Magical Truthsaying Bastard Shadesong (shadesong) wrote,
Magical Truthsaying Bastard Shadesong

Blogathon: Cicatrix


"And the music?"

"You said you smelled me when you first met me."

A small laugh escaped you, because you know it sounds absurd.

"What scent was in your world... music was in mine. Not just an extra sense, but a extra language... not even just based on music hat was deliberately sung or played, but on movement. We didn't dance to music-"

"Your dancing created the music," you realize. Your fingers skate down the outer edge of a wing.

"Every motion. Every dance. And here - it's quiet or cacophony."

"The charms in your hair."

"So I hear music when I move. Yes."

"And your dancing."

"In the club, the music is loud enough that I can forget it isn't the same. I can trick myself for a little while."

"I saw you stumble - the first night I saw you. When the music stopped."

"It took a second to adjust, yeah."

You trace the notes across his back. "What is it? What's the tune?"

"Heh. It - it's my name."

You step to the side to you can look at him. "All of that?"

"Every name is a song."

You study it again. "But two wings, slanting in different directions, and different notes. How - how do you sing this? How do you know where to start?"

His voice is softer than it's ever been. "It's a duet."


"Every name is a song; every name-song is a duet." He is not meeting your eyes. "No one really knows everything about themself, you know. No one can see everything. There are parts of you that can only be seen in reflection. There are parts of you someone must sing to you."

"Were you pair-bonded there? Is that how?"


"What happened?"

"He died." Aaron's fists are tight on the chair in front of him. You don't know what to do. You have no idea what to do. You want to hold him, wrap your arms around him from behind, but you don't think he wants that, not now. You want to ask how his friend, his partner, his brother, whoever - how he died, if that's what Aaron can't remember - but you don't want to push, don't want to hurt him.

You don't know what to do.

So you sing.

You find the highest point of his right wing; you find the note, you sing. you trace the notes down his back, and elegant sweep of them, as you wordlessly sing him half of his name. He gasps almost inaudibly as he hears, as he realizes what you are singing, and he joins in, his voice deepening the song and filling it out; his name, his song, envelopes the two of you as you sing together, your hands on his back, his head lowered, tears shimmering unshed in his eyes. You sing his name with him, a name he has not heard for half his life.

"The Secret Chord" pendant by wytchchyld - copper enameled with gold -- the color may chip but can be touched up with nail polish, glass marble bead. Also, shiny and the bead will move a bit if you want it to, but it won't go far without bending the wire.

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

--Leonard Cohen, "Hallelujah", which I am assuming this pendant was named for, and if not, oh well.

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Team Venture shoutout to jennaria, blogathonning down the block!

Tags: blogathon.2010, cicatrix
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