love set you going like a fat gold watch (open)

[higginbottom]

Esther is being entrepreneurial. In fact, she has set up a small booth in the Mansion foyer with a sign that reads:

Let Me Write You a Poem (Or Equivalent Prose)

Of course, she hasn't had any takers yet, so she's feeling a little discouraged. But no matter! The point is, she's there, sitting and looking very prim and proper.




Looks can be deceiving, though she herself may not realize that yet.

Comments

[ghostmaster]

"Oh, no, no, no," Wei Wuxian says, shaking his head and tsk-ing his tongue. "That won't do at all. That would be a very bad poem about Lan Zhan. It's overdone. Trite. He's heard all about his helpfulness before."

[higginbottom]

"What do you think he'd want me to write about?"

[ghostmaster]

"Him? No. I want you to write about how handsome he is!" Wei Wuxian reminds her.

[higginbottom]

"Ugh, fine," she says, huffing a little in annoyance. "Give me a moment, please."

[ghostmaster]

"Sure, sure, I'll wait." Wei Wuxian pulls up a spot on the banister of the sweeping staircase to the second floor and perches there, watching.

[higginbottom]

She begins to write, then, hoping it's to his liking. This is more stressful than she thought it would be!

"Almost done," she says after about ten minutes.

[ghostmaster]

"I'm in no rush!" says Wei Wuxian, who in this time has gone from his perch on the banister to lying flat on the bottom step of the staircase, feet propped up on the wall, idly running his fingertips over the tooth marks A-Yuan and Sunny have left all over Chenqing. "Just make sure it's very very good. Lan Zhan deserves the best!"

[higginbottom]

"...Thanks," Esther replies, sighing. "I really hope you like it."

[ghostmaster]

"Well, we'll see!" Wei Wuxian cranes a look in her direction. "Which of his many remarkable features are you focusing on?"

[higginbottom]

"Um, maybe his face?" she says, unsure of what exactly is going on here. Esther's a good writer, but Wei Wuxian is really throwing her.

[ghostmaster]

"Didn't you say you were almost done?" Wei Wuxian cocks his head. "Shouldn't you know what you're focusing on?"

[higginbottom]

"Well, if you stopped interrupting me, maybe I could finish faster!"

[ghostmaster]

"I'm in no rush," says Wei Wuxian peaceably. "I'm just surprised that you'd say you're almost done and not even know what part of his handsomeness you're writing about."

[higginbottom]

"His hair is long,
his legs are strong,
and every day, he sings a song

of welcome. Welcome to newcomers,
welcome to those who are lost.
His is the face that knows the cost

of trying, of knowing how to be kind.
His face is soft and lovely, like his heart."

"There," she says, after reciting her poem. "Ugh. I'm finished." if Esther could flop over, she would.

[ghostmaster]

Wei Wuxian reads it over and starts cackling, delighted. "Ahhhh, young mistress!" he says. He doesn't actually know her name. "It's very good. Can you imagine Lan Zhan singing?" Of course he knows it's a metaphor, but the mental image has captivated him. "I should really make him try it next time he's drunk."

[higginbottom]

"I think you should," she says, a smile of relief spreading on her face. "And thank you."

[ghostmaster]

"What kind of poem is it? What tradition are you following?"

[higginbottom]

"It's free verse with a little bit of rhyme thrown in for flavor, I suppose," she says with a shrug.

[ghostmaster]

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, tsking his tongue. "That's not a complete answer to my question, is it, young mistress? Tell me the history of the format!"

[higginbottom]

Esther kind of wants to fall over and die right now, thanks.

"It's relatively modern," she begins. "For me, I mean. I'm from the 1950's, so." Another shrug. "You really want a history lesson?"

[ghostmaster]

"No, I want a poetry lesson," brightly. "Plus, I don't think it counts as history. Not for me."

[higginbottom]

"Well, free verse came about in the early 20th century - T.S. Eliot was a huge force in getting it started, though some might argue it was already beginning with Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman," she says, a touch wearily. Esther was not expecting this.

[ghostmaster]

"Never heard of them," says Wei Wuxian, cheerful in the face of her weariness. "Where did they learn? What were their primary themes?"

[higginbottom]

This is starting to feel like college all over again.

"Eliot was a modernist - he wrote of the alienation of modern man," she explains. "Dickinson and Whitman were earlier, in the 19th century. Dickinson is possibly the mother of modern lyric free verse, while Whitman wrote of the common people."

[ghostmaster]

"I don't know half of those words, either." His delight is mounting. There's really nothing better than learning new information from someone only grudgingly interested in sharing it.