A Time to Rise and a Time to Fall [Open to Multiple]

[andhiswife]

Greta dreams of falling (again, and again).

The path ends abruptly. Maybe there never was a path, only a deceptive stretch of ground, free of any undergrowth, that looked like it could be one. Either way, she's left standing on the edge of a sheer cliff, looking down at the leaf-strewn forest floor far below her. A small rock tumbles down, as if for the sole purpose of illustrating the length of the drop. It seems to take ages to reach the bottom, clattering off exposed roots and finally thudding to the ground.

There's a roaring in her ears like a great wind, but it isn't the wind. The earth shudders beneath her feet. She reaches out wildly for something on which to steady herself, knowing even as she does so that she'll miss; she always misses, it's so stupid. Maybe she deserves whatever comes next.

But she doesn't miss. Her hand closes around something - not a branch. An arm? Whatever it is, she isn't letting go.


[ooc: whoops, Greta's dropped into your dream. Or you've dropped into hers. Whether you want them both to be in her giant-plagued forest or in a setting more familiar to your character is up to you. Poor Greta's just gonna have to roll with it either way.]

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[singthesong]

The Balladeer is trying not to think about any possible return, himself. He's not sure if it would be worse to have a choice or not. Can he just willfully abandon his work? Is that right?

He puts it out of his mind, smiles at her, and begins to sing the song. Worrying won't help anything.

[andhiswife]

Greta cants her head a little as he begins to sing, the melody drawing her in with its vague familiarity - it reminds her of some of the simpler folk songs from her home - but then stopping her at arm's length with its odd progression. She wants to find it comforting, but can't, quite.

Of course, the refrain doesn't help. Has your mama been gone too long? She hasn't been gone a week, but she still worries about how her little family is faring. The littlest, in particular. How is her son supposed to do without her? Aren't there enough motherless children out there without consigning him to the list as well?

She keeps her promise not to interrupt; she won't spoil this novel opportunity for the Balladeer. But her smile fades, and her hands are no longer folded so much as clenched together.

[singthesong]

Maybe he's just constitutionally incapable of singing happy songs. Or maybe all he needs is practice.

Either way, a good performer knows how to keep tabs on his audience's mood, and it doesn't take too long for him to realize the effect he's having on Greta. The Balladeer wraps the song up earlier than perhaps it should have been and falls silent, shifting the banjo aside and leaning forward, elbows on his knees, to look out at the water. "I wish we could get out of Manhattan," he comments. "It'd be nice to see more of the world."

[andhiswife]

He plays well, and sings well, and it shouldn't be such a relief when he stops, but it is. Greta twists her hands together self-consciously, wondering if he noticed her discomfort and whether she should be grateful or just mortified if he did. He doesn't mention it, though. In fact, he changes the subject completely.

"Oh?" She hasn't really thought about going anywhere but back home. If she did, she'd imagine the rest of the country to be a similarly bewildering landscape of pavement and towers and too many people, no better or worse than the island they're trapped on, now - at least not as far as she's concerned. "Where would you go?"

[singthesong]

The Balladeer sighs, looking thoughtful. "I don't know." Part of him wants to go back to Washington. It's the closest thing to a hometown he's got; he's been there more than anywhere else throughout the years. Still, part of him...really sort of doesn't.

"Probably somewhere less urban. I don't mind cities, but I've never had much of a chance to get out into the country. Most places aren't as built up as New York." He could even leave the country altogether, though the thought didn't even occur to him until just now. The idea of becoming an expatriate doesn't appeal, but maybe a short trip would be fun? Not that it matters anyway.