Log:Ominous Symphony
Lady Nora reunites with a childhood friend.
OOC Date: Jan 11, 2022
Location: Bastion, New Alderaan
Participants: Nora Frayus, Aryn Cortess
Thundershowers are gentle on New Alderaan, but that doesn't stop the clouds from looking formidable up ahead. They're those tall, puffy, gray stormclouds that push all the way up towards the heavens until they seem to hit an invisible roof. There, they push and they push and they push, until somehow they break through, creating an anvilhead. Water streams down, but even that rain is warm. It doesn't put chill into skin until the wind blows it away. That very wins pulls at Lady Nora's dress, causing the thin fabric to whip just above her knees towards the lake. It's an odd sight, that dress. It seems as if the lake itself is sucking it towards its center, despite the waves that roll into shore.
Nora herself seems to be under some sort of distress. It's mild and subtle, but it's there. If anyone was looking, she'd burst from the palace a handful of minutes ago, holding her head and covering her ears. And she walked. Down those stairs, through the courtyard, and out to the very tip of the vacant boardwalk. Now, she's holding her eyes just below the brow. Her lips are wrenched into a scowl and, when she opens her eyes, she stares out to the lake where the waves crest in towards her, blown in on that breeze.
"Gods, what is that sound?" she says. Over the rain. Over the waves. Faint and incessant and just out of her grasp. It scratches its way into her head, up the back of her neck and into her skull.
"By the Mother, would you just... shut up," she laments, and pushes both of her hands onto her ears.
The boardwalk is largely abandoned during the rainy seasons, of which there were many. When it rained, somehow the grass looked greener, the mountains more majestic, and the air became more breathable. It was as if all of nature was drawing in one big breath of air. For some, they found the experience relaxing, and others like Lady Nora Frayus, seemed in distress.
Aryn Cortess was upon the boardwalk when the Lady made her way to the lake. While the doctor was not privy to the distressed words Nora offered her source of pain, Aryn could detect there was something amiss with the woman. From this distance, she couldn't be sure who the person was, so she rose from the covered bench out by the pier, drew up her hood from the cape she wore, and made her way toward the female.
Aryn clasped her hands against her lower back, giving poise to her approach; her steps are measured and soft despite wearing tall boots. Aryn looked more the adventurer, than anything or anyone of consequence.
"Madam," She calls out in her posh tone. "Miss? Are you well?" The question conveys earnest concern, and her expression mirrors that.
And it is quite the scene, isn't it? Lady Nora is wearing only her dress. An elegant and summery affair, cut low down the center to dip well past the tip of her sternum. The soft and stretchy fabric has soaked through, showing a touch of soft skin through the bits of white that aren't covered by floral print. The flowers are special, too. Native species of Alderaan, for those with an eye for history and an affinity for that which has long since died. Pink heels, too. Not the most practical for navigating a boardwalk, but they seemed to cause her little trouble even in her hurried pace.
The 'madam' doesn't quite lift above the sound of the rain and thunder, but that second phrase does. It blinks Nora out of her stupor for a moment, but that sound still rings in her ears and in her skull. Out to sea, but all around her.
Big blue eyes turn over her shoulder and towards Princess Cortess. Nora's lips part and a soft rush of air leaves her lungs.
"Ah, your highness," she says, her voice is as light and airy as it is prim and proper. "I am feeling quite well. So well, in fact, I thought I would stir up another spot of court intrigue. You do know how well Lord Serrus loves his gossip, and I hate to see a grown man go hungry for it," she says. Nora lies as easily as she breathes, but in this moment, her words are an obvious evasion.
"Lady Nora, by the Mother, you must be cold.." Aryn, without thinking, unclasps her cloak and cape, abandoning the hood to bring it about the Lady's shoulders. "The rains have only just begun, my Lady. The chill is still upon the air, and we are lucky it is a day our words do not conjure the sight of breath! You would be colder for it, I imagine."
Aryn is keen enough to detect the evasion, but she does not pry. "It is so wonderful to see you here. How long has it been?" Aryn dotes a bit, clasping the cape over the Lady's shoulders and ensuring she looked proper and stylish in it. Aryn's clothing didn't seem to repel the rain, yet in Aryn's vicinity, it was notably warmer.
"Must I be?" Nora says with a laugh. There are some mild, polite, ladylike sounds of protest when Aryn removes her cloak and wraps it around her, but she pulls it over her torso just a short few moments later. She seems to be thankful for the warmth that both Aryn and the cloak bring. She hadn't noticed just how much her jaw had begun to chatter. "Ah, and we should all be thankful for that. I absolutely detest winter garb. So dreadful and unsightly," she says. Her cold blue eyes turn to Aryn when the woman speaks and, in an instant, that face does soften.
"It has been too long, Your Highness," she says, and tucks her head in a proper bow. But even as she speaks, she can hear that sound. Far off in the waves and, as Aryn moves closer and that warmth begins to lift, it grows louder. Nora's face contorts with what looks to almost be pain, or frustration, or some combination of the two. She lets out an exhasperated sound and, when she speaks, exhasperation bleeds through her tone.
"By the gods, what -is- that sound?"
"Aryn, please," She offers kindly, respecting the friendship that was once, and she hoped still is. At mention of winter garb, Aryn has a crooked smile and huffed with a bit of amusement. "It /is/ more to put on." Is all she adds.
When distress returns to Nora, Aryn takes notice of her tone first, then studies her face before turning her own perception to their surroundings. The only sounds she heard was the water lapping against the bottoms of the dock, the pattering of rain, the wind.. nothing too distressing.
"Describe it for me. What sound are you hearing?" Aryn shows a bit familiarity with the Lady by placing her hands just over each arm, near the bend of Nora's elbows. It's intended to comfort, not hold her in place.
When Aryn places her hands on Nora, she doesn't pull away. There is a brief moment of awkward tension in her forearms, biceps and triceps, but it washes away like the rain streaking through streaked spirals of matted, pink hair. Like the cloak, she's thankful for the touch. It not only comforts her, but in this sea of sound, it grounds her. Far moreso than her two feet on the boardwalk that she can feel moving subtly with the waves.
If the Lady's distress is performative, it's a master class. Her eyes shift as they search the clouds, the lake, and the beach around them. It's like she's searching for something. A source of that sound. It's strange. When thunder cracks through the sky, she doesn't react, but during more still, calm moments, she'll squint and she'll wince.
"I can not make sense of it, Aryn," she admits with another knitting of her brows and squeezing of her eyes shut.
"It is so far off, but so very close. And it is relentless. Incessant and dischordant. It is as if thousands of instruments play at once within my head, each of them out of tune. Each of them off by fractions of a step," she says. She realizes in that moment that she'd dropped her guard. A slip of the tongue.
She's being weak.
Those walls come back up. "Goodness, I must sound as if I have lost my mind," she says. When her eyes open, it's with steeled resolve. Frosty blues meet with Aryn's own and she holds that gaze, lips curling up into a smile.
"On the contrary," Aryn assures, sliding her hands to Nora's hands to guide her to the nearby covered bench. "Please, sit with me. Perhaps we might make sense of it, yet." A soft determination married with an encouraging tone is what accompanies Aryn's small smile. It is not a judging look, but she is curious.
Finding a seat, Aryn begins to recite what the Lady said, her eyes meeting the others as she shifts so her body is oriented in her direction; Lady Nora has Aryn's full attention.
"You say the sounds are near.. and far? Instruments that play in unison, but out of tune.. off beat. May I ask more about how they sound? Are they like.. under water, or perhaps just lacking clarity as if someone or something stood between you and the source?"
Nora's defenses up sees her glancing down to the hands that slide against her own. There's a reflexive retreat from that touch, though it's far from a violent one. Subtle, rather than a recoil. She watches Aryn as she moves to find a nearby seat and, for the moment, Nora appears content to stand. She turns her head up, cocking it at an angle to look up over her shoulder to the sky above. The chill has returned to the air with Aryn's body a bit further away, but that sound has grown quieter as well.
"Hmmmh," Nora says.
"I would be delighted to, Your Highness. Such perfect weather for it, too," Nora says. Though she's returned to calling Aryn by a more formal title, there's a certain familiar sing-song tone to the delivery. A fondness, too.
She moves to join Aryn on the bench and is less than shy about making sure that the other woman's cloak is beneath her when she sits. The dress is bespoke!
When Aryn speaks and asks the question, Nora's scowl is returning. It's the face she makes, well... naturally, but that scowl deepens when she thinks on the words. For a moment, she is silent.
"They sound... muffled. It is as if I am listening to them through a wall," she says, after that long, pregnant pause. She shakes her head.
"Not under water, but muddied and... confused. It feels as if I am... gods, how can I describe it?" she says, and sucks in a breath. When she exhales, the tension in her shoulders unwinds and she seems to as well. It's hard to keep her guard up with that ringing in her ears. That incessant, unyielding, oppressive sound. And, while she is the Princess, the woman behind her is, and will always be, that quiet, meek little thing she used to hold hands with as a child.
"It is as if I am one seat in a symphony, but there is no conductor. Thousands of instruments just... playing notes, all at once," she says.
Beat.
"I have spent too many nights at clubs," she says with a sigh, clearly convinced.
"I like to stand close to the speakers. It is more fun up there," she adds.
"I see."
Aryn shifts a little closer and raises both her hands to tuck back her blonde hair; they curl behind her ears. "I daresay loud music and frequent visits to the club would not render such side effects. I, myself, have been in close proximity to loud explosions yet.." She motions with a gloved hand and turns her eyes from Nora to look out toward the bay, "..I hear only the rain, the shifting waves and whisper of wind."
She recovers, leaning away from discrediting and more toward scientific analysis. "Your scenario; it is a vivid one. It makes me suspect that this moment is not the first? You have heard this.. symphony before, yes? Humor me: I would try an exercise; a...mind exercise, if you will. Tis a common practice among many societies to look toward meditation when their mind is muddied. Perhaps a quick lesson would bring you some.." Aryn trails off, looking for the appropriate word, "..clarity. If you consent, of course."
Nora's eyes see movement from her periphery and she turns her chin to catch it. What she's greeted with is Princess Aryn Cortess cupping her ears with her hands in an attempt to funnel more sound into their channels. Nora cannot help but laugh, her eyes turning up towards the rest of the boardwalk, as if concerned someone could be watching. "Your Highness," she chides, mid laugh, and gently reaches in a very gentle attempt to urge those hands down and away from her ears. The 'you look ridiculous' is left unsaid.
Nora leans back a few moments later and tips her head up towards the sky. Like this, those rain drops are free to pepper her face in their descent from the heavens, rolling through lines and channels of musculature and anatomy on their way from her cheekbones to her neck.
"Yes," she admits. It's a single word, but one laced with implication. She reaches up with her hand to delicately press at her sternum, the cut of her dress low enough that those fingertips meet bare skin. "As I have felt it. And heard it. Ridiculous to say, I know," she says, but her head turns to look at Aryn when she mentions meditation.
"Ah, like Mother's meditations. She excels at it, I'll have you know. Often I see her reach such levels of clarity drinking wine at midday that her jaw falls open," she says, and then huffs a sigh.
"I consent to any and every attempt to rid myself of this dreadful noise. It has been so... stifling. I truly do feel as if I may go mad from it," she says.
Nora's eyes see movement from her periphery and she turns her chin to catch it. What she's greeted with is Princess Aryn Cortess cupping her ears with her hands in an attempt to funnel more sound into their channels. Nora cannot help but laugh, her eyes turning up towards the rest of the boardwalk, as if concerned someone could be watching. "Your Highness," she chides, mid laugh, and gently reaches in a very gentle attempt to urge those hands down and away from her ears. The 'you look ridiculous' is left unsaid.
Nora leans back a few moments later and tips her head up towards the sky. Like this, those rain drops are free to pepper her face in their descent from the heavens, rolling through lines and channels of musculature and anatomy on their way from her cheekbones to her neck.
"Yes," she admits. It's a single word, but one laced with implication. She reaches up with her hand to delicately press at her sternum, the cut of her dress low enough that those fingertips meet bare skin. "As I have felt it. And heard it. Ridiculous to say, I know," she says, but her head turns to look at Aryn when she mentions meditation.
"Ah, like Mother's meditations. She excels at it, I'll have you know. Often I see her reach such levels of clarity drinking wine at midday that her jaw falls open," she says, and then huffs a sigh.
"I consent to any and every attempt to rid myself of this dreadful noise. It has been so... stifling. I truly do feel as if I may go mad from it," she says.
"Alas, for educational purposes, I will forego the requirement of wine for this study," Aryn replies with a soft laugh. This, of course, following the nature of Countess Frayus' 'meditation' sessions according to her daughter. Though, when she is given consent to offer aid, Aryn nods graciously, her hair falling back into place around her face and shadowing the scar of her eye.
"Very well, but I must say that no matter what it is I tell you; know it is earnest. I would never make light of a situation at your expense, my Lady. I swear it. In return, I require an honest effort, too. Meditation only works when you apply yourself." A pause. "Without the aid of tasty spirits." Slight smile.
"Now then, I would like you to relax. Make an effort to sink back against your seat, and think about the tension you feel in your muscles. Start at your head, then work your way down to your toes. Relax, just let everything.. go."
"Additionally, I would like you to close your eyes, and draw in deep, soothing breaths. In deep, then slow exhale." After some time of this, Aryn's voice is softer and more personal. "..now begin to imagine the symphony whose performance you witness. Do not focus on their sound, focus on the beat. The heart beat. You said it yourself, it was fractured and of queer beat. So learn it, listen to it."
Some more time passes and Aryn's voice is softer, and less intrusive. "...now allow the music to slowly filter in going by each section. Associate the sounds with what you feel around you. The sound of your heart, your air being drawn to your lungs, the splash of water, the shift in the wind.."
"Perhaps after, then. If only to take this chill out," Nora says with a reserved smile. A smile looks pretty on her lips, even if her face always seems to naturally fall into a scowl. Her invitation sounds sincere enough, too. It has been a long time since the two had last met, after all. But when the talk turns to meditation, Nora's body language shifts. One leg crosses over the other and both of her hands settle into her laps. She lets her eyes drift shut when Aryn instructs her to relax, and that closing of her eyes is followed by a long, steady breath out throw her lips. And then in through her nose. And then out through her lips.
She does seem to be trying. Perhaps there's truth to that ringing. That incessance. How desperately she seems to want to get rid of it.
Her mind's eye manifests exactly what Aryn instructs. A symphony. A beat. A feeling and a sound all at once. At first, that symphony, beat, and feeling exist alone -- isolated, like her, and adrift in the sea of sounds around them. Aryn, if she's watching, will see Nora's face begin to soften. Like her mother's (though far more subtle), her jaw will slightly part, peeling her pretty, candy-colored lips away from those straight white teeth.
The sound. The feeling. The beat. Not a heart, a... stroke. A bow across strings.
Nora's eyes drift open and she lets out a long, wavering breath through her lips. Her eyes aren't focused on anything. Just motion and waves churning towards shore. Gray clouds swirling up above. For a second, she touches it. Something. That bow scrapes across strings in a sound that makes and she can feel it vibrate in her fingertips, chest, and skull. For a moment, fleeting as it is, all of those instruments resonate and harmonize at once to play out a single, beautiful chord.
And then they're gone.
Nothing but silence, save for crashing waves, thunder, and the whisper of wind.
"I think it worked," she says, simultaneously confused and amazed. A look of disbelief is turned towards Aryn, but that look is exactly that. Disbelief. Whatever emotions she's feeling behind that mask may be difficult to read.
Aryn is a quiet observer of Lady Nora. Attentive eyes follow her expressions as she goes through the steps of detaching and finding the inner beat. Aryn is not privy to the sounds of music Nora allegedly hears, but Aryn is keen enough in the Force to know that when Nora said she heard something, she was not misleading Aryn. She heard it.
The Force can be perceived in many ways, she recalled Leia saying. Each person must learn to commune with the sense in their own way, to interpret what they see to meaning and understanding. Aryn suspects that what she witnesses from Lady Nora in the following moments is just that.
She touches the Force, and the ripple it casts in the proverbial pond stretches out in a way that it pings Aryn's mind, alerts her to the phenomenon.
When Lady Nora speaks next, saying it worked, she's met by a smiling face from Aryn who modestly bows. "You seem a natural at this, my Lady. Truly singular. Perhaps, when the weather relents, you might join me at the vineyard? Bring something to wear in water; I propose another exercise that may help further."
Aryn's smile softens even more, "And.. it would be good to see you again. Years have kept us separate, but we might change that. I pray, despite our time apart, you might still call me friend."
