Closed Going to Work [Lenell and Cirrus]

[Lenell Belleste]

5th of summer, 513

Lenell stepped out of the cafeteria in the early morning with a fully belly, and a tangled sense of pleasure and guilt. It was wonderful that there were no food shortages right now, but at the expense of such a decimation of the cities population? She would gladly have gone hungry to bring back a few of the poor citizens who had died. What potential friends had passed before she ever had a chance to know them? How many had lost children, parents, lovers? Why couldn't she have arrived a little earlier, and done something to help? Now, she felt like a vulture, arriving in the aftermath to feast on a bounty left by suffering.

She sighed, wiping back a few strands of hair that had escaped from her "work-worthy" braid, and began walking towards the Glassworks. There was nothing she could do, there truly wasn't. And she would have helped if she could, she knew that in her heart. And denying herself good food, or wallowing in guilt about it, would not bring one single soul back. She would contribute to her new home in any way she could, but she was young and experienced, and could only plan on taking some pride in the pottery she would be turning out for her city's personal use.

She leaned her head into the sun as she walked on, and breathed in air that carried the smell of the sea with it.

[Cirrus]

Cirrus Cirrus breathed in the same sea air, his eyes closed as he idly danced his way through a quiet but speedy piece that had no words but was supposed to be about a cow being chased through a field by a priest. It always made Cirrus laugh, not that a smile was ever far from his lips. The sun shone down on him as he sat on the wooden bench he had come across. He decided it was a good place to busk; sunny, busy, and comfortable. What wasn't to like? His fingers flew lightly over the strings, coaxing forth a slightly pompous and desperate melody playing over a completely ridiculous chord as the priest's cassock caught on a hedgerow. He laughed out loud at the imagery, making no attempt to explain to the passers-by what his mirth was caused by. His father had taught him the song - neither of them has ever seen a cow, but Cirrus knew the priests in Yahebah and he found the idea of one of them chasing any beast quite hilarious. He made a point of playing the song whenever a priest of Yahal walked by, in fact. He reached the refrain as a red-haired maiden approached. Immediately, he changed tack. She was pretty; he enjoyed playing to the tastes of maidens. Playing a random courtly song, he made up a verse in his head and sang it as the rhyming couplets were dragged from his memory, kicking and screaming. "For lo, comes hith'r a maiden fair! A fire-kissed maiden of flame-red hair, Syna's bless'd glowing locks of fire Such locks must be all men's desire." He almost cringed at the hastily hacked-together couplets, but it didn't take much to please the average woman. Perhaps she'd smile at him, and that would make his day. Ah, no matter. The world would be what it would be, and Cirrus wanted no part in disrupting its course.

[Lenell Belleste]

Lenell had not been thinking of the problems she had with the opposite sex and their frequent rejections as she approached the bench the man sat on. He was Benshira and a musician. She had known a few Benshira over the years, traders interested in her family's wares back home, but they were still a rarity in her life, and her curious nature was always drawn to the new. He also looked like a man who had traveled much. What stories could he tell? What places had he seen? And a musician! She had never had a chance to hold a conversation with a musician.

Besides, he made such a picture, sitting in the sun, his fingers dancing, laughing out loud without self consciousness. She smiled at his mirth, looked down at her feet, and made her way towards the bench to rest.

Her head popped back up in shock, as the musician started in on a new tune.

"For lo, comes hith'r a maiden fair!
A fire-kissed maiden of flame-red hair,
Syna's bless'd glowing locks of fire
Such locks must be all men's desire."

The hair reference! And he was looking at her. But it couldn't be! Handsome men didn't look at her like that. They certainly didn't sing songs to her beauty as she hobbled towards them. She glanced around her in confusion, looking for another redhead nearby.

None were there. Was he making fun of her? She found herself feeling very shy as she met his gaze to search it. She saw no cruelty in his eyes, though they held good natured mirth in plenty. Well, perhaps he was just being kind. People could be kind. He certainly wasn't playing her up for money, the way she was dressed.

She decided to take the chance it was kindness. Her foot certainly wanted her to take that opinion, because it wanted the other side of the bench, and no doubts about the motives of handsome young musicians were getting in its way. She smiled at him and walked slowly forward.

"Sir? Sir, that..that was lovely and um...thank you. I am sorry I have no coin to repay you. In fact, I must ask a favor of you myself. I am on my way to work, but must sit and rest this beastly foot for a moment. May I share the bench? I shall try not to disturb you."

[Cirrus]

Cirrus Cirrus grinned broadly at the girl and plucked at his strings. A major chord emerged that he liked to think of as the lyre playing happy. He was vaguely amused by the maiden's reaction to a Benshiran playing on a bench in front of her. People always seemed to think that meeting foreigners was a thing that happened to other people. Not so; it happened to everyone, all the time, when Cirrus was around. He shifted across a little so he was taking as little room as possible and replied, "You are welcome, and by all means, my lady, make use of free benches. I should never complain when my muse is stopped by their own song." As the maiden sat on the bench, he made a show of tuning his lyre before playing the same song again, twice over this time, but with no words. When it was done, he turned his head sidelong and remarked, not unkindly, "Never before has anyone apologised for not being able to pay a busker, I think. You know that I play what I wish, and people pay what they wish, yes? Or is this new to you?" He idly chorded the lyre to provide background music, this being a song his mother had composed about a family eating grapes growing on an ancient ruin to serve as their lunch. "I arrive in this city not four days past, and every day I see women more beautiful than the day before. Today has not disappointed, but judging by my lady I think tomorrow may," he began, flirtatiously. "It's a shame that many women have such drab hair. I should prefer that it shone golden like some, or burned fiery like yours." He plucked at his lyre again and tested the strings. "Does my lady have any wishes for my singing?" he asked, good-naturedly.

[Lenell Belleste]

When he questioned her about her familiarity with busking, a memory from long ago flashed through her mind. A musician playing by the side of the road, hat out with some coins in it, the first one she had ever seen. She had automatically stopped in curious pleasure. Her mother had gently, but firmly, pulled her along and away.

"Come on, Lenell," she had said. "Such idles are there for the rich or the poor, who both have more time to spare than we do. And musicians are not proper people for you to be seen with."

Over time, she had grown to understand that the bulk of her mother's advice came from a concern that their upwardly mobile family continue it's slow progress upward. She had also understood that perhaps such advice did not apply to a scholar. She turned her head to answer him.

"Well, no. I have seen musicians busking, but have not had the pleasure to linger to listen, or to talk to one of them." She sighed as she looked down at her hands. "I am afraid I have been abysmally sheltered, so forgive me if I make any ignorant mistakes. I certainly mean no offense by them." She met his gaze again, smiling softly. "You are very kind to compliment me so. I would prefer to hear new songs, rather than those I know. You must know many, from many places." She lifted her chin and grinned. "I am just arrived myself. An anthropology student. Educate me?"

She was flirting, wasn't she? Yes, she was. Her mother would be horrified. Her mother was far off, and would never know. She turned away from his gaze, but her grin widened.

[Cirrus]

Cirrus Cirrus laughed, and idly began rippling over riverstones with his lyre. His song was a trickling stream at first, bright, sweet and yet atonal. While he played he turned to her, and noted her features properly. At the very least, he had made a friend. A miza clinked into his lyre case and he nodded his thanks to the passing pedestrian. "Gods bless you, sir, and ease your road." The man smiled at him in that distracted way that only pedestrians with nowhere important to go can ever manage and bustled past him into the crowd. "I know many songs, yes, but damn me if I can remember more than two on a good day," he joked. "I suppose I just make up most of what I sing. My fingers have their own work to do, and they do it well." His song moved from trickling stream to a clear, running river, the kind of thing just deep enough to draw water from. It no longer danced over the rocks carefully, but galloped down the stream, rippling off the banks and running as fast as it could go as it threw itself down a mountainside that gradually turned to plains. His strings now plucked individual deep notes in a 1-2, 1-2-3 pattern as the river turned to a proper boating canal, the water slowing to a walk as it emerged into the open space. Cirrus gathered his thoughts, and got into a certain mindset. He loved any opportunity to act a part, and this was as good a chance as any. He finally spoke again. "People don't listen to us, because they think us idle beggars. Often, a man will scorn me on the street for playing a complex masterpiece and that same man will shower me with drinks and mizas six hours later for singing a drinking song in an inn." the river reached the sea, and suddenly it was awhirl in unfamiliar currents, songs from other worlds, the chording breaking apart and becoming something totally new. "This song is one of the Drykas', from Riverfall. When you reach the end, it's meaning to collapse, but I always turn it into a song of somewhere else." True to his word, the song became Benshiran as he flourished into the end. "I know not what anthrahpohlojee is, I fear, but I can tell you more of myself and my people if that's what you wish," he said, his voice suddenly less tired and more bright. "What would you know?"

[Lenell Belleste]

"Oh, I want to know everything you can tell me!" replied Lenell. She looked up at the sun striving for a higher place in the sky. "Well, at least everything you can tell me before I must be on my way to work." She paused to adjust her skirt, then realized she was wearing pants. "Anthropology is the study of other cultures, other people. I am only a beginner" She leaned her face into the warm rays of light, closed her eyes, and smiled inwardly. "I am ignorant and young, but I wish to do all I can to heal our world. I hope my place in that great work is helping to connect all Mizahar's people." She then adjusted the folds of her cloak, in place of a skirt. "My, do I ever sound arrogant. Oh well, forget all that."

She placed her chin on her cane and smiled back up at him. What a handsome man he was. Flirting, flirting, how did it go? She would have to check the University library for a book on the subject. I mean, didn't they have books on everything?

Well, he had complimented her looks several times. Perhaps she should try that next. "You have--um--lovely eyes." She became very interested in examining the edge of her cloak, noting every travel-worn fray. "So full of joy, like every look is a kindly meant joke." She took a deep breath in. "You are the first friend I have made here, do you know that?" She turned her head away and waved a self dismissive hand. "Please, please...don't let me pester you. Just play. Your music is so lovely. Isn't that enough pleasure for any moment?"

[Cirrus]

Cirrus Cirrus laughed, not unkindly, and turned his gaze back to his companion. "So you mean history, then? I know some of it." He tuned his lyre idly, which is what he always did between deciding songs to play. "I myself am only of thirty years, and am ignorant as a newborn child. I travel to learn, as I have for eight years, whatever I can of the world. So I shall tell you of my people, and my journey, and you must tell me of yours, yes?" he suggested, amiably. "It seems a trade, knowing for knowing." He turned back to the street and played an exceedingly generic sea-shanty, with no chording. The effect was of a lone fiddler or piper dancing to the beat of the world around him. He noted that most of the people in earshot were walking to the beat of the music. "See that?" he pointed out, and then became acutely aware that she was giving him puppy eyes. "The crowd walks to the beat, but they dare not dance. Too public, they would seem like madmen. My father used to tell me that the meaning of madness changes when music is playing." He didn't shift or twitch or pay any mind to the adoring eyes looking up at him, keeping the stillness of a well-practiced storyteller. Suddenly, a halting compliment. "Thank you, that is lovely. I shall have to remember that one. Let me see if I can tell you likewise..." and he turned and gazed softly into her eyes, giving her a look he'd spent a little under half of his lifetime perfecting. "Your eyes are soft, deep and wide like summer's ending, a burning passion tempered by a gentle nature. They know much, but of that you know little. You should trust them more," he murmured, knowing full well he was spouting utter piffle but too caught up in the theatrical drama of the moment to care. "You couldn't pester me if you tried, my lady, for everything you do is a song to me." He strummed at his lyre again, and this time the song was roaring flame, major and loud and powerful and destructive, taking apart the background noise and replacing it with a beat that nobody could deny. Several people bounced on the balls of their feet self-consciously or unconsciously as they walked by. The best part about inspiring songs was that they were often incredibly easy to play. This song was just such one. "Many have called my music lovely, but I find words a poor place-taker for the song. Just listen, and love it or hate it as you will. If you'd like, my case takes coin," he joked, his eyes twinkling as the song whirled around the street.

[Lenell Belleste]

Lenell threw back her head and laughed in pleasure. "Oh, sir. Such words! Poetic compliments! Well, I begin to understand why my mother wouldn't let me speak to musicians, since it appears they can flatter like only heroes in books can." She smiled widely at him. "Well, yes. I can tell you some of my history, and I would love to hear yours. I do wish I could travel for my learning, and who knows?" She shrugged. "Someday, maybe I can, in spite of my difficulties. But for now, I read the books and listen to the stories of travelers. My family is from Syliras. I was born and raised there, and have never left the city till now. Well, except for brief day trips to the surroundings." She began fiddling with the hem of her cloak again. "My family are potters. I have to be glad of such a background, for it has given me the job I go to now. Nothing very exciting to my life. My family have lived in Syliras for generations. My grandmother had many stories that she said were passed down from a traveling ancestor, but who they could have been and where they were from, no one can say. My grandma used to think, maybe Inarta, with our hair color--I got it from her--but other humans are redheads as well, not just the Flyers."

She leaned her face into the sun and enjoyed his playing. "I can understand, I suppose. It must be frustrating to find your more challenging pieces ignored, and the simple rewarded. Is there merit in the simple sometimes, too, do you think?"

[Cirrus]

Cirrus Cirrus chuckled easily and settled back, his lyre still dancing in his hands. "Your mother may have been right - My father won his wife with honeyed words and gentle hands, and taught me the same. Still, I fear I would be run out of every town I came to if I stole the virtue of every maiden I met. It's not good business when you're a stranger in town," he explained, chuckling again. "I hope my flattery won't drive you off, I find your company to be a welcome break from playing alone." Another miza clinked into his case, and he nodded thanks. "Books are well and good, but I can barely read in Common and Shiber is not a scholar's language. Few books are written in my desert home. I am curious about this city, though. It is lauded as a great place of learning, and I pictured a university with a marketplace, but instead it is a port-town with one university. I suppose I am disappointed. What do they teach here?" He stayed silent for a moment, his fingers making a foolish song about a poor little girl climbing a hill with her idiot brother to fetch water. He never understood who would climb a hill for water, or who would build a well at the top of a hill, but the song was nonsense enough to make him laugh. "Well, in my home country there are many who are blond, brown and black. Mostly black-haired, though. Red hair seems odd, doesn't it? All hair is brown, or near enough, and then you have fire tumbling around your shoulders." He gently flicked one of her curls. "I wonder what caused it." "Nonetheless, I prefer the simple. Like my songs, yes, they are simple and I enjoy them. It's better to play to what the crowd wants, even if they are crows with no taste," he sighed, not knowing he had. "Still, I enjoy playing, whatever I play."