keepsmehonest | 2nd Tune [action/voice]

[Geordie hasn't been here very long, not when he thinks of it in comparison to Jilly and some of her friends. But every day without his fiddle has felt like a lifetime. Barely a day had gone by before his arrival here that he hadn't had his instrument by his side. It's gotten him through both good times and the bad, especially the bad. So long as he was able to pluck a tune from his old Czech fiddle and lose himself in the music that filled the space around him, taking what he wanted from the notes and chords, he could survive anything.

He had his voice. That was an instrument no one could take from him. But it wasn't the same as his fiddle. His fingers longed to fly over the neck of a fiddle while the bow moved in a furiously fast tempo or glide in a languid slow dance with the fiddle strings. His performance at the wedding had been adequate with a borrowed violin, but Geordie can't help but think it would be better if he had his own familiar instrument. He would have played all of Jilly's favorite tunes during her amnesia, hoping one would've piqued a memory. And every day it was clear skies, he would've been out by that fountain, busking his time away.

It's not being so far from Newford that bothers him. Not even being so far from his brother and his friends. Not the shifts of even the depressing draft system that reminds him all too much of Vietnam and the luck that somehow held for him and Chirsty both. It's that lack of a fiddle - his fiddle - that really felt as if it would slowly drive him mad.

He had taken to haunting the items shop every day since his arrival. And today, for whatever the reason, his search has finally paid off. The case might be missing (much to his disappointment) but at least his fiddle and bow have finally made it here.

For the rest of the day, you can find him by the fountain, playing the fiddle without a care in the world. Eventually, a tune can be heard through the journal.]

I'm taking requests, if anybody has any.

[A few seconds pass in which he plays another quick piece before falling silent. He sets down his fiddle and picks up the journal, regarding it somberly for a moment before asking,] So just how often do these drafts occur, anyway?

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[He's gone from song to song in the minutes that pass, playing nearly every happy jig that's come to mind. A day like today ought to be celebrated. After over a month without his fiddle, he has lost time to make up for.

He stops the current jig when Molly greets him, smiling back.] Glad you could make it!

Glad you didn't mind the company!

[She holds up the thermos, smiling.]

I brought coffee.

You've discovered my weakness.

[Her smile brightens at that.]

How long have you been playing out here? You've got to be getting cold by now.

[She moved to sit on the fountain's edge.]

[He takes a seat beside her (but not too close), placing his fiddle carefully on the other side of the ledge.]

Since finding my fiddle in the shop. So, I'd say around two? [He rubs his hands together and blows on them.] Trust me, it much colder in Newford this time of year.

[She uncaps the thermos and pours him some coffee in the cup-top.]

You spend a lot of time playing outside back home too?

[He accepts the cup gratefully and takes a few sips before replying. The liquid is hot and perfect for this chilly day.]

Busking on the street is how I try to earn my living back in Newford. At least, as much of it as possible.

What's that like? [She produces a small tin cup from deep in her jacket pocket and pours herself some coffee.] Do you meet a lot of interesting people?

It keeps me honest. I'll play gigs at various pubs and clubs around town, but the kind of reception you get there isn't indicative of how well you play. Or if you're playing something people like. But when people stop to listen to you on the street, even pay you a few coins? Then you know that you're doing right by them.

[His grin is soft as he talks. He doesn't exactly mean to ignore her second question. It just sort of happens as he gets lost in describing the feeling of busking best he can.]

[She grins at him.]

So you do love it.

[Music probably saved his life, just like writing saved Christy's. If neither of them had found their passions early on, Geordie suspects that the two younger Riddell boys would have some day ended up in jail like their eldest brother, Pat.

He doesn't say that aloud, though. There's no reason to ruin the mood with tales of his crappy childhood.

So he smiles and nods.] I do. I love listening to music, too. But there's nothing like the sound and feel of notes radiating from my own instrument.

And do you just play the fiddle? [Her mouth twitched up with mischievous amusement.] Or do you fiddle around with other things too?

[There's a twinkle in her eye that says: I'm sorry, I couldn't help it.]

Edited 2012-11-24 05:32 (UTC)

[Bad time to take a sip of coffee. He nearly chokes as he swallows, sputtering and laughing a little as his cheeks flushed a pink that had little to do with the cold.]

Oh, I do. [It's awkward, but he does attempt a quick wink.] The Copeland whistle, actually.

[Pfff.]

Oh, I'm sorry! [She digs around in her pocket to offer him a napkin.] Are you all right?

[He accepts the napkin graciously and wipes at his face before giving a slight shrug.] Just my dignity bruised, no big deal.

As long as you're not choking or anything.

Not choking. [He laughs a little dryly and the laugh turns into a slight cough. Geordie grimaces.] It'll take a lot more than coffee to kill me.

Good. 'cause it's been a while since I've had to practice CPR.

[Silently, he cursed the images that Molly's statement brought to mind. Molly was pretty and blonde; his "type" according to Jilly. She had a nice smile and a witty sense of humor that made him laugh. No matter how virtuous he tried to be, he was a red-blooded American guy. He couldn't help where his thoughts went.]

Don't worry. [The words came, maybe, a second or two later than they should have.] I won't make you break that streak today.

[Molly lifted her own coffee to her lips, blue eyes glinting at him over the rim of her cup. Geordie was cute and so far she'd enjoyed his company. It was always nice to be appreciated.

But she took a sip of her coffee and when she was done, she lowered the cup and gave him a break.]

That's good. Because I was hoping to hear you play when we were done.