trans_9 | lutes & lullabies

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lutes & lullabies

Time passed in the strangest way on this ship, as if it had slipped her mind that she ought to be moving. It seemed that she had slept a very long time, but she had risen, had what food there was to be had (and truthfully, it tasted as good as it looked), and then she had found her way back to the possessions storage room. Retrieving the Vulcan lute was the best sort of goal she had in mind and it was to the Observation Deck she went.

It was, for all intents and purposes, fairly clear of people.

If she was prone to meditation at all, it was music that soothed her the best. Nothing could have prepared her for this place--nor the strangeness of the people within it. She couldn't fault them as they were just as displaced as she was. It took her a moment to tune the instrument and she played around with a few runs before settling into a quiet Yiddish Turkish song, though it was done in the Ladino style with a mix of Yiddish and Spanish--heavier on the Spanish. She'd heard it sung a few times growing up from the woman who lived a few doors down from her. It was simple and haunting all at once, especially when she wove harmony into it with her lute. Her voice was steady and she she found her back easing as she leaned into a meatlike couch. Sitting on the floor was comfortable and the sounds around her blurred and faded just enough.

Music had always made her feel better and it did once again.

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The voice was unmistakable. Spock had heard it often, and he was not alone, as Nyota's voice was a gift she frequently shared with those who appreciated it.

The combination was highly unusual, something she had been known for among the musicians at the Academy. Her ability to combine various forms of traditional Terran music and harmonize them with seemingly-incompatible instruments and styles from all over the galaxy had been part of the reasoning behind her appointment as Vice President of the Chorale Ensemble.

Besides all that, she played the Vulcan lute better than any human Spock had ever heard, and better even than some Vulcans he had known. He had a deep and abiding respect for her talent, thoughtfulness, and creativity, which led him now to finding a spot near her on the floor, legs tucked underneath him. The room was not acoustically impressive, but it would do.

He sat, and listened, taking pleasure in the exercise, although she was likely the only one who would be able to tell.

One couldn't not notice Spock, but as any trained musician did, she finished her piece and let the last note die away before seamlessly floating into another (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qoNQ-wQ9wfY&feature=related). It sounded better with a full compliment of instruments with it, but fancy fingering and quick tuning shaped the landscape of the piece around her voice, which filled in for absent instruments, like the violin.

It was a sad little piece, but beautiful nonetheless.

And the slow plucking of the lute's strings at the end of the piece was done so that it seemed to suspend her voice on the notes alone.

Her skill and dexterity (physical and mental) were considerable, something which never escaped Spock's notice, not since the first time he'd heard her play the instrument. Her pitch was flawless, and he was no longer her only spectator, as was to be expected.

The emotion, the haunting sadness, contained in the notes she played was something his people would have looked down upon, being showcased so publicly, but Spock accepted it. He was well acquainted with this human proclivity, and knew that while this might have been a public reflection of something private, there would be underlying themes and meanings that the others were unlikely to pick up on.

Uhura let it drift and form its own way into something else entirely. The tune skimmed along for awhile before pitching into a minor key--she followed it and let it develop like someone making a clay pot. While her fingers gave the piece life, she was only the guide.

It resolved into something akin to a Vulcan lullaby, softly functional, though she was conscious of the fact that she was pulling into her own Africa roots. She had ceased to see anything at all and her head tilted sideways a little as if she were listening to some unseen, unheard prompt. The noises of the ship fell into place and she let it mingle with the fluidity of the almost eerie tone the lute provided.

She let it flow like the living meditation it was. Contrary to most observers, Vulcan music was at once functional but deeply emotional, provided that emotion was couched deep within the piece itself. As this was shaping up into a proper Vulcan inspired lullaby, she wrapped it up in many, many layers before lending her voice to it, and pulling all of the elements together. It came out in Taiya-kana, the oldest of Vulcan dialects and that surprised her.

It was about the ways of the desert, of survival, of instinct, and of honor. It was about all of these things and more, its many layers floating and weaving in and out of her words and melody. It was about life and love and the sky. It didn't really matter at all what it was about, it just was.

Spock knew of no human who was so capable of understanding the complexities and subtleties of Vulcan music. The way she played it was, in some ways, vastly different from the way it would have been played by a native. She imbued the music with touches of her own humanity which, while on the surface appeared contradictory, actually fit quite logically into the structure of the music and gave it a unique new perspective.

The same could be said of her grasp of the language. She was technically proficient, given that human vocal chords were physiologically incapable of producing some of the more complex sounds of Vulcan dialects, but Nyota seemed to understand that the language was about far more than efficiency and rationality.

When the song ended, Spock inclined his head. "An exemplary performance."

"The unexpected ones," Uhura said, flicking a glance up at Spock, "are always decent." She stopped the strings vibrating with a carefully placed hand, her fingers brushing over the long neck of the lute and upward. She enjoyed Vulcan as a language and she always had. It hid everything behind layers of meaning and she had always been able to find the depth of a turn of phrase, or a particular word in those layers.

Like its people, the many dialects of the Vulcan culture were fascinating. Shades of tone went far more than the words, though they were the sort of things that one had to be extremely sensitive to catch. So much of it was not about body language or vocal intonations, but the interconnecting bonds between Vulcans themselves. It was something she could never reach as a human. Part of her found that a sorrowful thing, something that couldn't ever quite be shared.

And she let her smile warm her features.

"Your skill is a larger contributing factor than the relative spontaneity of the performance," Spock replied frankly. He was not, as a rule, given to compliments or praise, merely to the recitation of observable facts. Nyota's skill with words and music was a fact.

"I had not thought to hear the language of my home spoken by another on this ship," he continued. It would be a relief to once again be able to converse with her in his native tongue - something they had done often at the Academy, first as a training exercise (he was her Vulcan phonology instructor, after all), and eventually becoming a simple habit borne of a mutual appreciation for the language.

Uhura inclined her head slightly and the understated smile settled. She knew what were compliments (couched in fact, yes) and what were not. She accepted it in the spirit it was given, quietly and with no audible recognition. She had never been one to run after high praises, anyway. It wasn't in her nature, even if she strove to utilize her abilities to their best. That was something she had done even as a child.

"Perhaps that is one part of the reason I am here," Uhura murmured in Vulcan, resting her fingers against the edge of her lute.

Hearing her speak his language, the unique inflection she used, coupled with the human tonal quality, no matter how often he heard it, always sounded slightly exotic, and yet comforting at the same time. Occasionally, it reminded him of his mother.

"I am disinclined to ascribe such significance to myself," he responded, settling easily into the rhythm they had developed over the course of their acquaintance.

"You are of significance in many ways," she said, her tone wound in upon itself. To anyone but Spock she would have sounded professional, but there was much more wrapped within it; admiration, respect for the language, the culture, the many aspects of Vulcan culture and custom, as well as her own affection for Spock. There were many layers to peel back before that particular affection could be found, but he would find it.

"To converse in this manner is always of importance and a pleasure. It honors the Vulcan language, memory, and consequently, imbues you with such a significance, does it not? I am, as always, honored to be able to take part in keeping this much alive."

Edited 2010-04-10 21:48 (UTC)

"It is an honor to myself and the memory of my people that you wish to converse in this manner. Sharing these things will aid me in keeping their memory alive." For all that the language was built around ideals of efficiency and reason, Spock had always found it easier to express his emotions in his native tongue. The words were, on the surface, simple - any first-year xenolinguist at the Academy would have had no problem translating - but, as always, they carried multiple meanings, a subtlety that few humans ever picked up on. Nyota had.

"That I am able to aid you in this is pleasing," Uhura said, her tone not deviating from the carefully balanced layers it held. Her own words held the same deceptively simplicity, but they were not simple at all. She wished she could bring back Vulcan, but she couldn't. All she could give him was language, understanding, patience, and herself. And she held nothing back, though it was all carefully woven into her words. Uhura had always maintained a deep respect of Vulcan culture since she was very young.

It had been the lute that had fascinated her and through it came the language. Through language came many other aspects. She had buried herself in its study, delighted herself with stories and legend and history, and had fallen in love with the music. And this, long before she had met Spock who had immediately sparked her interest.

Spock had to admit to himself that, while their relationship was grounded in logic, rationality and a clear compatibility between them, one of the things which had drawn him to Nyota was simply the sound of her voice speaking his native language. The timbre of her voice was warm, and inexplicably brought to mind images of his mother's garden - hardy, desert flowers which used the scarce resources and harsh climactic conditions to full advantage, creating a unique juxtaposition of strength, ingenuity and beauty.

"Thank you," he said quietly, reverting to English.

"You're welcome, Spock," she said, her voice just as quiet. Uhura paused for a long moment. "I...miss the practice." And it was such a beautiful language. She absently brushed her fingers over the strings of her lute, plucking a breezy tune from it. Vulcan had been her first alien language, relatively speaking, and had pushed her onwards to more. After all these years, it was still her favorite.

Music.

It's often said among Humans that it's a universal language. In his own travels, Renne had found it to be something that could transcend anything, even species. As such, music remains one of his few weaknesses.
And his ears have rarely guided him wrong.

Thus, the oddity quietly moves, following what navigational rules he knows toward the sound. Having heard little of Human music outside of a soothing lullabye or a rhythmic sea chantey onboard past ships -- the Pride and Fury comes to mind briefly -- the ethnic blend confronting him now is something too fascinating to try to lend his voice to.

For now, the blue creature finds a spot to sit and to listen. He sits with his huge feet crossed in a twisted reverse-fold beneath himself and his plushie -- wait, two? yes, two. Billy and Archie -- held in his lap. He hadn't brought his Archie plushie out in a long while and somehow, hearing the tune compels him to do so.

Archie. I always said he was like gold.

Uhura kept playing and let the lute take over for the most part, winding the Ladino elements into a complex series of melody twists that seemed to chase each other. It was challenging to fold it all around and still remain true to the tune itself. She enjoyed playing with it, pitting the traditional against the blend of the different elements--especially the lute. It was...different, and she used it to tug out the lullaby qualities in the song.

He drinks in music like perhaps a connoisseur to fine wine.

Once upon a time, in the Era of the Wall as he begins to call it, the oddity could have easily masked his emotions from any and all life-forms. However, the Era of the Wall had ended recently -- on this ship, in fact and that lends to many things. One of which is that he can no longer create that veneer that might make any Vulcan Master of Kolinahr green with envy.

Thus...Uhura? You have a creature with his skin literally producing a flashing colour-show for you in crazy patterns of blue, indigo, teal touched with a deep violet and fuchisa.

Valiantly, the beastie keeps his tongue in check. For now. Alas, the temptation grows, to surrender to song as in days long, long before here.

It could be said that Chaucer's soft spot for words, and poetry especially, was well known. Even when he didn't understand the words, even when they were sung, it didn't really matter to him. There was an enchantment to it, almost, that wrapped him in a cocoon of warmth, comfort, and everything that put his mind to playful rest.

He did not think it too brash to believe himself a little bit in love with the voice that he followed through the Observation Deck to its source. When it led him to such an exotic beauty, oh. He knew it.

There were few beauties in the world - worlds, now - that he found worthy of worship, fewer, in fact, if he were to think about it, as he got older. But this wondrous lady, should her heart match voice and face, oh she held the potential make his soul weep with joy.

Even if he was happily married.

Biting his tongue (metaphorically) and lip (physically), he settled against the wall, content to watch this angel until her worship was complete.

Uhura knew when she was being watched and, as usual, ignored it until the song found its way to its end. Her fingers trailed over the strings, letting the idle motions find their own way to an absent song that was delicately present, like the undertone of a murmuring crowd.

Her eyebrows arched just a little, spinning the notes out, playing around with them, and letting them fall where they may. It, like the lullaby, was also Ladino inspired and had the same haunting notes.

She liked them and they suited her mood.

"Sometimes," she said, finally, "the only thing we have from our home is the music."

"And sometimes even that escapes us," Geoff agrees, straightening with a smile. "You play very well, m'lady. It has been a long time since I have paid witness to such splendidly refined beauty. Too long."

And he was most definitely not wearing anything under that blanket-thing. She kept her best diplomatic smile on her face and pointedly ignored anything but his face. That was easy.

"Thank you," Uhura said. Quietly. "I've had a great deal of practice. I find music a main source of comfort when it comes to stressful moments."

"Is it the words or the melody which gives you comfort?" Chaucer, used to being much more naked than he currently is, was blatantly unaware that his state of dress might be causing her discomfort. He's honestly curious, too. "Words have always been my strength; I found in my youth that I had little patience for plucking strings."

"Both," Uhura said. "While one may exist without the other, they are made to compliment each other, and thus, when both are present, they are comforting."

"Very well said, m'lady," Chaucer said, quite thoroughly enchanted. "You make me wish I had kept more to my studies as a child, instead of disappearing into books as soon as I learned Latin."

"There are always opportunities in which to learn, should you wish to do so," Uhura said, smiling just a little.

"Before I came here I would be likely to argue that case; I'd been kept too busy by lords and patrons for much study of late. But here, perhaps, if a lovely lady such as yourself were to offer lessons, I could happily bend my mind again to the task." It would be a very happy task indeed, actually.

"Seeing as we have time, I might be able to arrange that," Uhura said mildly. "Possibly."

"Wonderful!" And Chaucer is truly delighted, for many reasons. He may have been a recalcitrant student when he was younger, but these days he absorbed knowledge like a sponge.

"But I think we haven't introduced ourselves yet, which is horribly rude of me. One cannot take lessons from a beautiful lady without knowing her name." At least not these sort of lessons. "I'm Geoffrey Chaucer, herald and writer. There's about a fifty-fifty chance you've heard of me?"

"From Earth history, then," Uhura said, tilting a glance at him. "Quite famous even in my era. Pleased to meet you." She paused for a moment. "Uhura."

One name. Unmarried, probably either a bastard or a noble who was used to being recognized for her father - see Jocelyn and countless others for reference, Geoff - but obviously noble because of skill, beauty, and manner.

Still stunning.

He kept his smile, and having not been presented with a hand, bowed his head anyway. "The pleasure, I believe, is mine, Lady Uhura. I take it your era is far beyond mine?"

"Twenty-third century," Uhura said, her nod polite. "Very far beyond your time. And just call me Uhura." It didn't seem right to have a title. Not like that. It was Uhura or Lieutenant. Uhura idly plucked strings and wove them into chords, just playing with them.

"Just Uhura."

Well, who was he to argue? "Very well, m'lady. Just Uhura, who comes from far, far beyond my scope and understanding, and would put most of the women of my time to shame, it will be a great pleasure to learn anything you are willing to teach me."

"Then it is settled," she said. "Do you prefer mornings, noon, or afternoons? I'm sure we can work something out. I believe the media center has instruments suitable." Uhura leaned into her lute, her expression serious and focused.

He'll get her to smile at a compliment. He will. Eventually.

Until then, Geoff shrugged. "Mornings seem suitable. I'm an early riser."

"As am I," Uhura said with a nod. "We will convene after respective morning meals, then. Hopefully, I shall adjust to the strange time this ship seems to have. I don't think I've quite got it down yet. I'll attempt to be on time or early to the best of my ability."

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lutes & lullabies

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