Sea Song

[ddpej]

Name: ~.^
Being the most concise visual form of the linear melody by which she identifies herself.

Species: Siren half-breed
The siren ancestry would be difficult to deny, all things considered. What exactly her mother decided to bed with, however, is much less certain. Popular theories include fae (huldra or nix, perhaps), human (presumably magically inclined), and ghost (though even the folks who press this one don't quite know how that would work).

Gender: Female, most likely.
While it has never really been verified, ~.^'s gender has never really been questioned either. The pitch of her first-voice, the slightness of her figure, the gownish-ness of her garb, and her flowing hair all combine to give, for the most part, a distinctly feminine first impression -- and further impressions are not likely to be any different.

Age: Unknown (older than she appears).
Given her parentage and history, ~.^ doesn't perceive the passing of time in a manner most mortals would be familiar with. Given her abilities and disadvantages, she would have a very difficult time trying to communicate her age even if she did happen to know it.

Maturity: Child/Teenager

Demeanor: Drifting Demoiselle

Appearance: Humanoid of fairly standard proportions
~.^ has pale skin, dark eyes, and long wavy brown hair. Her skin is smooth and her figure slim inasmuch as it can be seen, caught somewhere between a pretty girl and a beautiful young woman. She wears a long dress and cloak combo in greys that is prone to billowing gently in breezes which may or may not exist. She generally measures 17-18 hands high at the top of the head, depending on how far off the ground she happens to be hovering, but she herself is 16 hands high.

Personality: Difficult to determine, though curiosity and a certain peculiarity are usually quick to appear.

Abilities:
[Musical]
~.^ is a skilled singer both in the classic sense and in dual-tone. Though she is technically capable of singing in triple-tone, she is not very good at singing with three voices yet and dislikes the effort it requires. Additionally, her unusual ancestry has added a few related quirks:
-- Stage Effects: Though standard conversational singing will not invoke this, when ~.^ is truly performing her audience is likely to observe localized weather, volume, and lighting changes For The Sake of the Show. This is fueled by desire rather than detail, and is strictly an audio-visual phenomenon (no physical effects). Without a song to set the stage, there will be no show to see.
-- Tugging Heartstrings: It is only to be expected that, as a siren's child, ~.^ has the innate ability to draw listeners into the song. All who hear her sing will be more inclined toward Deep Feelings; she can captivate an audience and even urge their hearts in one direction or another depending on her song. She does not have the compulsory effect of her mother's song, however, and those with a strong will can easily shake the effect off.
-- A Language All Its Own: ~.^ is fluent in Music and only Music. Tone, rhythm, and inflection are her speech; lines, melodies, and notes are her writing.

[Ghost Story]
~.^ hovers 1-2 hands off ground level for the most part as a matter of habit, but if she so desires she can rise higher, sink lower, or even vanish into the ground (or a tree, or through a friend). For all intents and purposes, she has no physical form and is unfettered by the pull of gravity or the mess of mass. She floats rather than walking; there is in fact some disagreement as to whether or not she even has legs under the many long layers of her dress and cloak.

Disadvantages:
Bane of Reality
-- Having no physicality, ~.^ can't touch anything or anyone. Though she carries a thin stick resembling a conductor's baton by which she is able to make contact with objects and others, it is by no means a sturdy thing. Any form of severe strain would cause the baton to break.
Mistaken Identity:
-- Sadly, ~.^ does not have much experience with friendships or even acquaintances, as for the most part her encounters with others result in the mistaken conviction that she is a spectre of some sort and ought therefore be both avoided and feared.
Language Barrier:
-- Being so thoroughly a creature of music, ~.^ cannot converse as most people understand conversation. She is not only physically unable to form words, but unfamiliar with the very theory of modern language and thought. While she could potentially learn sign language given proper lessons, it would be a very difficult road to travel until she learned to form her thoughts in the necessary fashion.

Family: Effectively none.
~.^ knows very little about her mother, much less any extended family, and nothing of her father. Her mother is most likely alive, sirens being an immortal race, but this is no guarantee.

History: Unknown.
While it would theoretically be possible to investigate ghost sightings on a wide scale, look for patterns, and eventually trace at least part of the path ~.^ has traveled, in reality this would be a massive and probably unsatisfying endeavor. Perhaps someday she'll be able and willing to shed light on the story in a language we can understand.

---------------------------------------

The swamplands of Deep Forest were thick and wet and muggy, as swamplands often are. The trees here were not the giants found at the heart of the forest, but they were still mighty in their own right. Moss and mud covered the outskirts of the river delta, and a harmony of frogs echoed above the constant buzz of mosquitos. Though the sun was high and bright overhead, the canopy above and bog below filtered the strong rays down to little more than a weak green haze at surface level. Deep Forest had a number of special places within, some secret and some not, but the swamps -- well. They were truly just swamps. Nothing unusual about them.

On this particular occasion, however, there was something unusual inside the swamps. It was a bit difficult to be unusual in Deep Forest, given the wide variety of creatures that had at one point or another called the place home, and certainly some of those creatures had meandered through the swamps during their stay. In general, though, those who entered the swamps were either searching for something or the kind of critter that lacked a certain.. grace and refinement. It was not exactly prime vacation property, you understand. Nothing clean and cozy about it. If you went into the swamps, you were going to get dirty.

The unusual part, then, was that this particular visitor didn't have a speck of dirt on her anywhere. There was no mud on the hem of her cloak, no sludge bedraggling the ragged edges of her skirt, no beads of moisture on her brow or clamminess to her skin. The petite girl seemed, in fact, quite unaware that she was supposed to be discomforted by her environment at all. Even the mosquitos, traditionally so thirsty for blood, weren't swarming around for a bite. If that all wasn't strange enough, she was also gliding smoothly forward in a straight line. Swamp travel was tiring work; between the holes and hills and bogs and bumps and trees, anyone passing through ought to be sweating and swearing and squelching as they zigzagged along. Not this girl, though. Hell, she didn't even seem to be walking. She just floated on her way, not a bob or buckle in her hidden stride, and whenever she came to a tree..

..well. She just floated right on through. Best ghost impersonation you might ever see, that. If only she weren't singing to herself, it'd be perfect. But she was singing, soft and sweet and smiling, just barely loud enough to hear, and a sharp ear might even notice that there were two voices to be heard. Really, though, who was counting? Better just to listen, and follow, and get lost in the sound..

[Windra]

Bogs were dark, damp, nitty and gritty. They were places where things could lurk beneath the surface and in plain sight. If you weren't careful, powerful jaws would snap the life out of you and drag you down beneath murky water, never to be seen again until lifeless bits of your corpse were forced to the top due to the gases of decomposition. One foul misstep would drown the unknowing victim. A bite from something puny could spread disease or deaden blood cells, shut down entire functioning systems the body needed to sustain life. Heavy, choking humidity brought burdening moisture into heaving lungs, swamp-air tainted with the stench of rotten eggs, mildew, and something darker.

For Scarlet the red-skinned V-ACT 32, formerly blind but now gifted with sight in one bright blue eyes, this was home.

Habits died hard when you were already dead. During the day Scarlet would linger with those she dared to call 'friends' (although recently 'dinner' was becoming a close synonym). Standing next to living flesh that jumped with the pulse of still-beating hearts stirred an unquenchable hunger that threw her being into misery and angry despair. It was kept in check ... but not by her. Naira was always watching, aware of the changes. But Naira was also not always there when the flood gates flung open and as the sun slipped to horizon's edge, the Dark Passenger whispering forever in Scaret's ear would waver into a screaming banshee demanding blood to compensate for what sanity remained.

It was ... an incurable itch.

The Need would render her blind by desire. Heavy steel-toed boots trudged forlornly through mud and over stone until some foolish friendly being got in the way. Sometimes they didn't know what hit them. Mostly they were assaulted with a flurry of claws and horrendous laughs filled with sick desires. But always their corpses dripped and tore, catering to a growling stomach that would be filled by no other flesh than this ... and the Passenger's howling would finally cease to silence, leaving Scarlet with nothing but the blurred, fuzzy thoughts of one who was stuffed and satisfied.

Moonlight would claim the sky by this point but it never shined on the path that Scarlet chose to go. Time after time she would drag the ravaged carcasses - missing limbs, hunks of flesh, and several pints of blood - over soil that squelched with moisture and movement, through fluids that went up to one's knees. Creatures of the bog, armed with their own ferocious sets of teeth and claws, would watch from afar, not daring to go any further than they needed to - they knew what this woman was capable of and some intelligent part of their brains overshadowed the primal need to kill over territory and feast on what remained. The V-ACT 32 brought the bodies to that Weeping Willow standing firm in the swamp's center, perched upon a raised mound of rotten soil, and buried them beneath the ground. Several humps in the dirt were telltale signs of how many victims the Need had claimed. There would only be more to come.

Despite the crude manner of fertilizer beneath it's roots, the Willow was flourishing. It was an odd show of rejuvenation. Upon digging fresh graves, Scarlet often bumped her claws into the remains of an old kill and was surprised at their state - almost mummified, drained of fluids and left with nothing but old skin and brittle bone - working that she herself was not capable of even on the best days. It was a tree that shared her own passionate hunger, and for this Scarlet loved it.

Her victim tonight was some elven lady from the Village - too close to home, Naira would not like this ... but Naira would never find out. She was too busy dealing with Kuro ... too busy keeping the darkness that barked at her heels at bay to notice her sisterly friend was travelling the road less taken. Scarlet's method of killing this elven woman had been a little messy, but her body was ripped asunder too deep in the woods to cause alarm when she began to scream for help. Limp and weighing twice as much as she had before, her bloodied corpse no longer echoed the beauty it once shined. Luminous glowing eyes faltered when the ghost escaped her body. Pale skin didn't change much, but the bloodied mess of what had once been her throat stood out in sharp contrast.

Once to the Tree, Scarlet went to work digging with her quintuplets of murderous claws. Only when the carcass was tucked away did the V-ACT 32 notice something haunting on the wind: a melody, beautiful and sad, floating just out of reach ... Her Need sated and the Dark Passenger quelled into silence, Juggernaut found herself being drawn towards the source.

It might have crossed her mind that blood-smeared clothing was not the best attire to be dressed in when introducing yourself to a newcomer, but with a sanity that was as bedraggled with holes and smears of red as her shirt and coat ... that was not a top concern, and swiftly passed through her mind like a specter.

[ddpej]

Amidst the frogs and bogs and bugs the achingly sweet duet continued, even incorporating bits and pieces of the swamps into the music. The whine of mosquitoes became the keynote, such that every other harmonized with it. The crickets accented the melody, a pleasant partial percussion. The rhythm and tones of the varied amphibian calls began to wind its way into the bottom line, the top line now dancing lightly around it like a whisper of dragonflies and rustling leaves. As the song solidified into a swampland celebration, the incorporeal singer drifted her way into a gradual crescendo, the true glory of her wordless vocals bubbling and billowing at the edge of the mind's ear. For a brief, breathtaking moment a third tone chimed in at the climax, pure and clean as uncloaked sun; there was power in that chord, and a sudden spawn of spotlight's glow -- and then the music fell down to a quiet choral commentary, and the swamps returned to their usual gloom, and the sounds of the swamp once again almost covered the song.

She could easily narrate her journey in dual-tone while moving, as she had been doing and was doing now, but she'd had to hold still and concentrate to pull off her triple-tone corona. Three voices at once was a good deal more difficult than a mere two melodic lines, and she still couldn't do it reliably despite herself. Indeed, she'd only been able to manage the trick in grand finales of short duration, preferably single-note, and never without making a big production of it. That only a gleam of light had accompanied this effort was in fact significant progress. This time, she had almost (almost) stayed within the bounds of conversation -- not that she had anyone but herself to converse with. ~.^ was not so naive as to think herself truly alone, but the creatures she had encountered (or noticed but not encountered) did not seem to understand her music at all. Furthermore, the ones large enough to perhaps sing had thus far all made disappointingly little in the way of sounds, and didn't seem to be much interested in singing with her or anyone at all. Still, she had grown accustomed to being avoided. It seemed to be either that or attacks, for the most part.

There were plenty of predators stalking the unphysical girl, of course. She was in a swamp at night, obviously very much alive and making no effort to hide herself. Unlike most, however, what she didn't know about was in fact not likely to hurt her. Claws and teeth even from behind would have no more effect on her form or garb than the flames and weapons two-beat earthwalkers preferred, or the beaks and wings of windrider choirs. Indeed, the only pain she had ever known was by sound or by heart or by mind. And while it was true that without a true body she could not be killed, there are of course many ways to be hurt. She had no idea who "ghost" and "spirit" and "shade" were, or "[unidentified bird call]", but so far introducing herself by melID had not stopped anyone from mistaking her for one of the bunch with a bewilderingly intense fear or anger in their actions. Discovering that the intended victim was untouchable never seemed to help matters, either. There was a sad sort of irony in the fact that even with pitchforks jabbed right through her torso, ~.^ was still and forever living in a bubble -- and even so, they stabbed her heart. 'Someday ~.^', she sang to herself, 'someday ~.^ will sing and be heard'.

[Lanadyr]

The village, of course, had its own law enforcement mechanisms. In theory, they could have hunted down the escapee themselves. But someone in a position of power had decided that this particular fugitive was too dangerous to leave to the proper (and, truth be told, decidedly underpowered) authorities. Thus was Tourniquet contacted, briefed on the situation, given a set of manacles, and sent on his way.

Shortly after arriving in Deep Forest, Tourniquet had gone to the village to make himself known as a willing volunteer for just such tasks, and when he formally accepted the current assignment, he believed that his basic knowledge of tracking would be sufficient to find the elven murderer. And, at first, he didn’t even need to call upon these basic skills, as a conspicuous trail of blood and heavy booted footsteps, leading away from the village, needed no such specialized knowledge to follow.

I don’t care what this woman did, Tourniquet thought to himself as he followed the bloodied trail and took in the evidence of his quarry’s brutalization, she didn’t deserve this.

It was when he reached the swamp, however, that the trail effectively disappeared for the hellmount, the bloodstains and footprints washed away in a floor of thin mud that had better things to do than patiently maintain traces of that which had passed through it. Tourniquet made his best efforts to follow the few meager clues that remained, but he eventually exhausted these to no avail.

Tourniquet gradually grew to be satisfied that there was nothing more that he could do, and decided to return to the village to report that, despite the lack of a body, the fugitive was most likely dead after so much apparent blood loss.

It was only as he turned to whisk himself away in a plume of fire that he finally heard the distant singing voices.

Though Tourniquet had a tin ear, even he could perceive the beauty in those sung notes and harmonies. He was moved by the music, and found himself compelled to trace its source, vaguely rationalizing the compulsion as an extension of his investigation. He chose a favorable general direction and began to slowly trudge his way through the mud, the manacles still lightly braided into his mane quietly jangling as he did so.

[Windra]

Corpse buried several feet beneath a mound of putrid earth, Scarlet no longer felt obligated to linger by the handcrafted grave site. Something about that singing, that melodious tune drifting weightlessly atop the choir of crickets and frogs and night things that swamp the dirt water, was enough to capture her rapt attention. Blood stained her clothing. It decorated her claws: a vile polish made of carbon, cells, and oxygen with just a hint enough of metal to lure the V-ACT's tongue to lap remnants off her fingers. Even while lapping the rusty liquid from her hands was she pulled in, heavy boots finding firm footing in a land far too unstable to support much of anything at all. The Hungry Willow was left behind with its fetid midnight snack in the shadow of Scarlet's retreating form.

Not much rhyme or reason entered her dimmed senses. She heard music, so she followed - and that was all the impulse required. The drumming of her heart had dulled somewhat despite the bellowing of the moon, but this call - this enticing melody that wafted breezile - it wrapped about her shoulders, gave the necessary tug, dragged her allong ... until finally Scarlet stood before the owner of the Voice. Her blind eye perceived nothing of vision, but what her new and good eye observed had her rubbing at tear ducts, thinking perhaps she had been blind for too long and was beginning to see things not quite as ordinary as they should be.

But hey, this was Deep Forest. Why would a ghost be any surprise?

Harrowing recollections of her spur-of-the-moment hunger kill spurred some electricity in her heart, but the V-ACT needn't worry. At least she didn't think she had to. The rules were different here ... and with that empty socket in her stomach filled by catering to the Need, her urge to strike again wouldn't come for a long time. Blood dried at the corners of her lips and Scarlet idly licked the crusted stuff clean. Not that you could really tell with all of that red skin ... and the darkened clothes made it hard to see splotches of blood staining the black.

The one blue opened wide, a spark igniting within. She grinned broadly with shark teeth showing, taking in the vision of whatever this haunting, singing thing was.

[Lanadyr]

Tourniquet, following the intoxicating music that had initially drawn his attentions, arrived at the edge of an area that, at least relatively speaking, could classify as a “clearing” in these dense wetlands. There, two vaguely humanoid figures immediately made themselves apparent by how out of place they were, no mean feat in the Deep Forest.

The origin of the voices (multiple voices simultaneously, Tourniquet noted with interest) was a young lady. The fact that she was floating and the fact that she was completely isolated from her surroundings, to the point that a trailing remnant of her cloak appeared to be passing straight through an idle strand of tall, grassy plant material at the moment, indicated that she might have been a formerly living version of the creature that used to have that humanoid shape. Not that this much disquieted the hellmount, as the supernatural populations of both the Maw and the Annwn, the two places he spent the bulk of his life, weren’t necessarily 100% living or 100% dead themselves, but he made a note of the (potential) detail in case it would become pertinent later.

Tourniquet was tempted to interpret the musical, floating woman as a kind-hearted force of benevolence, but his combat training had taught him well enough to know that her extraordinary singing might have been affecting his feelings about her, and that this effect might, in turn, have been a deliberate tactical decision. He remained as wary as he could manage in the present of that creature’s lulling songsmithing, knowing that she could well have been a substantial mental and spiritual threat.

It should be noted, however, that this wariness did not stop his non-stealthy, manacle-jangling forward movement toward the two figures.

This wariness was also augmented from another source as well, as the other creature appeared to be, at least potentially, a significant physical threat. Tall, well-muscled, wielding natural weapons on her hands and face, carrying herself with the easy grace of a predator with nothing to fear from her prey, the one-eyed female was seemingly enraptured by the incorporeal creature’s song. One glance at her mud-caked boots, combined with an estimate of how rare boots and their associated bootprints were in the Deep Forest, gave Tourniquet an estimate of how dangerous this one might well have been in the recent past, and how dangerous she might be again if not so enraptured.

Not that there was much he felt he could with this estimate, at present. If the elf woman Tourniquet had been tracking had been killed by another elf, or something equally tractable, then it would have made sense to him to drag the perpetrator back to the village for justice. But this red, hulking beast? The hellmount couldn’t see how hauling her back to the relatively defenseless village wouldn’t only lead to further tragedy in the form of a trail of dead bodies leading to an easy escape.

Assuming that she isn’t new to the Forest and that this isn’t the first time she’s done something like this, there must be some existing mechanism in place to either restrain her before or punish her after, Tourniquet thought to himself. I need to determine what this mechanism is and if it has somehow broken down.

Tourniquet stopped moving at a point that allowed the three figures in the clearing to form a roughly equidistant triangle. He faced the singing figure both physically and mentally, easily allowing the thing’s song to wash over him, but he also kept what little of his attentions he could keep free from that primary task trained on the red figure to his side. Just in case.

[ddpej]

~.^ passed effortlessly through yet another swamp-borne tree as she continued her unnaturally straight journey. It was the fifty-seventh such tree since she had entered the bog, not that the ghostly girl would ever have thought to keep count. Trees didn't move or sing, after all, and navigation and was of no concern to a potentially immortal creature who had no ties whatsoever to a world she couldn't even touch. At the moment, she wasn't even really looking about. There wasn't much reason to bother watching her way when nothing could block her path, and so far all the interesting things in this muggy territory had been sounds more than sights. Given her current drifting melancholy, she was more interested in singing sadly to herself than in gazing around at all the frogs and bugs she'd already looked at five times over. Indeed, if it hadn't been for the flash of Scarlet's skin, vibrantly ruddy in a patch of moonlight, the siren-child would probably have floated right through the juggernaut. As it was, she only noticed her new company in time to drift to a halt barely four feet away.

It was by no means an abrupt stop. Rather, the sudden lack of song -- and, indeed, most audible evidence of life -- that accompanied ~.^'s distraction was more noticable and jarring than the lack of motion. When the soft vocal dance that had made itself part of the swamp's atmosphere cut off in the middle of a phrase, the local inhabitants stopped their own songs with it, alert for signs of danger. The resulting almost-silence nearly buffeted the singer's finely-tuned ears, softened only by unconcerned mosquitos and a metallic jingle, but she did not raise her voices to break the blow. As satisfying as it might be to wax melodic on her trials and tribulations, having a living earthwalker close enough to wave a hand through was of rather deeper interest. In fact, her memories of previous earthwalker encounters were so fresh and forceful that the hovering musician didn't even notice the brush of [discord] and metal that might have alerted her to the equine at her side. In the darkness the dark reddish-brown horse was all but invisible compared to the moonlit humanoid that held her trembling attention.

The red-skinned creature seemed pleased with their encounter so far, but that was not strictly uncommon so early. It usually took some twenty beats or so after she stopped singing for an earthwalker audience to react. In the sudden quiet here and now, the tempo in her heart plummeted, each beat deep and loud and ponderous. It took seven beats for the first frog to resume his calls; by ten, the swamp soundtrack was mostly back to normal. ~.^ stared at the other female, eyes dark and wide and deep as the rest stretched to thirteen. There was no doubt in her mind that an outburst was coming. It was only a matter of what how long it would take and what form it would come in. She had learned she could delay matters, sometimes, but she could only perform for so long. In the end the shouting and stabbing always came anyway, which meant she would be not only heartsore but exhausted and with hardly a squeak of a voice for days as well. Better just to wait out the breaking point, and perhaps get in a solid first note. The wait, after all, never took long. The beat tolled seventeen in her heart's ear now, slower with each count as apprehension hummed in her veins, and ~.^'s cloak billowed slightly behind her as the pause grew pregnant with power.

[Windra]

They were locked in a staring contest. What the hell for? Was there a reward? Personally, Scarlet wanted a new gun. The idea of a brand-new, ultra-shiny .45 Colts Neck magnum made her jump for joy - something that probably would have startled the ghost before her. Of course the following stand-still-and-stare operation would have prompted some confusion. Scarlet knew there were no gifts to come if she won this trial-of-glares, but it was certainly something fun to participate in. To show her exuberance of the game, the V-ACT 32 grinned and leaned forward, squinting her eyes so tightly together that the vision in her good one began to lose focus.

There was no fear in the red-skinned woman's eyes. No wrinkles of terror stretched across her imperfect features. Hooting and hollering would be left to those more skittish than she. After all, what did Scarlet have to be afraid of? Her claws and teeth were more than capable of fleecing the unneeded skin from hapless victims, as had been displayed time and time again with various test subjects. The woman's stature alone was enough to set fear upon the toughest of hard-as-nails bigots. Dozens of well-muscled individuals were reduced to womanly screams of panic that did nothing for their dignity as she set upon them with fangs extended and hunger demolishing what was left of a sound mind.

Scarlet quickly became tired of the squinting and extended a claw forth to touch the draping cloth that hunk lifelessly on the specter's body. Would it pass through? "Poke!"

[Lanadyr]

Tourniquet had found a great deal of beauty in the song that the floating being before him had been singing until about the time that he finally closed in on the two others in the clearing. It was the kind of beauty that resonated as a personal truth, the kind that one felt within the marrow of one’s bones, and he reveled in the experience with no effort.

It was only after the incorporeal young lady had stopped singing that Tourniquet realized that she was indulging herself in a sad, melancholy, pain-filled dirge, and that the reasons such a dirge was resonating with him were decidedly…unwholesome.

For about twenty beats, Tourniquet ruminated on how close he always was to his destructive and ruinous nature, despite his best efforts not to be. Although he found that introspection to be disconcerting, he also found himself, at about beat nineteen, ultimately grateful for it, in the way one can be grateful for any personally revealing work of art.

A beat later, at the same moment that Tourniquet decided that he wanted to communicate his gratitude to the intangible being before him, the tangible being at his side reached a playful claw towards her and broke the spell (magical and otherwise) that had been cast in the clearing.

"Poke!"

Tourniquet kept his voice low, out of both habit and a subconscious respect for the song that immediately preceded, as he turned his head a bit to address the creature with the outstretched hand. “That would appear to be unproductive.” He then refocused on the one who was not even touching the ground, let alone allowing the other’s hand to find purchase upon her, though he still spoke to his previous audience. “My name is Tourniquet, by the way. I find myself wanting to interact with this being myself, but she doesn’t connect to this world.” Upon perceiving the lack of comprehension upon the floating woman’s face, the hellmount continued. “In more ways than one, seemingly. She doesn’t understand our words.”

But she must be able to communicate, Tourniquet thought to himself. She communicated clearly enough to me only moments ago.

Maybe I just need to speak her language.

Using his telekinesis, Tourniquet pulled the manacles away from his mane and held them before him, though portions touched the ground because his power wasn't strong enough to hold the whole mass in the air. He then began to shake the manacles rhythmically, as if they were a rattle-like musical instrument. He attempted to adjust the beat and the tempo in methodical ways, but, ultimately, the results were workmanlike and profoundly uncreative, more metronome than rousing rhythm.

With a frustrated exhalation, he lowered the manacles completely to the ground and turned his head to face the tall being. “She might communicate through music, but I have no salient talents. If I may ask, do you?”

[ddpej]

The waiting singer had been unprepared when Scarlet leapt into the air not even five beats into the silence. There had been no diva waiting in the wings, no show prepped and ready. Curiously, the red-skinned woman's only further reaction was to resume eye contact with a cheerily grotesque grin. So it was, then, that the beat carried on, and the tension grew, and for lack of a better plan the siren-child gathered herself for a possible performance.

When the break point came, however, it was in the form of a decidedly unconcerned prodding of her cloak -- which was, as always, thoroughly ineffective. A sound came with it, something short and sharp and new. ~.^ decided she must have been called something different this time, since the earthwalker had pointed at her while saying it. Before she had time to attempt a correction, a low rumble of stilted song made itself heard close by her side. Immediately she turned in a billow of robes, clear wide eyes eyeing the unobserved intruder and heart's ear finally registering the faint sense of [dischord]. Another earthwalker, larger and longer and darker than the first, of a shape the singer hadn't seen yet. The rumble continued as the large creature met her eyes, though the song was hardly that and quite meaningless. She tipped her head slightly, impossibly close and yet worlds away, but sadly this gave her no further insight into the current situation.

Moments later, the rumble-song stopped and the nonsense singer began a confusing racket of jangled clacking using the objects in its hair. The noise did drown out the [dischord] she had felt, but it wasn't exactly an improvement. Thankfullly, this too soon stopped and she shook her head to clear her ears of the flat echoes. Still quite clueless as to what was going on -- this encounter wasn't following any of the patterns she'd gotten used to -- ~.^ frowned when her newest scrutinizer broke eye contact and tagged on a rumble-song coda. The song was so lifeless! She couldn't understand it at all. There was no beat or rhythm to the song, and the sound was not pure and true but muddled with breaks and edges and corners. Perhaps this was a creature that wasn't capable of singing properly? At any rate, at least neither of the earthwalkers seemes inclined to try chasing her off. That was something, yes?

The girl sighed then, a puff of breath heard but unfelt, and the power that had been gradually rising around her deflated with it. The glimmer of hope only made it worse, she decided. Just to be sure, the siren-borne fixed both parties with a purposeful stare and briefly introduced herself. The blurb (best visually represented as "!~.^ ,-',-'':-.-'.-^") consisted of a short and simple greeting, naming, and description in the fashion of her mind; as such, the first bit was lilting and the rest melancholy, a reflection of her current emotional state. Then, having put forth a solid effort, ~.^ waited to see if her song might be answered in a form comprehensible.

[Lanadyr]

There were no solid words in the fluid notes of that tuneful voice, or at least none that Tourniquet could recognize as much, but at least one thing was obvious from the non-words: she was unhappy.

The hellmount sympathized. He wanted to communicate with this intangible woman, but was being frustrated by nothing more than his own lack of ability. Although there were no tangible reasons that he should have known anything about music up until this moment in his life, that fact was a cold comfort at present.

Tourniquet thought a moment, then decided that, if he could not bring any musical talents to his interactions with the intangible woman, it might be more productive to bring the woman herself to those with musical talents. Specifically, there were at least some musicians in the village to which he was due to return. Although they might react unpleasantly to a seemingly undead creature, he was sure that he could diffuse any potential conflicts before they arose, provided he stayed near her and explained what little he understood about the situation.

Tourniquet attempted to communicate his plan to the intangible woman by re-arranging the good-quality but ultimately disposable manacles still on the ground into an arrow, one pointed in the direction of the village. Although the hellmount was not absolutely certain that this being would interpret abstract symbols the same way he did, it had been his experience that something as simple as an arrow could typically be understood by any sentient being if given a little context.

Tourniquet then provided that context by pointing his own body in the direction of the village, in the same direction as the arrow, and slowly beginning to walk forward. As he did so, he glanced not only toward the intangible woman to note her reaction, but also toward the tangible woman to note her lack of reaction. He chalked the latter up to an emotional response to the sadness present in the latest bit of singing, and was content to let her remain in quiet introspection here in the swamp, at least for the time being, if that was what she chose to do. She could be tracked down later, after all, which was not a fact Tourniquet felt applied equally to the incorporeal being.

He moved his head a bit in an additional beckoning motion as he walked away, hopeful that the floating creature would take up his invitation.

[ddpej]

As ~.^ had expected, there was no apparent reaction to her simple introduction. Neither of the earthwalkers sang back at all, giving a melID or anything else of use. Indeed, even so short a song as she had sung appeared to have rendered the red twostepper motionless. The ghostly girl had observed earthwalkers motionless at night before, but somehow this seemed different. Those had been on cots or mats, wrapped in fabric, with eyes closed and the occasional meaningless background beat. This woman was still standing where she had stopped, her arms hanging at her sides and her open eyes somewhat vacant. The unanswered questions and bubbling confusion might have frustrated the singer, but frankly she was beginning to believe this was the new normal state of things.

The larger earthwalker, at least, was more immediately interesting -- mostly just because he was moving, and she was young enough to be more interested in that than in the complexities of stillness she could not yet understand. She watched in mild fascination as the dark fourstepper manipulated the noisemakers that were now on the ground. It was an obviously intentional action that resulted in a rough convergence of lines. ~.^ blinked at it dubiously. A message, perhaps? It was shaped in that sort of fashion, but it was no message she had ever seen and it did not look as though it would make much sense. Still, she supposed it could not hurt to try. If nothing else, it would make a decent diversion. The sirenborne oriented herself according to the direction the earthwalker was indicating and studied the maybe-message carefully. The first bit was childsong, but the second measure would be difficult and did not appear pleasant on the ears.. Picking a nice, easy pitch in the comfortable middle of her range, the songstress carefully read aloud.

The only way to manage it was with a show. A full measure of tripletone in such chords at her level of expertise required no less than an all-out production if it was to be read properly. The first note blossomed from her throat like a rose, clean and bright and beautiful, sweet in its simplicity, and the swamp around them seemed to darken even more somehow as a soft white spotlight gradually faded into existance. Illuminated so, as if the moon itself had appeared directly above her, a wind rose around her alone as ~.^ brought all three voices to bear on the chord that began the second measure. For a brief, glorious second, the spotlight flashed and the chord rang to the heavens -- but in the same moment, the wind whipped her hair and clothes into a frenzy as the high and low voices flew to meet their steady companion. Thunder rumbled ominously as she sang the three-part dischord, increasingly unpleasant as the notes neared each other, until at last the rose dropped its thorns and vanished.

In the sudden silence that followed, ~.^ wrinkled her nose and shook her head, sending her hair flying again. She had been right -- that wasn't pleasant on the ears at all. However, she decided, it rather suited the fourbeat earthwalker. His presence was [dischord] to her mind's ear, but she hadn't even noticed him at first, and when she finally had it had been a chord that quickly collapsed. Might this carefully arranged shape be his melID? It was rather complex for one, being tripletone and all, and he hadn't at all introduced himself properly, but she supposed he could have been named by a great singer and shown his name without actually being able to sing it himself at all. If so, she was going to have to work out some sort of acceptable shorthand. As fitting as his melID might be, it was rather more difficult than she could use effectively in conversation. Perhaps he would accept -> as a substitute?

Looking up at the other being to see if he was offering any additional information somehow, the girl realized with a start that he had moved a short distance away sometime between her decision to read the maybe-message and her actually finishing the reading. Unwilling to relinquish this tantalizing hint of something that actually made sense, ~.^ hurriedly followed in his wake. She had no idea where he might be headed, and she didn't care! For now, the horse was stuck with a softly singing shadow.

[Lanadyr]

As Tourniquet finished his beckoning motions and began to walk away from ethereal woman, hoping she would follow, the creature once again soaked the area in her lovely voice and the light show that seemed to naturally accompany it, though the actual song was...odd. Two parts, one voice than three voices, with the latter ending in a convergence of tones so obvious even the tone-deaf hellmount could perceive it.

Continuing forward, albeit slowly, he turned his head once again toward the ephemeral woman, wondering about what might have spurred such a performance, then noticed the arrow on the ground. Tourniquet quickly put the pieces of the small puzzle together.

One line then three lines, with the three lines converging...She can read linear markings as if they were sheet music. That will likely be useful information in the future.

It was only after he finished his brief musings that he noticed that he had, apparently, properly conveyed his intentions to the mysterious being, who was now floating behind him as he moved through the swamp, her voice filling the air, her light showing the way.

Tourniquet faced forward once again and began to navigate his way through the Forest. Fortune smiles upon the two of us. May it continue to do so.

******

The village wasn't far away, and the singing that accompanied their steps made the trip seem like anything but a chore to Tourniquet. The two travelers arrived within eyeshot of the upper village's treetop perimeter in less than a half-hour, the heatless sparks from Tourniquet's hooves helping, though not as much as the young lady's performance, to light the way under the thick forest canopy.

After approaching a bit closer to the village, however, a magical spotlight of some kind suddenly came to life and bathed the two travelers in a dull yellow light from above.

"Tourniquet! Is that you?"

The hellmount recognized the voice as one of the village's night watch, a male elf with whom he had only a bit of familiarity. He turned to the treetops and instinctively responded in a voice carefully modulated to be loud enough to be heard by all of the guards in the treetops above them and quiet enough to not cause too much fear in their hearts. "Yes, it's me."

The voice seemed more confused than anything else. "Well, why the hell is that ghost following you?! We don't let undead near this village! You know that! They're dangerous!"

Tourniquet looked at his traveling companion for a moment, then turned back to the treetops. "How do you know she's a ghost?"

"One of the watch's scryers saw it pass through a couple of trees as it followed you!"

The hellmount narrowed his eyes. "Is her incorporeality your only evidence?"

The voice in the night seemed both afraid and angry. "What else do we need?! Now get away from it, so we can safely neutralize it with exorcism bolts!"

Tourniquet grunted in a bit of exasperation, an exasperation that, perhaps, slipped into his voice a slight bit more than he would have liked. "How can you live in the Deep Forest and still have such little imagination?" He shook his head and calmed himself. "We don't need to enter the village proper, but I require the services of a musician?"

"A musician?! What the hell for?!"

"I think this young lady communicates through music. I require a translator. Please go into the village and ask for a volunteer."

"If you think we're letting any of our citizens near that thing..."

"That is their decision to make, not yours." Tourniquet ground his teeth a bit, then spoke again. "Do as I ask, or I will see that you are all punished for the dereliction of the village's hospitality duties."

A few moments of near-silence passed. Tourniquet could hear the night watch conversing amongst themselves, but could not make out the words being said so high above him. Finally, the same voice as before pierced the evening air once again. "Okay, we'll ask around. Just...uh...just stay there, where we can see you, okay?"

Tourniquet sighed in annoyance, quietly, to himself, before responding. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen." He then turned back to the ephemeral woman still at his side, the look on his face conveying a wordless apology for the episode that had just passed.

******

It didn't take long for the nearest set of cage-and-vine elevators to begin to lower someone to the ground, though who it was couldn't be seen in the darkness of the evening, at least at first. It was only after the figure had reached the ground and walked into the yellow spotlight within which Tourniquet and his guest waited that the hellmount recognized the individual, if only by reputation.

Tourniquet had heard stories of the young lady made of marbles that sometimes stayed in the village. Though her black dress and black, wide-brimmed hat drank in light just as well as the evening's darkness about them, the parts of her colorful glass body that were exposed to the light from above seemed to shimmer and shine in it. She cradled a large drum of some sort in her arms.

Tourniquet nodded in greeting. "Orb, I presume."

Orb nodded a greeting in return. Her voice, a collection of clacking, rattling, and scraping noises, was difficult for Tourniquet to understand, but not impossible. "And you must be Tourniquet." The marble-woman turned to the incorporeal being. "And this is the creature with whom you cannot speak?"

”Yes. Thank you for providing your services. I was concerned that no one in the village would want to meet her.”

Orb spoke matter-of-factly. ”No one did, except for me. They are afraid. Some of them are above us, watching, waiting to see what happens next. Perhaps they will not be so afraid then.” She then began to change form. The marbles underneath her dress began to shift in their shape, and her two legs, thickened from marbles pulled from her torso, split themselves into four legs. The rear two legs moved to support the bulk of her weight, and the front two legs positioned themselves, still underneath her dress, to brace the drum that she had placed before her as she changed form. The drum was tilted slightly away from her, toward Tourniquet and the ethereal woman, and Orb's arms elongated themselves slightly to allow access to the whole of the drumhead.

Orb spoke again, motioning at the drum. ”This is a djembe. It can theoretically make up to twenty-five distinct sounds, though I must confess to have only mastered nine of them.”

Tourniquet nodded in satisfaction. ”That is nine more sounds than I previously had at my disposal.”

”Then, there is only one question left to answer at present, Tourniquet. What would you have me say to her first?”

Tourniquet smiled a bit, the answer coming easily. ”’Welcome’.”

Wordlessly, keeping her head facing her two-person audience but keeping her focus on the drum before her, Orb began to play a cheerful welcoming song.

[ddpej]

~.^ trailed along behind -> as he traveled, singing softly to herself as she usually did. Unlike most of her trips, however, she traveled in well-lit style. She did not usually put in enough effort for a traveling show, but she had decided to make an exception this time. Her companion's steps produced flashes and flickers of light that she was not accustomed to seeing. It had taken only a short distance illuminated in this fashion alone for her to switch from a simple song to a spotlight performance just to spare her eyes. The sparks were still present, of course, but at least the light muted their tips.

The choice did have its disadvantages, however. Performing required more from the singer than did a mere song, even if it was only a simple spotlight solo. With her concentration focused on the show rather than her surroundings, ~.^ did not even notice the landscaping she passed through along the way. Her first warning that others were about came in the form of sudden, unfamiliar illumination. Immediately the girl stopped singing, her own stagelamp turning off crisply as the sound cut out, and she turned curious eyes to the treetops as a voice rang out above.

As usual, the exchange of stilted pseudo-songs meant nothing much to her. She could hear stress in the staccato and strain in the volume, but these told her little without context. For lack of a better plan, she decided to take her cues from ->. As best as she could tell, the four-beat walker was alert but unafraid, participating in the noisemaking willingly. Accordingly, she stood her ground quietly and waited for his next move, occupying herself by singing almost silently to the moths flitting about around them. When -> finally grew tired of talking and turned back to face her again, the singer tilted her head to the side slightly and blinked at him in absolute obliviousness.

Some time later, a rustling of leaves and bending branches drew ~.^'s attention. Before she had even remotely begun to figure out what was going on, another earthwalker was emerging from the trees and headed toward them in a quiet clamor of clicks and clacks. By shape, the newcomer was a two-beat walker of the usual kind, for all that she carried a large object. Unlike most walkers, however, she was both surprisingly colorful underneath her clothes and surprisingly noisy in every movement. Even her voice was cluttered. There was no rhythm or reason to the many sounds that formed the woman's speech, for all that ~.^ listened; eventually, she wrinkled her nose and gave up trying.

As the first notes of the drum rang out into the night, they had an immediate effect. The floating girl, previously so unconcerned with her surroundings, snapped her head around to stare at the instrument. Though she spared a quick glance up at the player, as if to confirm that the woman was responsible for the music, ~.^ returned her wide-eyed gaze to the drum almost immediately, soaking in the unsung song. It was not song proper, not as she knew it, but unlike anything else she had heard in her adventures yet, it was at least understandable. It was music.

Swept up in an unexpectedly childish exhiliration, ~.^ rose to the tips of her toes and added three voices to the song. Wrapping around the drum's dancing skeleton like flesh and fur and feathers, the glorious outburst of giddy greetings filled the clearing with radiance. A warm, pleasant breeze tousled leaves and hair and clothes. The meager yellow glow of the village spotlight vanished in the blaze of beams that came to bear on singer and drummer. The song was a child's eager smile in aural form, an almost desperate hug to the heart's ear. Glints and glimmers of color sparkled and shone in midair all about, flickering fireflies in all the shades of the rainbow, the visible dancing delight of the young girl she was -- and then the effort of such a performance after the spotlights of the journey caught up to the sirensinger. She lost the song in a hiccup, the wind died, and the night came crashing back down around the ghostly little girl who was left staring almost forlornly at the drummer in front of her. Clearing her throat and hiccupping again, ~.^ reined her heart in to make another attempt at introductions, a simple little song that was sweet and soft and questioning.
[~~.^_/-->..~'?]

[Lanadyr]

The music woke Bottle up.

Bottle Court, at least at that moment, was reclined against a tree about a hundred meters from the perimeter of the village. Still being new to the Forest, it was her intention to spend the entire next day thoroughly exploring the village that she had finally managed to locate, the ‘finally’ owing to the fact that her new, exiled, corporeal form had quite possibly the worst innate sense of bearing of any creature in the Deep Forest. She basically spent hours, sometimes even days, at a time getting lost in the Forest, unable to communicate with the plant life around her to ask where the hell she was at any given point in time.

This new communication barrier between her and the plants about her was a dismal thing. The fact that it had been going on for so long that it was starting to feel normal only made it even more dismal.

Bottle, her bug-zapper eyes firing themselves to life in frustration, decided to figure out what exactly had awoken her. She stood up, stretched a bit, and approached the light in the distance from which the music was emanating.

******

Orb, for a few incredible moments, was playing a multifaceted duet with the ethereal woman. This mysterious “other” was capable of producing at least three voices, and this feat was stacked on top of additional visual and tactile effects. Orb felt that, even if this wasn’t communication, exactly, it was still a meeting of minds, which was a good first step.

And then, suddenly, the ethereal being stopped contributing to the duet. This caused Orb to stop playing almost immediately and refocus on the being, and the forlorn stare that the she received in return for that focus metaphorically broke her metaphorical heart. Whether or not the being stopped because she was exhausted or simply too excited to maintain the performance, it seemed clear that stopping was not her intention.

The being finished with a last bit of basic, unadorned singing.

[~~.^_/-->..~'?]

Orb nodded, if not quite in understanding, than at least in acceptance that this phrasing was meant to be understood.

Tourniquet interjected himself into the silence that followed. “I’ve heard part of that last bit of song before. When I first decided to lead her here, I placed an arrow onto the ground, and she reacted by…by ‘singing’ it. She can read lines like sheet music.”

Orb cocked her head a bit in contemplation. ”Perhaps that works both ways.” Orb returned herself to her default shape, setting the djembe to her side as she did so. She then knelt upon the ground and sketched out what the incorporeal woman had just “said” in a linear form, in the dirt, spacing the arrow separately, as it clearly meant something discrete.

~~.^_/

-->

..~’

“The ‘arrow’ noises must refer to the village, as that was to what the arrow itself referred.”

Orb shook her head. ”I don’t think so. By your own account, she sang it aloud for the first time before she even knew there was a village that required a name. The only thing around at the time that required a name was you. I think this ‘arrow’ portion of the song refers to you.”

Tourniquet grunted, not quite knowing how to interpret the fact that he was named ‘arrow’ in this creature’s mind. ”That must make the entire construction an introduction, something akin to ’I am something, this is Tourniquet, nice to meet you.’”

”Man, are you tone-deaf or something, Mr. Ed?” Bottle entered the scene at the edge of the spotlight. ”That last bit was lilted like a question. She was probably using that chunk of noise to ask what the witch’s name is.” She looked around a bit at the assembled individuals in the spotlight, at least familiar enough with the Deep Forest by now to not be surprised that a singing ghost, a horse out of a fevered nightmare, and a woman made of glass balls were all staring back at her. ”So, could you guys keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep out here.”

Tourniquet was taken by surprise by the plant-cyborg’s appearance, which only made him feel both foolish and angry. He had dropped his guard so thoroughly that the rattling, clanging hodgepodge with glowing eyes had managed to sneak up on him. He instinctively dropped into an aggressive, combat-ready posture at her first appearance, and only just managed to relax himself a slight bit after she finished speaking, though his own voice still carried distinct notes of rage at, seemingly, her very existence. ”Taking me by surprise has cost other dearly, stranger. I suggest not doing it again.”

Orb, wishing to keep the situation under control, was not nearly so standoffish. ”Our apologies for interrupting your repose, friend, though I must inform you that we will continue our investigations into the evening, if we must, to learn how to communicate with this young lady.” At that, she motioned toward the floating woman.

Bottle looked at the floating woman herself, then glanced between Tourniquet and Orb, then decided to address the calmer one of the two of them. ”Well, I suppose if I’m not getting back to sleep anytime soon, I might as well help you guys out. Not sure how, but…well, you never know. Name’s Bottle, by the way.”

Orb nodded in acknowledgement. ”I am Orb, the equine’s name is Tourniquet, and, as you have no doubt gathered, we don’t know what the third member of our party’s name is.”

Bottle walked next to Orb and looked at the symbols on the ground. She pointed to the ~~.^_/ construction. ”It’s this first thing right here, right? I overheard that much of your speculation as I approached, at least.”

Tourniquet, by now calmed down a bit, straightened himself and acted more civilly. ”At least part of it. One would think that some of the noises would indicate a possessive tense or some other way of saying ‘I am’ or ‘we are’.”

Bottle knelt down to look more closely at the lines in the ground. ”So…” Bottle, underneath the ~~.^_/ construction, using the metal tines of her hands, wrote in the dirt and separated the first ~ from the rest of the ~.^_/ construction, then immediately erased the last _/ bit and wrote it further away. She finished by erasing the original ~~.^_/ notation to avoid confusion. ”That last thing is probably an ‘and’ or something, too, like ‘me and Tourniquet’.”

~

~.^

_/

-->

..~’

Orb motioned toward the lines creating the ~.^ shape. ”It is based on a great many assumptions about her language’s grammar, but this might be her name.” She then moved her hand toward the final set of lines. “And if we further assume that the last mass of sounds represents a request for a name, then this,” she drew the last ~ construction separately, ”may well mean ‘name’ by itself, especially because it also appears in a modified form directly before the ~.^ phrasing.”

~

Tourniquet smiled a bit. ”Clever, but having a way to say ‘name’ in her language does not address her request. Orb, what would you like your name to be in her mind?”

Orb wasted no time in making a single dot in the dirt. ”Although she could likely make a circle, to represent an ‘orb’, with two voices, one inflecting upward then downward and the other inflecting downward then upward, both smoothly and simultaneously, we cannot replicate this ourselves. So I will simply make myself ‘point’ in her eyes.”

~.

Orb looked up at the ephemeral woman. ”I am ready to attempt communication.”

Bottle, still kneeling next to the glass-woman, turned directly to her new acquaintance with confusion obvious across her cocked eyebrows. ”Uh…no offense, but if this is supposed to be some type of pitch-based musical notation, I’m not sure that weird voice of yours or your drum are the right tools for the job.”

Tourniquet nodded. ”Unfortunately, she’s right. And I have no musical talents to speak of. Bottle, by any chance, can you sing?” The hellmount suddenly reconsidered the plant-thing’s head. ”Wait…you have no mouth. How are you even speaking?”

Bottle shrugged. ”Magic. Fey magic, to be precise. I think words, and they come out of my face, no laws of physics required.”

Orb considered Bottle more closely. ”This would seem to indicate that your voice is completely unhindered by the realities of actually making noise. That might make you an ideal singer, at least in theory.”

Bottle’s eyebrows arched themselves outward in contemplation. ”I…don’t know? I mean, I’ve never tried it…” She then looked at the ephemeral woman, cut off from the language-using life around her in the same way that Bottle herself was cut off from the plant life around her, and felt no small amount of sympathy, which immediately hardened into a desire to reach her. She sighed. ”I suppose now’s as good a time as any to find out.”

Bottle and Orb stood simultaneously. Orb remained still while Bottle quickly committed the lines on the ground to memory. The fey chose a pleasant and comfortable, but ultimately arbitrary, pitch, envisioned how to vary that pitch as indicated by the lines now firmly in her mind, and faced the floating woman. She took a deep breath, a breath as reality-bending as her voice, pointed at the floating woman, and sang, ”~~.^”. She then pointed at Orb and sang, ”~.”.

Okay, mystery woman, Bottle thought to herself, me Tarzan, you Jane. Now what?

[ddpej]

When ~.^ finished her soft introduction, she watched with hopeful eyes as -> and the drummer conferred. Surely, if the clickety earthwalker was able to give greetings in music, she could understand a simple song returned? True, she had not sung the greeting, but the singer had still been able to glean its meaning. To her confusion, however, the woman proceeded to translate the music into messageform -- and not even completely, but in pieces. What were they trying to do?

Messageform had its uses, but it was nevertheless a limited form of communication. A message could only convey tones, be they the simplest melody or a multipart harmony. It was the basest form of a song, all pitch and precision and no nuance. Theoretically you could converse through it, but even the simplest single-voice song had more meaning in the singing than most multipart messages. Though the voiceless had to use it on a more day-to-day basis, particularly if they could not master an instrument, messageform was otherwise used primarily for notes, signatures, and politics. Her song had been none of those.

It had contained her melID, on the other hand, as well as the melID she had assigned to her travelling companion for lack of a better idea. If, as it seemed, they could not understand her singing, perhaps they had at least recognized that it was an introduction? Before she had puzzled out the best approach to this theory, however, yet another earthwalker made its way into the clearing. It -- she? -- was louder than the drummer, and whether for that or for something ~.^ could not know, -> did not appear happy to see the noisy newcomer at all. He bristled angrily at her with knives in his voice, though he made no move to attack; all the same, the lash of rage made ~.^ shrink away in obvious trepidation. Angry tones, at least, she was familiar with, and they led to shouting and noise and being chased away into the night. She did not wish to be chased away now, not when she was so close!

As the two women discussed matters, though, whatever had thrown a sour note into ->'s chord passed. He rejoined the conversation almost pleasantly, if still a bit stiff, and ~.^ relaxed enough to turn her gaze away from him down to the mess they'd made of her message. And oh, how they had mauled it! The simple melody she'd sung had been broken into five pieces with no regard for measures or rhythm. They had managed to pull out her melID, whether by accident or intention, and they'd almost segregated ->'s as well, but she had no idea what they were ultimately trying to accomplish by tearing the song apart. How could they possibly hope to find meaning in such fragments?

~.^ was still trying to wrap her head around the deconstruction of her song when both twobeat walkers rose and turned to face her. The newest one, noisy and more awkward in her movements, proceeded to point directly at the sirenchild while singing a fragment that ended with her melID. She then turned her finger toward the other woman and sang a shorter piece before turning back to look at the floating girl somewhat expectantly. ~.^ blinked at her. Was that supposed to mean something?

The best she could come up with was that they were trying to say the drummer was similar to her somehow. Admittedly, the two of them shared more in common than the other two when it came to appearance, but what did that have to do with anything? She was also not very happy about having her melID hijacked so. Copying someone's song was one thing, but copying their name -- and chopping off the end of it, no less -- was quite another. Staring back at the green singer, ~.^ looked over at the drummer, looked back, and scowled.

Feeling as if she ought try to clarify, and quite sure at this point that none of these creatures could understand a proper song, ~.^ reached into her robe and drew out her baton. Carefully, eyeing her companions warily and prepared to wisk the tool away immediately if anyone reached for it, the girl drifted to where they had been drawing in the dirt. When she reached the last piece, ~.,she crouched down and used the thin wooden stick to draw in the dirt below her floating feet, completing the fragment.
~.^
The girl almost immediately tapped her own chest with the baton, telling them all as she might tell any other voiceless that this was her signature, her song, her melID. Then, standing back up, she pointed at the quietly clinking drummer and shook her head with a scowl. Her identity was not up for audition!

[Lanadyr]

Orb looked in the direction of the floating woman, her head tilted in quiet contemplation at the being’s last action and the scowl that accompanied that action. Tourniquet, meanwhile, looked between the two of them, trying to decide upon the three corporeal beings’ next course of action based on the decidedly cold reaction that their last course received.

It was Bottle, looking between the old ~.^ marking on the ground and the newly completed ~.^ marking, who was the first to speak as she nodded in a manner that was creeping upon an emotion of satisfaction. ”It sure looks like we’ve got her name, at least.”

Orb continued to look at the ethereal being, but addressed the woman next to her. ”Perhaps, but she appears to be protective of that name. We may want to be more careful when using it.”

Bottle shrugged. ”That doesn’t surprise me. In the fey courts where I’m from, at least, truenames can be touchy subjects. But at least we have something we can hang our hat on, right?”

Tourniquet, clearly still considering the situation, allowed the distracted words to fall away from him before his thoughts were fully formed. ”I’m not sure that we do.”

Both Orb and Bottle looked at the hellmount expectantly. When no further explanation was forthcoming, Bottle spoke with confused, crooked eyebrows gracing her face. ”Do you want us to guess what you’re getting at, or what?”

Tourniquet shook his head a bit. “My apologies.” He then looked directly at the intangible woman. “I was thinking about when she and I first met. She was able to…elicit emotions from me.”

Orb slowly nodded at the observation. ”Yes, that is one of the functions of art in general.”

“No, you do not understand. I’m…beginning to think that…that the emotion…was what was important. That the emotion was the goal.” Tourniquet looked at Orb and Bottle once again. “We’ve been going about this as if she communicates through music as though it were a language, trying to pull apart that language for something we could use. What if she communicates through emotions, and music just happens to be the means by which those emotions are conveyed?” He turned once again to the floating woman. “What if that’s the language we need to use?”

Orb thought silently a moment, then began to think out loud for the benefit of her companions. ”When I played my welcoming song on the drum, she seemed happy to hear it, though perhaps disappointed that it was only a rhythm with no melody. When we tried to parse out a simple bit of communication note-for-note, she seemed irritated by the attempt.” Orb slowly nodded once again. ”I think you may be right.”

Bottle looked back at the ephemeral woman. ”So, we’ve got to play some music for her. Something that conveys emotion. But the only one of us with the musical skill to convey emotion can only produce percussive noises, which our new friend here doesn’t seem to care for all that much.” The plant woman shook her head ruefully and sighed. ”If only there was some way of giving you my voice, Orb. Then you might be able to use it to sing something that she would…”

Orb suddenly turned to Bottle. ”That is an excellent idea. May I have your voice?”

Bottle looked askance at Orb. ”Uh…I…That is…Huh? I mean, my voice isn’t exactly a box that I can rip out of my head so you can play it like a harmonica.”

Orb shook her head in the negative. ”You do not understand. I have an affinity for magical objects. I can use them without much effort.” One of Orb’s hands extended outward a bit, almost touching one of Bottle’s metal hands. ”May I?”

Bottle cocked an eyebrow, and her voice conveyed a smirking lack of balance. ”Are you out of your ever-lovin’ gourd, you weirdo?” She pointed a finger into Orb’s face. ”I’m not a magical object, okay? I’m a fey, and…” Bottle suddenly focused her attention on the metal times that made up her hand. She then wordlessly reached to her side and pulled one of the garden hoses that made up her hair to the forefront of her head. She continued to look at it as she spoke again. ”Okay, parts of me are objects. Is that something you can work with?”

Orb remained still. ”I do not know. Do you trust me enough to allow me to try?”

Bottle sighed, threw the hose to the side of her head once again, then grabbed Orb’s hand with her own. ”Make it fast, before I change my mind.”

Orb adjusted her grip, entwining her fingers with the other woman’s metal tines. She focused on the connection for several moments, then spoke. ”I am…having…a difficult time…establishing…a connection…”

Bottle tilted her head a bit in half-amusement, half-disbelief ”Well, gee whiz, I’m so sorry for not being more susceptible to being mind-controlled.”

Orb slowly shook her head. ”Perhaps…perhaps there’s another…way…”

Bottle could feel what was happening as soon as Orb initiated “Plan B”. Her head began to swim with information, a jumble of random facts that quickly built itself up in her mind into a comprehensible knowledge base, like a brick wall crumbling in reverse. Chords, tempo, pitch, tenor, tone, rhythm…

Bottle, paying all of her attention to the incoming information, even reveling in it, fell backwards and hit the ground with a dull thud.

Tourniquet, who had been watching Orb and Bottle’s interactions in silence, felt compelled to speak upon seeing this, his slightly agitated words directed at Orb. ”What in the Nine Hundred Hells did you do to her?”

Orb was about to respond, but Bottle beat her to the punch. ”Music.” The plant-woman began to struggle to her feet. ”She taught me how to sing. And more than just how to use my voice. She taught me how to convey emotions through my voice.”

Tourniquet narrowed his eyes a bit. ”How?”

It was Orb who then spoke. ”I could only establish enough of a link with Bottle to transfer information. So I gave her everything she needs to communicate with our new friend on her own.”

Bottle finished standing. Because of the odd, foreign substance-repelling properties of her body, she didn’t need to brush herself off. She didn’t bother to ask what the other two wanted to say to the woman that still floated before them. Now that she suddenly had a voice that the mystery woman might just recognize as a voice, she felt compelled to use it as quickly as possible to reward this being for her indulgence at the three creatures before her.

[gratefulapologeticnervoushappyhopefulcurious?]

[ddpej]

~.^'s clarification, primitive as it was, resulted in a continued spattering of speechsounds. She had no idea what information they were conveying to each other, just as she had no idea how their strange sounds could convey much of anything at all. Clearly they were managing, though; there was no lack of confidence in their tones or confusion in their rhythm. She had been able to at least follow the flow of conversation previously, watching them turn to look at who they were talking to, but no such luck this time. Though they were clearly talking to each other, given that they knew she couldn't understand and they were replying to one another without pause, still they all looked at her -- and little else. Somewhat uncomfortable being the focus of all three creatures' eyes while they talked amongst themselves, she quickly put her baton away and drifted back away from them a bit, her own eyes wary.

When the stares broke, it came in the form of equally incomprehensible action. ~.^ watched in absolute bewilderment as the twobeat walkers confronted one another, then grabbed hands. Just a few measures later, one of them toppled over backwards as if her soulsong had ended. ->'s voice echoed ~.^'s astonishment, though to the singer's relief the clanky figure soon made it clear that her soul was still singing. Once she was back upright, in fact, she looked directly at the sirenchild again and began singing in truth.

~.^ very nearly jumped out of her own intangible skin.

She heard every note, though, startlement be damned, and if her eyes were wide and bright she nevertheless held herself still, listening. It was a song, and understandable, though the understanding took some effort. Most conversations were not so rushed, and there were all sorts of corners and holes and muddled simplifying of the concepts that amounted to one very atrocious accent -- not to mention the lack of strength behind it. Still, the earthwalker had made the first step that ~.^ could not. Eyeing the other thoughtfully, the hovering girl tilted her head and worked through the jumbled pile of ideas thrown her way.

She mulled them over, considering how difficult it had been to even get this far. She reflected on the highly simplistic understanding this being seemed to have, and how to respond without overwhelming her in kind. She lingered for a moment on the weakness of the signal. She pondered all she had observed of the three before her, and which moments had bought the least confusion. She estimated the strength and reserves left to her. She breathed, and finally -- she sang.

Her song was upbeat and cheerful, warm and lively but without hurry. The melody curled around listening ears like the hug of a friend, quick and forgiving and reassuring. She lingered on the tune, that they might have time to feel the song, before seamlessly transitioning to an invitingly lilted query of a coda, the final notes fading away in the night, an open-ended question. Who? Why?

It was a simple song, mostly single-voice, with no glitz or glamour or show. She wanted to talk, not enthrall, and she didn't have that kind of energy anyway. She only sang, sweet and clear and compelling, and hoped she'd simplified things enough for her audience.

[Lanadyr]

As soon as Bottle finished singing her first song, Orb made a slight motion to turn to the plant-woman to offer some constructive criticisms regarding her musical form, but she stopped herself as soon as ~.^ (assuming that was her name, which seemed more likely the more the marble-woman thought about it) took up her own tune in response.

When the incorporeal woman finished, Orb and Bottle looked at one another in at least partial understanding, but it was the tin-eared hellmount who first spoke. ”I…think I caught some of that, especially the…warmth…that seemed to emanate off of her, but, just to be clear, what exactly did the two of you say to one another?”

Bottle turned to Tourniquet. Her expressive eyebrows were marked by their current inexpressiveness. ”Uh, there’s nothing ‘exact’ about this type of communication, Tourniquet. I mean, I tried to convey something like ‘Thank you very much for your patience, sorry this is taking so long, we don’t know who or what you are, exactly, but it’s nice to meet you, and if you can understand this at all, maybe you can tell us a little about yourself?’ Then she responded with something like ‘I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I would like to reciprocate your kindness and friendliness, but who the hell are the three of you and…why?’”

Tourniquet narrowed his eyes a bit. ”Why what?”

”I’m not sure she has a particular question in mind. She’s most likely just curious, about us, and about the Forest.” Orb took a few step away from the others and retrieved her drum as she continued. ”With all due respect, Bottle, I think your performance would be less hurried if I provide a beat for you.”

Bottle turned to Orb with a slightly bemused, but also contrite, expression apparent in her cocked eyebrows. ”I was hurried? I guess…I was…nervous. I mean, it’s not every day I do something like this.” She shook her head. ”Yeah, a beat sounds like a good thing to have. Just follow my lead when the time comes…which, actually, should be pretty soon. I don’t want to keep our new friend waiting and all…” She suddenly turned to Tourniquet. ”Okay, quick, I need your elevator speech.”

Tourniquet ground his teeth a bit in mild frustration. ”Obviously, Bottle, I don’t have your cultural references. I don’t know what an ‘elevator speech’ is.”

”Oh, right, sorry. I need a quick rundown of your life story so I can tell ~.^ more about you.” It was only after she said it that she realized that the floating woman’s name came easily and naturally to her as she spoke, thanks to her new musical skill set.

If Tourniquet was confused by the sudden insertion of melodic notes into the fey creature’s sentence, he didn’t show it. ”I am an infernal warhorse from a collection of wicked, chaotic dimensions called the Maw, bred solely to combat the forces of light and justice. Despite my nature and upbringing, when I was first truly exposed to good, I wanted to be good, and to learn more about the concept of good, so I left, and I eventually found my way to the Deep Forest.”

Bottle raised her eyebrows. ”Well, that’s…uh…that’s kind of…creepy. I mean, you’re…like…bad? Like, really, REALLY bad? As in, ‘genetically and culturally predisposed to doing terrible things to others’ bad?” Bottle shook her head. ”Wait, you know what? I’m sorry. If I can accept a floating, intangible woman who might well be a soul-eating ghost as a potential friend, I should be able to extend that same courtesy to the horse-monster who’s trying to be a better man. Well, not a…man…exactly…eh, whatever.” She then turned to Orb. ”Okay, so what’s your story, cat’s-eye?”

By this time, Orb had re-arranged her form as she did when she played the djembe the first time, with four legs and a distorted torso. ”I was created by a sociopathic witch and disposed of when it became apparent that I wanted other things for my life besides assisting her in conquering the world. After I wandered in the surrounding wastelands for a couple of months, I found this place.”

Battle’s eyebrows arched outward, and her voice raised itself in pitch a bit due to an emotional reflex. ”Awww! That’s really sad!”

Tourniquet regarded the plant-woman with renewed curiosity. ”And how did you find yourself here, Bottle?”

Bottle scratched the top of her head nervously. ”Oh, I…uh…I saved a child’s life, but I didn’t do the fey equivalent of fill out the correct paperwork beforehand, so I got stuck in a body that doesn’t let me use any of my native plant-based powers and dropped here.”

Orb tilted her head a bit to the side. ”And you consider my story to be tragic?”

Bottle shrugged. ”Well, oddly enough, I think mine gets funnier every time I think about it. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that, all things considered, I find that I feel...well, I guess I feel more at home here than I did there.”

Tourniquet slowly nodded. ”I share the sentiment.”

Orb looked down at her drum. ”And I as well.”

Bottle looked between her two corporeal companions, her voice low, her thoughts suddenly somber and arranged. ”Okay, I think I’m ready to tell her who we are and why we’re here.”

The plant-woman began, and Orb immediately added her rhythm to Bottle’s melody, keeping her paced and focused. The fey’s song came with and elaborated upon hand gestures that she made for ~.^’s sake. Following the intangible woman’s lead, Bottle slowed herself down and elaborated upon the concepts in her song as best as she was able.

She started the song simply, by gesturing to the Forest around them. [sanctuary-beautiful-vast-eclectic-wondrous-protected-home-happy]

The fey then motioned to Tourniquet. [evil-revelation-penitent-good-escape-wandering-home-happy]

Bottle moved her hand from Tourniquet’s direction to Orb’s. [mother-creation-servant-resistance-discard-lost-home-happy]

She finally moved her hands to indicate herself. [benevolent-intemperate-consequence-punished-incarnated-exiled-home-happy]

[ddpej]

A brief lull followed by intent, meaningless discussion amongst her companions seemed to be the standard response to anything ~.^ sang. Though there seemed to be some level of understanding between them all now, it was hardly a full conversation. Even the noisemaker who had managed to breach the communicaion barrier had no force behind her accented song. The singer supposed it might just be a matter of practice, but after all the speechsounds she'd heard tonight, she was inclined to think otherwise. The earthwalkers could fluctuate volume readily, and rhythm and pitch according to their ability, but depth and power were nowhere to be found in their vocalizations even when their appearance and actions screamed anger. They appeared able to feel, certainly, but the ability to fully share the saga with others seemed lacking.

The other possibilty, of course, was that they were instead extremely accomplished at hiding themselves. They could be skilled ambassadors, even. Politicians were known for their ability to share only what they wished to be felt, cleaving the undesirable truths from the advantageous ones and binding the former unheard. It was rumored to be a difficult path littered with bitter hearts and broken soulsongs, and understandably so. To lock half a chord in your heart and rip the rest away was not good for a song, and even harder on the singer. Politics relied heavily on messageform for precisely that reason; written, a torn and tattered fragment might seem whole by the time it reached its destination.

She wondered what it must be like to sing with half a heart, and shivered. She didn't want to find out. How awful it must be to be disconnected from the world's song! One way or another, intentional or not, she could not help but feel that these three -- possibly everyone in this land, as horrifying as the idea was -- lived exactly so. How else could they live, if they could only describe and never actually share?

A renewed effort from the loud and lipless earthwalker brought the floating sirenschild out of what might be and back to what definitely was. Underneath the song, the other colorful walker kept time with a steady backbone beat. Doing her best to follow the curious movements of the singer's tined hands, ~.^ let the song brush through her and searched for meaning in the pattering notes.

It was a four-piece collection, ultimately, with each piece shifting focus as indicated by the hand motions and all four pieces tying into each other with the same satisfied refrain. Deducing that this must be an introduction of sorts, albeit a rather vague one, ~.^ blinked and shrugged. She'd tried this once already with -> and the drummer, but perhaps the newly discovered translator would have better luck? Gesturing to herself, she once again sang a short segment depicting her lonely travel through the swamps and subsequent trailing after ->, her song as usual carrying its light touch of emotional oomph to the hearts' ears of those listening. She even ended the song with a pitch-perfect mimic of the [so here we are] chorus the other singer had used to frame her introductions, thereby tying her piece into the collection. Then, after a few beats of silence, the ghostly girl once again pointed to herself and sang her melID, sketching it in the air with her other hand.

She followed this immediately with a gesture in ->'s direction, singing the fragment she had taken to be his melID when he marked it on the ground back in the swamps and again sketching the messageform melID in midair. Then, continuing her pivot to point at the two females, ~.^ stopped and sang a soft questioning lilt, her eyes curious and her writing hand poised expectantly.