Bailey Harper (
warmeryouth) wrote2014-09-27 09:31 am
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With skin too tight and eyes like marbles, you spin me high. {Open}
Bailey, much to the dismay of both his mother and his sister, has always been a morning person. No matter how late he crawls into bed, he finds himself up as soon as even an inkling of sun sneaks its way through his window. He's never minded, besides; the early morning hours prove something of a holy hour, during which he finds himself blessed with tides of inspiration.
He watches the tides this morning, standing at the very edge of the boardwalk, the sun just beginning its climb in the sky. The salty air bristles his skin and his lungs as he breathes it in; guitar strapped around his shoulder, he strums on the instrument a bit, letting the quiet melody blend with the cry of seagulls and the fervor of the waves as they rush onto shore. For once, he pours his siren abilities into his playing, to add to the lilting quality of the song as the lyrics start to from in his head.
He sings them as they come to him, the words flickering out into the world like the wings of uncertain sparrows. This is his calling in life, he knows. And not just because of his siren abilities. Music lives in his blood, and he relishes the beauty of it as it unfurls in his veins.
Siren Cove is where he's meant to be, he realizes, as his fingers stir more fervently on his instrument and his song takes flight to greater heights. There is magic to this place beyond that of sirens and witches; a magic only music can really translate.
So in the early morning hours, he stands. And he sings.
He watches the tides this morning, standing at the very edge of the boardwalk, the sun just beginning its climb in the sky. The salty air bristles his skin and his lungs as he breathes it in; guitar strapped around his shoulder, he strums on the instrument a bit, letting the quiet melody blend with the cry of seagulls and the fervor of the waves as they rush onto shore. For once, he pours his siren abilities into his playing, to add to the lilting quality of the song as the lyrics start to from in his head.
He sings them as they come to him, the words flickering out into the world like the wings of uncertain sparrows. This is his calling in life, he knows. And not just because of his siren abilities. Music lives in his blood, and he relishes the beauty of it as it unfurls in his veins.
Siren Cove is where he's meant to be, he realizes, as his fingers stir more fervently on his instrument and his song takes flight to greater heights. There is magic to this place beyond that of sirens and witches; a magic only music can really translate.
So in the early morning hours, he stands. And he sings.
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"Tell me somethin about young Bailey then," she prompted, moving a little closer to grin up at him.
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"Young Bailey was definitely not an angel," he laughs, recalling his various adventures as a child. "I used to climb trees and fences myself, much to my mother's dismay; my sister and I would chase the garbage trucks down the road, too."
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Brigid giggled as her mind conjured images of the young Bailey at play in the limbs of a tree. "I can see ye doin just that. Reckon m'mam would have appreciated that a bit more as broken bones are easier to mend than a wee girl comin home with half the garden on her clothes and in her hair. Have ye just the one sister or are their others?"
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"Just the one," he says, thinking of her now with a grin. "We're best friends; she's still mad at me for leaving New York, though. How about you? Any siblings?"
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"Aye, I have. Five of them. Four sisters and a brother," Brigid smiled easily, prepared for the reaction she'd grown accustomed to when mentioning her large family. "Anna's th'oldest, then Liam, Siobhan, Collette, and Maggie. M'mother would have had another six if she'd been able t'manage it, now she just helps delivers every one else's."
She missed them a great deal and it showed in her voice.
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"I ring home a few nights a week, on the computer, and speak with whomever is at the house, or I ring them directly. It's a good connection, but it's not quite the same as bein there, ye know? Doesn't help that I'm the youngest of the lot and they're overprotective."
Brigid looked around as if suddenly remembering where they were. "We're not getting much bowlin done, now, are we?"
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Bailey glances to where she looks and laughs. "Not much of anything, really. I didn't realize we were bowling on the beach."