Us 2 Little Gods

It wasn't often that he wandered around Amestris, let alone Central Amestris. For whatever reason, he thought it would be a good idea, and made his way here from Creta, on a whim. He was, so to speak, "winging it," but the outcome of that could go either way. After all, he was mostly free to do what he wanted, but he was also on call for some no-named, big-shot boss of some sort. He felt like one of those lieutenants working for some criminal mastermind that went by some codename to keep his identity a secret, even from his most trusted underlings. Lucas gave a snort of resentment. He didn't like being considered beneath anyone in that sense, because he'd rather just do what he wanted to do, all day, every day, 365 days a year, 7 days a week, 24 hours a day. Running out of ways to explain this to himself, he turned at the next intersection and walked along the pavement.

The streets were fairly busy, but not to the point where it was overwhelming. It was a fairly normal sight, though the aesthetics were certainly a tad different from the places he usually visited. That was to be expected, though, since this was a completely different country. At least his lessons as a child would do him some good. He had the knowledge of the language tucked away, and his excellent memory would hopefully not let him down if he needed to use it for anything important. So far, he'd only had to use standard phrases, and though he got a few giggles and chuckles at his accent, it wasn't a big deal to him. The fact that they understood him was confirmation enough that he would be able to do well in this country by himself, if need be. Not that it would make much of a difference, considering he was more or less independent already.

Pulling out his phone, the blonde checked the time. 10:24 AM. There was still time before he would opt to grab some lunch (he liked to keep a steady meal schedule, and rarely made exceptions), but a small snack wouldn't hurt. Bright blue eyes scanned the surroundings for somewhere that might yield, say, a bag of potato chips or even a small bag of candy - perhaps some chocolate? A small convenience store came into view, and he walked inside, noticing a few glances that were rather quick. That was normal enough, since the door's opening had triggered a sort of chime. Heading straight for what looked to be the candy isle, Lucas grabbed a plain milk chocolate bar and moved toward the register, pulling his wallet out of the back pocket of his black jeans. He was the first one there, and the cashier, obviously bored, monotonously asked if that was all he wanted. With a nod and a friendly smile, he paid for the chocolate and left.

As the alchemist walked along, he noticed a small building on the other side of the street. It was plain, unlike most of the buildings, and almost looked like a warehouse. Intrigued, he checked for any passing vehicles and crossed when the road was clear. As he approached the structure, he cupped his hands and tried to look inside. There was a doorway with a small ray of light shining through. It didn't seem that there was anybody in the main room, so he decided he'd have a look inside - if the door was unlocked. As it turned out, it was, and he reluctantly stepped inside.

Compared to the outdoors, it was freezing in the building, which was unfortunate, since all he had on was a plain black tank-top (he refused to call it an undershirt, as it seemed inappropriate, and the modern term for these types of clothing made him cringe). Rubbing his upper arms, he made his way to the door in the back. The room had nothing but a few rows of chairs and a small podium next to what looked like a screen for some sort of projector. With a shrug, he turned the knob and walked through to the lit end of the building.

A slight gasp.

It was an abandoned music studio. A piano and keyboard were placed on the far end of the room, the faded hardwood floor showing the spots that had been traveled on most often. An array of string instruments were leaning against the back wall, from violins to electric guitars. A gentle smile appearing on the young man's face, he walked over to an acoustic guitar and lifted it up.

"A li'l dusty, but nothin' a li'l blowin' won't fix," he muttered, taking a deep breath. Releasing it into the body of the instrument, a cloud of dust erupted from the wood, catching him by surprise. Coughing, he rubbed a hand across his face and walked over to the nearest stool. Sitting down, he waited for the sneeze that was inevitably building up. Once the feeling passed, Lucas cradled the guitar in its proper position, and tested the strings. It was still in tune, and the strings were taught.

Now, Lucas was far from an amazing musician, but he had practiced the guitar a little bit before. Though he preferred acoustic, the electric guitar had a bit of a twang that couldn't compare to the softer, more tranquil sound that the wooden body of the acoustic produced. He began to play around with a few chords, and then he remembered a song. It was a bit fast-paced, but it was enjoyable enough. Strumming, he began to sing along:


His smooth, more feminine voice meshed into the sound of the instrument, and he continued, the gentle smile once again finding its way onto his face. Eyes closed, he tapped his foot to the beat, not letting anything interrupt him.


((OOC: The song is "Us 2 Little Gods" by Dido. I found a pretty good cover that basically portrays Luke's guitar-playing and singing here, and all of the lyrics can be found here. That is all.))

The thing about never needing sleep or rest or really having to phyically move anywhere made traveling something of an existential nightmare to Gotthard. His consciousness still existed in this world that moved on without him, and he still perceived it as though he himself still had a body, and would enter through doors out of habit, reach out to touch things, or move forward to walk. But not having a body, none of these things really happened or were needed; he simply willed himself forward and he was forward. Or at least, he perceived that he was forward, and maybe the movement was only an echo in his mind left as a basis of comparison that gave him some grounded feeling. The scenery changed in a forward-fashion, but without having an acual body taking steps, how did he know he was actually moving forard? Maybe Gotthard was moving forawrd at the pace he was because it was the pace his mind registered would have been normal if he were walking, or faster if he felt the need to hitch a ride. Perhaps he could go even faster on sheer willpower, since that was all that propelled him anyway. being that he was a soul and nothing more, did that make him limitless in what he could do, and was only bound by restrictions placed by his memories of what "normal" was as perceived by the conscious human psyche?

Trying to understand himself always ended up in a headache with no pain and no head.

Time and distance meant nothing to Gotthard anymore. he could be anywhere he wished, but usuallly only stayed in South because that was home. Through all its changes, South was still home. But sometimes... he would travel. Not like there was any reason not to. No travel fees, and it wasn't like anything could hurt him, so it didn't matter if he moved onto a passenger car or the refrigerated car. Sometimes memories were just too much all at once, and meeting new people.... Gotthard loved it, but in this state, it frightened him. Sinec he lost his body, the majority of his interactions with the living had either been small children who liked the invisible boy who sang and told stories, or a bedside angel for the dying. But recently something must have felt like throwing the poor ghost a bone, and he was meeting people his own age.. or, something thereabouts. People he liked, and wanted to see again... but that opened up far too many things that worried him. He was dead. What happiness could he possibly offer them?

When he'd been alive, of all the times Gotthard had been dragged into Central City, he thought nothing of it. It was only temporary, so other than knowing his way around enough to get what he needed from a few key places, there was no point in making any attachments to anything or anyone there. The Child Prodigy was only there to perform for a few weeks, or stay for a month to play different venues. And then last year, it was destroyed by bombs. Unlike South City, there was still something left of Central. People left, displaced without homes, buildings crumbled and left to rot for months as the country strugged to clean and rebuild. Gotthard stayed away from Central during that, and the most recent war. But now, here he was, surveying the area just to see what was different. Much of it was, the grid relaid in some areas and the vast majority of the buildings new. A few, however, had survived the bombs, and the most recent attacks from their country's enemies. Some buildings were just as stubborn as the Amestrian people themselves. The fact that one such building had been a music studio Gotthard himself had gone to to record at once, years ago, was either a blessing or a cold jab at him. The teen wasn't sure which.

Tucked inside of a warehouse, there was a studio, and as Gott approached it, he saw a tall man in a dark business suit walk out in a hurry, a phone pressed to his ear as though whatever he was talking about was the most important thing on earth. "Yeah, there's still a lot of junk inside. All the instruments and recording equipment's still in there, but what the hell am I gonna do with it?" Gott moved closer, listening in on the man. "Yeah, but pop died That studio was his pet project, not mine. What? No, I'm not keeping all of that! Look, just... We'll get everything out and sell it all off, and then we can put the building on the market. Be one less thing on my hands." The man walked fast, letting himself into an equally-nice new car, completely neglecting to lock the door of the warehouse that had once been some place special. Gott watched the man drive off, shaking his head. So. The owner had died and his son didn't care about the things his farther left behind.

Walking through the unlocked door, Gott silently observed the tomb that once resonated with life. The wooden floors were warped and dusty, the foundation of the building most likely shifting when the bombs went off. Dust caught by the light shining through the cracks in where the windows weren't fully boarded up were illuminated, shining and almost suspended in light. Wandering through the dark halls, Gott slipped down and around until he found what he was looking for- the circuit breaker. Reaching out and concentrating, he felt himself tingle and hum with energy as he joined the breaker's, life now coursing through the feed as the lights and power to the studio came on. Gotthard smiled to himself, pleased with his handiwork. It wasn't much of a trick, but for what it was? It had its uses. And there he was now, alone in a studio that nobody wanted, invisible fingers tracing instruments that he yearned to play again.

Gotthard was alone in the company of only the instruments for a few seconds or a few hours, he wasn't sure which anymore. But he had been alone and almost meditating, going over theory in his mind that he wanted to put to a keyboard somehow and test. He'd have been more than content to continue to sit in there quiet and alone until Gott heard the door open, light footsteps trailing into the building. They were much lighter than those of the former owner's tall and broad son, so, someone else...? Remaining quiet, Gott waited, and saw a young man who couldn't have been much older than himself. Tall, blonde, tall... Elegant fingers graced the strings of the guitar, coughing at the sudden onslaught of dust. "A nir doostar hav mohtirn a nir volwyn eront iex." And foreign. Gotthard knew that was Cretan, and he'd sung several songs in Cretan for years, and musically could fake the language pretty well. But if you tried to ask him anythin in said language... well, he was at a loss.

Gott watched as Lucas settled, strumming the accoustic guitar and bringing the forgotten memory to life. That... was truly beautiful. Someone out there for no particular reason would look at what was discarded but still useful, and breathe life into the dead. "Walking home, burnt and red, sticky thin, he said
Let us go down in the woods
Can you be careful, she said
Us two little gods with the world at our feet~"

Wait. Gotthard knew that song. It was a Cretan singer, but he couldn't remember her name offhand. But Lucas was singing, his voice soft and almost feminine, and that gae Gotthard an odd feeling of comfort. He was nearly famous and was well-known in his circle when he was alive for having the range he did, Gotthard being one of the few men in the musical world who could sing from a low tenor to a woman's first soprano, only a few notes short in his range to be able to sing Queen Of The Night.

"Just this life, I need no other
Just this day, I need no more
Just this moment, let it all stop here
Let it all stop here, I've had my fill~"

As he listened, the song was coming back to him. Gotthard did know this song, he'd listened to it lots and sang it more than a few times. Sure, he only knew the general translaton of the words through translators (so garbled gibberish) but from what he did know, he liked what the song was about. It was quiet enough, and could have been argued as the echoes from the warehouse. Or maybe the place was hauted. No telling. But very softly, his own voice just as light as air, the next verse drifted out to hide under Lucas' own voice.

"
Summers here early again
Lets take the kid, go and celebrate
Drinking beer, moon on the left
And there's the sun, hold my hand he said
Us three little gods with the world at our feet.."

Maybe he wouldn't notice the backup singer that couldn't be seen.

Strumming and singing, Lucas continued to go through the song. It was a song that not only sounded good, but it was a song that he felt was applicable to his life, and probably the lives of others in the world. Sometimes that was all that was needed for a song to gain popularity: its symbolic significance to the listeners, even if the meaning was different for each person. As he moved on to the next verse, something interesting happened...

" Summers here early again Lets take the kid, go and celebrate Drinking beer, moon on the left And there's the sun, hold my hand he said Us three little gods with the world at our feet.."

" Summers here early again Lets take the kid, go and celebrate Drinking beer, moon on the left And there's the sun, hold my hand he said Us three little gods with the world at our feet.."

His voice was no longer the only voice echoing in the room. It was slightly unsettling, for sure, but Luke wasn't one to let anything truly startle him. Letting things surprise you prevented from reacting in effective ways, as he learned the difficult way...and he had the scars to prove it. So the voice was singing the song, but instead of letting it stop him, as it didn't seem anyone else was actually present, Luke allowed himself to finish the song. Even if the voice continued, he would finish the song. It was important to him that he finish it, though the remainder of it was simply repetition.

"Just in this day, I need no other
Just this life, I need no more
Just this moment, let it all stop here
Let it all stop here, I've had my fill~"

Gradually he finished the song, letting its significance linger in the room for a few moments after it was completed, his eyes closed as he absorbed the feeling and let it course through his veins. The song itself reminded him of how he and Lily got to where they were, the things he'd been through and the things he'd done. Things he couldn't take back, but could learn from. Things he'd rather not have experienced, but they all led him to where he was. In that room, with those instruments, his headphones wrapped around his neck, the iPod in his pocket always yearning to be played, he just wished that he could get lost in the music forever. He knew, however, that it unfortunately wasn't possible, and let out a sigh of resignation.

"I guess I must have woken up whatever spirit lives here," Luke chuckled gently, "and that's not something i ever thought I'd say." Remembering where he was, he snapped his fingers, eyes wide and glittering in the dim light, as though he'd had a stroke of genius. If he was in Amestris, and there were spirits haunting this place (Lily would reprimand him for suggesting such a thing), they would probably be Amestrian. The fact that it sang along with him only suggested that the spirit had known the song, but that didn't mean it could understand the language, and that was something Luke encountered in the living often enough already.

"Maybe whoever it is will be able to understand me now, at least," he said with a smile as he looked around the room again. "And maybe, just maybe, there's an instrument that they prefer..." With a thoughtful frown, Luke bit his lip and gently leaned the guitar against the back wall, debating which instrument he would try to use to communicate with this spirit of sorts. Looking at the piano across the room, he smiled mischievously as he walked over and sat on the dusty seat. He was no expert, but there were a few things still wired into his brain that he knew he could play. They were simple tunes, but hopefully they would be effective enough. Slowly and gently, he blew the dust off of the keys and then tested one of them. The sound echoed, but felt cold, and lifeless. It was clear that this room had been left unused for some time, and it seemed the instruments reflected that in the sense that they almost seemed to yearn for someone to play them. It was a lucky coincidence that Luke had showed up, and that was all.

Or was it?

Lucas had never been one to be superstitious, but there were some things that couldn't be explained by science, as much as most alchemists hated to admit it. Being an alchemist himself, he knew it was probably not a good thing that he thought that way, as it could limit him in his abilities, but he didn't care much for some of the uses of alchemy that he'd witnessed. All the same, he had witnessed things that should not have been possible, even with alchemy, as the very basics of physics were in question. There was no way for him to prove that anything like ghosts existed, but he was willing to test the theory out for himself to see if there was anything to this feeling that lingered, as though there really was someone else present, even though he couldn't see them. It was similar to the stories he'd heard about ghosts haunting the buildings they had died in, but he hoped this particular one hadn't met such a gruesome fate. Luke would never wish that upon anyone, not even Victor Dresden (as much as the thought of the man alone frustrated him).

Reluctantly, Luke placed his hands completely on the keys, ready to play. Suddenly, he realized that his memory wasn't as good as he had believed it to be. With a sigh, he let his arms rest on the instrument.

"Maybe this won't work after all, but...if you're there...No... but it would be pretty neat if you could help me. Not that I know if you really exist or not, I could just be crazy, hearing things, you know? It wouldn't really be the first time something crazy happened to me...No, let me rephrase, it wouldn't be the first time I believed something crazy and it turned out to be a fluke. But..." With another sigh, Luke pressed one of the keys at random. Then he remembered another song, and sang a Capella, just this once.

"Danny is lonely, 'cause Mary's in India now,
She said she'd call, but, that was three weeks ago..."

As soon as that hope had washed over him, it seemed to have left him, and he stopped abruptly. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea, maybe he should have thought about seeing a psychiatrist or a psychologist or something.