[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."

[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.

[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."