[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

[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.

[take2andcallme.livejournal.com]

The kiss takes Caleb by surprise, but is definitely not unwanted--her lips are soft and warm, that grin lighting up her face. Eyes glance sideways a moment at the brief applause that breaks out, then refocus on her, and a slow smile starts to spread across his face.

"And here we haven't even had our first date."

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"Sorry, did you want to wait for that?" She laughs, glad he's reacting positively to such a forward act. She shifts to merely hold his hand, fingers entangling with his. "With my new workload, who knows when that'll be?"

[take2andcallme.livejournal.com]

"I'll forgive you for stealing my virtue." He gives her fingers a squeeze, his other hand smoothing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. "And I'll make the time. I'll be at the castle more often soon, in any case, doing some work in the castle clinic. Been neglecting my own duties, as someone reminded me recently. Think you can sneak away for a couple hours sometime?" The look on his face is one few people have seen, eyes sparkling with something close to mischief.

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"I'm a master of time management, Caleb. I will spin the time from thin air and spend it in chunks and moments with you." Poetry seems to have stuck with her, as has the vibrant spirit that had carried her through the recital.

[take2andcallme.livejournal.com]

"A useful skill to have. I'm glad I'm reaping the benefits. Three Fridays from now?" Next week was bound to be busy with Halloween and the tail end of fall needing all sorts of preparations for winter and the holidays, but the second week in November should be fairly easy for them to work something out.

[butlebattler.livejournal.com]

"I'll hope to catch you on my morning runs before then, though." She shakes her head slightly. "If that'd be acceptable."

[take2andcallme.livejournal.com]

"Of course. That is, if you can catch me." There's a brief flash of a teasing tone in his voice, gone a moment later as he squeezes her hands and lets go. "I should get back to the clinic. Didn't want to miss this, but duty calls. Three Fridays, remember."