IM | 3rd Proclamation

[longmayshereign]

[Here's Mary, throwing a question out to everyone in camp.]

I know that there's a custom of having sing-alongs over the fire in the evenings, and I know that there are a great deal of musically inclined campers.

Often times my father would host musicians over a weekend and they'd form a band just for the visit, and play for everyone at night. Those were lovely times.

Would anyone be interested in forming a band? Nothing formal and obviously we likely only be playing at camp functions at best, or for own pleasure if nothing else. Rock, pop, I'd be up for anything save rap, really.

No one wants to see (or hear) me rap.

Just to have fun and make a bit of noise. I can offer guitar, piano, and singing, myself.

Any takers?

Oh, and we shan't be called 'Free Beer' or 'Live Nude Girls'. Obviously.

Comments

[toeverywhere]

Thank you. Mostly it's that I have nothing but a whole lot of time on my hands. Immortality does that to you. [She shrugs like it's no big deal.]

I could do anything. My knowledge of music is... Well, broad.

[longmayshereign]

But what do you like to do?

[toeverywhere]

Tricksy.

I'm kinda partial to singer-songwriter-esque. And I have a weird soft-spot for the Southern Gothic.

[longmayshereign]

I don't know what that is, I'm afraid. Could you explain? Or demonstrate?

[toeverywhere]

It's definitely an American thing. But I could, easily.
Would you rather a demo or an explanation?

[longmayshereign]

[She immediately perks.] Oh, a demonstration, please!

[toeverywhere]

Sure thing. Where are you? I'll grab Booker's guitar and head over there.

[longmayshereign]

How about the porch of Demeter cabin? That's where I live.

[toeverywhere]

Be there in a few seconds.

[She dissolves the rainbow, and, true enough, a few seconds later, she's sitting in the shade of Demeter cabin, her ornate guitar on her lap.]

[longmayshereign]

[Mary is waiting on the porch, and with a gesture, invites Elizabeth to join her.]

What a beautiful guitar!

[toeverywhere]

[She wastes no time in taking a seat next to Mary.]

Thank you! It belonged to a good friend, a long time ago. [After his death, the guitar had become her again.

She strums sadly.]

[longmayshereign]

[Mary nods in respectful understanding, but her curiosity outweighs her solemnity.]

So...Southern Gothic? I confess I'm dying to hear it.

[toeverywhere]

Alright. Let's do this, then.

[Softly, Elizabeth began to sing, a few woah-ooohs before she started to strum her guitar, tapping her foot on the porch to help her along.]

Pink blossoms on the Mimosa trees,
Cicada's dancing soft and sweet,
sweat on his neck in the summer heat,
kissing the preacher's daughter.