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Post by moralhazard on Apr 26, 2019 5:41:51 GMT
She crept down to the harbor cove The pale moon gleaming all above On the first ship she did go For she believed in sea and shoul And as a boy disguised she’d stroll And never would she let one soul know
In truth, Thea could hear the song just as well in the hallway as she could have inside. She shivered a little, curled up on herself, arms wrapping slowly around her body, eyes squeezing shut. At least in here, she didn’t have to look at him. Thea had first seen Falkner Songstrummer about a year ago. Of course, he hadn’t called himself Songstrummer then; then he had been Falkner Seahaven. She was sure neither Falkner nor Seahaven was his actual name. He had come to sing at the Baring family keep, and all day Thea had chatted with her cousins about how handsome he was, how they were sure he must be talented. He had given her littlest cousins a lesson, and Thea had looked in, thinking how nice it was – how nice he was. Then, at the dinner hall, he had started – this song. It had changed a little since; Thea remembered every word as if they had been etched into her brain. He had updated some of the lyrics; she supposed her family had corrected him on a few points. It made her feel nauseous to think of it. She had sat, pale and miserable, as an absolute stranger sang a song of her mother – Thea’s own mother – and made entertainment of her pain. Now she sailed from Westgate to Sultim Working hard from limb to limb Sailing through the lows and highs Underneath those bright blue skies And though they searched all amok Under their radar she had snuck And every day she blessed her luck That day she slipped aside And bells were ringin’
Proserpina asked if Falker was what upset her, if Proserpina had talked him down too much. Thea made a choked noise that resembled a laugh, and buried her face in her hands, slim shoulders trembling. She didn’t cry – she really didn’t. It wasn’t a teary sort of upset, more of a deep misery. How could he? Thea shuddered. She had had other things to think on, in the days after his performance. She had steadfastly avoided Falkner – or whatever his name really was. She had heard that Uncle Thaddeus had sternly cautioned Falkner not to perform the song again; but she also knew that others in the family hadn’t seen the harm, and that some had had even liked it. Thea was the only one still living who had served on the Dragonfly; she was the only direct relative of Vivian Baring left alive. It was her story, it was her pain. It hurt, miserably, to see it performed on stage - and not even very well. Thea was also conscious of a faint, flickering anger – something new, something she hadn’t felt before. Thea was, she realized, a little angry. How dare he? It wasn’t much, just a small surge back against the more overwhelming feeling of sadness, but it was something to cling to. 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
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Post by pastels on Apr 27, 2019 6:09:33 GMT
“Well, that answers it, I suppose,” Proserpina leaned away with a smile. The man had been a bit of a wretch in most of their shared interactions, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he had somehow managed to offend Thea… or worse. She inhaled deeply. Her mind was not half as gifted as she wished it to be, but she had lived this long by untangling the complexities of social relations. The reaction to his presence was… visceral. Perhaps it was the song, too? She could only guess based on her limited understanding of the day’s events.
Nonetheless, this quiet heaving Thea was doing played to her heart, and the tiefling reached out and placed her hand on the artisan’s shoulder. Proserpina held her breath, waiting to see how the action would be received, then rubbed in circles—the comforting, homely gesture at odds with the affectations she had shown so far. “Then let us stay here until that man is done.”
The tiefling was done with her questions; oh, she was skilled with flirting and casual conversation, parading around with a glamorous persona that was a second skin, but this… She didn’t want to pry. She didn’t know how to pry. Intimate topics about emotions and pain rarely served her purpose back in Chessenta—there were moments where she twisted such feelings in others to achieve her goals, but at least those had distance. They weren’t, say, young Alkandros weeping alone in the garden after that frog-faced bitch burned his books while Proserpina was on a trip with Father for a week. She found him the evening after they returned, after she coaxed the truth from Eustakhios; she sat beside him on the cold marble bench as he cried with his back turned to her, and her mind spun a thousand platitudes her mouth refused to speak out loud. She knew what those books meant to him—some of them had been from his mother. And yet… All of her glittering words failed her at that moment. At the time she assumed it was because she was still learning, but years later? After that debacle with the senate, after Aris, after Father’s death? Yes. It was a weakness.
“Speaking of terrible, terrible minstrels who would do much better with their mouths shut…” Proserpina swallowed, and her hand ceased its motions. She brought her arms over her chest and playfully tapped on her chin with her nails, but her expression was thoughtful and a bit serious. “Remember that lover I mentioned earlier? The one who nearly had to fight my brother dearest?” Oh, Pippa, was this truly wise? As if unbothered by the callback, the tiefling continued, “’Tis a long story, but they wrote a wonderfully sordid song about me and my love. It was so vivid, really, that I was rather surprised they kept our names off the lyrics… for all the good it did.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Now, I welcome and encourage rumors about my skill and insatiability in bed, amongst other talk about my assets, so a lurid ditty was hardly the worst of my worries—and believe me, the song was indeed salacious to the highest degree,” Proserpina’s lips twitched up in faint amusement, though her expression quickly shifted, “but he and I were a secret. My best-kept one, too!” The look she gave Thea was both proud and furtive, the emotion typical of one who gained an accomplishment through painful means. “You see, he was a slave fighting for his freedom in the Coliseums—and I?” Proserpina gestured at her face with a bit of dramatic flair, meant to distract from the weight of her story. “I was the pride of our noble House!”
The tiefling gave a short chuckle and leaned back once more against the wall, as far as her horns could allow. Her voice wistful when she said, “When the song came out… Well. It was a private party, but word spread fast. To say it was chaotic would be an understatement. Those who cannot hurt me came for him instead. I know not if ‘tis one of my rivals or ill-wishers what leaked the information and spurred that minstrel into action—but ‘tis a sobering thought, is it not? To face your own helplessness and watch your chances to right your wrongs slip past, faster than you can catch them.”
After a pause, Proserpina’s rich, musical laughter pierced the hallway. “Ah, how dark of me! I speak as though the situation wasn’t resolved well and with all parties intact. My apologies for misleading you.”
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Post by moralhazard on Apr 27, 2019 17:14:42 GMT
Now, for six years she’d sailed the waves Like a captain she did behave And finally, she went back to her family
As she stood there before strong and tall Voice ringing through her family’s hall
Oh, such a sight you never did see
Of her success she told them well How she had sailed from Pros to Sarshel All their fears they set aside A daughter no more to hide Thea nodded, gratefully, in response to Proserpina’s suggestion that they stay in the hallway. Thea felt awash in self-pity. She didn’t know why exactly the music seemed to be just as loud in the corridor, but she felt very much as if it were following her, as if Falkner somehow wouldn’t let her escape. She couldn’t really help listening - at least not until Proserpina started talking. The story was absorbing, and horrifying. Thea lifted her face from her hands, giving the tiefling her full and rapt attention, cheeks flaming blue at Proserpina’s description of her - ah - well - it sounded terrible, on several levels. Chessenta must be an odd place, Thea thought. “I’m sorry,” there was visible relief on Thea’s face as Proserpina’s promise that things had come out well. “That must have been - terrible.” Thea shook her head, meaning both the public discussion of one’s sexual prowess and, more importantly, having one’s secrets revealed and one’s lover threatened. Thea took a deep breath, feeling as if something inside her had eased. She tilted her head back against the wall, letting her gaze fix on the ceiling rather than the tiefling she was quickly coming to consider a friend. Her hair had been muted so far since the moment they had seen Falkner but now - a hot little surge of anger sent it waving and dancing about her face. “He’s singing about my mother,” the words were easier to say than Thea had expected. She lowered her gaze, surprised to find herself able to look at Proserpina. Her smile was a little crooked, but she was smiling. Thea sighed. “I’m - being silly, I suppose. It’s not as if it does me any harm, and almost no one here in Waterdeep knows. Except you,” that smile was more genuine. “And Falkner.” The smile slid away. “He isn’t wrong, she was from a family of merchants. In Urmslaspyr,” Thea explained. “He came there to sing for us a year ago - this song!” Thea shuddered. “I think he didn’t know then. He had heard rumors of her, or the Dragonfly, and... but he knows now.” A little more anger flitted across her eyes, and she held silent.
For her family had ships they owned Needed a captain with skills she’d honed And not even once had she bemoaned That day she slipped aside And bells were ringin’
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
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Post by pastels on May 6, 2019 0:26:09 GMT
“’Tis not something I wish to repeat, for sure,” the tiefling said with a smile, one hand cutting through the air in a gesture both dismissive and dainty. There was a lot of self-blame during those times. Granted, a lady feels little else when she finds out someone is attempting to harm her love. She remembered one moment in particular, when Aris thanked her for the gift she sent—dried persimmons, his favorite—and she froze. She had sent nothing of the sort. The package was swiftly brought out and inspected. One unfortunate rodent later…
“It’s good I was saving those for later, then,” Aris had joked and laughed, as if he hadn’t just watched a rat give out a high-pitched shriek seconds after eating the tidbit and bodily contort into a rigid ball on the floor. She thought the humor was there to ease her conscience, and it probably was for that moment, but he had ever been the easygoing type. Even said all of the plots to kill him (atop the usual ones during his matches, anyway) felt like a compliment.
There were other attempts after that—faulty weaponry, armor sabotage, mismatches—which failed, because what Proserpina failed to unweave was handled by Aris on the arena.
“Ah,” Proserpina said simply, her golden eyes on Thea as she shared the source of her discomfort. She matched the faint smile with one of her own. So Falkner was singing about her mother? Typical; he couldn’t even write a decent song by himself so he had to copy an innocent person’s life story. The tiefling craned her neck towards where the music was loudest and listened. Truly listened.
Oh. There was no wonder Thea reacted as she did!
“The bastard!” Proserpina stirred and her eyes flashed with anger. She was aggravated, to say the least, and it wasn’t just because she could imagine how that would feel if someone made song of Basileus’s demise. If he had come to sing for Thea and her family, then surely he had the opportunity to gauge their reaction! Hers definitely screamed discomfort. Did that not matter to Songstrummer? “My most sincere condolences then, Thea,” her voice was hot in its outrage yet sincere, “oooh, the absolute—“
Footsteps resounded through the hall, and Tiernan rounded the corner, holding what seemed to be a glass of water in one hand and a jug in another. Both looked tiny held in his calloused workman’s hands. When he saw the two of them loitering outside, he slowed down and one hand twitched up, as if he were about to scratch at his stubble. “Oh—why are you two out? Show’s not over yet. Eh, never mind. ‘ere you go, miss.” Tiernan lumbered over to Thea and thrust out the beverage, waiting for her to take it. Well. She looked better now, at least!
“Thank you, Tiernan,” Proserpina now had one hand against her forehead. Her fingers drew insistent circles against her skin.
“Uh… Did I miss something…?” he stepped back to give the ladies some space, and his eyes darted from the tiefling to the genasi. “Melsimber’s boy didn’t bring out a nude dancer, did he?”
Proserpina sighed. “No,” she started, “but—ugh! What a bastard! Let us wait this one out and I’ll have some words with his wretched hide!” Fired up as she was, the courtier still turned towards Thea, seeking her opinion. “There is a… gathering, after the performances. ‘Tis how you gauge how well you’ve done based on your reception. If you wish to speak with Falkner for his… indignity… Well! You have my support.”
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Post by moralhazard on May 6, 2019 0:49:51 GMT
She fought pirates in a summer swelter And from a kraken she took shelter Her ship high on the waves and fast
Oh never was there such a lass Strong and brave and bold as brass And at no challenge did she bat an eyelash
Thea felt a comforting warmth in her chest at the anger flashing in Proserpina’s eyes. She managed another crooked smile, shaking her head. “And… “ Thea paused, swallowing hard. No; this wasn’t the time or place to talk about such things. She knew well why Falkner wanted to talk to her; she knew well that he thought he would be able to get the story of Dragonfly’s last night from her. As if Thea would ever…! “… it’s not even a good song!” Thea finished. It was hard to be objective about such things, but Thea was pretty sure that Falkner’s rhymes were terrible, the syllables in his stanzas seemed to barely follow any pattern half the time. She didn’t think the song was cleverly flouting convention; she was pretty sure it was just sloppy. “Thank you,” Thea smiled at Tiernan, accepting the glass of water. She held it for a moment, looking at Proserpina and contemplating her offer. Speak with Falkner? Thea had spent days avoiding such a fate. But.. she wasn’t the same woman she had been in Urmlaspyr. She was stronger now, braver, more – more herself. Surely she could handle one full-of-himself minstrel. All the same, Thea wasn’t entirely sure. She was angry, yes, but did she really need to talk to him? The first few words of the next verse were new, Thea thought; she took a sip of her water, listening. In Reth she met a djinni entrapped His sweet smile she did attract With him she took a chance Oh, but did they ever dance
‘Cause our bold lass surely did yield The djinni her universe revealed Do you know what was unsealed That day she slipped aside And bells were ringin’
Thea dropped the glass on the carpet, water spilling everywhere. Her eyes were wide, and her hair flared, swirling wildly around her head. For a moment, the lightning that Proserpina had seen her summon in the crypt could almost be felt around her. Her hands clenched. “Oh, yes,” Thea said, oddly calm despite the obvious fury blazing through her. “I would like that – very much.”
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Post by pastels on May 12, 2019 16:30:06 GMT
“Oh, true,” Proserpina readily agreed, and her eyes were bright with the shared enjoyment of dissing a lacklustre entertainer, “just now, listen—‘strong and brave and bold as brass?’ Miliil hold me back before I march down there…” Now this righteous indignation was absent in the bit of personal history the tiefling shared just now. Yes, her song launched a series of events which nearly ruined her life in Erebos… but damn if that minstrel didn’t describe her thighs as though they ought to be worshipped. Among other things. She couldn’t be mad even if she tried.
Speaking of the devil’s salacious texts…
The tiefling let out a half-horrified, half-surprised gasp as soon as the next stanza eased out from the stage. “He did not!”
Oh, the rotten bastard!
“That’s absolutely rich coming from him!” Proserpina could host a masterclass in scoffing; hers was a perfect blend of haughty disbelief and moral ascendancy, and she even matched the change in her expression with a flippant gesture made with both hands. She turned away from a pretend source of the noise with a huff. “After all, ‘tis known the only reason Frederic took him in was for his excellence in nightly sessions. Bending over the writing table, as you will.”
Tiernan distanced himself from the conversation as soon as he had handed over the water. He didn’t mean to pry, but the matron did task him with “hounding” Miss Fellsong… and he had to do just that. Of course, he still overhead their words—he was, after all, standing just an arm’s length away. But he couldn’t help it. His garbled laugh turned into an unconvincing series of coughs.
“Honestly, what is this one’s deal with physical intimacy? ‘Tis strange. He had sowed some rather amusing rumors about me in that regard…” Proserpina continued on, her smile returning when she heard the assistant’s amusement at her words. Ever the performer. “Ah but very well, Thea dear. Let us plan our approach then!”
She took a couple of steps forward and gestured at the air in a grand manner. “Let me paint the picture. ‘Tis the hour. He would, no doubt, be surrounded by patron and his adoring fans,” one didn’t need to see her face to realize Proserpina was scoffing, again, and Tiernan gave an obnoxiously loud snort. The tiefling turned on her heel and spread her hands out, the bracelet on her wrist jangling along with her horn ornaments. “We walk up, I introduce you? Or perhaps I allude to it… What would you wish to say?”
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Post by moralhazard on May 14, 2019 20:19:53 GMT
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
There was an odd sort of tension building in Thea – like a faint sense of static electricity in the air around her, sharp enough to make one’s hair stand on end. Her face was still calm, almost too calm, given the tension in her arms and hands, except for the wideness of her eyes. It looked like there was a storm in there, somewhere in the deepness of the blue, as if the lightning in her veins was doing its best to rise to the surface. And then – with Pippa’s joke the rising tide broke and Thea laughed. Her face smoothed back into a smile, and her eyes looked like Thea’s again. If there was still a little tension in her arms it was only to be expected. “He must be better at – the act – ” Thea was blushing again, dark blue color rising in her cheeks, “then he is about writing about it.” She rubbed at her face with her hands, and looked down at the ground, making a face. “Oh, dear,” she knelt and picked up the glass, somewhat helplessly, glancing around and setting it off to the side. If only she’d learned Citrine’s neat trick of drying things…! Thea looked wide-eyed again at the idea of pre-planning, although just in a normal, frightened way. “To say? Oh! Well I would – I would say…” Thea paused, and she made a face. “He might already know what I look like,” she admitted. “He’s certainly seen a portrait of me, and I’ve not changed so much in the last year.” “But it doesn’t matter,” Thea frowned. “I would… tell him… I would tell him that…” She was focusing too hard to filter her words. “I would tell him that he has no right to my mother and her life! That he should find something else to sing, if he even can, because he does it so badly. And if he asks me anything about the Dragonfly again, because he certainly sent enough notes last time, then, I would – I would tell him – I would – I would rather be shipwrecked again!” Thea huffed, then paused, realizing what she’d just said. “Ah,” Thea bit her lip, wiping her hands on her front; a few droplets of water had splashed against her, and she did her best to wipe them off. “… He wants to talk to me because I… was on the Dragonfly,” She admitted, slowly. “When it…” Thea shrugged, looking away from Proserpina now. Oh, and there she was in her place A ship where she could set the pace With no time left to start again
So Dragonfly be nimble, and be quick The sea knows each and every trick Life is too short for us to spend
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Post by pastels on May 25, 2019 13:51:56 GMT
Ah. Many of her peers balked at the idea of using their… finer abilities in manipulation to elicit a response in daily conversation, but this proved how she loved the Game. Proserpina stared down at the genasi, matching the decline in static with her own breath, loosely exhaled. How glad she was that Thea had returned to, well… Thea, in so far as she could tell as a casual acquaintance. The color in the artisan’s cheeks deepened as she struggled to run with the joke—the tiefling shared a good-natured chuckle at the attempt. It was a commendable effort! After all, Thea did almost wear a new hole into her seat during that daring performance.
“If you wish,” Proserpina said, with the utmost seriousness, “I could march in and throw a goblet of wine at his face. ‘Tis a worthy sacrifice of a perfectly good wine, though I daresay I’ll swiftly wish I were drunk once he starts screeching for his powders.”
It would do a number on her own reputation, for sure, but she can always conjure up an imagined slight. Perhaps.
But as Thea launched into her plan, she found that she had less and less to say about Melshimber’s pet. This was, after all, a story and a song of the genasi’s life: it deserved an ending of her own choosing. And oh! Thea was going on a rampage! Some of her words were too adorable to be mentioned, including the supposed jab at Songstrummer’s songs—“Oooh, have at him!”—but the feelings rang through as true as fine steel against hot plate. So riveting was the course of those emotions that Proserpina could only widen her eyes in surprise when a shipwreck was mentioned. She raised a hand to her mouth, almost a second too late to capture the surprised gasp which came out from her lips. “What now?”
And then… The pieces clicked together.
Oh, goodness. May Tymora and Lliira unite to give this girl a lifetime of peace and fortune, to salve the great wrong which had marred her life.
Proserpina moved from her place to face the genasi, and she had a dainty handkerchief ready in hand. “Oh, dear. Come now, let the river run its course.” Had this happened at home, she would’ve been busy dabbing at cheeks, but Proserpina had to remind herself to stay distant. It didn’t help that Thea was sweet-tempered enough to elicit some feelings of genuine warmth from her. That was dangerous. So she stood there, kerchief insistently held out, and waited for the young woman to take the offered item.
“I am sorry for your loss. Ah, but trite words, ‘tis, and I suppose you've had the lion's share of such platitudes,” The tiefling sighed, though she maintained her pose with the patience of one used to such situations. “But you are here, and though it may not seem a boon to you at times, the world is much more interesting with you in it.”
Her people used to say drink twice as much, for the dead and dying, but there was only so much that wine could do. And she knew that pity was a miserable antidote to such a wound.
“My own father departed this world so recently, though not in such a tragic manner and with not as much disrespect thrown at his name by overconfident lute-pluckers,” Proserpina shared quietly, reaching for Thea’s hand. Her voice was light, comforting as she set the topic spinning, “Although, admittedly, he would have risen from the grave and cleaved them in half had they tried. ‘Tis a good start, what you said before. I think any parent would like to see one’s child standing up for their memory—and herself.”
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Post by moralhazard on May 26, 2019 3:45:21 GMT
Oh and as I sing of her from the stage My heart is clenched in agonies of rage No simple summer swell Could ever break that woman’s spell
But the storm raged fast into the night And began to sink that ship aright Oh yes lightning burnt the sky alight That day she slipped aside And bells were ringin’
Thea smiled faintly at Proserpina. She accepted the handkerchief, more because she wasn’t sure what else to do rather than for a real need for it. “It was a long time ago,” Thea said, folding the handkerchief gently, pleating it between her fingers. She thought she could see the moment when it all – came together for the tiefling. It wasn’t something she had ever talked about in Urmlaspyr, and she hadn’t thought it would be something she would discuss here in Waterdeep. It had taken being half-dead from a snowstorm to tell Citrine, but somehow, standing here, talking to Pippa, it had just popped out. “Thank you,” Thea said, politely, in response to Pippa’s well-meant platitudes. In truth, she hadn’t had as many as one would have expected. She had come back from the shipwreck wracked with magic and burnt to a crisp by the sun; recovery had taken months. By the time Thea had been in any shape to receive them, it had been a bit late for platitudes, and no one seemed to know what to say. The sorcery had made things – complicated. For a long time, Thea had been angry about it; it was only a few years ago that anger had been replaced with grudging acceptance, and more recently than that that it had started to become something - more like a partnership.
“I’m sorry to hear about your father,” Thea gave Pippa’s hand a gentle squeeze, eyes soft and sad. She let out half a giggle at Pippa’s comment about him rising from the grave to cleave any would-be-tribute-writers in half. “Mother would have – ” Thea grinned. “I think she’d have ordered him flogged.” She laughed. Thea couldn’t think of the last time she’d spoken of her mother; had Dom ever asked? She wasn’t – she wasn’t sure. Odd, it didn’t feel as painful as she had expected. “She was very strong. He’s not wrong about that, although – I mean, the Dragonfly was a lovely ship, but she was a merchant vessel. I don’t think anyone was sighing over her,” Thea made a face. “Except, perhaps, my mother. So, that she might have approved of. But – she was terribly private. The verse about my father,” Thea grimaced. “She’d have hated that, truly hated it. She never let there be a drop of gossip on the ship. There were no men – except, well, obviously, there must have been one.” Thea grinned, sheepishly, looking down at herself, and took a deep breath, recalling herself. “I’m sorry,” Thea gave Pippa’s hand a last squeeze, and let go. “I – it made folks… uncomfortable, at home,” she shrugged slightly. “I… I don’t talk about her often,” Thea found she was dabbing at her eyes slightly with the handkerchief now, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. “Thank you for -” Thea hesitated. For listening? For sharing her own sadness? Thea wasn’t sure what the right words were; she wished she knew. “Thank you.” 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
There was a last burst of dramatic strumming, and Falkner’s voice faded off into silence on the last goodbye. “… Finally,” Thea said, managing a last wry smile.
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Post by pastels on Jul 5, 2019 15:07:23 GMT
“Kindred spirits then! Perhaps they would have gotten along well… or perhaps my father dear would have grated her nerves,” Proserpina’s laughter intermingled with Thea’s, and the hallway was warm once more, “with his thunderous voice and affinity for good wine!”
Ah, grief, an old friend. She had done much of her grieving in the voyage across the great seas, inside carriages as they bumped and hurried along the country roads, and during snatched moments of peace in the darkness. It was… a strange beast to behold. An individual could spend a life not knowing the depth of unrest that could possibly fester in their mind. She certainly almost did; for one whose career was mostly spent manipulating others and tweaking their desires for her own benefit, she had a startling lack of understanding for her own heart. Alkandros—ever the astute observer—said so once, offhandedly, and only during those solemn nights did she realize how true it was.
Let’s settle for saying that introspection… was not Proserpina’s strong suit. She disliked the concept, in fact, as it brought to rise in recent days a deep, seething anger which was surely misplaced as no doubt her youngest brother had absolutely nothing to do with those dark deeds.
Or did he?
Proserpina shook her head, the chains on her horns like dew drops on spring leaves, both to ward away the thoughts and to stave off the genasi’s gratitude. It didn’t feel right to accept thanks for… this. It was a natural thing to do… except for divulging the information about her father and how she felt about it. Well. A revision: it didn’t quite feel right to be thanked for it. Now that was more accurate. “Please, dear. Your mother sounds lovely, and if it helps give you heartsease,” she leveled a clear golden gaze down at the woman, “I would love to hear more.” Then she brought her hands away and smiled, honey bright against wine under the soft golden light. “Or, well, if ‘tis not quite up to your taste, I am always up for a chat or two!”
She leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. “Tiernan tries, but womanly affairs are not really his expertise, and ‘tis one topic I do go on about.”
Proserpina’s smile kept, old memories renewed in her mind, as the baleful song dwindled to a stop, where it was followed by a smattering of polite applause.
“Exaggerations, and inkhorn wordplay to boot,” the tiefling scoffed and gestured dismissively, her fingers light and fluttering when they reached below the steepest curve of her horns. “’Tis a service to Waterdeep, the end of this performance.”
Unfortunately… That meant one other thing. It was almost her turn. In an act of divine intervention (or infernal spite, she couldn’t tell these days), she was slated to perform after the one following Songstrummer… one of the last remaining spots left. Attention lagged during this time period and most would consider it a dead spot, run down by the glitz and glamor of the previous performances. Wrong! It was the prime time to make her mark on high society!
“Thea!” Proserpina suddenly said, enervated by the proximity of her own call to fame, and reached for the artisan’s hand once more. “’Tis almost my performance! I must hasten to the backstage, see to my instrument and other such last-minute preparations… I trust you will cheer or jeer—should I fail miserably, which is a rather bleak prospect, considering Falkner—loudest once I appear onstage?”
The joke was clear as day, but Proserpina’s words had an undercurrent to it that was less quaint stream and more rushing, flooded river: I must go for now!
(Cut here for a bit for space for reactions and all that jazz.)
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Post by moralhazard on Jul 8, 2019 3:24:47 GMT
For a moment, her heart soft and light in her chest, Thea let herself remember. For a long time, her mother had been a distant figure, one she saw occasionally - between voyages. Thea had been raised in the Baring Keep outside Urmlaspyr; she had had Maude, of course, and she had known her grandparents well enough, although she didn’t think her grandmother had ever taken to her. But there had been plenty of cousins, and if there had been some teasing, some constraint left behind by her blue skin and odd hair - Thea had found ways through it, around it or over it and she had had a happy childhood.
And her mother - a distant, stern figure who Thea had never quite known what to make of - she had visited occasionally, talked to Maude over Thea’s head and given her some strange new gift from a far away land, curiosities that had gone a long way towards improving Thea’s standing with her cousins. She knew her mother then as someone not to disappoint, for whom she was supposed to have a clean dress and neat hair, who liked to hear her recite her latest lessons or demonstrate how she could levitate a toy.
And then - when Thea was 12 - everything had changed. Vivian Baring at sea had been no less stern, but Thea had come to respect her other, then to admire her, then to adore her. For two years they had adventures together, and if her mother was the captain to Thea’s cabin boy, and if her mother took that seriously - Thea had never reminded that either. And they had been such adventures!
“Perhaps,” how genuine the response was surprised Thea. She smiled at Proserpina, softly, but more strongly than a few moments ago. She wasn’t sure, but - the idea of talking about her mother didn’t feel painful, or at least not too painful. “Thank you for offering.”
Thea laughed at Proserpina’s mention of womanly affairs, folding the handkerchief in her hands. “Oh, I would be happy to,” she smiled at the tiefling, feeling considerably better already - especially with the song over.
Thea took Proserpina’s hand in hers without the slightest hesitation, giving her a light squeeze. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to tell much about what your audience thinks from me,” she said, smiling. “I can’t imagine I would do anything other than cheer. Go! Go,” she giggled, letting Proserpina’s hand go.
Once the tiefling had left to ready herself, Thea made her way back into the box. She settled into her seat, fixed her eyes upon the stage without taking much note of any of the acrobatics going on on stage. Deep, soothing breaths helped; her hair was calm again, only stirring faintly about her head, and her hands were soft and open on her lap.
She, Thea realized, absolutely couldn’t wait to see Proserpina perform.
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Post by pastels on Jul 19, 2019 17:11:54 GMT
The duo, one of which was a bearded gnome, clasped hands and bowed to a round of applause. Their routine was nothing new at this point but it was well-practiced, and at certain instances riveting to the eye and almost daring with its audacity. One also couldn’t be sure if the gnome’s pants (and eyebrows) catching on fire was part of the act. In any case, it was a solid performance—the pair marked themselves for future invitations at the casual revelry this crowd so adored. Again, Perendel Wintamer ascended to the stage with a flourish to whet the crowd’s appetite for entertainment, as spry and nimble as ever despite his advanced age.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my pride to present a most beautiful acquaintance of mine…” The phrase was followed by a swift murmur from the front row, the sound washing over the next seats as wind through a field of wheat. Everyone knew that Wintamer had a most understandable weakness for lovely women, doubly so if they were bards, to the point where he professed love for one individual of said archetype. It was among the worst kept secrets in Waterdeep… if it even was a secret! Fortunately, the man knew of his legend—he thrust his hands out and shrugged in a comical exaggeration of guilt, earning a few laughs from the crowd. “Oh, don’t be that way! I am a creature of singular tastes…! In any case, my appreciation is well-deserved, as you shall soon see…”
For all of his pomp and pageantry, Wintamer wielded an affable charm which set the audience at ease; it was obvious how he had managed to helm such a beloved institution for so long. He went on to share a short anecdote about a misadventure during his “dashing, gallivanting days,” the proportions of which were inflated to humorous ends, drawing more chuckles from those in their seats. Of course, the more discerning souls would recognize this for what it is… a delay, a means to buy time for the next performance. Eventually though, the mage let his quips dwindle to a stop and closed off the introduction with a graceful bow.
Odd. He didn’t mention her name.
The magical lights across the theatre dimmed, and the audience hushed under the sudden darkness.
Then, the stirrings of a melody floated above the quiet. It was a slow tune: delicate as the wingbeats of a butterfly on a warm breeze.
It continued until the ornate curtains were drawn back with an imperceptible whine, revealing a burgundy tiefling framed by lone spotlight at the center of the stage. She wore a flowing toga the color of rosy dawn, the fabric of which pooled onto the polished floor in a soft, cloud-like heap. Atop her regal horns were budding flowers and curling vines which draped down to bare arms raised against a looming harp. Proserpina’s fingers danced over the silvered chords, moonlight rippling with each note, while the rest of her stayed still and serene as a marble statue.
The melody strengthened her imagery: now, it was a song about flowering spring and the wonders of the earth, wistful and magical in the same twist. One could almost hear birdsong. And as the song swelled, Proserpina raised her chin, opened her bright golden eyes, then sang.
Oh, but it was an old song, of words woven when cities were but hamlets in the mud. Familiar, too; a few strains endured as the blessed chants sung during the Greening, festivals dedicated to the deities of nature. Her voice was rich and deep, wrapping around the lyrics with a delightful, deliberate musicality. There was a strange magic to her words too, as if the song belonged to a grand woodland realm, where skin was warmed by sunlight filtered through towering, sky-kissed trees, and one life was a fluttering breath in a timeless picture—for a moment, it seemed as if the theatre was there. For a moment, one could take a breath and inhale nothing but the air of the deep forest, hear nothing but the sound of the underbrush getting trampled underfoot, of life persisting in ways beyond this cycle and the next.
Then, Proserpina’s song meandered to its end: a low, sorrowful strain mourning the eventual decay of spring. But even at this inevitable descent her voice was intimate, her tone captivating in its heightened passion. Now, it seemed that the tiefling was serenading a lone figure fast leaving her sight. It is not the end, she promised, the next year will come and we shall meet again.
The song stopped and, with the last note undulating from its string, her hand drifted down the instrument’s gleaming column as if to caress an unseen face. A trail of blooms flowered starburst in the wake of her gesture, the bounty engulfing the harp in a brilliant spray of life.
Then the curtains snapped shut.
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Post by moralhazard on Jul 25, 2019 1:40:03 GMT
Thea clapped at the end of the routine by the gone and the half-elf. The routine had washed over her like so much noise, interrupted occasionally by the loud cheering from the crowd below at some particularly impressive stunt – but, in all honesty, at least for Thea, nothing had really pulled her in. It was a combination of the faint feeling of raw nerves left over from Falkner Songstrummer (or, Thea thought, whatever his real name was) and his terrible, painful song, and jangling anticipating humming in her for Proserpina’s performance.
Thea leaned forward despite herself when Perendel came on stage, her hands lifting to grasp the railing in front of her, eyes bright in her icy blue face. She grinned when he called Proserpina beautiful, and couldn’t help shifting a little in her seat during his lengthy, meandering anecdote. Thea absolutely understood that Pippa needed time to prepare, and she was glad her friend had it, but all the same it felt like torture listening to Perendel go on and on when any moment – any moment –
And then he was bowing off the stage, and the lights dimmed.
Thea sat back.
The melody stirred in the air above her, danced on the wind, and Thea nearly laughed aloud. For a moment, she thought she could feel it in the air; she thought she could feel the stirrings of every breeze, every breath, lifting and echoing the song; she thought she understood how it all fit together, how one breeze flowed into the next and the next and the next, the whole incredible tapestry of it lifting the notes of Proserpina’s song up into the air, guiding them from the strings of her harp. For a moment, Thea thought she could see all those swirling currents, and she understood that they were a part of her – that she was a part of them.
And then Prosperina’s mouth opened, and she began to sing, and Thea lost her focus on anything except the echo of her friend’s song. She listened, and she was transported away – to another time, another place, to a strange and beautiful forest, a private place just for her and someone she loved. Thea’s heart broke a little in her chest and healed again, stronger than before, and if she cried a little it was only just a little.
The curtains snapped shut, and Thea leapt to her feet with the rest of the audience, applauding. The air genasi leaned forward over the edge of the box, utterly forgetting all the manners delicately drummed into her over the years, and let out the loudest, longest, sharpest whistle she could, coaxing it bright and beautiful into the air.
Thea was grinning still as she sat back down, applauding until her hands somehow seemed to ache and be numb all at once, that last note of Proserpina’s still humming in her chest.
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Post by pastels on Nov 27, 2019 1:28:13 GMT
Wordcount:
Proserpina: 9,769 Thea: 8,207
Submitting for bookkeeping, thank you!
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