![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[closed, for alex]
It's been a solid couple of weeks since the beach party, so when Wren runs into Alex as the charity gala winds down, it doesn't feel too over the top to remind him he's still invited over for trading music and stories.
"This weekend, maybe," he says, and gave him an innocent look over his glass, "--unless you also have a quarter million you're planning on dropping on a date with someone, in which case I'd completely understand being occupied."
Now, he's just hanging out, lazily layering loops of guitar and synth into a background wash of music, watching Inari growl at shadows in the corner. Maybe he'll open up some wine later. Depends on what happens; he's not too worried about it.
"This weekend, maybe," he says, and gave him an innocent look over his glass, "--unless you also have a quarter million you're planning on dropping on a date with someone, in which case I'd completely understand being occupied."
Now, he's just hanging out, lazily layering loops of guitar and synth into a background wash of music, watching Inari growl at shadows in the corner. Maybe he'll open up some wine later. Depends on what happens; he's not too worried about it.
no subject
"That's fair," he agrees at the slight semantic difference; after all, he's already thinking, a little, that it's not all luck. It's only appropriate that Alex has a better word.
He pours him another glass and nods. "I do." Wren nods toward the slight nook where he keeps his instruments; he pushes himself off the counter he's leaning off with a slightly ostentatious gesture and heads over in that direction. The wall, chosen for its position away from both the heater and the windows, is hung with various stringed instruments of diverse origins. A few chairs and a keyboard stand and pedals occupy the floor space in front of them.
"It's a song from Scotland," he says, "I think. Shetland, maybe." He smiles wryly over his shoulder at Alex as they head over. "Clearly I'm very studied about this."
He pauses at the wall of stringed instruments, running his fingers over them and tilting his head thoughtfully. Wren's eyes go a little soft at his instruments. They're like friends, lovers, things he knows in and out. He sets down his wine on the keyboard stand, lifts down a dulcimer. The drone string is right for the song, he thinks, and Alex hasn't heard him play anything but a guitar.
"There's a version in French, too, where the man turns into a dolphin," he comments, tuning the dulcimer as he sits down.
He starts with the traditional melody, improvising on it a little, and eventually starts, the story of the wandering, absent selkie who returns for his son, warning the boy's mother that one day she'll marry a hunter who will kill them both in their seal form. An earthly nurse sits and sings...
When he was little, too little to be resentful of his father, he'd romanticized the idea of the missing father returning and scooping up his son, of them both bearing some kind of magic. He hadn't thought much of the ending. As an adult with little interest in knowing the father who'd never returned, it seems much sadder for everyone involved.
no subject
Chuckling lightly, he found a nearby armchair to sit down on near the music corner. "Selkies are a very popular myth from the northern climates so I'm not surprised. Europe especially loves them. I could always do some digging to be sure." It would be fun and he pushed down how good it would feel to impress the singer.
The mention of a man turning into a dolphin made Alex flinch and he hurried to hide it in a sip of wine. The last thing he wanted to do was think of the tribe he'd almost been forced into marrying into that had siren forms based on dolphins. If only Wren knew how close the song was to reality.
Forcing the unpleasant thoughts from his mind, he concentrated on listening to Wren play. He already knew the other was talented but this was just another reminder. It was a beautiful song, full of a long emotion, made only more so by the talented performer who sang it. Alex got completely lost in the music and story, completely under Wren's spell.
no subject
Wren can't help but feel good at the whistle. He loves instruments, the differences present even between two guitars, much less a sitar, a lute. The personality of the wood and wire under his hands. It's not usually hard for him to tackle the differences - most of the string family is relatively alike - but he enjoys a challenge, anyway.
And he enjoys leaving an impression.
Alex watches, intent, and Wren falls easily into the story of the song and the pull of his listener's attention. It's a little intoxicating, a feeling like no other to be able to transport someone else for a little while. He has to admit he's especially enjoying the current company.
"...and killed the son and the great silkie."
He finishes the mournful chord. After a moment's silence he tilts his head. "And that's the end." He takes a sip of wine. "I'd be interested in finding out more about it. I've heard a variant on it, once, where the selkie gives his son a necklace and when the hunter brings it home the mother knows he's been killed. I can't decide which is sadder, knowing or not knowing."
He pauses. "Cheery tale, I know," he smiles, wryly.
no subject
As he came back to himself, he cleared his throat and made a mental note to definitely talk to Lara. Wren was amazingly good but there was something else there. Something only another siren would notice. But he wasn't going to say anything about it now. He would hate to ruin the mood.
"It was sad but it was beautiful too. And not just the song but the way you played it. Thank you." He took a sip of his own wine before he spoke again. "I will definitely do some research for you. Maybe even where the variations come from. It would be my pleasure."
He contemplated for a moment, looking down into his wine as he couldn't quite meet Wren's eyes at the moment. Something was happening with his emotions and he couldn't quite figure out what. "I'd say I'd want to know. When my oldest brother was killed, my family made sure to get word to me before I could hear about it in the media. I can't imagine what it would have been like hearing about it from someone else or just not knowing."
no subject
"It's my pleasure," Wren says, genuinely, "I'm glad to do it justice." He runs a hand over the dulcimer's strings for a moment and stands to put it away, glancing over his shoulder toward Alex. "I'd be grateful, if it's not a bother," he says at the offer of research. "I've never known much about it, but I've loved it since I was a child."
He comes back to sit, watching Alex look into his wine. Wren almost never breaks eye contact completely; he's not sure if he learned the habit or never learned not to, but he's always watching, soaking in the little details that make up other people and places. So it's a little more evident when other people do.
Wren watches Alex quietly as he talks about his brother. He hadn't meant to touch something personal, but he won't back away from being trusted. "I'm glad they were the ones to tell you," he says. "If it had to happen." He feels an impulse to be nearer, not just sitting formally, and moves to perch on the arm of Alex's chair.
no subject
Alex was an active listener usually. He didn't so much keep eye contact but he kept his gaze on the speaker and watched for the story their expression and body told as much as the words he was listening too. And he had been actively watching Wren since with all of his attention. Perhaps that was why he suddenly felt overwhelmed and he had needed to concentrate on something else for a moment.
Talking about Henry was much easier then it used to be. The older three brothers, Henry, Will and Alex, had all been rather close. He didn't know why, he loved Phil and Ed just the same, but it was different. But eventually, Alex had realized that not talking about Henry was doing the memory of his brother a disservice so he refused to shy away from the topic any longer.
He looked up when Wren sat on the arm of his chair and, surprisingly to himself, leaned closer. Not quite touching, but definitely taking comfort from the closeness. "Me too. But that's why I think I prefer the version where the mother knows what happened. Personal experience."
no subject
Wren smiles. "Well, here, actually. Way back. The Sauvageons are spread all over the east coast and up into the Canadian maritimes, these days, and we don't settle well, so I'm sure I've got a thousand second cousins I've never met. But that side of the family claims roots in Siren Cove from back when this place was a trading port. Before that, France, and the UK, I think. Our family seems to collect sea stories, though, the more fantastic the better, so I don't know if that'll help you exactly."
He nods, glancing at his own wine. "I've never lost anyone that close to me. Friends..." He's had a couple of friends who overdosed, and one who killed himself, but in retrospect the fact that there weren't more seems remarkable. That period of life was verging on a cautionary tale. "I guess I am glad I'm not just wondering." He pauses. "I don't have any idea about my father, though. At this point I don't care - he certainly doesn't - but it is a little odd to think how little I know." He takes a drink. "That's one reason I used to like this song, when I was too little to appreciate all my mother did. The magical father returning for his son. A little silly."
no subject
The thought of not knowing a parent...that was something Alex couldn't relate to at all. The Senator and his wife were not always the easiest people to have as parents but he knew without a doubt that they both loved their children. "That's understandable though. It was easier as a child to create a romantic version of events. It's not silly at all. And I'm sure your mother knew you appreciated her, even while wanting your father to return."