As the center of the Chrysanthemum Freehold, Six Flags was an important location to the Lost of Chicago. It was a source of safety and security -- even if that notion had been tested and shaken severely after the events of the last few months -- and was their place of power. It was where Court was held and where the Queen currently held sway. It was a place of refuge and a place of power, and none but the Gentry and their pawns would dare to intrude upon this safe place of the Lost without fear of reprisal.
Except apparently, tonight...
Tonight a melody drifts among the booths and attractions in the otherwise abandoned theme park, a haunting tune formed of discordant notes played at a slow, trembling rhythm upon a violin. It swirls through the night air, its pacing despondent and eerie, yet strangely alluring as it seems to almost bid any who hear it to seek out the source.
He's walkin' and looking relaxed; Monroe is a man out in the evening air, idly tossing a tennis ball, whistling quietly, and making a slow, careful circuit of his path. Every turn is made with a wide margin, as to avoid an easy ambush; every alleyway is given even wider berth, as to stall out a rushing advance. Careful, he's a mindful man, and his eyes aren't missing much. Walking, bouncing the tennis ball, and whistling.. because sooner or later, something changes. Always does.
Elias had decided to stop my the park tonight, something he did once in a while just to exchange news and information with the rest of the freehold that might be lurking around without involving the other two spokes of the accord in things. Stepping out of the haunted house, he casts a look across the abandoned park, giving an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders. "Fucking creepy." He mutters to himself, more to break the silence than to hear his own voice.
He lets his feet start carrying him towards the entrance and the trek home, moving at a brisk pace, at least until that tune catches his attention. He knows enough musicians among the members of the freehold that at first it's just a passing curiosity and he's almost ready to shrug it off. But that passing curiosity turns into something more niggling, and his feet begin to move in another direction.
Rachel steps out from behind a door reading 'STAFF ONLY,' closing the flap on her messenger-style bag, with it's assortment of pins and badges. She's departing some Freehold business, one of the dozens of routine rituals, ceremonies, bargains that if upheld help ground a Freehold and lend it protection. More important during summer for her court to play it's rule in such things. She's dressed denim shorts and a peasant blouse, sneakers on her feet.
As she stands there, she listens to the strange melody she can hear across the park. The Freehold has plenty of buskers, so music shouldn't really be unexpected. Still, curious, she turns down the lane towards it, trying to find it's source.
Settling into the theme park after hours is a weird thing all of its own if one isn't accustomed to it. The stillness is a welcome thing for Lyra as the night stretches onward as the rabbit-eared Lost meanders her way toward those more familiar areas where the Freehold tends to gather. But that quiet is broken by a violin's first few discordant notes as she doesn't quite make it to the haunted house. Her long ears twitch and turn as she comes to a pause to listen, straining to catch what direction it is coming from as that music tugs at her. Her lips quirk into a slight frown as she remains caught between continuing on her set path or investigating that melody. "Don't stay still," she mutters to herself as her fingers squeeze around the handle of her ever-present, but closed umbrella. Finally, with her mind made up, Lyra turns and starts to follow the sound of it, her steps quick and light as her shadow passes over the closed-down rides and booths.
Whether by chance, by design, or by effort of Wyrd-tainted will, each of Six Flag's nightly visitors find themselves drawing closer and closer to the haunting melody's source as it cants about corners and lingers in the air like a physical thing, a tangible trail to follow and trace. With every step the rhythm grows faster and faster, the odd and discordant notes twisting and turning over each other in a bizarre, yet still strangely pleasing tide of musical skill. Closer and closer, it leads them ever onward towards the section of the park themed after Mardi Gras, the pace growing driving and frantic as the melody bleeds into urgent fiddling that never seems to get much louder or softer no matter how far the listeners travel.
When finally they arrive, the source of the haunting and increasingly frantic melody is revealed to be a man -- a Lost -- who stands upon the roof of an empty and locked up Johnny Rockets, backlit by a large floodlight. He is undoubtedly an Elemental, as his skin appears to be flexible and shifting glass etched with swirling patterns and dancing musical notes, trapping within it a swirling vortex of whistling wind. His hair dances in the breeze, though it ignores the way it blows and instead seems to follow the beat of his music. In his hands is an old and delicate looking violin, woven from moonbeams with strings of crystalline thread. He himself seems almost unaware of the arrival of the other Lost, as his eyes are closed and he continues to play that increasingly quick melody as it rapidly approaches a fever pitch -- a storm of warring notes and symphonies as wild and tempestuous as the winds trapped beneath his flesh.
Holding the ball, Monroe looks to the stranger and angles his head, furrowing his narrow eyebrows. Without saying a word, he carefully touches the folding multi-tool in his pocket, an idle gesture, more for reassurance than anything else, and continues to listen. He seems intrigued and has no issue with showing it, albeit it with some difficulty - the smile faintly touching his lips is borrowed from a neighbor; the cast of his eyes, the kind woman who lives downstairs; his head's angle, a skateboarder he passed earlier in the day. Nothing of him is original, it seems, save to strangers' eyes.
Elias shrugs, resettling his backpack as he steps into the open and sees the man with the fiddle. As always, seeing someone with an instrument when he lacks his own makes him feel like he's just walked into class without his pants on. The feathers of his Mien rise up at the rapid sounds, and at the sight of the fiddler, an unease passing through him as he locks his gaze on the man.
There are pauses in Lyra's search as she stops here and there to cant her head, ensuring she's on the right track as those ears still twitch before she's on the move again. That rising rhythm is a goad for the Rabbit-eared Lost, a question that needs to be answered even if apprehension wars deep inside her breast, teasing out that to her *caution, careful of what could be ahead* in the back of her mind. Lyra pushes against it and keeps moving, following that musical trail.
And as with many searches, she is not wholly surprised when she stumbles into the path of others when finally, her questing feet bring her to the creator of that musical trail. Naturally, the musician gets the full brunt of her curiosity, those amber eyes lingering thereupon that spotlit form before she glances toward Monroe and then Elias, giving a tilt of her chin in silent greeting as her smile becomes sunny despite the odd nature of this gathering. And then back to that stranger her attention goes, her expression retaining a friendly cast now blended with a healthy dose of curiosity.
As Rachel enters the space front of the Johnny Rockets, she notices the others quickly. Situational awareness is a skill she's put some practice into, after all. Friendly and familiar faces all, and the beautiful melody is ringing pure and true, with no warning, no edge of battle, no song of Ares to alert her of danger. Not yet. She turns her attention up towards the singer, and then her face breaks into a smile. He's familiar too.
She folds her arms together, stepping slowly towards the others, as she watches the Changeling on the roof play. Enjoying the music, but also waiting, one might see. Waiting for him to be finished, as if longing to call out to him, but not to interrupt.
The music reaches a crescendo, a climax of sound and rioting notes, each fighting for supremacy in a tangle of half notes and eighths, until finally silence as the last note is delivered into the night with a flourishing draw of the Lost's bow across those crystalline strings. Arms swung out wide, he turns to the four assembled below at the base of his chosen stage, straightens, then dips into a deep bow that puts his head nearly level with his knees. "Dearest friends," he announces as he rises back up, his voice melodic as it drifts lazily on the wind to each waiting ear, "I have returned."
He bows again with a fanciful flourish, clearly expecting some sort of thunderous applause from the four gathered below. Whether he receives it or not doesn't affect him in the slightest as he once more straightens and flashes a winsome smile to the four below. "A moment please, and I shall join you," he calls down, turning on his heel to walk back and out of sight beyond the edge of the roof. Within seconds -- just a tad faster than it should have properly taken -- he emerges around the edge of the building and begins walking towards the group at a leisurely canter, his violin and bow no longer in his gloved hands.
He is dressed eccentrically to say the least. He wears something like a tailed tux in harlequin, a motley of colors warring with each other across his torso, shoulders, and back. Opera gloves adorn his hands, and literal blue suede shoes clad his feet as he wanders in a winding, hopping path, his hands folded behind his back. "It is so good to see you all again," he calls to them as he approaches, smiling fondly at each in turn, "Dear Max, and little Johnny. Is that Sue I see?" Then he spots Rachel and his smile flashes even wider, "And if I'm not mistaken... Rachel? Ah, I'm so glad you all survived."
"The fuck," is Monroe's concise, on-point assessment, clearly looking like five to six confused people at the same time. Before he can realign his features, he shakes his head, more or less clearing the screen, in essence, and raises a hand, as if to wave to the newcomer. "That's .. not my name," he says, then gestures to Rachel, Lyra and Elias. "Dunno about theirs, though." He furrows his brows again. "Who are you?" His question is pointed, as is his focus on the new person.
Well it would be rude not to applaud, at least a little. It really was quite the impressive performance. So Elias puts his hands together a few times at the man's bow, but his thumbs are hooked into the pockets of his shorts by the time the fiddler reaches the ground. "Nor mine. But I've definitely been called worse." Since the only one he gets right is Rachel, as far as he knows, Elias turns his head to look towards the Summer, one brow arching curiously. "Mind introducing us?" He asks as politely as he can manage through the slight confusion.
For her part, Rachel applauds the performance of the Elemental with vigor. As he makes his descent, she says aside to her companions, "Just wait," with a warm tone. Her smile is brilliant, right up until he identifies everyone incorrectly. Everyone but her, at least. Her lips remain curved, some of the warmth remains, but now it is overlaid by concern. Concern she is trying to hide, even as tension comes into her brow, into her eyes. She takes a half step forward, "Yes, Barnabas, it's me. Rachel." She glances at the others, and then back to the Elemental, "I'm glad to see you too. Nobody's seen you since the Zoo." Another half-glance back at the others, hoping this provides them some context, before her attention returns to Barnabas. "We've been worried about you. Where've you been all this time?"
That silence and curiosity remain well seated within Lyra as she listens and watches the source of this music. She glances toward the other gathered Lost, but her focus remains on that stranger as he plays. When the music dies, and he bows, Lyra can't help but fall into polite applause, the action seemingly rote as it comes muted and around the handle of that closed umbrella, she clings to.
There's a shake of her head when she's given the wrong name, flicking a glance toward Monroe as he speaks up again. "That isn't my name, either," she confirms as she looks back toward the odd musician as that umbrella comes down from its perch at her shoulder, the tip of it pressing lightly to the ground as she shifts it into more of a walking stick or cane position now. "I'm Lyra. It's a pleasure to meet you." That Rachel had been correctly named is something that Lyra takes note of, a glance slanted toward the Summer Lost and then back to the stranger right as Rachel says his name. That additional information gets a soft 'ah,' but she doesn't interrupt that conversation for now.
With a sidelong glance to what is now apparently Barnabas, Monroe replies to Elias' inquiry, as well as to Lyra's introduction. "I'm Monroe," he says, his tone flat and without affect, a symptom of his condition - forever in flux, nothing of his anatomy is native for very long, and in the doldrums, the neutral space is all he has to own, albeit briefly. Exhaling, he nods to Rachel, gesturing at her and what seems to be a long-time associate. "Can someone clarify what this means, exactly?" He gives a slight angle of his head; a unique gesture, not destined for a long existence. It's already turning into the cast of what he displayed earlier - the skater's own. "Not to put too fine of a point on it, it's that this.. feels like a dramatic entrance, and those tend to draw the exact wrong kinds of attention from the Fancy." Perhaps a colloquial term for something related to the Gentry.
Understanding dawns on Elias' face as Rachel brings up the zoo. "The old freehold?" He asks softly, knowing its a sensitive topic for some of those about. He gives a slow nod to Barnabas. "I'm Elias." He offers, hoping it stick and he doesn't end up little Johnny forever. There's a sudden awkwardness in his posture, that sort of feeling of intruding where he might not completely belong because of a shared history he himself was not privy to.
The man leans in deeply, his cheery vibrancy deflating a few measures while he frowns and gets right to the edge of Monroe and Elias' personal space to inspect them closely. "It isn't?" he asks, perplexed, "Are you sure?" He then straightens and smacks his fist into his open palm, tsking to himself as he does so. "I could have sworn I guessed correctly." A pause, then with a sudden resurgence of energy, like someone flicked a switch back on in his brain, Barnabas' smile returns with fresh exuberance. "Ah well, no matter."
When Rachel steps forward to address him, his smile turns into a laugh and he spins in place as he trots back a few paces from the group. "Where have I been?" he asks in a low and ominous tone, whirling around with a sudden motion as he crouches slightly at the knees and holds out his hands, fingers dancing as if playing with invisible marionettes. "On a wondrous, terrible adventure into the Hedge and through Arcadia. Guided by new allies and betrayed by new foes, I fought my way clear of obstacles and terrible fiends in equal measure, played for creatures of light and sound, and even beguiled my way past a creature that was half sphinx and half coyote." Each new element is given a quick pose to embody the specific element of the summarized story he weaves. When he's finished, he holds a silent, snarling face -- presumably to signify the half-sphinx, half-coyote -- for just a few seconds, then straightens abruptly and lets his smile return. "I'll have to tell you the full thing some day."
However at Monroe's statement, his eyes widen momentarily and his smile increases as he points to the other Lost and quickly closes back in on the group, returning to a more conversational distance in a few long-strides. "Well said, Monroe! I knew I could count on you to get to the heart of it so quickly. You were always an agile thinker." He taps his temple to emphasize his point before rounding on the rest. "I've come to warn you," he announces in a stage whisper, his face still wearing a broad grin despite his words, "It has been announced, I'm sure, that there is a traitor among you. A betrayer of faith and friendship." He injects an actual dramatic pause here, as he looks to Elias, Rachel, Lyra, then Monroe. "I am here to tell you it's true. You must find this traitor, friends."
Rachel winces slightly as her companions correct Barnabas's identification of them. She's heard that it can be helpful sometimes to play along with delusions, at least in the moment. Or is that only for memory-impairment disorders? Dementia and Alzheimer's? She's not sure, she's no psychologist, but Barnabas is clearly not in his rightist possible mind right now. His story sounds... about what Rachel would expect of someone who's just spent the last five months (objective time) on the run after the fall of a Freehold. But as to the traitor... that is more concerning.
She glances back over to Monroe, who asked for an explanation. "This is Barnabas, a member of our Freehold. Nobody's heard from him since the Zoo Freehold fell. There's been a lot of chaos, nobody's heard from a _lot_ of people." She turns back to the Elemental in question. "About this traitor, how do you know Barnabas? How do you know that it's true?"
A small wince is given from Lyra at Monroe's worry about attracting the wrong sort of attention, fingers squeezing the umbrella handle tighter as she gives a nod, looking back then to Rachel before Barnabas, hoping such an explanation comes from him. The story he weaves gets full attention, all coupled with the proper reactions of one watching perhaps a stage play, not the why or where someone missing had been. Her expression remains polite all through it up until the very tail end. A traitor. It sours Lyra's expression as she looks away, suppressing another shiver.
Lyra only looks back when Rachel speaks again, watching her for a moment as she asks the Lost those questions. "Yes," she says softly, "such words are weighty. How do you know?" That concern in her amber eyes has grown, wary now as her ears flex and twitch this way and that way, unable to remain still. "And is it just one? Or does this traitor work with others?"
Squinting at Barnabas, Monroe breathes in deeply. "You're going to want to give me a full step's worth of space, stranger," he says evenly, his voice a cool, crisp thing, "Because I definitely do not know you, and if you knew me, you'd know to give me my space, stranger." Then he smiles, and it spreads like oil on water, his eyes never breaking from Barnabas', his physical presence one of the mindset which faces fear and uncertainty with reckless stoicism. "Now, a question was asked. Stick to the simpler end of the answer spectrum, as it's a hot-button issue and worth our focus." He then takes a step back, bouncing his tennis ball, clearly trying to cool himself down as fast as he can; that Summer heat, sizzling on the rise, now.. less-so.
Elias frowns as the mention of the traitor comes up, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. "They mentioned that at court, too." He mutters under his breath, clearly not liking the idea once wit, but also not able to not give it a little credence. That crisp chill around him growing a little sharper for a moment, cutting through the summer heat for a flash before it sinks back to normalcy. He doesn't have the same issue with Barnabas in his personal space, standing where he is, the look of thoughtful concern still on his face. "I don't like thinking it of anyone."
With almost an audible snap, Barnabas' face whirls around to face Rachel as she asks that question, pride welling up to dominate his expression as he holds that look for just a moment. "That is an *excellent* question," he nearly purrs, his voice low as he touches his hand to his heart.
"Because!" he nearly shouts, straightening up and throwing his arms out to the side in a wide gesture as he rises up onto his toes, "On my travels, I was caught!"
He grins around to them all, once more inserting a dramatic pause before he continues: "It's a harrowing tale that deserves more time than I can afford right now to recount, but I was once again captured by an old, old friend." Even through his wild and eccentric personality, a note of bitter, harsh sarcasm poisons that final word as he stills for just a beat. A mere breath later, his smile is just as warm as it was before, his eye bright with amusement. "In the depths of my despair, I wailed and shouted and cursed and finally they offered some sweet relief... Knowledge! For a bargain, they would tell me what became of those dearest friends of mine that were lost and scattered to the wind. I gave up something I had little enough use for at the time..." He taps his temple with one gloved finger as a hint of sadness somewhat taints his smile, "And in return, they told me that our refuge had been scattered, many had been captured, and their 'toy soldier' was now helping to 'spoil the milk from within.'"
That last statement is given with the same air someone might announce 'ta-da!' Then his arms drop, and his face becomes quite serious -- or at least quite serious by his measure, which looks more like what an under-trained theater actor might wear to *mime* seriousness. "The problem is... There are *two* Freeholds in Chicago, friends. So where, oh where, does the Toy Soldier hide?"
The news that Barnabas was caught is... well Rachel has been dreading that possibility. Something you hope isn't true but you know you could be wrong. Immediately she becomes more guarded, and only more so as his story continues. Horror stories like these have sprouted in the wake of the razing of the Zoo Freehold like mushrooms after rain. "What did you bargain away, Barnabas?" She asks with a wary tone. "Are any of your agreements ongoing?"
Those long ears were made for listening, for taking in information, and so that is what Lyra defaults to. She listens to the flow of conversation even as her watchful gaze flicks back and forth between the speakers--Monroe first as his agitation at that invaded space sparks up some temper, but then back toward Elias. And finally, Barnabas and Rachel get the most focus.
Once more, she finds herself listening with an intense focus to Barnabas, picking through his words to make sense of them. A wince comes along with an expression of profound sadness as he mentions being caught, a fear not far from any Lost's mind or heart. It is that bargain made that truly dredges up different emotions from Lyra as her smile fades and worry floods her wide amber eyes. Her concern is quickly replaced by mild surprise as Rachel asks the Lost what he gave up in exchange for that knowledge. A shake of her head stirs those dark curls as she says, "Some wanted to contact the other Freehold, didn't they? When it was mentioned at Court last," Lyra looks between those two Lost she remembers being at that Court. "If we are going to find out who this 'toy soldier' is, we'll need to tread carefully. They will no doubt be watchful for any moves being made against them and do what they can to throw the scent."
"If this is some dig at ex-military folk," Monroe says, "Not a great strategy." He glances to Rachel and then Elias and finally Lyra. "Funboy here is rapidly losing the thread, and if he's fresh from the Eat-Me, Beat-Me Farm, who knows what he agreed to do or say." Then he bounces the tennis ball from one hand to the other, exhaling slowly, looking up at the skies. "Can't hold it against him, either. To make it stop, what wouldn't someone say or do, really." He then looks back, his eyes a little more sympathetic than his voice conveys. "Okay, now. What did you surrender, and use small words, Barnabas. Please. We .. may be able to help." Or, failing that, capitalize on the useful intel it provides, he fails to say aloud.
The news that he struck a bargain with something in the hedge amuses Elias not one wit. He takes a step back from the fiddler, his hand going into his pocket where it tangles in a white scrap of cloth, and his normally still tail goes a lashing back and forth. He looks to Lyra, giving a slow nod of his head. "The southern freehold claims the traitor is among us. Then again, that would be good information for them to spread if they were down there." He flicks the fingers of his freehand at his side in agitation, more at the situation though than the messenger.
Barnabas laughs and skips backwards a few steps, hands returning to behind his back. From seemingly nowhere he withdraws his violin again and the bow, though he doesn't tuck the former in against his chin just yet. "Oh, just a bit of sanity is all. Honestly, it was weighing me down! What wonderful music I can create now that I'm free from its burden," he croons, turning in place slowly as the tails of his harlequin tux spin out behind him. "Monroe had it right from the beginning! What calls the Fancy to the dance? Is it just dramatic entrances?" Another skip away as he now tucks the instrument against his neck and draws a quick, oddly lingering note from its strings with a quick flick of his bow, "What called them last time? Figure that out, and you find the betrayer."
Another hop, another note as he's clearly beginning to retreat. "Be wary, friends. While you investigate here, I shall bring my sterling, brilliant, fanciful mind to bear upon the other Freehold. Together we shall sniff out this evil." His voice is now nearly a song, and he seems one step away from breaking out into a jig as he turns his back on the four and occasionally strikes a note from his moonbeam violin's strings. "I believe in you all. You are my dearest, oldest friends. I know this is a quest worthy of you!"
With that, he abruptly begins to play again, but this time he lends his voice to the melody. It is nearly as haunting as the notes drawn from that odd violin, his song rising and falling in odd rhythms and unusual places. There is something else to it however, a riveting, entrancing quality that swirls about anyone who hears its winding pace and bids them get lost in its depths. As he plays, he walks, skips, and hops away from the group, moving in a nearly nonsensical path until he finally grows close enough to the Johnny Rockets to pass around behind it, at which point the song slowly plays itself into silence.
Catching, let alone holding, a Changeling who doesn't want to be here anymore is both extremely difficult and at-odds with the whole philosophy of a Freehold. So while Rachel frowns with concern, when Barnabas begins to leave she lets him go. He's... Lost. He might find his way back to them someday, back to sanity, back to the Freehold. Or he might not. She sighs, eyes closing for a moment, "... Got to tell Real about this."
"It would be a fantastic way of trying to muddy the waters," Lyra agrees as she looks toward Elias, the concern still visible in her startling eyes. "But it could be a kernel truth there too. Games played." She shakes her head as that music starts again, that haunting melody blended with the Lost's voice as she falls to stillness to watch Barnabas play and dance off into the night. There's a sigh once the music has died and the Lost has vanished from sight. A late little shiver speeds its way down Lyra's spine as she moves closer toward the group, looking at them all in turn before she says, "Caution should be exercised, no doubt. But there's plenty that needs to be thought carefully upon now."
As the newcomer-who-isn't departs, Monroe turns to the others assembled and his face goes slack abruptly. "This should be a focus for us all," he says, glancing from face to face, his tone .. empty. As he speaks, it fleshes itself out, sounding vaguely Texan in origin. "This.. Barnabas.. he raises a concern - which may have deeper roots than we know of, and it could also be a seed sown for dissent purposes. We can pretend that the Fancy and their ilk are above that at our considerable and growing peril." He gives a flat smile and a shrug. "My number is up on the wall at Fireside. 'Monroe' - orange business card. Leave it there, just take the number." Then he nods to each face. "I hope we can speak again soon. For now, I'm going to dig up what I can about.. things that happened. Because I want to know them." And he turns, walking the direction he came from, once more bouncing his tennis ball, whistling quietly.
"Great, as if I didn't have enough on my plate." Elias mutters as he rubs the back of his neck with one hand, shoving the white cloth back into his pocket with the other. He looks in the direction Barnabas left and hisses a rather pungent curse under his breath. "I hate thinking there's a traitor." His eyes shift to Rachel, nodding as she mention Real. "If you want someone to back you up, let me know. I'll vouch." He shifts a little on his feet, taking a couple steps back to the park exit. "Court's not far off."
Yeah, wheels within wheels," Rachel says of Lyra's assessment of the news. She sounds... exhausted. And disgruntled. "I hate this shit," she adds.
Monroe's pronouncements draw her narrow-eyed gaze. But whatever her thoughts, she doesn't give voice to them before he's off, bouncing his ball and striding away.
She glances back to Elias. "Nah. Thanks for the offer, but Real and I have some rapport. I'll be ok."
"Me, too. It reminds me too much--" Lyra's breath just catches, and she shakes her head, not wanting to re-visit too much. "It's the worst." There's a flicker of a smile there as she nods to Rachel and Elias before she glances the way Monroe headed off in. "Be safe out there. I'm sure we'll see each other again soon." And with that, Lyra turns and starts her way back the way she had come.
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