Logs:Perfectly Marvelous

Perfectly Marvelous
Dramatis Personae Isolde, Matt, Maya
In Absentia	2020-11-13 "I wish you both much delightful music--and magic also, if that is to your taste."
Location <XAV> Back Patio - Xs Grounds
This patio is expertly laid out for relaxing singly or in groups. The section nearest the back door is a more or less conventional veranda, the mansion's eaves--supported by elegant white wooden columns joined with matching railings--extending out to shelter the long porch swings, rocking chairs, and a chess table from the elements. Down the stairs or the ramp from this is a fan-shaped expanse of slate flagstones populated by clusters of deck chairs and picnic tables, always changing in number and arrangement, and stone planter boxes bursting with seasonal flowers and ornamentals. The centerpiece is an elegant pavilion with a hot tub open for use year-round, even if the transition in and out may prove chilly in snowy weather. It's a crisp fall afternoon, the leaves across the grounds in a brilliant riot of fiery hues, a touch of nip in the air -- the perfect time to be out on the back patio with a hot chaider and an eager dog. Maya has just set her thermos down on a nearby table and is bending down to scoop up a knobbly bright blue rubber throw toy, arcing a hand back and flinging it wiiiiiide out into the garden for the large fluffy Berner to bound after. She's as colorful as the autumn trees -- bold orange sweater with an asymmetrical cut and large brown buttons clasping it down one side, slim fitted jeans, a wide brown belt with large gold buckle, tall scrunchy brown leather boots, a lightweight pink scarf draped around her neck loosely enough it suggests this is more for fashion and less for warmth, pink and gold bangles jingling on her wrists with the throw. Her glossy thick hair is bound back, dutch braided around the sides of her head until it joins up in a ponytail at the back. Over a background burble of lesson plans and exam schedules, potential fall hiking trips, interesting weekend parties, subdued grief she feels Not Much Right To Have there's lively bhangra music playing in her head; she bobs in place to the inaudible beat as she waits for the dog to return with her prize. There is, quite abruptly, an additional dog. The black and tan German Shepherd-ish mutt that streaks in from the adjoining gardens isn't quite fast enough to poach the toy, but she looks unconcerned by this, circling the larger, fluffier dog a couple of times before dropping into a textbook play bow. The hovering wheelchair that shortly follows her is, despite its unusual adornment of intricately tessellated animal bones, a familiar enough sight around the school this term, and its occupant is looking healthier today than usual, a touch of color in too-pale cheeks and his posture not so terribly slumped. Matt is dressed down for Friday, in a gray corduroy jacket, pale green oxford shirt, crisp blue jeans, and gray suede loafers, with a spiky neon green wig on his head. "Alas, Flèche no longer cares for my company," he laments as he approaches Maya, though the bright smile on his face suggests he's not all that heartbroken to see his dog happily at play with hers. "In fairness to her, there's not much competition. I'd pick Ratri over me, too." He lifts his own thermos for a sip. "Any grand plans for the weekend?" Isolde herself is a short distance from the two and the dogs, playing her tagelharpa in a steady— but not disruptive— rhythm. The lower sounds of the instrument are grating to some, especially considering their often rough sound, but to the redhead Isolde, it reminds her of home. Well, at least where she learned to play the instrument. The Polish mutant is dressed in a black leather jacket, olive green sweater—which is cut a little low but nothing too extreme—, black jeans and what can only be described as ‘logging boots’, thick, heavy soled boots with a noticeable heel. They resemble really any work boots you can think of, but are a bit thicker and rated for fire and shock resistance. She keeps her hair down usually, but for now it is tied up so it does not get in the way of the tagelharpa strings. She glanced over to the faculty members with a nearly blank look, as if she isn’t really registering they’re there, and shortly after keeps playing, watching the two dogs and subtly listening to their conversation. Eventually though, she gets bored and stops playing, wanting to see what they’re talking about. She quietly walks over, but doesn’t say anything at first, afraid to interject on their conversation. The peppy dance music in Maya's head is shifting to the steady strains of the tagelharpa, a vague and mild irritation accompanying the displacement of her mental soundtrack. It's very mild -- easily subsumed between a flutter of genuine warmth at the arrival of man and dog both. In the distance, Ratri has claimed the toy but immediately forgets it, dangling from her jaws as she flops over onto her back in front of Flèche. Maya covers her mouth with a carefully-manicured hand, stifling a soft laugh. "Ratri's a delight but she's not much for conversation," she admits, plucking her thermos back up and looking Matt over -- a reflexive stir of worry mingles with a pleased amusement at the wig. "Plans might be taking some liberties with where my brain's at actually there's too many things to do? I'm trying to figure out if I can juggle burlesque in the village and trying to learn curling and what sounds like a very nonsense tea party and going to this -- oh!" In her mind the sentence does complete itself, thoughts of a museum exhibit with costumes from The Crown as well as: "Have you watched The Queen's Gambit? It seemed like it'd be so up your alley." She's just popping open the thermos as Isolde approaches; she lowers it again with a quick smile and without drinking. "We have a music room," she offers brightly, "I don't know if -- I mean, especially as we're getting into winter, I've done enough busking to know the cold does not help with nimble fingers at all." Needing no further invitation, Flèche pounces on Ratri, sending both dogs rolling end over end in an exuberant flail of limbs and tails. "Goodness, but those all sound like so much fun!" Matt exclaims, perking up further at Maya's list of activities. "What a delightful dilemma. But yes, I adore The Queen's Gambit! If you're also a fan, there's a costume exhibit about it and The Crown at the Brooklyn Museum right now. Would you care to check it out with me?" His smile does not fade when Isolde joins them. "I am sadly devoid of any musical talent, but I have it on good authority the acoustics in there are amazing." “Ah. Well, sometimes I like to be out in nature. I am sorry if I disturbed you.” The Polish mutant says, frowning. It seemed to Isolde that Maya was enjoying something in her head, some sort of song perhaps, and Isolde had interrupted. Isolde doesn’t like to bother people and is a bit shy, hence why she doesn’t interject until spoken to. True to her nationality, she possesses a Polish accent to her speech, though it’s more subtle since she’s been living in the States a while. She absentmindedly plucks a couple strings, then puts the tagelharpa away for the moment in a bag. "Oh, it is for sure gorgeous out here," Maya agrees with an easy laugh. "I just thought -- well." Her head shakes quick, smile crinkling at her eyes. "I guess we all have different cold tolerance! My fingers go numb after too long." Mild and curious, "How did you get into playing --" Her fingers flutter toward the tagelharpa as Isolde stows it. Something in her mind is pinballing chaotically through a chain of thoughts -- white people with weird instruments pings an odd warning bell in her head that's rattling off of white neopagans in her calculation of discussing the rest of her weekend plans for Diwali celebrations with family and friends. Now she does lift her drink, sipping at it with a soft pleased hum. "Oh -- yes! Yes, that one. I would love to check it out there were so many good parts to that show but the style was high on the list." "Oh, I love being outside, myself, and the grounds here are perfectly splendid." Matt spreads his hands to indicate--everything around them. "This feels like pleasant weather to me, but I assume that means it's rather on the chilly side for anyone from a reasonable latitude. I must admit I'm not altogether sure what instrument that was." He glances over at the dogs; Flèche has just disentangled herself and is taking off while craning her neck around, tempting Ratri to give chase. "Excellent! Though I'm also quite curious about this nonsense tea party you mentioned." His bright green eyes sparkle with interest. “A tagelharpa. A traditional European instrument. It used to be played a lot in Scandinavia but is now mostly played in the Swedish communities of Estonia.” She explains, trying not to give Matt an info dump on the tagelharpa. He probably wouldn’t find it too interesting anyway. “Also, to answer your question, Miss, and not leave you empty handed, I learned it from my mother, who learned it from her mother, and so on. Sort of a tradition in our family, but it was never forced. It skipped a couple generations way back.” She explains to Maya, who she referred to as Miss, realizing she’s seen the woman around teaching music stuff. Whether or not she’s actually faculty, or just a helper, Isolde doesn’t yet know. “Do you both teach here, or are you helpers of some kind?” She asks, hoping to make more conversation—but not overwhelm the two too much. "Huh! Cool." Maya's eyes have gotten a little wider with curiosity, though her gaze tracks away to watch the dogs as Ratri rolls herself to her feet and bounds after Flèche. "So is that like a -- cultural tradition? I totally thought you were Polish." Light and amused murmuring in her mind: that's so exotic! A small laugh bubbles up out of her. "Oh wow I cannot hear anyone saying perfectly splendid anymore without thinking of Bly Manor. You know if we plan right we could probably make a museum and a tea party. How do you feel about period costume?" Her dark eyes flit back to Isolde, smile just a little brighter. "They just keep us around for our great hair, actually." Her hand turns out toward Matt's wig. The stark disbelief in her mind: how the fuck have you been here this long and don't know who else lives here? does not make it into her warm expression. "I teach music, he teaches magic -- not so far apart, really!" Matt listens with rapt attentiveness. "That's quite an interesting tradition! I--also thought..." He turns one hand gracefully up toward Maya. "...that." The dogs are racing back around and then past their owners now in an exuberant clatter of claws on flagstones. "Period costumes are perfectly--" His eyes gleam with mischief. "--marvelous. I'd probably opt for a different wig, though." He only blinks at Isolde's question. "I frankly don't know how I got hired in between cancers, but you know what they say--hair today, gone tomorrow!" “I am Polish.” She says, with a smile. “It was just common since my great great great...—you get the idea, grandmother had a tagelharpa. She passed it down and it eventually got passed down to me. No one knows where she got it from.” She listens to his cancer comment, and doesn’t know whether to laugh or frown. She’s glad he’s able to make humor of it, but does feel bad for him. No one deserved that. Ever. “Ah. Well, I’m glad you’re still here, for what it’s worth. We could really use you to help out.” She says, smiling slightly at him, making sure to move out of the way of the dogs from time to time. Cute things. She loved dogs. “I believe a different wig would help with the period costume, tak.” Tak is yes in Polish. She doesn’t full on speak it a lot, but switches in a few phrases from time to time. "Huh," again, this time softer than before. "Well, it's neat you can carry on that tradition." Her long lashes flutter down into a slow blink, eyes lowering to track the dogs as they tumble-race past. "I'm sorry, what?" She glances back up with a small lift of brows at the unfamiliar word. "Personally I totally think some of the British royals could do with more flair." Matt's brows raise up as he utters a silent "ah". Then, graciously, "Well, I do like being of use." His smile skews crooked as he glances back at Maya, "I've plenty of flair in my wig collection. I think rainbow mohawk might be the ticket for a period tea party, no? Well, I'm meant to be heading home, else my siblings might perish for lack of pup snuggles." He emits a soft click against his cheek and calls out, "Viens, Flèche!" Despite her enthusiasm for play, the sleek mutt is curving her trajectory back to return to Matt's side. "I wish you both much delightful music--and magic also, if that is to your taste." Then, to Maya as he drops his hand to the control panel of his chair, "Do text me the details, if you please?" He lapses back into a boyish grin as he guides both chair and pup back toward the mansion, "I cannot wait!" Isolde smiles at Matt, but is unsure what else to say to him. She interjects with a laugh where necessary, or a wave where is needed. She turns to Maya, realizing that she probably slipped some Polish in there. “Ah. Tak means yes in Polish. I was agreeing. I apologize, I do that sometimes.” She said, smiling at the woman as she watched Matt and the dog head back toward the mansion. She didn’t get to meet the dog, but she seemed sweet. She doesn’t really know what to make of Maya. She’s sweet though, Isolde decides. She just doesn’t know enough about the woman. “You said you teach music. What exactly do you teach?” "I totally will!" Maya draws a little X in the air over her heart, her smile flashing wide-wide as Matt takes his leave. "Oh! Ah -- music?" For a second, a swig of her drink, that's the only answer that comes; she dabs lightly at her lips with the back of her hand before elaborating, "History, theory, composition. Orchestra, too." With her companion gone Ratri is padding back to Maya's side. Maya drops a hand, scruffing lightly at the dog's ears before "-- oh silly pup you left your toy! I should be getting her in anyway, it's a long trip to the city. I hope your weekend's wonderful. She's flitting off, stooping to snag the forgotten rubber chew from where Ratri abandoned it on the patio before she heads back in.