2nd Summer 515AV
After the Eleventh Bell
After the Eleventh Bell
Adelaide had lost her carriage and, with it, her Father. Somewhere in the fog that had settled over her mind, she had lost her carriage and Father. Not entirely willing to go home to the Bloodflower plantation at any rate, the young woman had happily wandered from the bright lights of Lantern Square where she had spend the evening laughing and joking with Roland Sitai (With the amount of time she spent there, she ought really buy her own seat or something) to the bright lights of Gamboling Bridge, like some sort of migrating moth. She was really not sure at what moment she had done so, at what moment she had got up and made the journey, but she had, the ultimate joke her father had told her still ringing in her ears as she chuckled. That said, as much as she had found Lantern Square to have a pleasant atmosphere, she had evidently not judged it a night to stay in one place, her mind full of a desire to walk, to capture the atmosphere of a Kenashian evening in her way rather than sit there hoping she would merely soak it up. By that point, she had - of course - had a bit of rum to drink, but quite from making her head feel blurred or bothered, she seemed to react to everything around her more acutely. She loved Kenash at night and it seemed more than usually wonderful as a result of her new desire to admire every star, every oddly shaped stone in her path and even wish she could paint the way lights from doorways and establishments fell raucously on the street.
Gamboling Bridge was not as packed as it sometimes was and, if Adelaide had been intending to soak up an atmosphere, she was still glad that she wouldn't have to fight her way through a hundred different people to get to her favourite spot on the bridge (Right at the top, where she could look out over the city - it was the only place where the view of the city on the river was better than the view of the Sea). For a couple of chimes, she merely stood there, breathing in the fresh air with a small smile as the sound of music from a busker filled the air. It was then, however, that Adelaide heard someone reciting something in the background. Initially, she paid very little attention to it whatsoever, but after a moment she was taken by an urge to turn around and listen more closely. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that she was doing so more out of concern that out of admiration. The busker was doing a monologue from something or other which the young Sitai didn't recognise, but she didn't have to recognise it to know that it was not being done well.
As she focused on the words, she pulled away from the sight over the bridge and instead turned to the young man on the small raised platform, looking to the crowd with begging eyes. Those gathering around him, though, were not offering any help as he stumbled over one word, over-acted at times and mumbled at others. Maybe he was drunk? It was a kind explanation. Unfortunately for him, though, even if he had had nothing to drink, Adelaide had. In that state, she was conscious of the fact that she could only do one thing to both alleviate his discomfort and make herself the centre of attention once again. Who would say different? Her family owned the bridge. So, with a flurry of thoughts, she leapt forward and pulled the hapless busker to the side. He balked slightly, his face pale, probably wondering exactly what she was going to do, but already her attention was not on him, but on stumbling up onto his platform to show him how it was done. She tripped slightly, but just managed to stop herself from putting a hand out to the floor, then turned around to face the people around her. Only she wasn't going to recite a monologue so much as a poem, with dramatic emphasis. It was a poem she had written long ago, in Zeltiva.
"There is a land where the hot wind blows..." she exclaimed the words, her palms upwards to the sky and her chin up, almost proud.
"A sunset cloud like purple powder flows." her voice was soft as she rolled her tongue over the 'purple' powder and she gently hissed the end of the word, 'flows', as though revealing a secret to her audience.
A couple more people stopped and turned while Adelaide continued with a knowing smile.
"Over a swamp city crowned by the Sea." This time her hand circled, motioning to the area around her.
"There lives the maiden adored by me." And with those words, her voice had taken a far more personal, less grandiose, tone even as her arms dropped to her side and her voiced trembled dramatically over the word 'maiden'.
It might not have been the greatest idea in the world, but what was the point in living if you were not having any fun? Adelaide took a glance at her audience and was happy to see that a couple more people had stopped to watch. The busker, on the other hand, wore an expression of complete hopelessness, his face red and his ears even redder.
Gamboling Bridge was not as packed as it sometimes was and, if Adelaide had been intending to soak up an atmosphere, she was still glad that she wouldn't have to fight her way through a hundred different people to get to her favourite spot on the bridge (Right at the top, where she could look out over the city - it was the only place where the view of the city on the river was better than the view of the Sea). For a couple of chimes, she merely stood there, breathing in the fresh air with a small smile as the sound of music from a busker filled the air. It was then, however, that Adelaide heard someone reciting something in the background. Initially, she paid very little attention to it whatsoever, but after a moment she was taken by an urge to turn around and listen more closely. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that she was doing so more out of concern that out of admiration. The busker was doing a monologue from something or other which the young Sitai didn't recognise, but she didn't have to recognise it to know that it was not being done well.
As she focused on the words, she pulled away from the sight over the bridge and instead turned to the young man on the small raised platform, looking to the crowd with begging eyes. Those gathering around him, though, were not offering any help as he stumbled over one word, over-acted at times and mumbled at others. Maybe he was drunk? It was a kind explanation. Unfortunately for him, though, even if he had had nothing to drink, Adelaide had. In that state, she was conscious of the fact that she could only do one thing to both alleviate his discomfort and make herself the centre of attention once again. Who would say different? Her family owned the bridge. So, with a flurry of thoughts, she leapt forward and pulled the hapless busker to the side. He balked slightly, his face pale, probably wondering exactly what she was going to do, but already her attention was not on him, but on stumbling up onto his platform to show him how it was done. She tripped slightly, but just managed to stop herself from putting a hand out to the floor, then turned around to face the people around her. Only she wasn't going to recite a monologue so much as a poem, with dramatic emphasis. It was a poem she had written long ago, in Zeltiva.
"There is a land where the hot wind blows..." she exclaimed the words, her palms upwards to the sky and her chin up, almost proud.
"A sunset cloud like purple powder flows." her voice was soft as she rolled her tongue over the 'purple' powder and she gently hissed the end of the word, 'flows', as though revealing a secret to her audience.
A couple more people stopped and turned while Adelaide continued with a knowing smile.
"Over a swamp city crowned by the Sea." This time her hand circled, motioning to the area around her.
"There lives the maiden adored by me." And with those words, her voice had taken a far more personal, less grandiose, tone even as her arms dropped to her side and her voiced trembled dramatically over the word 'maiden'.
It might not have been the greatest idea in the world, but what was the point in living if you were not having any fun? Adelaide took a glance at her audience and was happy to see that a couple more people had stopped to watch. The busker, on the other hand, wore an expression of complete hopelessness, his face red and his ears even redder.
