|
Post by pastels on Mar 8, 2019 12:04:31 GMT
A week before the event, the aristocrat Proserpina had met in The Blue Mermaid brought her to the venue. The move… surprised her. Eadric was a nervous, fragile-looking boy barely past his teenage years, one of the younger (and therefore unimportant) children in the House Talmost—a couple of favors traded down the line and she found out that they were Waterdeep’s foremost clothiers, well-connected to several silk merchants and craftsmen in Calimshan. Now, she and Eadric were in an informal agreement at the time, given his frequent visits during her shift and the invitations to perform at the family estate, which she answered twice. The budding relationship between a patron and an artist was always tenuous—at this stage it was fair to assume that she could perform at his leisure, and in return he would give gifts as a sign of goodwill or sponsor her appearances in other, more prominent functions. That was when the leather leash would solidify into golden chains. “Ah,” Proserpina said then, as they stood in front of the unassuming building, the uproarious sound of scandalized laughter escaping from the interior. The Smiling Siren was infamous for its, as what it was called in the circles she favored before, “open head, open legs” entertainment. Now… She had no problem with that. Bawdy comedy had its time and place. But bringing a female performer to an establishment where nobles held risqué private performances every other night, on one such night… It painted a rather unflattering picture, hm? The tiefling slyly slid her gaze from the plain stones to the man-child beside her, watching his expression from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t know you had such worldly interests, my lord.”
Eadric turned, his wide brown eyes as placid and serene as the smile on his freckled face. The tiefling kept her voice sweet and level even as she pushed, “The Siren is quite famed for its… maidens, yes? I hear their dances show their assets to the fullest.”
“Yes! I suppose. I mean… Doesn’t everyone?” He said after a befuddled shrug.
“Oh, saer,” Proserpina sighed as another round of laughter burst from within and brought a hand to her head, resisting the urge to massage her temples. Personally, if she had the chance to change the outcome of tried and true stories, she wouldn’t touch that area with a stick. “Truly. If you told me you were in so much need, I would have directed you a pleasure house. ‘Tis no shame in admitting your carnal… proclivities.”
Eadric finally looked confused. He stared up at her, mouth opening and closing, until he finally sputtered, “What?”
“’Tis no secret a youngling from House Roaringhorn ‘rewrote’ the Blossoming of Aeld Emyra into a fantastical den of debauchery just the last week, darling,” the tiefling said, deadpan, “and from what I’ve heard, a certain actress is still struggling to get the glitter out of her unmentionables.”
“Oh?” The young man exclaimed. His eyes suddenly bulged as the meaning sunk in and he spun in place, as if only now realizing where they were. “Ohhhhh!”
Proserpina hid her relief between a veneer of amusement. Oh, thank Sune. She knew Eadric was far too… sheltered to yet consider those kinds of things and to be frank, it was rather insulting! One must set boundaries for these kinds of activities, you know.
“That’s--that’s not it at all, Pippa! Believe me! I wouldn’t ever—I mean, I suppose I would one day be delighted to watch if I absolutely had to, but—” The man looked younger by the second, embarrassed as he was by the implications of his act. She listened with a smirk, with only seemed to fuel the fire. “Aaah! Just—just forget it! Fred—er, Frederic? You know, Frederic Melshimber?”
Her ears picked up at the name. The Melshimbers were a recent enemy of the Talmosts, for reasons she had yet to discover; it wasn’t everyday clothiers picked a fight with sages. What, did the latter spill ink on an expensive, oh, vest? Will wonders ever cease. Her lord Eadric, in particular, had a personal vendetta—should she call it that? This was a child’s spat—against Frederic because… Oh, of their names, probably. It was ridiculous. She suppressed a long-suffering sigh at being once again embroiled in the petty struggles among nobles.
Eadric covered his face with his hands; she could spy his ears turning red as a beet, and his voice came out cracked and muffled. Waterdeep truly was an enigma. No local in Chessenta would be half as embarrassed at the mention of physical intimacy—hell, she was simply curious, not critical. “We-well, he’s got an, um…” He peeked from between his fingers and meaningfully gestured at her.
“A beautiful tiefling?” Proserpina cheerfully guessed, with a quick jut of the hip to one side.
“No! I mean, I meant you’re correct—er, not really,” he groaned and threw his hands out, nearly tearing open a sleeve with the exaggerated motion. Good! At least he wasn’t covering his face anymore. She watched his expression shift from mock exasperation to… hope? “He has a… musician, too, and well, there’s—there’s this event coming up…”
Oh. Her mind cleared and she didn’t need to hear the rest, although the words were dutifully noted and absorbed. She had enough experience to know what came next when a rival dared show their face in a competition. What do pawns do when their kings and queens go to war? And so Proserpina spent her next week preparing, taking care of her talents (much to the frustration of an unlucky manservant) and reeling in favors to learn the competition. It was during this time that she remembered—the Dock Ward! Hadn’t she left The Blue Mermaid as her address? The thought that her acquaintances may have taken her up on that offer of a performance, only to find that she was no longer working at the inn… It left a sour taste in her mouth. It was a bad way to leave one’s possible connections, yes? But as Tymora would have it, now was the perfect time to remedy the misunderstanding if there ever had been one. Besides, Proserpina promised to meet up with the glassblower Thea for grander accessories, and appearances mattered now more than ever in the heart of Waterdeep. With that in mind, she drafted a letter…
The event—sponsored by the scions of a half-dozen noble families—was not truly a competition. It was a “celebration of the finer arts,” and it brought together a heavenly mix of talented individuals and their less… fortunate peers. Folks who may or may not be undeserving of their elevated status in the industry, who may or may not have attained that position through… favors. Juicy. Let’s just say there were a lot of upturned noses on both sides backstage. Meanwhile, the Siren’s actors and actresses served as the hosts for the day’s proceedings, to ensure that there would be no accusations of favoritism for the establishment. They were roaming about now, entertaining the first few guests who entered the theater, making sure the visitors remained in a jovial and eager mood for the show. Proserpina waited outside of the venue, clad in a shapeless white toga that was meant to protect the costume underneath, with a rugged, scowling man right beside her. She had spent the last two days familiarizing herself with the location—the decorations and the festive vibe, although put together with a touch of grandiose flair pleasing to the eye, were lost on her. Her hands were busy moving, casting a cantrip over and over again to keep sweat and temperature from mussing up her loose hair, curls as tight as fine springs, and make-up—golden scales rose over her cheekbones, disappearing under her notched horns, and gossamer-thin petals swayed with every flutter of her eyelashes. Don’t ask how, it required a great deal of pain and effort. “Are you absolutely sure you sent the letters, saer?” The tiefling scanned the crowd milling in front of the entrance once more, then turned towards her companion. He rolled his eyes and nodded, still keeping his arms crossed over his chest. At the lukewarm response, Proserpina sighed, her smooth brow furrowing into the first stress lines for the day, and cast her eye back at the front of the venue. moralhazard
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 8, 2019 13:18:48 GMT
It had been a long and miserable day. “Given the... situation, it’s felt that it would be best for every one involved were the charges to be dropped,” the man sitting behind the desk busily shuffled a stack of papers, keeping his gaze anywhere other than the genasi sitting in front of him.
Thea curled her hands into fists.
Two days ago, one Sir Marius Frederiksen had not-so-calmly strolled into Thond Glass and Glazing, drawn a rapier, and stabbed Thea in the side. It might well have been worse, if not for the quick intervention of a dragonborn’s breath weapon, which had left Marius literally lying in his own vomit.
“He stabbed me,” Thea said, her voice was polite and friendly as she could manage in the situation. She smiled at the administrator.
“Well, so it has been reported. Unfortunately, neither guard saw the stabbing.” The man found what looked like a small scratch on the desk’s surface and began busily buffing it out.
“They saw me covered in blood, and Sir Frederiksen lying next to his own rapier which was also covered in my blood,” Thea clenched her jaw, feeling a little muscle tick in it. The worst part was that the stabbing had taken place in front of a young apprentice known as Pip, who Thea was sure had been traumatized by the experience, not that this man cared about that.
“What Master Baring means to say,” the guild representative leaned forward with a smile, “is that there doesn’t seem to have been any doubt by the guardsman who took Sir Frederiksen into custody.” Trawarin Woodwalker was a slimeball, Thea felt, but at least he was allegedly on her side.
“Yes, well,” the administrator cleared his throat, abruptly rising and turning to his bookshelf, rearranging two identical looking tomes. “There are mitigating circumstances. Sir Frederiksen was recently the victim of an aggressive campaign of minor assaults, which were highly destabilizing, and in fact led to the end of his marriage. I believe you are acquainted with the guilty party in that case, Master Baring...?”
“Yes, I - you’re not saying that excuses his behavior?” Thea’s eyes were wide.
“Alleged behavior,” Trawarin piped up. Thea shot him a nasty look.
“His alleged behavior, indeed, exactly,” the administrator nodded. “Er - that is, between the lack of direct evidence of the assault and the mitigating circumstances, there is a feeling that leniency is the best course.”
“And if he attacks me again?” Thea was so angry she was shaking.
“Er -“ Trawarin didn’t seem to know how to start fixing that one.
“I am sure that won’t happen,” the adminstrator sat back down. “Now, if there’s nothing else...?”
“I thought Waterdeep was a city of laws!” Thea fumed as they left the guards building, glaring over at Trawarin.
Trawarin swirled a handsome brown cloak over his shoulders. “And I thought you had a reputation for tact!” He grinned at Thea.
Thea groaned. “Marius stabbed me, Trawarin,” she set a hand on her hand. “Stabbed! And he seems obsessed. What if he comes back again? Am I supposed to find a guard during the assault?”
“Sounds like that would be ideal,” Trawarin agreed, cheerfully. “Look, Thea, it isn’t fair. But there also isn’t anything you can do. The Frederiksens have a lot of influence and a lot of money, and they threw both at the city as fast as they could manage. That man in there didn’t like this any more than you did, but his hands were tied too. I recommend that you do something relaxing tonight - try to take your mind off it.” Unfortunately, that long day was but the capstone on a last few weeks of misery. Between the fight - literal fight - Thea had had with Citrine, in which she had come within seconds of killing her best friend in Waterdeep, a trip into a nasty storm in the hopes of communing with it which had left her pathetically sick, and the attack by Marius? It was safe to say Thea would have liked to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. Another week. Instead, when she got back to her room, Thea saw the invitation from Proserpina right where she had left it, propped on her small working table. She picked it up, fiddling with it. She hadn’t been out in weeks, and she had very much liked the tiefling when last they met... with a last, longing glance at the warm comfort of her bed, Thea set about getting ready. That meant scrubbing the grime of the day off in a hot bath, and changing into something a little more suitable for an evening out while the breeze in her hair air-dried and fluffed it out. “Proserpina!” Thea wore a pale white blouse of a smooth, silky fabric, which draped over her front and tucked neatly into the high waist of her long, slim-fitting gray skirt, neatly slit up one calf to give her room to walk. She wore a small pair of dangling earrings, little blue glass spirals. As always, the look was designed to enhance her air genasi heritage, and to make the most of her slim, boyish figure. Her white hair blew in a gentle cloud around her head, waving in its own breeze. For once, Thea wore soft blue slippers instead of boots. Keeping them from getting muddy on the spring rain damp streets of Waterdeep had been its own challenge. Thea stopped in front of the tiefling and smiled, truly smiled, for what felt like the first time in - well - a while. “It is a true pleasure to see you again,” she said, and smiled at Proserpina’s companion well, politely waiting for an introduction. “I have to admit,” Thea added cheerfully, “I didn’t expect to find you at the Smiling Siren.” Normally, Thea couldn’t imagine any circumstances which would bring her to such an... ah... establishment. Only the promise in Proserpina’s letter that tonight was a celebration of the “finer” arts had persuaded her to come - and she had double-checked that information twice, once with her very knowledgeable landlady in an explicit discussion of the letter, and again with a customer who she thought might know the scene. Luckily, both had heard of the event, evidently organized by one Frederic Melshimber to show off the talents of his newest minstrel. It had been a good idea to come tonight; Thea could already tell. She felt better and more relaxed than she had in days - weeks. Surely an evening of music and art was just what she needed.
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Mar 17, 2019 4:59:29 GMT
“Thea! There you are!” Proserpina exclaimed in delight, spirits lifted when she spotted the air genasi emerging from the throng. She beamed warmly, hands clasped tight over her chest. “And I thank you for answering my invitation. What a lovely outfit you’ve chosen for tonight!” At the expectant silence that followed, the tiefling tilted her head and stole a glance at the man beside her—a tall, hulking figure, with the rugged physique of a dock worker… and the scowl to match. His expression eased and he glanced down at the two women, seemingly confused and jarred out of some reverie by the sudden stop in their exchange, until Proserpina gestured at him with a flourish. “And this is my associate, Tiernan! This is Miss Althea Baring, a glassblower of no insignificant amount of talent.”
At this, Tiernan huffed (in affirmation?) and turned his eyes to Thea, then nodded. “… Nice t’ meet ya. Ma’am,” He muttered out. Upon seeing Proserpina’s expression—a perfect mixture of encouraging and expectant, if there ever was one—he cleared his throat and unwound his arms from their guarded position, then instantly thrust them deep into his pockets. He clearly expected to do little of the talking here. “Ma’am Ruendarr from T’ Jade Jug told me t’ keep watch o’er Miss Fellsong here.”
“I work there now!” Proserpina added, “Quite an upgrade from The Blue Mermaid, hm? I told you ‘tis but a matter of time! … Ah, but how glad I am to be correct on that.” The truth of the matter was, her status as a live-in performer (half-supported by her noble patron) didn’t give her the same luxuries a full guest was beholden to… The fact that she had Tiernan instead of some fresh-faced, buxom lass preening at her every move was proof enough. But it mattered little! The tiefling beckoned Thea to the side as a group of giggling youths entered the building. “And it is not a place I would wish to be found! 'Tis a house of certain repute, is it not? Let me tell you the story…”
As soon as there was a gap in the crowd milling around the entrance, Proserpina led the genasi towards the lobby, Tiernan following close by. As they ascended past the carpeted area leading into the theatre seats, the tiefling gestured to the side; stairs on both ends of the room led up to the upper boxes. “My patron had been kind enough to reserve one for tonight.” Proserpina glanced around then, sure that nobody was eavesdropping in their conversation when Tiernan gave a gruff nod, leaned in and whispered, “I’m afraid tonight will be both ridiculous and enjoyable. The ‘star’ of the show, Melshimber’s minstrel? Dazzling man. A beautiful face, to be sure, but cursed with an equally dreadful sense of wordplay. And one of my acquaintances backstage told me he tried to pay her to rewrite a stanza of the song he will present tonight!”
As they neared the box Eadric had so graciously provided for them—after she insisted that yes, the politics of space were in full play in an event where one’s patronage is the main bragging point—Proserpina kept up her salacious whispers. “All I’m saying, my dear, is some performances will be rather… odd, or true to form to the Siren’s usual fare. I do hope the rest of us make up for it.”
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 17, 2019 8:28:22 GMT
Thea smiled. “Thank you! I’m sure you already know you look absolutely stunning. Your hair! And those little gold flakes! It’s perfect. I can’t wait for the full effect on stage,” Thea giggled.
Thea waited politely for Tiernan, nodding to him at Pippa’s introduction and waiting… a little longer… “A pleasure, Tiernan,” she said, still smiling.
“The Jade Jug,” Thea repeated. “In the castle ward?” She wasn’t sure, voice trailing delicately upwards. “It sounds lovely.” The castle ward was lovely; Thea thought if she had her pick and all parts of the city were equally convenient, she might well choose to live there. On the other hand – the North Ward was much more convenient to the Trade Ward where her workshop was, and she wouldn’t trade her room on the top floor of Greenglade tower for anything; the view and the breezes were just spectacular.
Thea followed Proserpina into the lobby, glancing around. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, exactly. Something lurid? Red velvet draping the walls and – and – honestly, Thea’s imagination failed her. A vat of glitter? Erotic carvings? Massive overcompensating columns? It looked, well, like most other theaters that she had been in. Although the columns were large…
“Oh! How nice.” Box seats sounded great, Thea felt. Had all the usual patrons of the Smiling Siren been told that tonight would not be, er, their usual fare? Thea leaned in, eyes widening a little. “He didn’t!” Thea gasped, softly, eyes wide. “I can't imagine - what kind of artist would - in that case, you must promise to upstage him,” Thea grinned a little, teasingly, but – not entirely kidding either.
“Oh, no, truly?” Thea giggled at Proserpina’s warning, face flaming faintly… bluer. “Oh dear. Well, I hope – I hope – not too – ” She wrinkled her nose, quite unable to find the words. “But there will be other acts as well? You, of course, and the… Melshimber’s minstrel’s song?”
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Mar 20, 2019 14:06:17 GMT
Their walk through the infamous Smiling Siren Nightclub and Theatre was… interesting, to say the least. There was no doubt that the area was well-furnished and designed for high company; despite the establishment’s penchant for crude shows, it served and entertained the scions of the richest Waterdhavian houses. Every surface gleamed with a satin sheen only gold could buy—from the cut-glass chandelier in the lobby, which shone like the sun over plush red-and-gold carpeting and wide walls paneled with gleaming mahogany, to the simpler, understated stairs with the elegant aquatic carvings on the rails.
The theatre itself, though… As they settled in on their segregated box seating, one’s eyes would adjust to the dim lighting and inevitably be drawn to the massive statues bracing the walls, holding aloft globules of light with their sculpted, too-perfect arms. Where the seats were done in a lush, royal purple, and the floor twinkled with a million painted stars… The statues, immense, loomed over each and every guest walking down the aisles. These were the likenesses of men and women, with mischievous, come-hither expressions and poses, the passersby below shielded from glimpsing their unmentionables by a tasteful (?) spread of sculpted cloth. (“Oh, but make no mistake, they’re there... or so I've been told.”) Was it mere coincidence that a loge was sandwiched between every figure, their features blocking the view into the other private boxes? Knowing the Siren… Perhaps not. The theatre, in general, was quite smaller and more intimate but no less opulent than others of its kind, with wider aisles and tiny circles of empty space between every three rows—Perendel Wintamer, mage proprietor, was said to change the layout every fortnight to make for easier revelry.
Now that three were settled into their seats, the incessant chatter from the other guests fading to a low hum from below, Proserpina turned towards Thea. Behind the two, Tiernan closed the entry curtains and slumped down onto the nearest chair after a discerning look at the tiefling. It seemed the two knew each other long enough for the latter to refrain from asking permission for every act. “What were we talking about again? Oh, yes! That boy.” Proserpina can wear a variety of faces, but there were a few she truly lived through—and that was of a dismissive matron. “He’s been quite a pest the past few days, appearing where he is not wanted, inserting his opinion where ‘tis not sought.” Her voice lilted at the end, when Thea made her comment; the tiefling turned her head and beamed, a competitive spark in her eyes. “Yes! You have my word. Oooh. Now I truly can’t lose to the boy, now that I’ve made the promise.”
Of course, there wasn’t quite a competition—at least, not formally. Every bard, minstrel, dancer, jester, and actor here half worth their salt knew that it was the night to perform well… else be shooed out of your patron’s graces forever. In their industry, one door shut closed others, too. But for Proserpina, maintaining that approval was not enough. She wanted to excel, to be remembered as one of—if not the—best tonight. “Now I’m rather nervous,” Proserpina blurted out with a short laugh and ran her hands over her arms. “My siblings had ever been overachievers in their respective fields. I had nothing to show for my achievements save favors and gifts; their medals and trophies lined the halls in our great house.”
Who was to say she was truly great? But, ah, perish the thoughts of inadequacy. ‘Tis simply last-minute nerves.
She stared down at the stage. Even from their height, the pictures emblazoned upon the heavy curtains covering the stage was visible—the titular Siren, a hand cupped over a beguiling mouth, large, near-serpentine tail peeking above the water, and a motley of individuals racings towards her. It was meant to be a humorous piece: there was the clown at the very rear, juggling three balls; a king who lost hold of his crown and was chasing after it; a portly woman, steam gathering at her nose, chasing after a bunch of giggling urchins; so on and so forth. “I hope so too. Watching someone shaking their bits does tend to get stale after the eight try,” she replied, sounding more like an exasperated dowager than her usual self, then brightened up in a beat. “Worry not! Asides from us... Last I heard, an excellent band of travelers joined at the last minute; they ought to provide some exotic tricks.”
Speaking of… A commotion briefly erupted as the magical lights dimmed, though it was quickly hushed when a lean, young man hopped onstage. With a grand flourish and a twirl of his finely-trimmed mustache, he introduced himself as Perendel Wintamer and thanked the guests for their patronage. “Now then, please welcome—,” thunderous applause already, and someone from another box screams, “We want Sherie!”
Perendel acknowledged the interrupted with a gracious gesture, and continued on, as if nothing had happened, “Please welcome, ladies and gentlemen, the Smiling Siren’s very own Company…!”
Before he had even finished his phrase, and before the curtains were even pulled back, a roaring wave of cheers swept through the audience. “I will say what I will about the Siren, but such loyalty and adoration is a performer’s dream,” Proserpina wistfully sighed, sounding just the tiniest bit jealous. As the actors and actresses headed to their respective places for their opening remarks—twisted creatively into a skit, with a dance number at the end—the tiefling settled against her seat with a relieved breath. Clothes were on, yet. “Well, my performance is on the later numbers. I hope you don’t mind if we keep you company until then!”
She kept it at that, waiting to see if Thea was a chatty watcher or the opposite, so she could adjust her own behavior.
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 21, 2019 4:34:11 GMT
Thea smiled at Proserpina. “From the Dock Ward to the Castle Ward in a few months? That seems to me just as good as a trophy,” she grinned. “What do your siblings do?” Thea had never had siblings herself, but she had a lot of cousins, back in Urmlaspyr, and of course a general sense of kinship with all other air genasi. You never knew who you might actually be related to; it was very hard to tell. Thea had never wished for a sibling as a child, or, rather, a half-sibling. Even then she had understood a full sibling was – unlikely.
“Please stay!” Thea giggled, smiling over at Prosperina. She glanced back at the stage, where a bunch of performers had morphed into a dance line, arms across each other’s shoulders and some startlingly bare legs kicking out over the audience – male and female.
Thea shifted a little in her seat. Would Proserpina find it rude for her to talk during the show? Perhaps, being a bard herself, she felt that any artistic performance deserved the full attention of the watcher. Thea glanced back at the show. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy a good performance. She did. In Urmlaspyr, she was well accustomed to sitting quietly when there was a particularly good bard at the keep. But… to be honest, Thea was a little more interested in Proserpina than she was in the show.
“How do you decide what to perform?” Thea asked curiously, twisting in her seat to smile at Proserpina again. “Do you plan it out in advance, or do you change your mind on stage?” She smiled at the bard. If Proserpina rebuffed her for trying to chat, well, she’d sit and watch quietly. If not… Thea would cheerfully keep chatting.
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Mar 21, 2019 15:56:35 GMT
“Ah, you are kind to say so,” Proserpina accepted the compliment with girlish embarrassment, the emotion partly sourced from the fact that she had not thought of it that way. Personal achievement? In her eyes, climbing the ranks of society was a way of survival for the House—and climb she did—that even so far away, she forgot her departure from that life. Waterdeep, so far, had been about her… Proserpina. Miss Fellsong. Would it be too much to say that her ascension had been brought on by her skills, and not the weight of an old name?
… Ah. And to think she was agonizing about the loss when she first arrived.
She drew back and a chuckle, clear and rich as golden bells in the spring wind, burst from her lips. The sound was easily muffled by the performance below. Proserpina tried to obscure her smile with a hand, but the crinkles at the corners of her eyes conveyed her amusement, clear as day. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t mean to laugh. ‘Tis… odd but exhilarating, owning your achievements. It is a foreign concept in my line of work.”
She meant courtly life, but that was a significant bit of information to confirm, wasn’t it?
“Ah, my brothers! The younger one—oh, but I suppose they’re both the younger ones, as I’m the eldest,” The tiefling took a deep breath and, in a lighter, more assured tone, shifted to the next topic. Vulnerability so early in the conversation? My, Pippa. Don’t say you’re losing touch. “The baby, then, is a warrior with many accolades to his name. Ah, but the fear I felt when he first entered the Coliseums in Akanax…” She brought her hand over her chest, then winced. “He promised he was going to be fine—and for the most part, he was, if you count nearly getting clobbered to death fine!” As if conscious of her rising voice, Proserpina gestured dismissively and slumped back once more, although the genuine fondness in her tone remained, “The other is a brilliant thinker, so keen to debate on the plazas even at a young age. I always told him he was too flighty to be a sophist, and too scholarly to be a senator.”
It was to her great relief that Thea asked more questions; she loved to talk… no disrespect meant to the performers. The tiefling faced her guest, matching the smile on her face with one of her own. Upon hearing the full inquiry, though, Proserpina brought her hands together in excitement. “Oh, my dear—it depends on the audience!” With that, she gestured at the crowd below. “For me, a good bard performs and hopes to win the hearts in the room… and a smart one tailors their act to make sure does. The implications in a careless performance are numerous! Why, imagine if I showed a war chant in a party attended by a pious, pacifistic lord?” She leaned in closer, a measured pause taken for effect, then continued, “But of course I improvise here and there. Would you like an example later? I try to make those as seamless as possible, though! Be warned! Ah, I simply meant to say that I think there is nothing wrong with stepping on a handful of technicalities if it means more vibrant and passionate performance.”
With a wink, Proserpina drew back and placed her hands on her lap. “Ah, but how I ramble on and on. How do you decide which piece to make, then, Thea?”
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 22, 2019 6:08:33 GMT
Thea smiled at Proserpina, the comment raising a curious flag in her mind. Odd for a bard to own her achievements? Unlikely, unless Proserpina was talking about something else indeed. She wasn’t offended by the laugh – she didn’t think it was directed at her in any sense.
Thea gasped. “Oh, a gladiator!” She shivered. “Those fights are – something, aren’t they?” Thea’s hands tensed a little on her lap. She couldn’t say she enjoyed the arena, exactly. She had gone – she would go again – but enjoy? That wasn’t the right word for it. All that blood, all that death; to her it felt so… senseless. Men and women pitting their very lives against one another just to see who was strongest, bravest, most fearless. Why did they need to do it? Wasn’t life dangerous enough?
Thea relaxed her hands, not wanting to wrinkle her skirt, and smoothed it out against her legs, smiling at Proserpina, enjoying her discussion of the bardic process. She giggled at the difference between a good bard and a smart one, and widened her eyes appropriately at Proserpina’s description of a slip, shaking her head solemnly.
“Oh, yes please!” Thea giggled. “I like music, but I’m no expert, I’m sure I wouldn’t notice any – technicalities.” What appealed to her in music was the story of it, the emotions, the people. Skill was skill, but raw displays of it were rarely her favorite entertainment. Thea liked songs that told you something real, that showed you something deep inside other people – or yourself.
How did she decide what piece to make?
Thea sat back a little, thoughtful. “Well…” she tilted her head to the side. “There are pieces you don’t choose, exactly,” she smiled at Proserpina, knowing that wasn’t what she meant. “Every glassblower has to make – glasses, vials, jars. When you start out as an apprentice, you follow a set pattern for them but… of course, once you finish, you can put your own,” she bit her lip, “your self into it, just a little, either by making your own mold or by freeblowing.”
“But…” Thea trailed off. “Well, there are commissions, of course. For those, of course, what you actually create is something you discuss with them, based on what they want. If I can, I like to capture – the person I’m making it for,” Thea grinned, a little, cheekily. “Or if not the person, the space, the… feeling. If I can! The worst thing a piece can do is have no life in it. If I don’t like someone I’m working for, well… it can be hard to give it that extra…” Thea’s hands fluttered slightly, and she shrugged.
“But there are the pieces I do for myself as well,” Thea smiled. “The storm orb was one of those.” For herself, for Dominic – she hadn’t distinguished at the time. “Some of the pieces you saw – the kraken, the hanging shards – were those. Even these earrings,” she turned, letting them catch the light. “Then… sometimes you see it in your mind, the shape you want it to take. Sometimes it comes from a memory, or a feeling. Sometimes it just – comes.” The storm orb had just – come. Thea didn’t want to think about magic any more tonight, though; she’d had plenty of that.
“But I’m sure it’s different for everyone,” Thea felt suddenly self-conscious, eyes lowering to her lap for a moment before lifting back to Proserpina. “Much of it is rote. You breathe into the piece, again and again. Consistency is key – that’s how you can tell a master’s work. It’s only once you have that down that you can try to do something – extra.”
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Apr 1, 2019 3:55:57 GMT
As if noticing the tension in Thea’s body, Proserpina shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, layers of fabric rustling under the cloak. She smiled, albeit a little forced. “Oh, ‘tis something indeed. I confess, I never did enjoy the spectacle—the gore and senselessness of it—but I had to be there. I knew I couldn’t rest easy at home, not knowing how my brother fared against his foes… many of whom were raised without the luxury of a soothing balm for every split knee.” The light in the tiefling’s eyes dimmed a bit, simmering like fading embers in the hearth. It seemed that the two shared similar thoughts on the nature of arena combat, though the crux of Proserpina’s distaste seemed to stem more from familial concern. She sighed. “He… was excellent. Is. As I mentioned, he accrued a number of monikers in time—The Silver Boar, Skull-Gnasher, Spear-In-Shallows—all with their own brutal backstories. With those came better opponents—stronger, faster, more vicious than the last.”
She wrung her hands out, the bangles on her wrists jingling softly, and exclaimed, “You can surely imagine what I felt whenever he took a break from the blood-soaked heights of glory!” Oh, but the pride was deep in her tone—but overpowered by exasperation and relief. The memories were yet fresh. Proserpina settled against her chair again, leaning against a hand as she watched the performance below with a listless gaze. After a moment of companionable silence, the tiefling whispered, “He nearly fought a lover of mine, once. I thank Tymora for allowing my interventions to work as it did.”
Of course, one of them—or both, really—might have resented her for how the dice played out, but she did what she could with a myriad of events that spun out of control. The end result, that neither of the two was harmed, was all that mattered.
Proserpina turned her attention back to the glassblower, the warmth on her expression making it seem strange to believe that a cloud had passed. Delighted by the affirmation—and no doubt, the challenge—she nodded, beaming. “Then I will do so!”
When the artisan launched into an explanation of her work process, she folded her hands over her stomach and listened quietly, flickering golden eyes trained on Thea. She nodded every now and then to show that she was listening, which indeed she was, until the glassblower trailed off, seemingly hesitant to share more. “Well, I understand the start that much!” Proserpina chuckled in nostalgia. “I used to sing with a mouth full of pebbles and saltwater, you know, to help with my pronunciation and diction. That was boring. I always had ideas on how I could make a performance better—a curl here, a twirl there. My tutor used to tell me,” she paused and swallowed, then opened her mouth, and a deceptively rough, ornery voice came out, “Git yer auld habits oot an’ proper, first, ‘fore ye start warblin’ lik a damn babe!”
Proserpina covered her mouth with a hand, managing to look quite pleased with her impression and surprised at the same time. “That brings back memories,” she confessed with a short laugh, which was promptly cut short by another bout of thunderous applause, and the telltale skritch of the stage curtains sliding back.
“Oh, dear. ‘Tis seems to be the true start to the event, now,” she shifted in her seat and watched as Perendel waved a hand again, caught at the tail-end of another introduction. The motions set her heart ablaze, and Proserpina leaned forward, expectant—
Until a bunch of very scantily-clad women shimmied onstage, greeted by a chorus of welcoming hoots and cheers. She leaned back and peered over her shoulder, “Tiernan, you might be interested in this,” Proserpina’s expression softened when she saw that the man had—somehow, despite the noise—fallen asleep, sprawled over two seats. She shook her head and glanced back at Thea, a mischievous tilt to her lips. “Well! A wonderful and wholly characteristic start, then.”
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 2, 2019 4:53:01 GMT
Thea gasped, looking wide-eyed at Proserpina from behind her whisper. “Oh no, that would have been – ” Thea giggled a little. “I’m glad it didn’t happen,” she smiled at her, then paused, thoughts still churning it over. “What do you think… drives them? It is senseless,” Thea shivered a little, her hands tight in her lap still. She relaxed them, sitting back. “I don’t know that I understand it.”
And she didn’t. Arioch had explained, hadn’t he? That he needed to feel alive, that he wanted to conquer his fear. But there was understanding and understanding, and especially having seen him fought, having seen him nearly killed but rising victorious at what had seemed the last possible moment, Thea just – she just felt – did he have to? But it wasn’t her place, not remotely, not even as his friend, not even as someone who – cared. He had to make his own choices; he was young, but Thea had never thought of Arioch as less than a man.
Thea laughed. “Pebbles and saltwater? No!” She began to giggle. “Don’t you – how do you – keep from spitting them out?” She touched her fingers to her lips and grinned at Proserpina. “I can’t imagine that being boring. It sounds very – hard!” She laughed harder at the impression, shaking a little against the chair.
“Oh!” Thea turned back to the stage, eyes wide and expectant and –
A group of about ten scantily clad women rushed on stage. Thea promptly turned back away; faint blue crept up over her cheeks as she met Proserpina’s eyes.
Someone was playing the fiddle, a quick rapid song, and the women were lining up; they had little bralettes on top and what could generously be called skirts on bottom, which really just seemed to be big puffs of tulle that flared up with every kick, removing any claim to modesty. The girls danced around each other, past each other, then linked arms over each other’s shoulders to make a long line, kicking and singing some half-intelligible song to the fiddle’s tune. Half of the audience was cheerfully roaring along, making the words even harder to discern.
“Well,” Thea’s cheeks went bluer. “That’s – um,” she smiled at Proserpina, then glanced back at Tiernan. “You know I thought the attendants at the Jade Jug had a reputation for being…” she trailed off slightly. Somehow that led to a story on who Thea knew that stayed there, and she found herself explaining, “Hanthor – he’s a master glassblower as well, but he’s been in Waterdeep several years, so he knows the city well – he told me he’d stayed at the Jade Jug when I asked him for advice on where to stay.” Periodically, Thea’s eyes peeped to the stage and then very promptly away – why were the girls falling back into each other’s arms? – as she did her best to talk through her embarrassment.
“Actually it’s a bit of a funny story, the first time I met Hanthor,” Thea said, cheerfully. “Do you know Lord Haertshorn? The Haertshorn’s are old Waterdhavian, I’m not sure where their money is from but it’s all banking now, I believe. He’s the head of the clan, but – perhaps – a few years past his prime?” Thea shrugged a little. “Jhalassan Thond, of the glassblower’s guild, invited me to attend a gala at his home, during my first few months in the city. Well,” Thea giggled. “I didn’t have anything to wear, absolutely nothing that would do,” she glanced down at her outfit ruefully. “Thond’s daughter – Alissa – told me I would actually be better off appearing in my guild clothes than anything I brought from Sembia. She’s about fifteen, it was very – direct.” Thea giggled. “But, we’re not so different in size, and she had this gorgeous black gown that she offered to loan me.”
“Well,” Thea sat back. “I went to the party, and had just met Hanthor, when Jhalassan took us over to meet Lord Haertshorn. And he takes one look at me, and starts talking about how the help have gotten much prettier since he was young,” Thea was giggling again, now thoroughly distracted from the spectacle on stage, which seemed to involve some of the girls swinging through the legs of the others. “And he asks me to go and fetch him a glass of wine!”
Thea giggled. “So Hanthor is trying to explain that I’m a glassblower, and Jhalassan just looks embarrassed and I – I just went and did it,” Thea grinned at Proserpina. “And I curtsied and said I was happy to help and he – pinched me! I half thought Hanthor was going to start a fight,” she was giggling again. "He's going on at Lord Haertshorn about the respect that artisans should be shown and Haertshorn is just pointing this massive ear horn at him and keeps asking him to speak up if he's going to talk about respect!"
The girls ran offstage amidst cheers and hearty applause, and the curtain dropped and rose again, moments later.
The next performer was a woman, wearing what looked like clothing for going out: a heavy fur cloak and long gloves, so fully wrapped up so nothing was visible. For a moment, Thea and Proserpina might have thought she one of the minstrels from the show – at least until an absolutely deafening cheer rose up from the seats below, drowning out any hope of conversation.
The woman began to sing. Someone was playing in the background – a lute, maybe? It was a song Thea knew, a courtly sort of ballad about the wonders of love, traditionally sung about the pure devotion of a paladin to his lord’s lady, that sort of thing. Somehow, without any more than soft gestures, the woman made it clear that she was singing to a man – maybe a man she had been out with, the reason she was wearing her furs.
Then, somehow her hands and body language made it seem as if she’d come home, with this mysterious companion of hers, and if it was the most natural thing in the world that she should shrug off the cloak, revealing a bright silver gown with a plunging neckline, which curved and draped over her.
And abruptly Thea realized that – she couldn’t have explained it – there was something in the woman’s voice that made it clear that she wasn’t singing about the pure and courtly love of the stories, that the delights of love had quite another meaning in this context, that the rapture she was describing was –
Thea squeaked and buried her face in her hands, then looked up again, unable to quite look away.
The singer was drawing her gloves off now, in long, smooth even strokes. Unlike the girls, no one interrupted her song; no one seemed to be able to do any more than breathe through it. It went on for several minutes, leaving the entire crowd utterly spellbound, her thick, husky voice weaving an entirely new layer of love onto the song until – at the last – the last layer of lacy silk underthings dropped to the ground as the song ended, revealing her just for half a second until the curtains snapped shut.
Thea’s face was glowing a deep, hot blue; she didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. She had never seen – never imagined – anything like that before.
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Apr 7, 2019 9:24:21 GMT
Proserpina gave a helpless shrug at Thea’s question. “Perhaps, when I return home, I can ask my brother himself,” she answered, and the words dragged out a forlorn yet wounded look in her eyes. It faded as their conversation drifted towards more pleasant topics, the heart-pounding awe and revulsion inspired by the talk of the arena and its happenings slowly settling down. As the titillating—ha—performance continued on, Proserpina found herself listening to the glassblower, who was sharing a story with such dogged intensity it felt as though her sanity depended on it.
“Oh, they do,” Proserpina affirmed with regards to the Jade Jug and its curiously buxom attendants. The establishment… dabbled in a few sensual treats, but really, if one were looking for that experience, there was a perfectly serviceable House of Pleasures just up the road. “Apparently your, let’s say, companion can give you massages and whatnot. ‘Tis all naughty in a hushed up, discreet sort of way, if you’re fond of all foreplay and no pay-off. Ah, but most of the girls are very relieved when they have no scrubbing to do on their part!” With another quick look at her dozing associate, the tiefling shook her head with a half-fond, half-exasperated smile, dismissing any thoughts of the same salacious relationship between them. “Good luck asking Tiernan to do anything of the sort!”
She nodded along when Thea began to discuss Lord Haertshorn—“Oh, noooo...”—and their encounter. “The black dress…! Did he really? My goodness!” Proserpina covered her mouth with a hand, and she shook her head with a smile halfway through the story. “Oh, I hope the experience wasn’t too harrowing, my dear,” she said, “’tis always the old lechers what make me reconsider my attendance in such an event. This reminds me of…”
But before Proserpina could continue her story, the next performer walked onto the stage—and by Sune’s fiery hair, did she command attention. She was riveted, enough to forget her train of thought clap along in anticipation with the others. Proserpina had a vague idea of what the performance was about, thanks to her… research, but ah… It was always a different experience on the day itself.
Almost an eternity later, the curtains snapped shut.
Somehow, the ruckus had roused Tiernan from his sleep—and he was cheering along with Proserpina, who was giggling against her seat like a particularly fascinated child as applause ebbed. “So that’s what she needed my powder for!” The tiefling dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief and turned to Thea, only now noticing her flushed state. “Oh, dear. That was excellent, wasn’t it? Oh, Sune, I wish I’d have thought of that sooner.” She held a hand to her cheek, still watching the artisan with a warm, humorous glow in her monochrome eyes. “I say… Are you alright, Thea?”
… Quite obviously, Perendel below had a hard time calming down the audience, and it took some time before the next performer walked onstage. This… Now this was what she was talking about!
“Oh, it’s them! Thea, dear, I hope you’re not squeamish about death-defying stunts!” Proserpina cheerfully said as a cluster of muscular individuals walked onstage, each with a sword or some manner of weapon in their hand. They were dressed in uniform suits of black and gold, glowing like a second skin under the lights of the theatre, and even from this distance their props looked sharp to cut through wood. Each, too, wore an expression of absolute, rigid discipline—though a twitch here and there as they took their positions across the stage spoke of barely-suppressed excitement.
Then, instead of the lutes which had been used for the shows thus far, full-bodied drums sounded, the walls thrumming with the aggressive beat of war and battle…
The dancers shot across the stage, one after another, their blades flashing and glinting in the air. Gold-streaked bodies twisted and curled in a serpentine manner as they began what was surely a retelling of some ancient battle—steel clashed against steel, punctuating every dip in the music. One warrior writhed in place and fell, contorting backwards in a fluid, dramatic motion as she succumbed to her imaginary injuries. The performers formed their ranks in the mock battle, each cut and thrust seamlessly blocked and deflected even as the entire line spiraled inwards, and the audience beheld the war dance with rapt attention.
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 8, 2019 16:52:50 GMT
“Oh!” Thea grinned at Prosperina at the other woman’s discussion of the Jade Jug’s buxom attendants and their massage-related activities. “Funny, Hanthor definitely didn’t mention that,” she giggled. She pressed her hands to her mouth and giggled more, glancing back at the sleeping Tiernan and then back to Proserpina, raising her eyebrows high. “No,” Thea shook her head. “No, it wasn’t that bad, I mean – ” She laughed. “I think Hanthor was more upset than I was. It was sweet of him, though.” She smiled at Proserpina, looking forward to her story, before the performance interrupted them. “Oh – ” Thea pressed her hands to her cheeks, eyes darting to the stage then back to Proserpina. “Fine – fine! It was, um – quite a – um – performance,” she sat back a little, fidgeting in her chair. “I’ve never –” her voice trailed off. She fought to control her blush with a few deep breaths, trying hard to think of something – anything - else, and largely failed. Thea turned her attention back to the stage the moment the next performance started, relieved to see the more straightforward weapons. She watched, eyes wide, hardly able to look away from the battle; the blades were sharp enough that the slightest mistake could easily mean death. Even without those stakes, the performance would have been a thing of beauty; with them, Thea was transfixed. “They’re incredible,” her cheeks were cool again, and she smiled at Proserpina, before looking back at the stage; this time, Thea was happy not to be able to look away. The next performance was two flute players; extremely skilled, beautiful music and impressive technical talent, but much less absorbing than the previous performances – at least until they began casting spells as the other played, increasingly intricate illusions that were woven on top of the sounds, bringing the instrumental piece to life. “What a show!” Thea clapped enthusiastically along with the rest of the audience, grinning at Proserpina. “I can’t imagine what’s to come next, I – ” Thea looked back at the stage and – froze. One moment, her face was lively and cheerful, and the next it was utterly still, half-drained of color, as if she had been carved from some strange pale blue stone. Only the faintest rising and falling of her chest betrayed that she was still breathing, still warm and alive. Melshimber’s minstrel had walked on stage, carrying a decorative looking golden lute. He was an unusually beautiful man, with fair hair so pale gold as to be nearly white, and sharp features that just managed to stay clear of femininity. He dressed in gold and brown, the colors lending a little warmth to his skin, with a single eardrop dangling from one ear. There was a loud burst of applause for him, led by two of the nearby boxes, and then picked up through the audience. “Friends, one and all!” The minstrel cried, bowing. “I am Falkner Songstrummer, and I am grateful for your welcome! Tonight I will perform for you a glorious ballad!” There was a burst of cheering. Thea made a faint whimpering noise. She actually closed her eyes, tightly, lips moving as if praying. After a moment Proserpina would be able to tell that she was just actually whispering one word over and over: no. Falkner sat on a stool in the center of the stage, positioning the lute in his lap. He strummed the lute, once, twice, picking out a quick series of chords, then stopped and surveyed the audience, smiling and waiting for them to call down. “Let us begin, then! And now: The Captain of Dragonfly,” He called. He had a clear, lovely voice that carried and filled the hall easily, without even the depth of song. “A long long time ago In a land far far away A girl was born wanting more And she knew if she had her chance That she could escape her manse And maybe she’d be happy on the sea”
Thea stared. Once again, she seemed unable to look away; she hadn’t even looked at Proserpina since the song began, as if she couldn’t bear it. There was no blush on her cheeks this time, no look of rapt attention – just a faint creeping horror. If anything, her skin seemed to grow even paler, even more drained.
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Apr 23, 2019 6:03:17 GMT
The dynamic, heart-pounding performance ended the opposite way of how it began. As the music rose to a fevered pitch, the battle sped on, each blade spinning a trail of glinting steel under the stage lights—then, as the drums sounded once, twice, the dancers collapsed atop one another like wheat bowing under the scythe. Save for one. A half-elf stood at the eye of the storm, the lone survivor in the carnage of the imaginary battlefield. When the frenetic beat stopped, the abrupt silence swelled over the theatre—only to be cut short by their wordless cry.
Then the curtains closed.
“They are. So easy on the eyes, too,” Proserpina sighed with a hand on her cheek, staring dreamily at the lit stage. The next musicians were only able to shake her out of her reverie by virtue of what they represented—Melshimber’s pet was next, or next to next, depending on how badly he screwed up his song. The tiefling straightened up in her chair, adrenaline once again starting to run through her veins, and clapped along with Thea.
Oh, and here comes the man of the hour.
Proserpina’s clapping slowed to a disdainful halt as Falkner appeared onstage, and the entirety of her focus burned down to that singular point. Her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit as she beheld his appearance. As a rule, bards and courtiers were disinclined to participate in the petty rivalries their patrons indulged in—unless they had a personal interest in furthering the discord—but there were some exceptions. And normally, Proserpina considered herself an impartial player—before, of course, she heard that the man had been spreading some rather unsightly rumors about her with their fellows. Not everyone had to bed their patrons to go as far as she had, but she supposed he had no inkling of the concept.
(Also, please. Eadric? He was a child.)
“Well,” Tiernan grumbled as he loomed over her shoulder. He had witnessed their… interactions over the past week, had seen exactly what goes on in the backstage… which was a whole lot different than whatever this was. He turned his head towards the loudest boxes, trying to glean their occupants through the dim light. “Looks like he brought a few fans.”
“He’ll need all the help he can get, truly,” Proserpina retorted with just the right amount of haughtiness, much to Tiernan’s amusement, who turned away to chuckle against the balcony. She glanced over at Thea as the minstrel began his preparations—and only then was able to notice the cold discomfort in the genasi’s features.
“Let us begin, then!”
“Thea? Are you alright?” Proserpina leaned over, voice low, and her personal misgivings temporarily pushed aside as she fretted over her guest. She reached over and gently touched the artisan’s hand over the arm of her seat. “’Tis an excitable row, to be sure, but you look quite faint.” Despite the joke, the tiefling glanced behind her shoulder with a look of slight alarm. “Tiernan?”
“Ah, does she need water? Y’know what, I’ll just, uh, get it—,” the rustling of heavy curtains and the thump of heavy footfalls against the carpet signaled Tiernan’s departure from their box.
“Would you like a breather, dear? I dare say we’ll hardly miss anything substantial if we left during his performance…” Proserpina added, her eyes still on Thea.
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 23, 2019 15:14:20 GMT
But her ma and pa made her shiver With every lecture they’d deliver To keep her at their doorstep No she couldn’t take one more step
I’ve heard it said that she cried When they promised she would be a bride Something grabbed her deep inside That day she slipped aside So
Thea jerked when Proserpina touched her. Her face was still thoroughly pale, but she was moving again, no longer quite so statue-like. She rubbed her face with both hands, then rubbed them together, as if she was cold and the gesture might warm her. She felt almost numb, but there was just enough sensation left to hurt, a little more with each word of the song.
She seized Proserpina’s offer to go for a breather with an almost pathetic desperation, nodding rapidly; it felt very much like a life preserver flung to her while she was floating at sea, a simile that felt much, much too accurate right at this moment.
“Yes – “ Thea’s voice was half a croak. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, taking a long, slow, deep breath, and exhaling just as carefully, then cleared her throat. “Yes, please, a – a breather would be very nice. Thank you,” Thea glanced at the stage again, shuddered, and rose to her feet, quickly hastening out of the box. She leaned back against the wall in the hallway beyond, eyes closed. If she was a coward, then she was a coward; she couldn’t stay and listen any longer.
The song drifted on behind her, still faintly audible even from the hallway.
Bye, bye Captain of Dragonfly Your ship sailed on the seas with beauty to make one sigh And when that storm swept down out of the sky You fought to the last drop of goodbye Yes to the very last drop of goodbye
"I'm sorry," Thea said, still visibly paler than usual, when Proserpina joined her in the hallway. She swallowed, hard, wrapping her arms around herself, and didn't try to explain. How could she?
How could she possibly tell Proserpina that the Dragonfly had been her mother's ship?
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Apr 26, 2019 3:42:50 GMT
It was tempting to make a joke about Falkner Songstrummer, but this was not the time for it. Thea’s state seemed to be serious—fragile, contemplative, not the sort she wished to disturb. Proserpina gently shook her head when apologies were aimed her way and walked out after the artisan, her coat and costume rustling as she got up from her chair.
They were no longer in the box so the sound was muffled but, below them, a second source belted out the tune. Ah. Of course. How could she forget? Perendel had these magic devices for when the theatre was full. A way to keep the experience going for those who had to leave for the lavatory, so he said. It created a flanging loop which, to her chagrin, made the song nearly as clear as it had been when they were still in their seats, watching the minstrel onstage.
There, out in the hallway, Proserpina stood beside Thea and allowed herself a moment to listen to the melody. It wasn’t half-bad but… The tiefling tilted her head back, the tips of her capped horns coming to a soft rest against the paneled walls, and closed her eyes in silence. “Oh, don’t be, darling,” she replied, “from the sound of it, ’tis becoming rather morbid.”
The silence deepened, and they made an odd pair of loiterers. The slender genasi huddling in on herself, and the magenta tiefling at ease, draped in finery which glinted under the gold-flecked lamps. When her curiosity was sated, Proserpina opened her eyes and glanced down at Thea.
“What upsets you, Thea? Perhaps I could help,” she said, voice soft and reassuring. She hadn’t seen any connections so far, save for a storm, which was the main event featured in the artisan’s work during the exhibition where they met. And that was where her thoughts ended. Despite that, Pippa felt that it was her responsibility to answer for this—whatever this was. After all, she was the one who invited Thea to a night in the theatre. The tiefling gestured back at their box. “Is it Falkner? Have I talked him down so much his appearance was a surprise?”
Her inquiries were light, but Proserpina was clearly fishing for answers or at least a hint on how she could help.
|
|