Mondays are for Music: Track 04

When my parents went to Las Vegas almost ten years ago, they brought me back something very exciting. The soundtrack to Cirque du Soleil’s O. Alright, so my dad bought the soundtrack for himself, but he was very eager to share it with me and I’m so glad that he did. Though I didn’t get a chance to see it when I went to Vegas two summers ago, the music from that show has, hands down, been one of the biggest influences in my writing.

I’ll admit that a lot of writing I got done to O was not words of The Noble Project. I was in high school, and in the midst of an epic fantasy with fairy princesses, banished mermaids, and of course, the innocent human who gets himself tangled up in love with said princess.

I know. Gag, right?

In any case, the point is that all of this music really drives me to write, but there is one piece in particular that really spoke of The Noble Project and I am so happy to include it in the unofficial ST.

This track, Simcha, (re-named The First City/The Whorehouse) is a super fun piece that accompanies our trio as they journey off the ship (I know we’re going back a ways here haha) and into the city where Glendale’s tavern is located. It is filled with dancing and wonder as Luke takes in all the new sights:

The city was bustling with people of all sorts, much unlike her town. In her village, everyone had been set in their ways and the ways of their parents before them and their parents before them. Here, it seemed as if people had made their own choices. Women were laughing, men were hauling goods across the streets, and small children were chasing cats and dogs. Musicians sat on the corners, strumming their strings and beating away at various percussive instruments, their hats turned upward, a silent request for a bit of silver.

“This is wonderful!” Luke cried out to Wentworth who was riding carefully alongside her.

“The sun does know how to shine,” he agreed, raising his voice against the noise of the streets.

This was something Luke hadn’t considered. By the sea, this city had the wonderful advantage of having the sun visible at all hours of the day. It reflected off of the ocean’s glassy surface and radiated through the very streets, unlike her own town, where smoke hung thick over the rooftops and caked itself onto the very walls that made up their houses.

“Ah, but there are places far more beautiful than this pit!” Wentworth called to her, giving Rosie’ s reins a small flick and trotting on ahead.

But as the song comes to a close (and I could ask Mr. Frenchie the proper musical term for this, but I’m lazy), it gives a more mystical, slightly haunting feel that melts off oh-so-perfectly as they enter the decrepit old tavern:

When the door shut behind them, Luke felt the brightness of the sun leave her body as autumn leaves are blown from the branches by a gust of wind. There was no light here, not any that gave way to daily living and the cheer from the streets dissipated with each step that she and the blonde man beside her took.

As awkward as she felt in this unknown place, it was Wentworth that stood out. The walls of this place were made of stone, the beams and tables of dark, aged woods. The men that sat at them wore dark breeches, worn to the threads, and dirty linen shirts. Beards, it seemed, were a requirement for entrance. Additionally, every man here was thick. They were huge men, akin to bears if she were going to make such a comparison.

Wentworth, on the other hand, had donned himself in silver today, his buttons a shining onyx, and the embroidered fairy tale scene of his topcoat all varying shades of periwinkle, royal, and navy blues. His boots today were black (his favourite mahogany pair clashed something fierce with the cool tones of the day), and Luke was almost certain it was a real sapphire that was nestled at his neck today.

Despite his obvious overdressing, no one seemed to notice the flamboyant gentleman. Or perhaps they were making a point of avoiding eye contact. Whatever it was, no one was interested in bothering them.

“Where are we?” Luke whispered to him, holding his arm tightly.

The door slammed open, then shut again, and Aiden marched past them, barking an order at the bartender. The man made a few short hand gestures and Aiden crossed his arms, waiting.

“We’ll just be stopping here for a few days,” Wentworth replied cheerily, helping Luke up into a high stool at the bar, “to gather supplies and chart our course, those sorts of things.”

Luke looked around wearily. Aesthetically it didn’t look much different than her father’s tavern. It was a bit bigger, and slightly darker, but really, a tavern was a tavern. This place, however, did not have a homely feel. It was cold and damp and smelled of fish. No one was smiling here, save Wentworth, and even the rats that scurried across the floor were giant beasts of a rodent.

“We’ll be staying here?” she asked, watching as a drunk man drank his last for the day and with a grunt, fell off his chair, unconscious.

And there you have it. Track 04. Have a listen. You’ll like it. 🙂


About Frenchie Leigh

I am an avid writer of the romantically tragic, the fashionably brooding, and foolishly believing. Though my plot lines come to me through music, my writing style is most greatly influenced by my personal favourite authoresses: Julia Quinn and Eloisa James. View all posts by Frenchie Leigh

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