Arthur E. Hastings (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smilefornow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2024-10-04 04:49 pm
smilefornow) wrote in abraxaslogs2024-10-04 04:49 pm
smilefornow) wrote in abraxaslogs2024-10-04 04:49 pm
For Eddie
Currently he's lying under a shady willow tree, along the moss covered path that leads to the 'castle'. He's conjured up a record player to listen to, his hands folded behind his head and one leg propped on one knee. His foot is bouncing along to a Make Believes' song. There's very little from Wellington Wells that Arthur has recreated or preserved here, but he only knows the one band. And it is good music.
Besides, he needs a bit of something familiar and calming. There aren't many things from his life before that check both of those boxes. The Empress is lying beside him, chewing on an apple. Arthur himself is even enjoying a cigarette, a Benson & Hedges to be exact. He hasn't had one of them since he was sixteen.
Despite feeling a bit miserable and with nowhere to direct his misery, it's actually a rather nice time. He honestly wouldn't mind a bit of company....
For Fellow Inn Folks
He and reality have been on shaky terms for some time, though. He knows his outlook may be a bit unique.
Still. He's going to do his job, and take care of daily maintenance. Hinges need oiling and bolts need tightening and windows need checking for the coming season. He's not sure if storm sashes exist here in Solvunn, but they ought to. Very important bit of home upkeep, storm sashes for windows. He's sure he can fashion something.
"Just some glass and resin is all you really need, and resin is just sap, really...." He's talking out loud to himself as he heads to the main room windows to check the shutter hinges. "Sap comes from trees, there's trees all over...."
Really, he's just trying to keep himself busy. Busy hands have happy hearts! Or so they used to say in Wellington Wells.
His heart is certainly not happy, but at least he has something to focus on.
Open - Solvunn
Right now, he's focused on the wood chopping. It's strangely soothing. The whoosh of the axe, the satisfying 'thunk' as it bites into wood, the simple repetition of motion...it's all surprisingly nice. And it's pleasant enough out, he's brought a picnic lunch, birds are twittering away in the trees. These are all things to be pleased and content with, and yet his mind keeps trying to wander. It does that so often, now that his mind is all his own. It likes to come up with all sorts of upsetting and sad thoughts, and dwell on them.
Which had, to be honest, been a nice novelty unto itself at the beginning. Feeling sad, or angry, or scared...they were all still relatively new and fresh and a welcome change from years of twee numbness. That time has passed. He'd rather not dwell on unpleasantness or grief or anything like that. It feels awful!
It's this distraction that is likely why he's not paying the best attention to his axe swing. Instead of a nice, satisfying whoosh-thunk, there is a whoosh-twang as Arthur swings too low and hits not the trunk but a small boulder beside the trunk. With a very creative curse, he stumbles back, the axe flying out of his hands to tumble through the air at random.
"Watch out!" he cries, unsure if anyone is close by. "Flying hatchet!"
no subject
But sometimes he still runs into a song he knows he’s never heard, and that’s the case today. He’s strayed from his own domain today and followed the sound of music right into Arthur’s. He doesn’t recognize the song, but he thinks he might be able to pinpoint it as some Beatles-inspired, early 60s rock tune.
“Hey,” he greets Arthur with a wide grin, not even asking if he wants company other than that of a pig. He’s getting it either way. “I, uh, was in th neighborhood and couldn’t help but overhear. What are you listening to?”
no subject
Arthur manages a wave and a small smile for the young man. Eddie had been one of the first people he'd met here, when he was still overwhelmed at seeing an actual young person.
He pushes himself up the tree trunk he's lying against, into something more of a sitting recline. The Empress looks Eddie up and down, grunts, and returns to her apple with gusto.
"Ah, this is The Make Believes. Cheer Up, off of their album Unicorn Dreams. Which everyone said was a sellout album, but I happen to like it quite a bit."
Besides, who in the world could The Make Believes sell out to? They were seventy five percent of the entire musical scene in Wellington Wells. Really, people ought to have just been happy they kept putting out new albums.
"They're my favorite band," he explains. Then frowns thoughtfully. "Of course, they're about the only band I've heard in twenty years, so I suppose they'd have to be my favorite."
no subject
“Shit,” he replies after a long pause. “Okay. That’s, uh…that’s definitely the saddest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
It really might be, if he had to make a list. He tilts his head, tuning into the song for a moment. It’s a good sound—he’d listen to it more than once, but…it’s just wild to imagine not exploring anything else.
“Would you like to listen to something else? I mean, the right guy wandered into your domain if you are."
no subject
"Of all the sad things about Wellington Wells, trust me, only having two bands is the least sad one. We did have new music. We didn't ever have new anything else. I could have listened to the Garbage Ratz - yes, that's rats with a zed - but they really weren't any good."
They were just willing to make music. Or what they called music. It was mostly many discordant chords and a lot of screaming.
"The Make Believes are good. If we weren't an isolationist society, Nick Lightbearer would have been the most famous musician in Europe, I'm sure of it. Better than Al Bowlly - and he was brilliant. We did have other music, before the war, but...well, music is full of all kinds of ideas and references that local authorities deemed 'inciting and undesirable' so as many vinyls were burned as books. Lots of classical music left, and I'll be quite honest, if I ever hear Rule, Britannia! again I might lose my mind."
Arthur takes a drag of his cigarette, his mind fully turned to talking music. As best as he can, with his limited experience. But he has plenty of general knowledge, and he knows what he likes. And Eddie seems like a young fellow who's interested in music. Besides, it's not very often he gets to introduce anyone to something new, he's always on the other end of that. But right now, at this very moment, a young man from another dimension is hearing Nick Lightbearer and The Make Believes for the very first time.
That's smashing.
"But of course I'd like to hear something else. Well, I have, in Solvunn, but it's all....you know. Morris dance stuff. Songs you'd hear in a Shakespeare performance, not on the radio on a Saturday night. And as much as I love The Make Believes, I know every one of their songs by heart."
no subject
But usually Tifa could count on seeing him at least once per shift, and it's been a few days now. In fact, it's been long enough that she went by his host family to ask after him, only to find concerned faces. They'd asked her with hope in their voices if he might have chosen to stay at the inn for a few days, but that clearly wasn't the case.
Tifa strides into the inn for her shift, hoping against hope that he'll somehow be here. Ed being here one day and gone the next is just too strange, and while she's heard about how this can happen with the Summoned, this is her first time experiencing it, and it leaves her with a wrenching feeling in her stomach.
How can he just be gone...?
She hears a voice as she enters, but it's not Ed's. Arthur's here, mumbling to himself about...
Sap?
"Arthur?" Tifa moves toward his voice and finds him at one of the main room's windows. "Is everything all right?"
no subject
Arthur turns from the window and brushes a bit of hair out of his face, hammer in hand. At least he's not the only one who's shown up despite not having seen Ed in days. He knows what that means. He's seen it happen before.
They all know what that means.
Returning his tool to the box, he directs his attention to her fully.
"Not...entirely, I'm afraid."
no subject
He can honestly guess by the name alone (it’s the with a zed that really gets him) that Arthur probably isn’t lying or even letting his opinion color things. Eddie can get behind dissonant chords and screaming, but there really is a line to be drawn there somewhere. There still has to be a level of musicality to make something truly listenable. It’s why not every metal band has his stamp of approval.
He listens as Arthur speaks, head tilted. He knows little about Wellington Wells, and he hasn’t asked for more details beyond what Arthur freely provides, but the picture the other man paints is bleak. It reminds him of all the European musicians who were born into the rubble of a post-war world and whose music was colored by that backdrop. The 70s were full of them. The Who, The Stones, Pink Floyd. Even if they didn’t all cite it as a blatant inspiration, you could pick it out if you knew what to listen for. But there is one album that springs to mind almost immediately, and he thinks it’s something that Arthur will probably appreciate and see the deeper meaning in.
“You know,” he begins slowly. “I think I have just the thing for you. Better than Solvunn’s offerings by a long shot, at least. Mind if I work a little magic here?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He’s already focusing hard, digging deep into his memories to make sure he gets this absolutely correct. Music is so important to him, and he’s grown to realize that there’s nothing that irks him more than the idea that he might be misremembering a song. It’s harder with double albums—double the songs to mess up, but in the end, he thinks he’s got it.
“Alright!,” he quips with a bright grin as he wheels around, presenting a copy of The Wall to Arthur, almost reverently. “This is a masterpiece. It’s a long album, and bit different than The Make Believes, but, uh…probably one of the best things to come out of the late 70s, honestly? And no, that’s not an opinion.”
no subject
Not that she can blame him. She gets antsy when she feels like there's not enough going on, and it's why she's joined the monster hunting crew and put herself up on the community noticeboard.
"... Right."
She can already guess that they're worried about the same thing. She heaves out a sigh, turning to look over her shoulder at the rest of the room. It's quiet here, though — and she doesn't hear any movement upstairs either.
With a glance back to Arthur, she figures she may as well ask. "It's Ed, isn't he? He's..."
no subject
Arthur tips his head in curiosity. He waves a hand for Eddie to go right ahead. It's quite honestly a welcome distraction. Even more of one than the album he's listening to, which had been doing a decent enough job of occupying his mind.
But new music...
New music that isn't all flutes and lutes and praising various gods with funny names. Not that he has anything against the various gods with funny names, they seem as though they all do their jobs jolly well. He just isn't very interested in their music.
"A masterpiece, eh?" He takes the album, looking down at the label. The Wall. Rather simple title. "And from the future! How novel."
But not too far in the future as to be overwhelming. The seventies were just six years away from Arthur's time. Not that Wellington Wells was likely to last that long.
He slips the first record out of the cover and stops the one that's currently playing. The Make Believes go back into their case and are set carefully aside, and he places the new record down on the player.
"Once upon a time, new record day was the most exciting day. This was when I was a teenager and we hadn't had anything new for a while. We weren't all on government drugs yet, and there was still plenty of...well, you know. The regular sort. Booze and dope. We'd always get one or the other, my friend...ha, my friend Eddie McMillan and I. Make a night of it."
no subject
It's definitely a blessing.
With little more than a thought, it halts, floating just a good foot away from Henry himself, who had been walking down the neighboring path with a burlap bag slung over his shoulder. No doubt on an errand of some sort. He blinks, looking at the way its sharpened head glints in the light, then glances over at Arthur.
"This happens to you a lot, doesn't it?" he calls out.
Losing items in spectacular ways, he means. Granted, the last time he fumbled what he was carrying was less dangerous, but it's happened twice now!
no subject
There's no way around it, and it's silly to dance around it. Ed is gone. He's gone on holiday, and that's that. It isn't the first time it's happened, and it likely won't be the last. Maybe someday Arthur himself will go on holiday, one moment here and gone the next.
"I wasn't really sure what to do, so I just came in anyhow."
It felt wrong not to.
"Starting winterizing."
no subject
"I'm afraid so! My mum used to say I was born under a curse...I honestly might believe her at this point!"
Arthur sighs and gives a heave of his shoulders. He can't deny that he's always had a particular streak of bad luck. Things break. Things explode. Things fall over or apart and just generally get all mucked up when he's around.
If anything, it's gotten better here.
"But thank you. Again. I'm afraid I'm a bit...distracted."
no subject
“Well,” he begins, dropping down into the grass alongside Arthur with a wild grin. It’s clear that idea has immediately been sparked. It’s not fair that Arthur hasn’t gotten new music in such a long time--real music, not the stuff heard around Solvunn, and what better way to celebrate that?
“It’s new to you, right? And sure, I may not be Eddie McMillan, but I think Eddie Munson’s not too far off. Why deny yourself a real new record day?”
no subject
It's things like this. Music that could exist in his world, in a handful of years. Knowing things that happen in the 70s or 80s, or about things in the world beyond in his own times. Knowledge no one else from Wellington Wells had or was likely ever to have. Maybe he ought to be over being stricken a bit by that, but he isn't.
"And I...well, goodness, I suppose you're right." He could do (almost) anything he wanted here. Have anything he wanted. For goodness sakes, he was lounging under a tree on the grounds of Blandings Castle, a place that until he'd made it here, existed only in fiction. If he wanted a drink or a doobie, he could have one.
"Er...which would you recommend, for this particular album?"
That sort of thing mattered.
no subject
He beams, clearly pleased with the way this whole ordeal is shaking out. Sure, it’s just the Horizon, but he’s been Horizon-drunk enough times to know that you’ll still feel something. An album like this really does require the full experience.
“And if you agree...would you like to do the honors this time?”
no subject
He reaches out to grip the axe's haft, releasing his powers so that he can hold it properly, walking over to Arthur. Examining the progress he's made so far.
"Is everything all right? A lot on your mind?"
no subject
Better safe than sorry, maybe.
Tifa clasps her hands at her chest and sighs. "I think... well, I may not have known Ed that well, but I think he'd want us to keep going with the inn, don't you?" She is truly asking for Arthur's opinion, her gaze entreating. Maybe he knew Ed better than she did; he's been here longer than her, after all.
Now she's the one who feels like she needs to do something with her hands, so she strides over to the bar, hopeful that she can make a comforting drink for Arthur as they process this.
no subject
Music could be tricky that way. Sometimes a nice gin and fizz elevated the experience, and sometimes a bit of herbal smokeables are what's called for. Different music called for different moods. Since Eddie knows this album, and, from the looks of him, knows his substances...Arthur will go with his recommendation.
He'd never been very good at rolling, but the Horizon negates the need for that. It's still a bit jarring, jut being able to think very hard and picture something in his mind and then it's real. But that's how this plane of existence works, and he's not about to complain.
So with a bit of thought and concentration, a joint appears between Arthur's fingers. It looks very much like a joint from the 80s, a bit tapered at the end and twisted at the top, rolled in a Rizla paper. He doesn't know of any other brand. Though it's rather longer than an American joint. Quite noticeably so.
"Ah, there we are. A good old doob. You know, it was almost impossible to get this stuff in the last few years. Last time I smoked anything but tobacco...Christ, I think it was that New Year's party with Nick. He's a rock star, he always has drugs. I think he had someone who grew it for him."
no subject
Arthur nods. This place meant a lot to Ed, but in part because of the people he shared it with. He'd called them his crew, and he knows what that meant to Ed.
He clears his throat a bit awkwardly, preparing his English sensibilities for discussing emotions. That sort of thing doesn't come naturally to his people.
"I'm sure you've heard about how a bunch of us who were here a while sort of...lived through the future, only not really, it was all terribly confusing. But in that time, Ed and I lived together for centuries. He told me a lot about himself, and well, you just come to know a person when you live together for hundreds of years." As strange as that sounds to say.
"Anyway, one thing I know...being remembered was important to him. Having a legacy, all of that. In this place and time, this is his legacy. We're who remember him. And that is precisely what we're going to do. This will always be his inn, but...well, we'll keep it in top top shape for him."
no subject
When Arthur explains that she and Ed had been together for many of those centuries, she pauses in pulling out glasses and mixing ingredients from behind the bar, sensing how important this is and wanting to give it her full attention. Yes, of course you would get to know someone well after all that time spent together.
So, if anyone knows what Ed might want, it would be Arthur.
"Legacy, huh? Then..." She looks up and around at the inn. It's not in perfect shape, but they've made it their own, and that was all Ed's effort. "We'll do everything we can to make sure it keeps running and that people remember he started it. Maybe we can put some sort of memorial up for him too — so people know what part he played in it."
It would help them process that he's gone too, she thinks. Either way, she lifts a glass up and tilts her head toward Arthur.
"Drink?"
no subject
“Holy shit,” he laughs. “Not bad. I guess you and I have a different idea on the size of one of these things but, hey, I’m not about to complain.”
He grins, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to fish out a lighter. He presents it to Arthur, allowing him to do the honors in this case as well.
“In Indiana, we’ve got what you call ditch weed. Like, literally just wild marijuana growing along the side of the road. It really kind of sucks, honestly, and it’s apparently really shitty to the farm equipment so it gets chopped down pretty quickly, but if you can find it? Gets the job done in a pinch.”
And he is absolutely speaking from experience.
“What kind of rock star are we talking?”
no subject
It's a future lighter, of course.
"Really? I don't think it grows naturally anywhere in England. But any port in a storm, eh? I imagine most of my neighbors would have clawed one another's eyes out for even 'ditch weed'." What an unpleasant term for it!
"Oh, Nick was the lead singer of the band I was just listening to." He flicks the lighter to light the joint, inhaling deeply...and only coughing a moderate amount.
"Wild fellow, very talented. And the ego! But really...Wellington Wells was our entire world, so being the most famous person in Wellington was like being the most famous person in the entire world. Last time I saw him, he was passed out in the bathtub...."
Probably passed out.