[OTA, Backdated to Thursday, Oct 25] No Nightingale Did Ever Chaunt

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

(ooc: Please forgive me for losing track of time and my brain.)

The challenge was held in the Clubs Great Hall, tables set for an audience of maybe one hundred. She didn't expect more than that, and nor did Wendy Harnois. It was poetry, not combat, and it was a Thursday afternoon. A teacher each from the elementary school, middle school and high school had been invited to judge, and they sat in the front row with notepads and pens, awaiting the performances.



Karin came onto the makeshift stage first. She was dressed in dark purple, her hair pinned out of her face by a butterfly clip that Isaac had once given her for her birthday. She was, for once in her life, wearing makeup, which made her deep blue eyes seem brighter.

When she claimed the stage, the room settled into attentive silence. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and she allowed herself a smile at seeing all who were there before she took a slow breath in and spoke.

"The Solitary Reaper, by William Wordsworth."

And then her face transformed, from utter calm to bright and lively, as she launched into the first-person account of a Highland farmer reaping her crops and singing to herself in some foreign tongue. There was a respectful awe in her tone, as she echoed the poet's speculation on what a reaper in the fields might have to sing about, the rhyme scheme crisp and rhythmic. Perhaps it wasn't what some expected--the Club kitchen had a betting pool where "A Servant to Servants" had had great odds. But she nailed the piece, drawing loud applause.

And then she yielded the stage, with a respectful curtsy, to Wendy. Wendy was dressed in lavender, and beside Karin seemed pale and fragile. But there was attention paid as she drew breath for her own recitation.

"My November Guest by Robert Frost."

Her performance had a still, soft quality, as she described how Sorrow settles in as the world dies down for November. It was, in some ways, a concession. But there was no doubting that the poem was heartfelt.

And then, the judges mustered their numbers, tallying and counting, adding and comparing. It was the elementary school teacher, a Six of Hearts, who took the stage to announce the winner of the challenge: Wilhelmina Karina Sands-Alder, now Seven of Clubs. Wendy was the first to congratulate her, before slipping off the stage to join her daughter in the hall.

Comments

[lowtohigh.livejournal.com]

It's so incredibly wonderful to have intellectual, artistic challenges. They're not completely rare in the Clubs, but violent, bloody ones tend to stick so much more in the mind--particularly of the young.

So the Ace is really quite pleased, as well as quietly relieved, to be sitting in on this challenge, and not just because it means she'll be skipping her literature lessons for the day. Good to see the Clubs in this restive fashion. Good to see the strong rising through the quality of their minds rather than simply their arms.

The smile stays calmly present, if not overly bright, when Eileen makes her way to the new Seven's side to drop a polite curtsy. "Congratulations, Ms Karin. That was really quite stunning."

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"Many thanks, milady Ace." The curtsy is echoed, as Karin's smile grows at the sight of Eileen. "I'm glad you came to watch today."

It's a sign that there's someone who isn't mourning the loss of butler, a sign that maybe it will all be okay. Nice to have the Ace's approval, even if she is still young.

[lowtohigh.livejournal.com]

"I wouldn't have missed it. Honestly." Not just because it was, in some ways, one of the responsibilities she was more than capable of performing, and not just because it was good to encourage the artistic challenges.

All the Clubs knew Karin. Loved Karin dearly. Surely they were all here to celebrate her, much though they'd miss her familiar rap at the door for tea.

"You must be pleased with your performance, I hope."

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I'm still wondering if I picked the right poem." She scratches the back of her head lightly. "But I think I delivered it properly."

She's willing to show her human side right now, what isn't the butler she was.

[lowtohigh.livejournal.com]

Which is a good place to start. Butlers tended to fall into the realm of the almost mythical. Challenges, movements, like this were a good reminder to everyone.

Every Card is, at the base, just a person. "Are all challenges like that? You've won or you've lost, but you can't help thinking of everything else that might have been?"

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I don't know about all challenges. This is only, what, my fourth? I can hardly speak to some great 'all'. I know my first challenge looks ridiculous from here, though." She grins, fondly remembering how she made Three.

[lowtohigh.livejournal.com]

Four, of course, was still decidedly beating the Clubs' current Ace for challenges. Surely being a Seven won't take away the long-suffering patience that must have borne Karin along all her years as Five. "Why? What was your first?"

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"A mopping race." She chuckles. "Down the front hall, across toward the main conservatory, through the east wing and finishing at the back eastern stairwell."

[lowtohigh.livejournal.com]

"A mopping race." There's a properly childish sort of smile for that, her fingers lacing together behind her back. "That sounds like a lot more fun than most."

[piquedbutler.livejournal.com]

There's never really a Good Time to slip away. Exceptions, however, sometimes Need to be Made. And there's a certain amount of Closure in settling Urania in for a bit of tea and then drifting across the Green to linger at the back of the Hall to listen to one of the oldest standing Institutions in his personal Sphere transform into something greater than herself.

And then into a Seven.

He can't stay long. Will wait, of course, for her to speak to higher ranking Cards before slipping to the front.

Just to press her arm briefly. Words are thick and dumb in his throat, but surely she'll understand.

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

Her response is fingertips to his cheek, a silent, fond thanks for showing up. She smiles and steps closer to him, eyes warm. After a moment, she finds a few words. "Thank you for coming."

It sounds trite, not nearly enough for the welling-up of gratitude and warmth she felt at seeing him.

[piquedbutler.livejournal.com]

There's no Flinching from the touch, as he might have years ago. There's only a faintly shaky sort of sigh as he bows his head very slightly, keeps searching for what he doesn't know how to Say.

Her speaking first helps. The only fumble comes in what to call her. Sevens are so close to 'Milady,' after all. "...it... would have been a genuine shame to miss. Congratulations, Missus."

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

That form of address is odd, like a coat that doesn't yet fit.

"Do you have any interest in poetry?" The question comes to her from nowhere, and once she's asked it, she finds herself wanting to introduce him to Robert Frost, to Walt Whitman, to Emily Dickinson.

[piquedbutler.livejournal.com]

The question catches him entirely off-guard, head twitching just a bit to the side, shy of any of his actually Owlish angles.

"...I've not read much, Missus." Not for lack of Capacity so much as Appreciation--words were easy to read but Numbers had always been easier to Feel. "But it was... quite lovely to hear."

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"I could come by and read you some, away from the crowds." She shrugs one shoulder. It's only an offer, and he's free to decline, but it'd be an excuse.

[piquedbutler.livejournal.com]

"I'd... hate to take so very much of your time." Except that it would be So Good to have her come sit in His Kitchen now and then, have Tea he'd made.

Read more words like That, even.

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"I could make a detour after visiting the Heart Castle for my ambassadorial duties. No one would miss me for half an hour or so, every few days." It was perfectly logical--a way to detox after a day among Hearts, before heading home to check in on her staff. (Of course they're still hers. Shush.)

[take2andcallme.livejournal.com]

He'd never seen Karin look like this before. The dress, the makeup....it was a very different sort of look. And the look on her face while reciting, that was another Karin altogether. The music in my heart I bore,/Long after it was heard no more. Wordsworth. He'd always been partial to Wordsworth, though not much of a poetry buff in general. Mrs. Harnois recitation was also lovely, a wistful counterpart to Karin's joyous tones, but it was very clear who the winner was. Perhaps a formality, but an apropos tone to it nonetheless.

Afterwards, he approaches Karin, receiving thanks from others near the stage. There's a single red rose wrapped in ribbon in his hand, and this he offers to her with a small smile. "Congratulations."

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"You came." It's not surprise, not really. But perhaps the look on her face is one of relief, or excitement or...she's happy to see him. It lights up her eyes, and she steps in toward him with ease. "Thank you, Caleb." The rose is accepted, but her gaze remains on him.

[take2andcallme.livejournal.com]

"Wouldn't have missed it." Well. Maybe for a horrible emergency. But if anyone understands responsibility, it's Karin, so he doesn't say that. And it's the sentiment that's the important part here. Rose delivered, one hand slides into his jacket pocket. The other lifts to absently rub at his jaw, and she might notice that he's freshly shaven, without the usual two days' growth of stubble on his face. "And you're welcome. I enjoyed your recitation."

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"I'm glad." She can't help but notice his clean-shaven, less rumpled state, smiling at the sight. "It's not exactly something I'm known for, but it was fun digging through all Fin's old poetry books."

[take2andcallme.livejournal.com]

He cleans up nice, if he ever bothers to make the effort. Or remembers. This time, it looks like he's even remembered what a comb is. "I was never much of a poetry buff, but I always liked Wordsworth. Read him in college. After-Thought always stuck with me." His eyes linger on her hair and face. She looks nice, like this. she always looks nice, but...well. It's different.

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"I like Robert Frost, but Wendy staked a claim on him when I made my challenge. It would have been uncouth to steal her poet." She chuckles, reaching out to lightly touch his hair. Not straighten, it doesn't need that. But she isn't sure how else to engage in physical contact at the moment.

She just wants to touch him.

[take2andcallme.livejournal.com]

"Indeed. But I'm glad you chose the piece you did. I don't think I've seen you like that before." His words are a little vague, but seem to encompass both her current look and the tone of her recitation. The small touch he allows for a moment before reaching up and taking her hand, brushing a light kiss across the back of her knuckles.

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

She uses their joined hands to pull him closer, grinning as she plants a much less hesitant kiss on him, right on the lips. It's quick, it's unapologetic, and it's warm. A smattering of applause breaks our among Karin's well-wishers.