Songs on Rooftops

Songs on Rooftops
Date of Scene:	17 December 2012
Location:	Traverse Town
Synopsis:	The white gargress puts aside her fear of humans for a time to share in their sorrow over the loss of Manhattan, only to find that even among the refugees there are 'heartless' beings that have nothing to do with the fall of darkness.
Cast of Characters:	Faruja Senra, Zia

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Zia has posed:
One day has passed into another, even with little chance coming to Traverse Town between night and day. The streetlamps flicker to life, people gather within the tents and make-shift spaces that the refugees now call home. Soon enough, they would likely move on to spaces within other worlds - perhaps the beconing call of New Orleans, or some other place that is close enough to remind them of the world that they've lost.

At the edge of a courtyard between a few buildings, the low sound of a reed-pipe plays, singing the meloncholy tones that sound like they are from another place, or another time. Zia sits on the rooftop, keeping that distance between herself and the humans below. Yet, she is no longer hiding herself from them. Certainly, they've seen other creatures now, so the sight of yet another brings more curiousity than fear. There are a few who draw their children away from the 'monster', but others seem drawn by the sound.

When she finally lowers the pipes from her lips, there is a beat of silence before her rich voice echos into the open space beyond. Sad words, but carrying with them ... hope. In the courtyard, a mother hugs her daughter close to her, wiping a tear away from one eye. Others watch for a time, transfixed for a time by the voice that seems to sing all of their hearts.

When her words finally fade off, the gargress lifts her pipes again, playing the last few bars with their sad tones. At the end, with the last note hanging in the air, no one speaks, no one applauds. It is one moment that they have together, sharing one hope. Then it is over. They turn back to what they were doing and Zia is left on the rooftop, watching them from the distance as always.

(OOC: Song to listen to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RugSclNY4y8 )

Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja had been doing his usual rounds, attempting healing and what encouragement he can give. Yet, even for one so goal-focused and forward-thinking as he, it's difficult to truly believe in his own words. They did all that they could. They fought with all of their strength. And yet, for all of it, they still failed. It grinds into the rat's soul, touching darker places, only stoking his more violent tendencies and desire for vengeance disguised by justice. His words may seem a bit flat, even forced today.

That is, until a simple reed pipe breaks the quiet din of milling citizens. An eye glances up, practically glowing in the darkness cast by his hood over his face, and stares at the musically inclined Gargess. The strange Gargess, so flighty when considering humans, gazing down and playing a music note that almost every person can relate to. A hand clenches his cross. As her beautiful voice rings out, a mournful, yet hopeful tone carrying through the area, the rat's burning soul cools. She had lost so much, and yet, had the bravery and care to tend to others in her own way. Faruja goes to a knee, finding himself weak; exhaustion, physical and emotional, finally catching up. Only with such quiet strength on display could he even allow such.

A minute passes, and the rat stands again, leaping upon the rooftop. Muzzle opens, then closes. For once, he's at a loss for words. Instead, he looks into her eyes, his own carrying a hint of awe.

Zia has posed:
For all that a gargoyle has keen sight, it would be all too easy to have missed the knight within the crowds of people. Certainly the song was not just for him, but for so many others. There are some who do not seem to be swayed by such things - grumbling men who speak amongst themselves and pay little heed to the sufferings going on around them. Others do, though. A little girl waves a hand towards her from her mother's back, and the sight reminders her so achingly of the way she had reached for her brother the day he'd left.

Zia tries to shake off that feeling, fingering the notes of some other song on her pipes without actually playing them. She's learning to be brave, but one song is enough for now. There will surely be others in time. She's just pushing herself to her feet, packing her pipes into a little bag that she carries against her side. They seem home-made, strung together with actual bits of reed and tied with twine. For all that she might have come from a modern world, much of her kind's culture still seems from a totally different time.

As she turns, the sight of Faruja standing there startles her. There is the slightest little jolt before she manages to catch herself in her own surprise. A hand goes up to her chest and she lets out a breath. "By Merlin, ye startled me good mouse." She's still not used to people being able to leap to rooftops. That usually is something reserved to her own kind, and it still catches her off-guard from time to time. As if nothing had happened, she tugs at the strap of her bag, and looks over at him, offering a shy sort of smile.

"How fairs things? Ah'm afraid Ah've missed a few hours." It's a bit of an understatement. She'd missed the entire day. The gargress does look better, though. Those lingering bruises from before are gone now, and she does seem rested even at this ungodly late hour of the night.

Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja really needs to learn that leaping up on rooftops is rare. A hand goes to his chest, and he bows apologetically. "Forgive me. I do so forget myself sometimes. In Burmecia, one would find friends more often amongst the rooftops than the ground."

Turning, he glances down as she questions him, looking to the many refugees. A small, tired smile sits on his own muzzle. "...They will survive. All lost, all wandering, and so many are but a hair's width away from falling into despair. Most of the injured, those who would be saved at any rate, are no longer threatened by the looming specter of death. Physical wounds dealt with. Now I must leave them to Faram, for the wounds that remain are ones on the heart and soul. Those wounds, words cannot heal, and words are all I can give them. Frustration, at not being able to help, practically drips from the rat's muzzle. He pauses, however. "...Perhaps, to some degree, artistry of the soul /can/."

Turning back, he looks her over. "...Hours that, frankly, you were in good need of missing. You seem much improved, thank Faram. Any lingering aches? Stiffening of limbs? Pains of the head that fail to end?"

Zia has posed:
"Nae need te ask fer forgiveness. Ah'm way too used te the way tha it was in m'world. Humans almost ne'er came te the roofs if they could help it. Fear o'heights Ah imagine." Even now, if you look at the refugees, they all seem to congregate on the ground, which leaves the rooftops of Traverse Town mostly empty. It is a blessing for those who want to get around fast while avoiding the crowds below, or for those like Zia who still haven't quite gotten over their mistrust of humans.

Her eyes move over the crowds as he begins to rattle off information about the state of things below. As much as she feels both sympathy and understanding for their plight, there isn't much good that her hands would do down there. He has magic, but there are too many humans still afraid of the unknown. "Ah dinnae think tha wounds of the heart ever heal, not really." She flexes her wings slightly, feeling the way that the breeze catches them. "we carry them with us, but where we go on our travels 'n how they effect us is up to us."

She has her own scars, both the physical and the emotional. Ones that she hides, and ones that are right there out in the open for others to see. Zia looks towards him then, offering a small smile. "Ah'm fine. We're tough creatures, gargoyles. Nae head trama or anythin. Promise." She crosses her heart and chuckles.

Of course, no good humor can last forever. It all happens in a flash. Something comes flying up from the courtyard. It's a bad shot, so it only ends up clipping the gargress rather than hitting her directly - what looks like a bit of brick clattering against the roof. Zia's hand goes to her temple, and her eyes flash red as she growls. Those eyes are searching for the source of the attack, and it's easy to find them. A group of men standing together, others already holding bottles, or stones. "Get out of here, MONSTER." One of them calls.

Perhaps they can be excused for their fear, the Heartless had come in all sorts of monsterous shapes, perhaps even disguised as gargoyles. Still, it takes quite a bit of self control for Zia not to lash out at them. Blood seeps through her fingers as she growls deep in her throat. "I hate humans." She mutters, and then turns, racing to hop to another rooftop and get away from the gathering below. No good deed goes unpunished.

Faruja Senra has posed:
"Do you truly blame them? They've neither wings, nor legs for it. On the whole, at any rate, human Dragon Knights still mystify me. Ser Jameson once attempted to explain it. Something about wind magic, use of special boots...unfortunately he is not the most coherent human. Head wound, some years back, when fighting a group of bandits." Shrug.

The Burmecian frowns. "...Perhaps so, perhaps so. Yes. Such forward-thinking is necessary for all of these people. They would do well to learn from you. Unfortunately, this particular group of humans seems rather hard-headed about creatures not like themselves. How /ever/ does one cope in a world with naught but humans running it? Amazing they did not drive it to shambles." Seems the rat has some racial baggage himself.

The rat's eye narrow at her promise. Peer. Peeer! "...If you've any symptoms, find me." Overprotective rat go! Healers are all the same.

Then, there's a rock. Right at Zia. Driving her off. If this were Burmecia, he'd whistle and have these people dealt with. Instead, this is traverse.

"HALT! Throw but one more object, and you shall be chewing upon dirt, knaves! You disrupt what little peace is yet had here! DISPERSE AT ONCE!" That spear is hefted threateningly as the rat-man glares, though he certainly has no intention of using it. That, and a burst of light around him, is mere intimidation factor. When you're short, you have to make up for it.

Unfortunately, this gives Zia ample time to get away as he tries to disperse the mob with all the subtlety of medieval-sort town guards.

Zia has posed:
"Ah least it wasnae an arrow te the knee. Ah year tha can put a quick stop te yer adventurin days." The gargress comments idlly, her wings caping again onto her shoulders. "Ah suppose there haste be some magic te it. Otherwise we'd see humans jumpin' 'round like great kangaroos all the time. It's an amusing mental image, something that manages to make a more genuine smile show in that brief second.

It's gone by the time that the rock glances her. Seems no light remains for very long these days. "Yeah, sure thing Master Splinter. Why don't you crawl back down into the tunnels and go yell at some turtles." The man laughs, bumping fits with one of his friends before tossing another rock. They aren't particularly accurate, so it just hits the roof and bounces away. "Hey rat, I've got some cheese. Come down here, and we'll show ya what we do te vermin in New York." He shakes a fist.

Alas, even among refugees, you'll still get a good group of assholes. Zia doesn't go far, her form is easily tracked a few rooftops away, where she leans against an upper story, keeping herself out of sight from the humans below. These shadowy places are safe - something years of being feared and hunted has taught her.

Faruja Senra has posed:
Shudder. Humans jumping around. The mere thought frightens the rat. That's a birthright of winged creatures, and the Nezumi. He can't help but look slightly creeped out. "Nasty things, arrows. For all of the advancements in firearms, 'tis far more accurate and silent. MOre than one Templar has ended their days from an arrow in the back." No, it seems someone hasn't played a certain fantasy rpg.

Catch! One of the more deftly throw rocks is caught, then hefted up and down a few moments. "Vermin? VERMIN!? I see 'New Yorkers' are naught but..." He stops himself. These people just lost their homes. "...Be thankful that I am merciful!"

---> Actions ----> Throw Stone ---> Jump.


There's a rat soon beside Zia as he gives up the ghost after hopefully pegging the mouthy jerk in the face. "'Tis a true tragedy that there seem to be no guards about to teach these humans proper respect." Beatings, Morale, etc.

Zia has posed:
In that comical sort of way that cartoons sometimes have, the offender is neatly beaned right in the head, and promptly falls over - right into a man wearing a disheveled looking suit-coat and holding a cup of coffee. Like domino effect, the man stumbles, and spils coffee all over a very irritated looking blonde woman. "Brendan!" She shouts at him, swatting her husband with her purse. The man that Faruja had hit, sits there, dazed, with birds flying around his head.

Zia lets herself slide down against the wall of the house, sitting in the shadows so that she would be hard to see at all if it weren't for a bit of light filtering through from a nearby street lamp. "It's alright." She murmurs, wiping blood from the small cut on her forehead. Like most head-wounds, it looks worse than it actually is. "At least it isn't pitchforks and hammers." Manhattan hasn't quite gotten to the point of men in white masks wielding electric hammers and smashing every gargoyle in the city - not yet anyways.

"Ah'm usete it, but at least ye understand why Ah'm a little skittish." She sighs to herself, "Ah dinnae blame them, but Ah do fear them." She looks up at the night sky, with it's small scattering of stars. "Think Ah'll need te be leavin soon. Find someplace where it's safe te rest away from the humans here. Someplace they'd be more usedte creatures like me." She rubs at the back of her neck, then looks towards Faruja. "Somehow, Ah worry tha even yer headquarters willnae be safe these days. Tha girl causin all the trouble, 'n then Riku." She trails off, unsure of what to say.

Faruja Senra has posed:
Success. Faruja smiles, managing a self-satisfied and 'innocent' whistle as he lands beside Zia. She gets a cure anyway. "/Those/ are tools for inspired mobs to turn against Wi..." Once again, he stops himself, before he gets on a rant she likely won't want to hear. Cough.

"Ahem. Quite rude, and a waste of time. There are /deserving/ creatures to put farm implements into." At least in Faruja's world, much of the time, the pitchforkees deserve it.

Faruja slowly shakes his head. "Fear, M'Lady, will do naught but drive you further into dark places such as this. For better or for worse, the gates of worlds are thrown wide. Humans, those of whom are not already used to the idea, will be forced to learn to live with and rely on non-humans. Non-humans shall be forced to do the same." A pause.

"If it makes you feel any better, some of my best companions in the Church thought me some form of monster as well upon finding me. Nearly took my life in fact. Ignorance, my dear, can be overcome. The same is true for non-humans as well. We are all Children of the Lord, given our forms that we may better help and defend one another." He does consider her words about the Shard Seekers Headquarters, though.

A nod. "Yes, yes. 'Tis why I must gather those whom are trustworthy. Lady Lenn, Shiki, Ser Seatlan, little Lily, Ser Galvan...I trust them. Hardly a deceitful bone in their bodies...well, aside from Ser Galvan, but not the destructive sort. That dragon, however, is an issue. Yet, even her I do not see as any form of traitor. As for Ser Ulfang, I know very little of him. I, forgive me for saying so, must watch him. Yet, it seems you trust him to some degree, and given how...pardon to say it, paranoid you can be, it somewhat lessens my fears. All I can say is to do as you will. Otherwise? Lindblum. Fluorgis as a whole. If it comes down to it, and 'tis necessary, I may be able to find you a place in Holy Mullonde. Though you would receive a few...questions, perhaps words behind your back, but a known friend of a Templar will certainly not be turned away. One's actions matters far more there than race, at the least."

Zia has posed:
It's going to take a while to get used to magic being cast at her. The way wounds can be made so much less with just some simple magic is a wonder to her. Someday, she'll have to figure out a way to give that gift onto others. Maybe she'll never be a healer like the templar before her, but she might be able to ease the pain in others. It's a thought, and she toys with it for a time as she sits in the dark, touching the spot where the gash had been.

"Trust me when Ah say tha in m'world, mosta the time the humans thought they were in the right. Thought they were fightin demons. Ye remember wha Ah told ye about wha happened to m'father?" It was during that first meeting in Fluorgis, when she'd expressed her fears about the church, even if his is a far cry from the one that had put her father's wings on display to ward off demons. "Ah'm tryin hard naete be afraid, but ye dinnae understand how fragile we are. How few of us there are left. Fer all ah know, with our world gone, this might be the last generation of gargoyles there will ever be."

While he might speak of his lord and his beliefs, Zia simply takes it in stride. Her people had no such things - they existed before humans brought their religion onto the world. The closest thing they had to ritual was the Wind Ceremony, and even that is just a way of saying goodbye. She listens as he speaks of his companions, and then turns back to the one she can actually speak for. "It's taken me a while te understand a bit about our resident werewolf. Ah can tell ye tha fer all Ah've seen, he is as genuine as he seems."

She hesitates though, as if considering just how much she should say or not. "Ah trust him, but Ah'm afraid fer him. He's caught up with somethin. There's some 'Lords' tha hold this power over him." Before he can jump to conclusions, she quickly adds, "Nae the Shadow Lords, mind ye, but somethin else. Ah think he suspects something wrong, but either he's too proud to ask fer help, or he doesnae know a way to be free of them." She shakes her head, "Ah trust him, but Ah do nae trust them."

For now, she sits there, her tail curled around her feet. "Ah thank ye fer the kind offer, sweet mouse, but Ah fear ah wouldnae fit in in her holy city. Ah'm a little too heretical." She chuckles, looking up at him in the shadows. "Though, if ah did havete believe ina god, at least yers has a kind hearted soul in it, even if ye are a bit overzealous at times." The rock to the head seems to only have temporarily dampened her mood, and she lifts her hand from the small line that is all that remains of it.

Faruja Senra has posed:
The rat nods, and frowns at the memory. "Quite." A shake of the head, and a cross of his chest. He'd given her Father more than a few prayers.

Fragile. Too few left. "...Do not be so quick to give up hope. 'Tis very, very difficult to wipe out a race. Fragile or not. May you find more of your fellows. Are you familiar with a Lady Deidra, by chance?" A fuzzy brow rises.

Smile. "Genuine, hmm? Good. I have had my fill of tricksters and the deceitful."

How own tail twists about an ankle, the rat finding himself staring at her tail. One ear folds back, the ratling not quite able to tear his eye away. A few times, he opens his muzzle, then shuts it, glancing away and then back.

The rest of her information on Skoll isn't as pleasant. "Mmm. Then...interesting. I do believe we have misunderstood one another..." he mutters to himself before nodding. "A mystery for another time. If these 'Lords' of his prove harmful...well, that will be then. So long as he means no harm to the Shard Seekers, or slays innocents or the Faithful, or performs Heretical acts, his allegiances mean nothing."

As for trust? He shakes his head. "A better foundation than many. Be wary, but do not turn him away. Lord willing he shall prove himself trustworthy. We must be careful. I've no desire to feel a dagger thrust into my back twice." From the snarl, he's taken Riku's actions a touch personally.

Faruja chuckles. "If ye but show respect, well...'tis our desire to lead the impious to piety. Keep it in mind. The offer shall remain."

Finally, though, he bites his cheek. Peer. That white tail is stared at, before he squeaks indignantly. "Oh, Faram help me! Come /here/! Truly, this must be corrected!" Striding forward, he reaches into his robes, pulling out what appears to be a length of purple silken cloth. Should she not move away, he'll grab her tail with his own, lifting it up to hand level and tie the cloth on.

"THERE. Now I can look upon you properly." Strangely enough, she might notice a touch of a blush to ears and white furred muzzle.

Zia has posed:
"Aye, Ah know of Diedra. There was another down in the tunnels the night Manhattan fell, too, but Ah dinnae know his name." Zia is not fool enough to think that they are the last of their kind - there are bound to be others who managed to make it to the portal and escape into these worlds beyond. "But trust me when ah say this, our kind usete flourish. When the clans would fly, it was a beautiful sight as their wings colored the night. At least, tha's what m'da's stories always told me." Her father couldn't have lived in those times. Nor her grandfather.

When it comes to Skoll, though, the gargress is a bit more serious. He was the first among all those she's met from these other worlds to truly befriend her, and that bit of loyalty is strong in her kind. "Ah dinnae think it's by his choice, though." It's so hard to explain, especially as all of this is from bits and pieces of conversation. Skoll never seems to say much about them. "Ah've seen people be controlled by dark forces 'n nae be in control of wha they do. Tha's what Ah worry about for him. Ah wonder if he even knows the darkness he carries."

She can sense it, because that same bit of darkness exists in her as well. His might be stronger, but even this girl has been touched by that power. "Dinnae judge him too harshly. Fer my sake." It's a big favor that she asks of the ratling, who probably sees the world in only the stark shades of black and white. Still, he is her friend, and by all means she is a Heretic.

Then, he reaches and tries to tie that bit of colored cloth to her tail. The gargress blinks, looking more than a little surprised. The tip of her tail twitches, and she tilts her head, looking at him quizzically. "Yer a strange little mouse, ye know that?" It's not really a question. She does seem amused, though. With one hand, she gets to her feet, swishing her tail once or twice behind her. "Ye have m'thanks. Tis a sweet gift." She looks down to where some humans pass on the lit streets. "Alas, Ah fear Ah have worn out m'welcome here. Ah should be headin back to Fluorgis. It's a fair ways to travel, and Ah need te be there before daybreak."

With that, she sweeps her wings back from her shoulders, then folds them before her in a bow. It's not something she usually does, but it seems right in the moment. "Fair the well, sweet mouse. We shall meet again soon." With that, she springs upwards with a leap that could easily rival one of his own kind. Her wings catch the wind, mometarily sillouetted against the moon, and then she's gone.

Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja tries to imagine whole flights of Gargoyles. The rat smiles. "'Twould have been glorious to see. Remember the lessons of the past, yet do not dwell upon it."

The Templar listens quietly. He stares her in the face as she asks him that favor, with a world view oh-so-cut-and-dry. Yet, as of late, it seems there is much to challenge that. "...I shall be more than fair. From the sound of it, 'tis more going on than meets the eye." More than he'd give most, at any rate.

A glance down at her now cloth-covered tail. Quickly, he turns about. "So I have been told! Erm...yes, quite. 'Tis merely so that none shall criticize you. Yes. 'Twould hate to hear untoward things said from any of my countrymen whom you might meet." Faruja, unfortunately is a bad liar. The folded ears don't help.

"Be safe, and may the winds carry you far, Lady Zia." He watches her leap into the sky with a smile. "Perhaps I shall make a Dragon Knight out of you yet, M'Lady! Lord bless!" he calls as she leaves, watching her until she's a far-gone dot.