Brumm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
songinchains) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
datadiving2018-10-02 12:51 pm
songinchains) wrote in datadiving2018-10-02 12:51 pm
idk insert something witty here
[ Catchall for this character specifically, because it's cleaner to have multiple threads in the same post tbh ]
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He sits quietly and remembers, because he has little else to do while he waits; he knows, as all the Troupe knows, of each passing incarnation of the Master. Each individual vessel, memories and experience burning bright within the flame that bound all of them together.
Memory, experience, skill. Yes, all of those remained; each incarnation of the Nightmare King's mortal vessel retained those things and learned even more, to aid in the growth of their child. But their selves had been extinguished as they passed the flame; destroyed by each participant to start the cycle anew.
So it was, so it ever shall be. A change, a metamorphosis, not truly a end, not truly death. None of them truly died.
(It was always what he had told himself, what Grimm had occasionally told him in quiet moments.)
The thought brings him no comfort. (It has never brought him comfort in the first place.)
He sits and waits, nevertheless. The Ritual has ended, the flame passed on, and yet...
There is something missing, still. The Troupe is masterless, for the moment, which is not an unfamiliar thing, but...
The child has not returned to their care. He wonders what delays their coming.
(Perhaps something has changed?) ]
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It would be disingenuous to call it death, when truly his life had always belonged to the Nightmare's Heart. Brumm had once supposed that they were slaves to the Ritual's neverending song, and Grimm had only smiled and chuckled behind the scarlet flame in his eyes. Hallownest would be where he would take his last bow, and as the child feasted on the last flames of the fallen kingdom, Grimm prepared for his last dance. Divine seemed to be indifferent; but Brumm had take his leave after all his doubts about the Ritual's end.
Grimm hadn't had anything to say. Soon he would be fed to the flame himself. He supposed he would join the Nightmare's Heart, housed inside the next Troupe Master, and would one day be part of the flame that consumed his child from the inside the way Grimm had felt the night before his final bow, desperately trying to gather what strength he could to put on one last performance.
But, someone changed the steps.
The Wyrm's wonderfully clever little creation, the vessel discarded that reclaimed a strength denied him had done something so wonderfully clever indeed. With the power from the other side of dreams from what the Troupe had long been split, he had journeyed to the realm of nightmares and confronted the Nightmare King in a way that they had never truly seen. Together they had put on a display so wild and vicious that it had burned the Heart inside Grimm, and the searing flames that he felt devouring himself from within had been quenched. The child was still fed, strong and dangerous and ready for the world set before them like Grimm had been when he was born into this world, but such a strange thing occurred.
The child had been fed, had grown to that burgeoning maturity with the scarlet flame of the Nightmare's Heart inside it, stronger than ever before. But Grimm, the vessel, was still here.
Imagine that. He hardly could! With the Radiance's power (and what a hilarious turn of fate that was!) the little Knight had completed the ritual in a way no one had ever done before. No longer did he dance simply to die, here Grimm was; weakened from the ordeal, and no longer holding the Nightmare's Heart, but still very much alive, and very much himself.
Whatever had happened seemed to inspire the little Knight, and Grimm himself was so very thankful for the new life to live. The child, not yet wise to what a momentous event his maturation was, had nevertheless been excited to stay with the clever little Knight for now. Perhaps he would never know what an amazing achievement it was for the Troupe, that Grimm had asked him whether he would like to come with them now, or stay with his friend for now. In ages past, the child would be needed to be the Troupe's new master, but now they had both had a choice.
What a wonderful sound that word seemed to him. A choice!
And so it was, that the child had departed Dirtmouth with his friend, and where the Troupe waited for the new child to come home-- there only Grimm appeared before tent. The embers were gone from his dark eyes, but he greeted the steady Grimmsteeds with a sweeping bow, and stood at his full height with a new verve in his every movement. There could be no mistake; the Master of the Troupe had returned, with no new form.]
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Grimm had never judged him for such thoughts. He had never judged him for much of anything. Driven him to frustration with clever words and quick laughter, certainly, because that was how he was, but it was never anything personal, nothing too deep.
That would be too unprofessional - too reckless, really, given the role he was fated to play - for his master, after all.
He understood that, as much as he wished it could be otherwise, and kept -- anything else -- quiet as his voice. Had only given it any outlet through his music, and wondered if Grimm had recognised it, but --
He thinks that's a question he doesn't want answered. Either answer would be painful. (More cowardice? says his inner thoughts, and he doesn't acknowledge it.)
He hears familiar footsteps, and he's almost entirely certain it's wishful thinking, lost in his own thoughts as he is. But half of him is on autopilot and nudges him into rote motions. Rise to greet the Master, in whatever form he returns as; that is simply what is done, as a member of the Troupe. What has always been done.
He expects a child. He doesn't expect this. ]
...Mrmm. Master.
...You've returned.
[ There's only a slight waver in his voice to betray the complex mixture of emotions he's currently feeling, but it's another new note that wasn't there before.
This is...
New.
That is the only word he will allow himself to think right now because anything else is far too overwhelming to even begin to process at the moment. ]
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What wonderful music it always was. Grimm would have liked to listen to it during his final dance, but he respected Brumm's decision too much to ask him to return. To think, he would get to hear it again!]
You missed a most wonderful performance from our new rising star, the likes of which our crowd has never seen seen before! But of course, you must know it's already come to its end.
[Of course he must know that the Ritual has ended. And yet still Grimm stands and turns to face Brumm with a flourish at the back of his cape.]
I'm glad that you've made the choice to come back. [The choice, even! What a wonderful sound!] It is good to see you again.
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[ Brumm has never been a bug of many words, even at the best of times. Still, he feels the whole thing deserves a bit more than his usual taciturn interaction, even if the response would be accepted.
The Ritual has ended; that much is clear. The scarlet flame that usually lights his Master's eyes has gone, and yet...he is still here.
He wonders if the brief talk he had with that masterless child, nameless participant of the Ritual, had borne its own fruit. What they took from what he gave them, he doesn't know, but clearly something had happened to change things. ]
...The performance...it was exciting to watch. I am sure. Mrmm. [ They usually were, those final performances. Full of flair and fire. The last, straining notes of the vessel's life, shimmering in the air.
(He had spoken of an old, unending song, but the vessels that held the Nightmare King were all unique; different voices, different notes.
He had -- been unwilling to play the accompaniment to that final battle, for many reasons. But to have the last moments of the master he cherished be entwined with the music he had expressed his enjoyment for so many times had been a significant one.
Even if he had stayed, he is not entirely certain if he would have been able to play. Just the thought of it had been unbearable.)
A hesitation, and then: ]
...Did something change?
I did...not expect... [ He sort of trails off, here, but Grimm can pick up what he refers to easily. Brumm might be a closed book to some, but not to him. ]
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It is true-- I thought I had already bid you goodbye after our first dance. [There was a wistfulness there; it was easy to talk about now, but at the time Grimm hadn't had many words that explained how he felt.]
As I prepared to take my final bow-- [As he struggled with the burning fire and the beat of the Nightmare's heart inside him--] our little star changed our path. No longer did their path shed light on my stage, but to the Heart of the Nightmare itself! Can you imagine that?
[Certainly, it's a trick question, because it had been many, many kingdoms burned and forms shed since the Nightmare King ever touched anything from the Radiance.
He laid one hand over his own chest. At the time it had seemed, appropriately, a nightmare, the kind of thing normal bugs described as strange and torturous visions. But even thinking on it now it seemed like some sort of dream.] It was there the little vessel chose to stage their last performance. The child fed and consumed the flame, and yet here I stand as though victorious. I can... no longer feel the fire burning within me.
[And wasn't that just the strangest part of all.]
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His sudden movement, stepping closer, reaching a hand out to touch his master's chest to confirm that absence, is instinctive rather than anything coming from thought. Troupe Master though the other was, Brumm had been young when he came to the Troupe's service as their musician. Grimm had been similarly stepping into the role left absent by his predecessor, and by coincidence they met at about the same age.
Grimm had learned, tumbled and practiced without end, grown into his own body and that easy grace. Brumm had been there to play halting music that grew smoother and more melodious with time and long hours of work, and to fuss over the Master who he had already grown close to.
He doesn't quite realise what he's doing until he's already done it, and then he just sort of freezes for a long, obvious moment, because part of him is still on autopilot as he tries to process the sheer magnitude of this entire situation.
...He withdraws his hand, after a moment, but he doesn't step away. This is fine. This is fine?? ]
...Not even an ember. Mrmm. And the child is grown.
This is...a new song, then. [ Uncharted and unpracticed, but not unwelcome. Improvisation was all part of the act, after all, and even Brumm felt inspired enough for a solo occasionally. ]
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But, the touch is not altogether unwelcome, and Grimm was quick to move his hand away when Brumm stepped closer. Not only was the flame gone, but he no longer felt the dance of the Nightmare King, inside him. Could this vessel then, truly be called his own?
He didn't say anything when Brumm seems to realize what he's done, and steps away-- only smiles again, his grin reaching far across his face.]
The child has decided to continue growing with our new friend. He will join us when he is ready-- in the mean time, I shall continue my duties at Troupe Master, for however long this vessel shall live beyond its use.
I suppose that uncertainty is just what life is. Will you stay with us, and help write this new song?
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He is not sure what to make of it, so he says nothing for the moment. But it doesn't seem to be unwelcome, which is -- encouraging.
He simply nods, quiet - and then glances up, startled, to meet his eyes when he asks the question. ]
Of course. [ The response is practically automatic, and faster than Brumm responds to most things; an answer already known, rather than something that needs to be given thought. ]
...Mrmm. I have no reason to leave. [ He seems to be attempting to explain his quick response, almost embarrassed about it, in his own way. ] ...And you still require a musician.
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[The exclamation was so genuine coming from the unflappable Master of the Troupe-- not that he'd ever been known to cut back on his sense of mirth, but hearing the quick affirmation from Brumm made him feel oddly more energized. Perhaps it was the new lease on life?
Either way, the exclamation came with his arms extended out besides him as though he were giving a show, before he brought his cape back together and folded his hands together.]
I must confess, I was worried when you left during the Ritual that you had decided to leave for good. I suppose it wouldn't have mattered to me after the Ritual's conclusion, but I am relived to not have to find a new musician now. It would be a struggle to find another like you.
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At the mention of leaving, though, he glances away for a moment. Ah. He can see why his master would have thought that was the case.
He supposes it requires an explanation, of sorts. (Something he didn't expect to have to give.) ]
...Not for good. There would still be the child...after the Ritual. [ A slight movement of his head; behind the mask, he closes his eyes. ]
...Mrmm. I am...not sure I would have been able to play for you. Or...that my music would have been adequate. [ For that final act, for the Ritual's completion. ] That is why...I did not attend.
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[He guessed he wasn't surprised; but something about hearing it out loud does seem to quell his usual dramatic energy.]
Heh. It is hard for me to imagine your music falling short. You have always pleased the crowd.
[He lets his hands fall back to his sides, allowing the wings of the cloak to fall and hang. Is this awkward? There was a sort of nervousness inside him, that not even the Ritual's inevitability instilled in him.] I would have liked to hear you play during the last dance, but I understand. Few Troupe members remained when I myself was still a child.
[That was how they'd met, after all. There had been a musician before Brumm of course, but the bug had left to fulfill another duty for the troupe, unable to come to terms with a new Master after the end of the Ritual. He was glad Brumm would've come back at least for the child.] There is no sense on dwelling on it now, is there? We are both still here-- and I have been able to see you again.
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[ If nothing else, the musician would have remained until the child, too, had grown up and taken their place in the world. Grimm had never felt any kind of negativity for his descendant, for the child whose birth meant his death was near - and so Brumm would not, either.
He felt that he owed his master that much, to not leave his child without more tangible support, to not blame them for a birth that was out of their control. It was little in the face of such sacrifice, but it was all he had to offer.
They're morbid thoughts, not applicable to the situation. He can't help but think them anyway.
He sighs, softly. He's never been very good at words; it was partially what made him such a unique musician. All the feelings he could not convey fueled that flame, that spark, that tinged his music with vivid fire. So in response to Grimm's further comments, he simply nods, which probably doesn't help things feeling awkward. ]
...You missed me...before. I can play for you now, if you wish it. Mrmm.
[ There is no real reason for it, not to announce a show or a performance or the start of the ritual, or the arrival of the Troupe. It is just a song, shared between both of them.
(For Grimm alone.) ]
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[He meant that, without a shadow of a doubt. Awkward though it may have been, that was truthful, and being able to hear Brumm's music again-- filled him with a quiet excitement that was almost uncharacteristic of his usually flamboyant stature.
He turned towards the tent, giving one of the Grimmsteeds a scratch under the chin before he swept open the flap of the tent-- even holding it open for Brumm to enter, and giving a light bow.]
Or, to hear you play it again.
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(Brumm was quiet, but that didn't translate to not being expressive. The small, subtle sounds he made were expressions in themselves, though his mask remained impassive.)
He notes that little politeness extended to him, and it's that small gesture that seems to make things fall into place in his head. The Ritual is done, the child is grown - and Grimm is still here. And so is he. ]
Maybe...something new is more appropriate. Mrmm.
[ He takes a quiet breath to steady himself before he begins, eyes closing behind his mask once more.
The song that comes out is...not completely new, of course, because he has always played for the Troupe, and even in this, he still is.
But the melody is both unfamiliar and not. Something more unrestrained, more carefree, wilder than his music usually is. The sort of song that gives people the urge to dance and to laugh without restraint.
(Before the Troupe, there were times past, and a name and an identity he left behind; his old life burned away by the flame by his request. But there is still some happiness to be found, buried deep in those old memories; festivals and celebrations with music that lasted well into the night.
He is sharing something deeper of himself, his own heart, in this. It is what makes the song new.) ]
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[It's an idle question, because in no time at all it is answered. In its form the song is familiar-- one often heard inside the tent, throughout his life, filling the little town they'd been brought to when the Ritual began. There's a nostalgia that makes Grimm feel grateful for his new life even more; one that was truly his own, instead of another vessel for the Nightmare's Heart.
It wasn't long before he was moving in familiar steps-- only a few, here and there, as he swayed to the tune. He felt like he wanted to dance, more than he ever did before, and while Brumm's music was had never fallen short before, there was something about the way he played now that made him want to even more. It was more than a performance piece, or atmosphere, or even something for the Ritual. It sounded like a celebration, or maybe that was Grimm's own good mood? No, no-- it as impossible to mistake Brumm's tunes for anything else.
For some time he just listens; sways, and enjoys. But eventually, he finally looks at Brumm again, still smiling, but this time with a simply joy, like before they'd ever had to worry about the next Ritual.]
Is this what you found out there, while you were wandering away from our eyes? It's magnificent...!
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He continues to play for a while, with no particular planned end to the song; simply enjoying it for what it is, for what pleasure his master is clearly taking from it.
Eventually, though, he breathes out again, and opens his eyes, and - ah. Grimm is smiling at him, and it is not the kind of smile he usually wears, and that - he stops thinking for a moment, and his breath catches a little.
(If he had not already accepted his feelings a long time ago, he would have flustered about something like this happening, but it's an undeniable fact that his attachment to Grimm goes far, far beyond being his accompaniment.)
But he's being asked a question, so Brumm blinks and attempts to muster his words, still in a slight daze. It's a good thing he's not talkative so it's less obvious that he's actually scrambling for something to say; it seems more like a slightly longer pause than usual. ]
...Mrmm. I am happy you enjoyed it so much, Master.
It is...something from my memories. From old festivals...Mrmm. Before I came to the Troupe.
[ The Troupe only attended dying lands, after all. No festivals were to be had in a kingdom's quiet death; only in its rise, in its continued life.
That careless, wild melody comes from somewhere held within himself. ] I thought it would be...appropriate.
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Needless to say, it was a surprise to hear it brought up.] From such celebrations of land and life... I am flattered you think my return is... appropriate.
[He took a step to the side, although his foot was aimed up; and another two steps and there Grimm was, sitting upside down in the air as if it was natural. He no longer had the power of the Nightmare's Heart, but he could still retain some tricks at least.]
I have never heard you so jubilant. [In the music at least-- Brumm seemed to be even more at a loss for words than usual when it came to speaking, but it was incredibly charming.] Would you tell me more? I do so love to hear you speak about such joyous things.
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His head turns a little to follow Grimm's movement; there's a soft exhale of a laugh from the musician when his master seats himself upside down. It's something Grimm has done uncountable times, an old trick, but still an amusing one.
Then they return to the subject of the past, and Brumm hums thoughtfully for a moment. ] Mrmm...There is not much to tell. It was a long time ago. I was...very young. There was a celebration, in spring. For spring.
[ He tries to recapture the music in his head, and gloved fingers move on his instrument to play the notes. Halting at first, and then smoother, as he murmurs half-remembered words along with the tune.
His songs have always been wordless. This melody snared from old, faded memories is not; a simple little song about one person encouraging shy flowers to bloom more quickly, so they might enjoy the colours with another.
It might feel out of place in the tents of the Troupe, but even an old, endless song needs some variation now and then.
(And if Grimm pays attention to the words Brumm is still sort of absentmindedly murmuring, it becomes increasingly clear that the 'another' the song refers to is clearly that person's lover.
He...hasn't actually noticed yet. He's too caught up in remembering the song. But if his feelings weren't obvious before, they probably are now, because he certainly remembers other festivals and other old songs and the fact he picked this one is...telling.) ]
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It's not for them-- but Grimm listens anyway. And the words about shy flowers and the simple enjoyment of Being with your lover were clear to his ears.
Love was not precisely forbidden for the Troupe, or even the Master of the Troupe; but rarely had it ever taken root. Their life was singular in meaning and purpose, and at least for Grimm himself-- it wasn't forbidden, but it was simply too cruel to inflict the burden of a heart on someone who knew they would one day have to watch it burn.
Perhaps that was why Brumm had left when they began the Ritual. It had been a flight of fancy-- a romantic tragedy for the ages if it had been true, but if it was, then Grimm had known he had made the right decision in keeping it to himself, when the Ritual had been too hard for Brumm to watch.
And yet, here it fell again that he was still here, beyond anyone's expectations. For how much longer, they could never truly say; perhaps the flames of the Nightmare had done irreparable damage on this vessel, and this was merely a grace period of extended life. But still. Perhaps....]
....
[He's quiet for awhile more after Brumm's lyrics are over, wrapping his cloak tight around him as all the thoughts tumble through his head.]
May I ask you something, my dear musician?
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Really, it's not for him either. Even before he joined the Troupe, there would have been no way to regain that time, to go back to the point where there was something to sing about.
He had used his voice as his instrument, before, but after everything that had happened, he had never felt compelled to use it again. Not for anything else, and especially not in the service of the Troupe; the songs had sounded lifeless when he tried.
He had entertained that perhaps he would have been able to sing again, as other feelings he kept well-hidden unfurled themselves, but that was...another problem entirely. His feelings lent power to his songs. It would have been unmistakeable, and that would have made things
terribly, terribly complicated. No. Better to let it lie, to let his voice go unused, to rust -- than to create another burden to carry.
Love was not forbidden, no; the Troupe were individuals, beholden to a single purpose though they were. But it was...inadvisable, for various sensible, realistic reasons.
He had known this. It had done little to prevent his feelings. But it's an old, soft ache, now, tempered by time, and he...
He is content to be able to play for his master, to know that Grimm enjoyed his music and his company, and it would have to be enough.
He finishes his song, and returns to playing something more familiar. More to keep his hands occupied, than anything; it helps him think.
He looks up, when Grimm asks his question. ]
Mrmm. Of course, Master. What is it?
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Is there... perhaps someone you could see yourself enjoying the flowers with? Supposing that spring would come?
[He was-- nervous! How delightfully different. It was uncharted territory and an unsettling feeling, but looking at Brumm, Grimm found himself smiling nevertheless.]
I know there is someone I can see.
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Yes. Of course. [ Again, the answer is immediate, something he doesn't have to think about at all. (Which proves that it's something he's thought about an awful lot.) ] Even if it is inadvisable...Mrmm. My feelings for him have never faded.
[ He's still somewhat distracted and off-balance, and so he doesn't really process what Grimm has said until after his immediate, no-filters responses have done the answering for him.
(His Master asks - Grimm asks - and he answers. That is how it is, has always been.) ]
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There's a slightly strangled chord as he stops playing entirely because it's hard to play an instrument that requires two hands when you're using one of them to cover your face. ]