before him, had asked a question. He looked up at her, eyes blank a moment, and then he swallowed, shook his head. Rubbing at his forehead, his hand eventually made its way through his hair to rest on the back of his neck.
"Sorry, love," he murmured softly, offering a strained smile to her. "I'm...utter shite today. You'd be better off doing it yourself, yeah?" He met her gaze a moment, a hand resting on her hip softly. He dipped his eyes to the floor then, absently strumming a chord. Car alarms going off... Fuck. Why the fuck was nothing working?
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Post by Azrael on Mar 26, 2010 12:55:45 GMT -5
Oh, I almost forgot about little Emma. Won't this be fun, messing with your mind. With luck, you'll end up just like Saikoro....completely suicidal, hanging on a cliff of frustration and disappointments. Azrael's voice chimed into Cian's brain, as well as the pain that came from just being there.
Az was going enjoy his time. He had not motive particularly, except to hopefully screw up Cian's life just Sai's. Not to mention, to get to Bellatrix somehow. Azrael was sure that she was still alive, and he wanted his amulet back. Saikoro couldn't have killed her yet. With that amulet back, he could do glorious things. But he'd need Bella back too.
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Post by Emma Lawrence on Mar 26, 2010 14:37:39 GMT -5
Refusing to indulge the urge to play wasn't like Cian, so when he shook his head, she reeled back, cocking her head. There went his hand again, scrubbing at the back of his neck; head. He also didn't usually describe himself as "utter shite," whether it was because of his male ego or just because he actually had some self-esteem. Besides, there was a certain pained look to his face that rendered a hole in the stability of her comfort.
"What's bothering you?" she asked, hand to his back. His fingers clumsily flipped a chord, and it sounded fine. Even when he was messing around he could make music. "Come on, you can't be that bad. Just a few bars, please? Then I'll get out of your hair." Yikes--why was she focusing on compositions when she should be letting him alone and thinking about her job applications for professor? If that was where she wanted to go, anyway.
Her husband seemed very absent, then, a vacant look to his eyes. "Cian?" she tried again. "Cian, is something wrong?" She didn't need to be an empath to tell.
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Post by Cian Lawrence on Mar 26, 2010 15:55:16 GMT -5
A shot of pain ripped through his head and he ducked forward a little. Hissing through his teeth, Cian felt his muscles tighten in reaction to the pain. He had never gotten migraines before but this must be one. Licking his lips, he fought through the sharp pain to gain clarity of mind again. "Nothing's wrong," he answered, voice a little weaker than he would have liked. "Just can't get this song to work out s'all."
Cian's brow furrowed as he studied the papers before him. He had taken Musical Theory in high school. Since going with the flow apparently wasn't working he would approach this from a more theoretical angle. But everything should have made sense. All the melodies, harmonies, notes, tempos, shifts... It was all right. So why was it so, so wrong?
Looking up to Emma, he reconsidered her question. It was just his work that was shit, not really his playing. He hoped. Reaching for the sheet music, he asked, "Where'd you want me to play again?" he asked, looking over the lines.
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Post by Emma Lawrence on Apr 2, 2010 0:25:10 GMT -5
"Whoa," she instinctively snapped, dropping the papers and going to fold her arms around him in case he needed to make it to the bathroom or something. His eyes disappeared as they scrunched together and in on themselves, a snake-like, pained hiss coming from his mouth. "Yeah, nothing's wrong, and I'm actually a stripper for Tiger Woods," she mumbled lowly, righting him in his seat. It was clear that he was in no condition to play or to write. He looked like he needed to be in bed. "Are you hurt? What's going on?" she inquired, bending over to see his tilted face.
Cian looked...confused when he saw the papers. As she stooped down to recover the sheets that she'd dropped, she studied his face for a long time, watching as his expressions changed, and yet remained glossy; protected, like they had a shield, like he was only skin-deep.
"Nowhere," she answered promptly, shaking her head and throwing the papers onto the table beside them. "It's not that important. I'm more concerned about you. Are you in pain?"
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Post by Cian Lawrence on Apr 2, 2010 0:52:55 GMT -5
"Yeah, nothing's wrong, and I'm actually a stripper for Tiger Woods,"
"What?" he asked dazedly. Wasn't that the bloke who swung the clubs? Cian never had understood golf really. How was that considered a sport? More of a game if you asked him. He allowed Emma to sit him upright as he thought further on the debate of golf being a sport or game. "Are you hurt? What's going on?" He just shook his head at that. No, he was fine. Or, at least, she didn't have to worry about him. He didn't matter.
"Nowhere. It's not that important. I'm more concerned about you. Are you in pain?"
Keeping his eyes blankly on the table where the sheets rested, he thought about her question. "I dunno," his voice sounded far-away, as if he wasn't aware that he was speaking aloud. "I feel like...like my head innit mine. Does t'at make any sense? Like there's somet'ing workin' against what I'm t'inkin' an' doin' and it just ends up comin' all wrong 'cause of it." Except, of course, there wasn't anything in his mind. Just him. Only him and his inefficiencies.
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Post by Emma Lawrence on Apr 2, 2010 1:07:44 GMT -5
Stifling a laugh as the comment about the '10 golf player seemed to snap him from his dazed-dream, she also shook her head when he did. Like she was going to believe that ploy for a minute. Settling down on a chair opposite him, her smile vanished, pulling an astonishingly quick Houdini act. A hand remained on his shoulder, just in case.
His virtual distance made it hard for her to get anything from him. His body language was the most he had because his emotions were so jumbled that even she couldn't get a grip on just one. Something was going on in his head, something was out of place. Cian wasn't usually this unsure of himself, especially when it came to music. He made fun of other people enough for their sacrificial renditions; he usually had that bold-faced confidence about his own playing.
'Did it make any sense' was another question entirely. "Sort of," she allowed, wanting; hoping that would prompt more. "So something's telling you what you're doing is wrong? What kind of thing?" Something about his face looked like he was working hard. Concentrated, but out of it. Coming to and leaving. Like his body would shut down if he didn't give it a rest.
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Post by Cian Lawrence on Apr 2, 2010 1:28:47 GMT -5
"So something's telling you what you're doing is wrong? What kind of thing?"
Cian shook his head fervently, knowing that was wrong. "No," he countered. "No, no. Me. I'm what's wrong, Em. Not'ing's inside m' head except me, o' course. So if m' head is wrong then I'm wrong." He let out a distressed noise, pitching forward. Cradling his head in his hands, he coiled his fingers through his hair. Stupid fucking goddamn...
He didn't even now what to curse except for him, himself.
"I dunno," he finally finished softly, barely audibly. Picking his head up, he steadfastly avoided her gaze, occupying himself by shuffling through the sheet music. He couldn't even bring himself to look at the notes on the page; he knew it would just upset him further. "I dunno," he repeated, that time more to himself than her.
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Post by Emma Lawrence on Apr 2, 2010 1:34:16 GMT -5
"Well," she scoffed, though it held no levity, "there's nothing wrong with you. I mean, you seemed fine before. Something's obviously bothering you." He leaned over again and she moved her hand from his shoulder to his back, rubbing slowly. "What's wrong? Are you more stressed about something than usual? Something at work, something here?" Because she'd help him work out whatever it was; had to. She couldn't see him like this, it just made them both upset. And God, he looked like he was in so much pain...
His audible confusion and dissatisfaction made her bring her eyebrows in, worried now. "What don't you know?" Emma edged further into the topic, not wanting to entirely engorge him with it yet, but just enough so where it might spread the whole thing apart, bit by bit.
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Post by Cian Lawrence on Apr 2, 2010 1:43:29 GMT -5
He heard her talking but didn't register the words; couldn't. And even he was able to comprehend what she was saying, he wouldn't have been able to formulate an intelligible response. He relaxed somewhat under her touch. Having her there, with him, was certainly a help; a great help. "Just..." he started but wasn't able to get any further. He didn't even have anything more to say.
Reaching out, he pulled her to him tentatively. He handled her as delicately as he could, afraid of hurting her for some reason. He was screwing up everything else so why wouldn't that be a possibility as well? Holding her against him, he tucked his face into her the pocket between her neck and her shoulder, just revelling in her presence so close to him.
"Stay," he requested softly, on the ends of a sigh. His eyes closed. If she just...stayed with him, it would be okay. Everything else he could and would figure out later. All he needed now was her, his Emma.
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Post by Azrael on Apr 2, 2010 12:13:30 GMT -5
You're more pathetic than Saikoro! This is rich...almost too rich. If I were you, I wouldn't be holding her. You could end up hurting her....she could...end up with your name carved in her other arm this time. He whispered in thought. Azrael made a not to himself that that would be the first thing he would do when he would gain control of Cian. It was like some sick twisted trademark to him. And he liked it a lot. For now, he just had to weaken the man.
((Short but I couldn't think of anything else))
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Post by Emma Lawrence on Apr 2, 2010 14:45:13 GMT -5
Not only did he look hurt, but he looked helpless. The creases in his face were arched downwards, like he'd given up on something, or everything. Curling her arms around him, the stitches of concern sewn inot her face weren't taken out. His barely audible response only just made it to her ears, and she nodded. "Okay." Something was so terribly, indisputably, horribly wrong. Nothing upset Cian like this that she'd seen before.
As she slid her empathy into him slightly, she latched onto something morbid. Tragic, even. Pulling her head back in an attempt to see his eyes, she asked urgently, "Cian, what's up? You're scaring me." Because there was something unnatural in those emotions. Something wasn't right. Wasn't him.
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Post by Cian Lawrence on Apr 2, 2010 14:59:58 GMT -5
"Cian, what's up? You're scaring me."
Shaking his head, he swallowed softly. He inhaled, taking in her scent before releasing her. He didn't want to hurt her. Physically or emotionally. And obviously that's just what he was doing. Rubbing at his forehead a little, he let out a shaky breath. "Sorry, love. Don' think on it, yeah?" He rose then, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
"I think I might just have a lie-down," he told her quietly. "Just need to relax a little, I guess." 'Cause everything inside him hurt so maybe he could just go to sleep and restart when he woke up. He could only hope. But he really just wanted to get away from Emma at that moment. Well, no, that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to hold her until it stopped hurting. But he couldn't do that. With her empathy she was bound to feel what he was feeling. And he didn't want that; she shouldn't be burdened with all that.
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Post by Azrael on Apr 22, 2010 12:21:55 GMT -5
Sure lie down, that will help a lot. Guess again, Cian. Nothing will help. Nothing you do will ease the pain you're feeling. You'll just keep slipping away. It was getting to be rather boring in this man's mind. At least when he was in Saikoro's, Azrael had something to do...someone to talk to. But here? Nothing. It surprises me how empty this skull of yours really is. I mean, seriously, think about it. How did Emmanuelle end up with no-brain Bill here? Ask yourself that question, Cian and when you figure it out, tell me. Of course, you won't ever figure it out for you have no brain to calculate it with!
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Post by Cian Lawrence on Apr 22, 2010 14:31:03 GMT -5
Something like panic filled his chest. It was like...like he knew he would never get over this feeling. That nothing would ever be okay again. Christ, Cian had never considered suicide (God-fearing Catholic that he was), but at that moment he could almost understand the act. He shoved a hand forcefully through his hair, face going a little red from the effort of keeping those thoughts down.
He made an abrupt change of direction as his mind made an equally abrupt change of decision. He didn't want to be alone but he didn't want to be with Emma either. He could feel her frustration with him like it was his own, like he was the empath. That was just something he couldn't handle at that moment. So he decided to go elsewhere. Mo was having a nap, he knew, and he didn't want to disturb her so he headed for his son's room.
Knocking gently, he went in and attempted a smile to the boy. "Hey there, Ollie," he started softly. Already he was feeling better; amazing what being around his kids could do. "What're you up to?"
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Post by Oliver on Apr 22, 2010 14:43:41 GMT -5
His head snapped up the moment the door creaked, and a bright, bold smile plastered across his face when he saw that Daddy was paying him a visit. Scrambling off of his bed, he grabbed Daddy's hand and began to lead him back to his disarray of toys. "Playing!" he announced happily, tugging him along and sitting down on the floor, sorting through his piles of books on the floor.
"Joo come to play wiff me, Daddy?" he inquired, looking up at him, the smile never giving the slightest glimpse of fading. He tried to yank him down to his level, shuffling into his lap, holding a book over his head and whacking it gently against Daddy's nose. "Pease? Joo read to me."
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Post by Azrael on Apr 28, 2010 11:51:15 GMT -5
Of course, put your son in danger too. What a terrible father you are! Then again, you completely abandoned Emma in the other room so you must be a terrible husband as well, Cian. Azrael could remember this boy. He was the reason that "Sai" was carved upon Emmanuelle's arm. In fact, he was the reason that Sai had been gone so often to protect them.
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