hh_mirror | open RP: music is infectious. No, really.

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open RP: music is infectious. No, really.

Having been unknowingly infected with a self-replicating spell by the mischievous Simkin, Camilla went about her day quite as she always would. Since she'd heard inexplicable music in Simkin's presence it didn't seem to her strange that she should continue to hear it now. And because she happened to be in a fairly pleasant mood at the moment, the music she heard was not disconcerting. At the moment it was some nondescript and upbeat jazz, actually.

Being a fairly sociable person, she'd say hello to people she ran across in the halls. She had no way of knowing that her presence would also transmit the spell to them -- that was the self-replicating bit -- and that their own personal soundtrack would consequently follow them, mirroring their moods as hers was doing for her.

(( OOC: This one is Simkin-mun's idea! He says it's "a self-replicating meme, that attaches to people as they interact with one another, and plays music depending on their mood. ... if they've got a song stuck in their head, it'll play that. But if they're feeling predatory, it might play the Jaws theme, for instance."

If you feel like uploading songs, that's cool, but you don't have to. You can just describe them, as I've done, being lazy as I am.

Once a person is infected, they can then infect other characters. Eventually the spell will fade away and so will its effects. Have fun! ))

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"...Soup." All right, this was such an alien notion that it very nearly shut his rational thought down entirely. He'd let Camilla deal with the tea and soup, tvym.

"So where's Henry?" he asked abruptly, unable to continue that line of convseration for fear his brain might start dribbling out his ears.

At that question the music went confused for a moment, a weird jumble of dissonant strings, before settling into a smooth and utterly forgettable melody, the aural equivalent of blancmange.

"He's in America. Supposedly touring a chocolate factory." Camilla offered a slight half-smile, as if to say, I know it sounds ridiculous.

Really, Henry wouldn't eat almost any American chocolate, Camilla would think.

Okay, as if Ryder hadn't been through for enough of a loop today. He blinked. "...A chocolate factory?" he asked.

Having spoken to Susan--though obviously before all the un-Death-ifying had happened--he knew why Henry might want to get away for a while. Had the question been asked, then? Had Camilla said no? D-Student of human nature though he was, Ryder somehow thought Camilla would be behaving rather differently if she'd turned Henry down. God, all these people were weird.

"I said the same thing." Camilla felt vindicated by what she interpreted as skepticism from Ryder. "I can't even remember the last time he ate chocolate at all, let alone that kind of chocolate. The postcards are coming with the right postmark on them, anyway, so unless he's mailing them for someone else to send from that town, he's where he says he is. God only knows what he's doing there."

She didn't sound particularly perturbed by this, only perplexed.

Okay, he had to ask. "Did he say why he went, exactly?" The fact that she wasn't upset said that she probably hadn't turned Henry down, but in that case what had she done? Honestly, Ryder would have expected Henry to come up with a better excuse for a vacation.

"Not why he really went. Just some hilarious story about organ trafficking. How organ trafficking is supposed to bear on the classics, or with astronomy or paleontology for that matter, I'm sure I can't understand. Oh, I can't say I'm not curious, but on the other hand --" she lowered her voice, and the music rippled lower too -- "I'm glad I wasn't expected to go too, you know?"

Then again, if it were something he thought was dangerous, he'd want to keep her out of it. A frisson of worry crept into her mind, and reflected audibly in a violin glissando.

"Organ trafficking?" Ryder snorted. "Why the hell would he go to a chocolate factory to investigate organ trafficking?"

He shook his head, lighting a cigarette. "I can't blame you for not wanting to go," he said, thinking he knew full well why Henry didn't ask her to go. If that was Henry Winter's idea of an escape, then he was a much odder man than Ryder had thought.

Camilla agreed. "I know, it's a ridiculous story. I think he actually expected me to believe it, which is also ridiculous."

Something dangerous -- he wouldn't have gone somewhere dangerous with people he didn't know and trust. He didn't know Professor Dax or Dr Silvey very well at all. So it hadn't occurred to Camilla that it might be something of that nature. Anyway, he's perfectly fine. He's sending postcards.

"Did he say when he'd be back?" Ryder wanted to know. He had to see how all this turned out, dammit--if he couldn't kill people, meddling with their lives was the next best thing, and he felt obscurely responsible for the situation. It was going to work, dammit.

"... No," Camilla admitted.

What if he had written all the postcards ahead of time, and put them in an envelope and sent them to Hershey for someone there to mail out at set intervals? It was the kind of thing Henry would do.

"Do you think I should worry?"

"Nah," Ryder said, quite honestly, and for reasons Camilla could not begin to guess. "He'll be fine. I just hope he won't bring home damn tacky thing from the gift shop." He could no more see Henry doing that than shaving his own eyebrows off, and his tone quite clearly implied it.

"If there really is a gift shop." Camilla now sounded quite uncertain.

Ryder tilted his head. "Hey," he said. "Don't worry about it. I guarantee you he'll let you know when he's coming home soon." If Camilla hadn't actually said no--and Ryder had a feeling she hadn't--then Henry wouldn't stay away forever. "One question--did you guys talk about anything before he left?"

He had to ask. He just had to, dammit.

"Yes, about organ trafficking," Camilla said, straight-faced. The music behind her shot up in a guilty blare of trumpets.

Ryder's eyebrows went up. "Uh-huh," he said, unconvinced. "Did you talk about anything else?"

The sad thing was, this was Ryder's attempt at being tactful.

"... Don't tell me he told you," said Camilla, trumpets subsiding.

"No," he said, again quite honestly. "He didn't. Let's just say he didn't have to."

Ryder crushed his cigarette out on the heel of his boot. "So what did you say? You didn't say yes, or he'd be here, but you didn't say no, or you'd be...cranky, or something. Not like this."

No way was he going to admit Susan told him. No, he was playing the demon angle up for all it was worth, here.

"I said I would think about it." A cello sawed out some affirmative notes, underscoring the veracity of what she said.

"I'm still thinking." The cello didn't seem to like that as much.

"You said you'd think about it?" he repeated. "What the hell does that mean? Maybe I just don't understand humans, but you want to marry him, don't you?"

If his private soap opera fell apart because the cast members couldn't keep track of their parts, he was going to be pissed.

"I don't want to marry anyone else, certainly," Camilla hedged. The cello, silent, seemed to accept this, but a viola wagged a warning.

"So why not say yes?" Ryder Did Not Get It. At all.

Camilla's brows drew together fractionally, in that way that looked half like she was concentrating hard on something, half like she was just frustrated. It was a very Charles expression, if you knew Charles, which Ryder didn't. Then again, on Charles it was a very Camilla expression.

"Because. It's complicated. Because Henry taught me I can't always do what I want. Even though I used to think I could."

Okay, that he really didn't understand. "Well, yeah, nobody gets to do everything they want," he said--hell, even he had rules he had to follow. "Why should that keep you from getting married, though?"

If some of Camilla's expressions were reminiscent of Charles, then this particular question was reminiscent of Susan. "Is it a human thing?"

It did indeed remind Camilla of Susan. She wondered if she ought to tell the house elves to stock up on soup and tea. Or just to warn Ryder not to sleep with Stephen. No, they weren't one another's type.

"Is what a human thing? Not being able to do what you want?"

He snorted again. "No, trust me, that's not just limited to humans. I mean, is there some human reason you can't get married if you want to?" This wasn't the Middle Ages, after all. Unless she was cursed?

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