Florialice February 2: I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire (Song of Your Choice)
Not everybody obeyed Oletus Manors’ curfew.
Some were even exempted.
Take, for example, one (1) resident little girl, who had found immense favor with none other than one influential Novelist:
“Eurydice! Eurydice! I am not lying!!!”
Alice DeRoss, the journalist of the Manor parading around as ‘Eurydice Lamb’ (she hated the name to some extent --just that last part, really-- but she would not have given her true identity to a sketchy Baron running sketchy housing operations), was currently lying in bed, the screeching child at her bedside.
“Mneme--” Eurydice began, her voice hoarse. The day had been, per usual, full of the chaos that came with competitive Manor games, competitive play performances, and Orpheus’ bi-weekly competitive children’s storytimes (that every adult attended as well).
“Eurydice,” the child rose to her tippy toes, her head slowly rising above the mattress like the sun emerging from the horizon. Except the child had horrifically wide eyes that would have caused Eurydice to flinch had this kind of scenario been more unfamiliar.
This was the third night in the row…
“Eurydice, you must understand,” the child Mneme mustered the lowest voice she could. “The Guitar Man… he’s out there. He’s prowling. He’s singing. He’s waiting.”
Mneme had always been into theatrics… Eurydice was the slightest hint worried that the child’s lack of sleep from constantly disobeying curfew was causing hallucinations.
“Mneme,” Eurydice gently began. “I think that if the Guitar Man is outside, he’s outside for a reason. You should leave him be, yes?”
“NO!” Mneme shot back. “He could be dangerous! Plus… me and Robbie can see him from our window-- we can’t just ‘leave him be’!”
“If you truly believe he is a threat…” Eurydice sighed, trying to fuse all of Mnenme’s strange descriptions together. A guitar bearing, spiky, tall monster who would faintly sing out in the Darkwoods every night since Sunday?
Eurydice knew of no such creature. Nor did anyone in the Manor seem to be particularly fond of guitars… “Mneme, if you think the Guitar Man is trying to harm us, I suggest reporting him to the Baron and not to me. I am only a resident, remember--?”
“Nooo,” Mneme whined. “Do you know how embarrassing it will be for me if I talk to the Baron for the first time ever and the Guitar Man just ends up being some… some guy?”
“Well, he’s more likely to be some guy than a threat, so…”
“But Eurydice! You’re the journalist! You must investigate! If I die, my blood will be on your hands!”
Oh, good grief. The child was stirring Eurydice’s brain hard; the journalist suddenly found herself pondering the probability that a man bearing a guitar would want to hurt the Manor residents.
If Oletus Manor was normal with a track record of normal, Eurydice would have to say it was zero.
But then again…
“Plus, what if the Guitar Man ends up being like Nathaniel Norwell?!” Mneme cried. Eurydice’s mind suddenly flashed mental images of the evicted resident who, for some reason, had almost been killed by Ithaqua, only to be stopped by Grace.
That was one of those days.
And another one of those murderous days: when Naib was outed as a killer mercenary sent to kill Murro. Or when “Vera”, in reality, Chloe Nair, had been outed as a sister killer and drug abuser. Or when all the hunters had concocted a secret manhunt against the chivalrous-suspicious Richard Sterling to execute him. Like, really execute— because Orpheus had spread some “deductions” (rumors— no, lies, because not even Richard would agree with them) about Richard wanting to do inappropriate things with his own sister.
“Oh no! I’m overthinking!” Mneme clutched her chest. As much of a little ball of chaos she was, Oletus would always be much worse.
It always got worse in Oletus.
So when Eurydice peered over the bed to see Mneme sweating and rocking back and forth in a tiny ball, she relented.
“We are going to stop the Guitar Man,” Eurydice declared.
~
For this mission, Alice DeRoss would travel alone. Mneme had been sent to her bed. Alice had gotten herself a strong lantern.
After changing into her normal outfit, plus her utility knife just in case (some kept guns— Alice wasn’t too fond of having others hear her if the encounter came to that), the resident journalist set off to investigate the oddities of Oletus once more.
Once she headed closer to the area adjacent to the house, to the point where Mneme would be able to see Guitar Man through her window, Alice caught wind of the suspect immediately.
They were sitting in the front of a small bonfire, playing a gentle melody. Alice caught a hint of triplets. Swing. A different kind of style from what she typically heard— although, to be fair, Oletus’ main genre of music was classical thanks to the presence of a violinist, composer, and opera singer all at once. (There was also Brynhildr and Eta’s occasional folk tunes… but Eta hated singing and Brynhildr was cutting back on her beer consumption lately.)
Anyhow, the melody repeated for a few times, and then she heard a quiet voice sing over it.
The words, for now, were indiscernible. Alice hoped it wasn’t some kind of soul swapping ritual (Ivy), personality changing ritual (Norton), or incantation for a new resident in the Manor (Hernando, as much as everyone loved him).
She continued creeping closer, her footsteps crunching against the dirt every other beat.
Still, the Guitar Man was either blissfully unaware or uncaring of whoever was approaching him from behind.
“I’ve lost all ambition…” the Man sang, plucking the strings tenderly on the offbeat. “For worldly acclaim…”
‘Did this man make the song himself?’ Alice wondered as she finally stood directly behind him.
And he continued singing. Something about love, ambition, goals…
She didn’t recognize the voice at all, actually, and despite the soothing words and gentle plucking, her brain itched over the probability of some random straggler hanging out in Oletus’ backyard again.
“Ahem,” Alice cleared her throat. It was time to get this over with.
A loose pluck. The voice cracked.
The man (not a monster— Alice would have to break it to Mneme) straightened ever so slowly.
He turned.
Alice almost flinched at the sight.
“Mr. Brand…!” Alice blinked, stiffening at the sight of the half-bandaged face before her. The face that always had an eerily bright smile and a glimmering single eye. (What had happened to the second one she was still unsure of.)
“Ms. Lamb…!” he mirrored her eccentric cadence. “Isn’t a pleasure? What brings you to the backyard at midnight?”
“I ask the same to you…”
“Ohh!” Florian’s smile twitched as he presented the guitar to her, holding it sideways over his knee. “Just… just playing my guitar.”
“And where’s it from?” Alice raised an eyebrow. Florian patted the space next to him.
Alice hesitantly obliged. She hadn’t been too familiar with the man until now; they would only have the occasional match together.
Florian was also more of an extrovert anyhow and was more likely to mingle with… well… the more extroverted survivors as well.
“Well! It's Mr. Romero’s. A memento from Spain, something or other, that he never really used. So I figured I could do something with it.”
“You’ve never played until now? You sounded rather good.”
“I did?” he paused, and then felt his face as if it were flushed. “Why thank you.”
A beat.
“Did you like the singing?” he chirped.
“Wha…” Alice blinked, caught off guard at the question.
For some reason, she decided to replay his singing voice in her head.
And for some reason, it had been unrecognizable. The accent had mysteriously disappeared. It was more gentler (and lighter) than the peppy, upbeat tone Florian always used (even when he was shouting into his walkie talkie in matches). It was also higher… perhaps a little nasally.
In light of all of those things, Alice did thoroughly enjoy the performance…
“Did you?” Florian chuckled, a hand on his hip. He was dressed out of uniform as well, with a lousily slapped on thick coat over a white shirt and black pants as a replacement.
“Yes,” she nodded. And she felt a bit like a fool for taking so long to answer such a simple question.
Of course she liked his singing. And if she didn’t, well… not many in Oletus were strangers to lying.
But Alice didn’t lie. She always fulfilled her words, and that fact alone was why she was sitting in front of a bonfire next to a fire investigator who, somehow, knew the guitar and could really sing.
“I bet you sing too, don’t you?” he tilted his head. In a way, he reminded her of a puppy.
What a strange comparison to make.
Alice forced herself to nod.
He offered her the guitar.
“Go on then,” he nudged her.
But Alice was frozen.
“Isn’t it Hernando’s?” she replied. After a few moments, she slowly pushed it back towards him.
“So? He gave it to me.”
“I don’t know how to play it,” Alice averted her gaze, a tiny frown forming on her lips.
Florian pouted. Alice caught it in the corner of her eye.
Very puppy-like.
“Try that song again, why don’t you? I never heard the beginning.” she brought her gaze back to him, her tone slightly teasing.
“Only if you’ll sing it after me,” he rolled his eyes lightly.
“Then you’ll have to sing it lots of times for me, okay?”
“I will do whatever it takes, Miss Lamb…”
Alice chuckled. And although the identity of ‘Eurydice Lamb’ was still foreign to her despite all her time living under it, it felt a little lighter to bear for now.
She watched as Florian raised his guitar. Cleared his throat once, twice. And then, he began to play.
After a few more moments, he sang:
“I don’t want to set the world on fire…”
All the while, he had a rapt audience. Alice’s eyes never strayed from him or the guitar.
This was something that, frankly, never happened to Alice. Such peace, such… dare she say it? Intimacy? Bonding? What even was this moment, she was unsure.
But it felt like a brief reprieve from… whatever was Oletus.
And Alice savored every moment of it.
This, of course, did not escape Florian’s notice as he continued singing, the flames illuminating his bright yet slightly weary face. He had quite the respectful audience, didn’t he?
In fact, he had a rapt audience of two.
In the distance, a little girl watched from her bedroom window.
And having heard the song before (for, in reality, she had masterminded the whole encounter), she declared:
“He totally wants to set the world on fire.”
BONUS:
“Go to sleep, Mneme!” Robbie groaned from the top bunk of Oletus’ daycare/nursery area.
“Robbie, my rep-ri-prive is in true love! Be quiet!” Mneme immediately shushed the exhausted, young hunter.
And then she immediately turned to the window, catching a brief glimpse of the devious smirk that seemed to be permanently imprinted on her face.