[ "You're not from around here, son. If you were, then you would know - that everything and everyone in Hadestown I own."
It's not new information to him. He saw the contract himself, helped Eurydice burn it. But hearing the words from Lord Hades himself lends a weight and reality to things that he hadn't quite processed yet. He spends all of Sunday following Eurydice like a shadow, skittish and afraid. But Monday is... better. He wakes up resolute in the knowledge that he made it, followed her into the unnatural brightness and heat of the underground where no mortal had ever passed while still alive. He's done something that should've been impossible, and now all he has to do is... keep doing that.
He's been neglecting his work on the song, afraid that it was too late to make a difference, but now he returns to it, going back to the courtyard with his guitar and his notebook and gets back to work. The sounds drift into the open air as he plays, writing and rewriting and singing, ]
La, la la la la la la
[ His voice high and clear and pure of purpose and intent. He spends most of the day in there, playing until his fingers are sore and his voice is hoarse, but he feels like he's made progress, and that's going to have to be enough for now. It's mid-afternoon when he wanders out to the gayseball field and lies down in the cool grass, staring up at the cloudy sky. There's a chill in the air, but he doesn't mind. It's pleasant - not blazing hot or freezing cold. This is what he's been working for. This is what he's going to bring back, when he goes home. Spring will come again. ]
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It's not new information to him. He saw the contract himself, helped Eurydice burn it. But hearing the words from Lord Hades himself lends a weight and reality to things that he hadn't quite processed yet. He spends all of Sunday following Eurydice like a shadow, skittish and afraid. But Monday is... better. He wakes up resolute in the knowledge that he made it, followed her into the unnatural brightness and heat of the underground where no mortal had ever passed while still alive. He's done something that should've been impossible, and now all he has to do is... keep doing that.
He's been neglecting his work on the song, afraid that it was too late to make a difference, but now he returns to it, going back to the courtyard with his guitar and his notebook and gets back to work. The sounds drift into the open air as he plays, writing and rewriting and singing, ]
La, la la la la la la
[ His voice high and clear and pure of purpose and intent. He spends most of the day in there, playing until his fingers are sore and his voice is hoarse, but he feels like he's made progress, and that's going to have to be enough for now. It's mid-afternoon when he wanders out to the gayseball field and lies down in the cool grass, staring up at the cloudy sky. There's a chill in the air, but he doesn't mind. It's pleasant - not blazing hot or freezing cold. This is what he's been working for. This is what he's going to bring back, when he goes home. Spring will come again. ]