PM to join The Chair At Springwater Square

[Brandon Blackwing]

Day 45 of Winter 515AV


There were a couple reasons one could come up with to go pay a visit to the Alheas park; to relax, to stroll through the wonderful forest-like landscape, to try and study the wild Djed that –so the bat had been told a couple times- clung to the place. Brandon though, he came to the park to train. Usually he ventured out into the Misty Peaks, but he hadn’t felt like trekking all the way to his usual training spot today. As such, the Alheas Park would have to suffice, and it did.

Winter seemingly wasn’t the season the Park was popular in; visitors were scarce, the cold probably having something to do with it. To the bat it didn’t quite matter whether it was cold or not, his body would be warmed up enough to nullify the bite of the Winter air. Actually, it already was. The Kelvic had been running all the way from his house to the Park, and even now he was running still. His jog served two purposes; one naturally was to serve as warm-up exercise, the other to find a spot he deemed suitable for what he had in mind. The ground did not have to be level, nor did it have to be free of roots or broken branches. Not at all. But he did want a little bit of space at least.

Brandon kept up the pace, eyes scanning the environment as he placed one foot in front of the other, his breathing under control. While faster than a jog, this was a tempo that the bat could keep up fairly long with ease. His orbs continued to dart to and fro, flitting about to try and located a nice spot to use for a couple bells of practice. There, he saw it, diagonally ahead of him, but still quite a while away. A meter of one hundred, maybe a little more. Perfect for a dash. A deep breath was sucked in, and immediately the bat broke into a sprint, his strides larger and faster, torso slightly tilted forwards. His mind screamed for him to go even faster, to cover more ground in less time. The bat gave it his all, doing whatever he could to please his mind.

Whether it did or didn’t work, was up to debate, but if anything there wasn’t that much of a difference. His foot touched down on the spot he’d designated as his goal, and quickly the bat slowed down, reducing his forward propulsion as fast as he could without skidding to a halt. The dash became a run, then a jog, a gait, and lastly a stroll. Brandon kept walking around the chosen area for a while, until his breathing had more or less settled down again, and then he stretched a couple times, feeling the pleasant pull of his muscles. For a moment he considered taking off his Katinu, and just train in his Bryda, but ultimately decided against it; the cold would act in tandem with the sweat on his back to cool him down way too fast.

Instead he just unbuttoned the front, and started hopping up and down lightly, rolling his shoulders a couple times. Then he assumed a fighting stance, standing on the ball of his feet, slightly bouncing, knees bent just a little. A stance for mobility, one that would allow for instant dodges and evasive maneuvers. It was Brandon’s favorite stance. He started moving about then, using the bounce-step to swiftly change position. He started to weave his body and head then too, as if he was actually on the defensive, dodging and evading blow after blow. An enemy was visualized, and the bat started acting as if he was in a real fight, starting to retaliate if his imaginary foe gave him enough of an opening. The Kelvic delivered a flurry of lightning-fast jabs, aimed at the eye of his target, hoping to make it swell quickly, forcibly creating a blind spot for Brandon to abuse.

Credit goes to Cylos Marn

[Brandon Blackwing]

The bat trained for a couple of bells, then growing tired of repeating the same exercises over and over again. However, he couldn't just quit and walk away, no, he had to allow his body some time to cool down. He did this by a different set of repetitive exercises he didn't particularly enjoyed doing. They were necessary for his musculature however, so whether he did or did not like them mattered not. Besides, they'd become routine,and he would start doing them out of habit if he didn't pay attention for a moment. The first one was a series of basic sit-ups which the bat practiced with his legs raised to make it extra difficult.

Next came push-ups, and whereas the previous exercise wasn't quite difficult, not even after having done a lot of them, this one actually became harder. The higher the number of times he bent through his arms and subsequently pushed his body back up , the harder a time he had completing the next try. And the one after that. Perhaps the fact that he was doing them with one arm had something to do with it. All his body weight being carried by one arm was nothing too new, and certainly not something the acrobatic thief couldn't handle, but after a few dozen times of pushing his body away from the ground, the arm did start to feel rather exhausted. So then he switched to his other, placing the former on his back.

All in all the bat probably took about half a bell to complete the exercises, but it still wasn't over, not quite. He decided he'd run for a bit too, as the short distance from his home to the park hadn't been quite enough to satisfy him; legs needed a work-out just as much as the rest of his body, and for a thief it was quite important to be able to get away as quickly as possible. Legs played a huge role in that scenario, and arms were rather useless. Unless one ran on all fours, but not even the bat's animal form did that. In fact, a bat didn't quite run in the first place; they crawled about, not being the fastest creatures on the ground. In human form however, he could run, and running he did, falling into a rhythm comfortable and familiar to him, his breathing assuming a rhythm of its own, one that worked well with his the drumming of his feet on the stones.

Brandon avoided the main streets of Lhavit, not wanting to get stuck in the crowd that seemed to be present there at all times. It didn't matter that night had fallen and the sky was dark. Under Leth's gaze, the crystal city remained just as active as under Syna's stare, one of the reasons why Brandon loved it. Lhavit was the perfect place for a nocturnal being to flourish. Sadly, the flip side was that the rest periods were short, and while they were numerous, it wasn't exactly the best environment for a thief. The city's lack of criminal activity proved that point. That was just part of the challenge and fun however.

Eventually, the Kelvic crossed one of the bridges connecting the peaks, heading to Shinyama on a whim. There too, he chose the backstreets and alleys, wanting to run freely and unhindered by the possible crowds. Brandon was not bothered by the many dead ends he encountered; he would have been perfectly able to avoid them altogether, his knowledge of the city's streetplan hadn't deteriorated at all during his absence -Lhavit was his turf after all. Rather, the bat chose to enter dead ends, as sometimes they formed something of a shortcut. So whenever he found a wall in his path he quickly scaled it, got to the other side and continued his run. Sometimes a dead end brought him on the roofs, but he didn't stay there for long, Shinyama was the Shinya's backyard, and it was well known the guards were a little stricter and more attentive there. Or perhaps it was just a rumor. It didn't matter.

All of a sudden, the thief found himself heading for the Springwater Square, and slowed down to a fast-paced gait, that too diminishing over time. A hand wiped the sweat from his brow, and another nimbly swiped a handkerchief as he entered the crowded location. The piece of cloth was welcomed and used to dry his face a little, then Brandon stealthily placed it in the pocket of an unsuspecting passerby. The bat sighed, rolled his head from left to right and the other way around to stretch the muscles in his neck. The fountain appeared in front of him, no thick sea of people standing at the basin. Bran approached and reached out to the water with cupped hands, splashing some in his face. I should have kept that handkerchief a little longer... he mused, sighing again, in pleasure from the feel of the refreshing liquid washing the sweat away.

The sleeve of his katinu worked well enough to dry off the wet skin, and once dry, the thief stared around for a brief couple moments, wondering what to do next. And then he saw it; a chair standing near the fountain, to his left. Brandon frowned. Why was there a chair at the square?

Credit goes to Cylos Marn

[Amelia]

If one is to become a successful fashion designer, one needs to harness their artistic skill.

Amelia would argue that she was, at least in part, already moderately successful in her chosen career path. She was already employed as a seamstress and though space was limited for her to flex her fashion designing muscles, at least her current career was in the right field.

But Amelia was not one to give up so easily, or to lost interest in her selected career path. Perhaps, not so long ago, she would have simply requested that her father pay for some poor sod to teach her to draw. Better yet, her own mother would have probably offered to take on the challenge. But now Joanne Trisswell would not even consider picking up her paint brush; she was too busy lamenting the infidelity of her husband. And Amelia, likewise, had no father to beg artistic lessons from. Instead, she couldn’t afford having a teacher other than herself.

And who else, Amelia was coming to realise, was there really to trust in such important matters?

The young woman stood opposite her mirror, inspecting her own reflection carefully for signs of wrinkles or other blemishes. Gone were the days she could afford expensive facials or creams. Instead, all she could do was sleep well and avoid frowning too deeply – but that was hard to do when one could no longer indulge in such luxuries such as the aforementioned facials. Oh, how she longed for a massage!

But there was little room for self-pity in her life, especially today. Amelia should have been at work, but she had decided against the idea. No, today she would not sew on buttons or patch up smelly old trousers. Instead, she would further her skill and improve herself.

Today she would draw!

Art had never been a real passion of Amelia’s, perhaps because that had always been her mother’s field. Paintings and portraits were very well and good, but they did not improve one’s appearances or confidence in the way a nice dress did. But now it was becoming clear to Amelia just how much she needed to learn of the world of work: being a decent seamstress wasn’t enough. She needed to be able to draw in order to sketch and design whatever wonderful dresses she could concoct. It was a loop she had jump through, and unfortunately there was no way to avoid it.

She dressed quickly, but Amelia took longer to style her hair. She would do herself a braid that crept across her neck an d down her right shoulder – nothing said blossoming artist like a fishtail plait!

Dividing her hair into two chunky halves, Amelia began to cross over thin sections of hair from the front of one side to the back of the other. Cross, hold, cross hold. It took five chimes but soon the young woman’s blonde locks were braided and tied, cascading down her shoulder just as she had planned. With a final pale pink ribbon in her hair, and her mother’s charcoals and parchment tucked under her arm, Amelia set off to the Springwater Square. The snowfall was heavy, decorating her shoulders and hair with large snowflakes that, in Amelia’s opinion at least, bought out the blue of her eyes. She took her steps slowly and steadily, careful not to slip and make a fool of herself.

Once she arrived at the Square, Amelia set herself down and searched for a model. But the usually busy Square was incredibly quiet, and there was but one other person close enough to Amelia for her to sketch. A man, with a slender build and a fairly scruffy appearance. Amelia wrinkled her nose; she had rather wished her model would be a woman, so she could at least practise sketching dresses. But she would have to make do with the model she had, and her imagination.

“I hope you don’t mind wearing dresses, mister.” She mumbled to herself as she touched charcoal to parchment, preparing herself to become a blossoming artist.

[Brandon Blackwing]

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the chair, quite the contrary; it was as normal as a chair could get. Four legs, a seat, a low support for one’s back… The whole thing was made out of pretty non-descript wood, lacking decorations or other things that made it stand out. It was just a chair, one like you could find in a simple pub. And that was exactly why it had caught the bat’s attention. Why would an ordinary chair from a tavern be at the Springwater Square? Heck, why would there be any kind of chair in the middle of a Square? Quite a mystery…

He shrugged then, trying to set the piece of furniture out of his mind, and he turned around, only to find some people staring at him. It was by no means a crowd, but still, there were too many of them present to dismiss their gazes upon his figure as a mere coincidence. They were expecting something, perhaps attracted to the scene by the way Brandon had been scrutinizing the seat; he had been holding it on eye level in front of him for a while, then diagonally above his head in order to observe it from every angle.

They think I’m going to perform for them? he wondered, knowing fully well that said guess wasn’t too far from the truth. He sighed. Well, I suppose I could. For a split-tick his gaze drifted to the chair, and then to the fountain’s basin, and then back to the crowd that seemed to grow thicker every time he looked away. Were people just coming over to see why there were people gathering around the fountain? Alright then, let’s do this. With a flourish, the bat threw off his katinu, the vest landing in front of the chair. The thick goat-skin coat would only get in the way.

It was quite cold though, and the bat shivered, starting to hop up and down a bit, moving around and slowly increasing the height of his jumps. And then, all of a sudden he really jumped as high as he could, body arching backwards in a backflip that landed him on the seat of the chair. Arms spread in a gesture meant to draw attention and perhaps some applause, but the audience wasn’t impressed. Well. No big deal, he could take things quite a bit further, but he’d do it slowly, build up a little. Not too fast, not too slow. If he was going to entertain these onlookers, he’d have to do it like he was supposed to. Brandon might not be a true busker, but he knew it was best to keep the best act for the last part, everything else was just there to help build up towards the climax. Not that he’d drag this out for too long. If he himself became bored he’d just leave, but for now he wanted to see how far he could take this.

Carefully, he stepped from the seat onto the back support, distributing the weight of his body in such a way that he was able to balance on top of it without a problem. In order to achieve that he leaned slightly forwards, but not too much. If he did, he would fall himself, and even if he didn’t, the crowd would be able to see him leaning quite clearly, even though they only saw the front side of the bat. Perhaps not exactly bad, but it’d take away a lot of the awe –not that they were impressed yet, only a couple kids were.

Focused on his balance, Brandon bent through his knees, hearing some excited youngsters whisper “He’s going to jump!" That was indeed part of it, but not the entire thing, oh no. Bran had something much more entertaining in mind. One foot removed itself from the support, drawing back to a position akin to the preparatory motions someone made if they were about to kick a pebble. A frown born from concentration appeared on the bat’s face as he controlled just about every muscle in his body to both prepared for his trick, and to maintain his balance, but now with just one point of support.

Then, in one burst of motion, he executed what he had planned. The one leg rushed forwards in a wide sweeping kick, adding centrifugal momentum while the other leg launched Brandon upwards. At the same time the bat threw his arms upwards to guide his body into the planned stunt. Backwards his shoulders and head went, the rest of his body following, legs making it to the same height, causing the Kelvic’s body to be suspended parallel with the ground. All of this happened while he revolved around his own axis, spinning in the air a couple times, feet reaching out for the solid stone beneath as he fell back down, still turning. One foot touched down, and the bat continued spinning, leading his body down into a low sweep kick before raising up again, making sure to face the audience at the end of his revolving motion. Elegance was what he’d been going for; beautiful, elegant movements in a beautiful, elegant corkscrew. Once more he spread his arms in a “tadaah” kind of gesture, and this time there was applause. Perhaps not as much as the bat had expected, or found he deserved, but at least they clapped, and some yelled excited cheers. A few people threw some coins onto the bat’s katinu, though not many onlookers did so. It mattered not, this wasn’t the climax yet.

Credit goes to Cylos Marn

[Amelia]

The biggest challenge when using strangers as models for art was one’s inability to control their movements. With hired models and even the odd obedient friend or family member, Amelia could at least ensure that the individual she was sketching would remain stationary until her drawing was complete.

Unlike the individual she had chosen to be her inspiration today.

He did everything but stay still. He flipped, he jumped, he paraded and expected applause. Amelia found herself growing extremely irritated with her choice of model, and yet she did not give up. Quite the opposite: she found herself growing more and more determined that this male stranger would be her model, whether he knew it (or would even agree to it) or not. Trust her to choose a performer to sketch, and trust her even more so to refuse to give up.

What made matters even worse was the growing crowd. Attracted by this fool’s circus performance, men, women and children alike all began to flutter towards the chair and its occupant. They were completely ignorant to Amelia’s artistic needs, and the seamstress had to grumble at many members of the audience before they huffed and finally moved out of her eye line.

Amelia’s sketches were not as detailed, or indeed skilful, as she would have liked. The stranger’s charcoal likeness was not particularly a likeness of him at all. Indeed, the only common trait between the male performing on his chair and the one on Amelia’s papers was the long, dark hair and slender frame. What didn’t help matters was the dress. Amelia had dressed her model in a huge, meringue-like skirt complete with a fitted corset top – well, she was a dressmaker after all and artistic needs must. But, much like her drawing of the man, the lines of her sketched dress were wonky and smudged. Not at all up to her usual perfectionist standard.

Sighing, the blonde restarted. This time she sketched quicker than before: a line here, a curve there. She was trying to capture the movement of her model as he continued with his performance. He was now standing on the back of the precious chair; an act which, Amelia had to admit begrudgingly, did look impressive. Touching charcoal to paper again, she swept the skirt of a dress over the male’s extended leg, trying to imagine how material might fall and drape.

But no sooner had Amelia completed her rushed sketch did the male move again, this time in a flurried corkscrew act. Upon landing he continued to spin – an act that made Amelia think of the twirls she did whilst dancing. In her twisted fashion designer’s mind, she imagined how the dress the performer wore in her sketches would flare outwards. Quickly she sketched the mental image down, her hands arching and sweeping across the paper. Yes, this must be what inspiration felt like, drawing a man in a dress!

She glanced up from the page desperately, to catch all the more detail as she scribbled, but now a petching child stood in her way. Unable to contain her sharp irritation, Amelia barked out:

“Move out of my way! Can’t you see I’m drawing?”

The child winced, looked behind himself and sheepishly moved out of her way. Much to Amelia disappointment, however, he did so just as the audience began to applaud. She had missed the male’s landing, and was more irritated with herself than she had expected. Perhaps this performer was not so bad, after all.

[Brandon Blackwing]

As the applause died out, the Kelvic took the time to put the chair back on its legs, moving it a bit away from the spot where it’d fallen during his previous stunt. It also gave him some time to think what to do next. Sure, the bat knew what he wanted to finish with –or rather, he knew how to start the stunt but he didn’t know how to finish it yet- however, everything else was pure improvisation. What next? What was good enough, awe-inspiring enough to use as next trick? It had to be harder than the previous one if he wanted to keep building up to the climax… hmm….

No wait, why was he thinking so hard about this? It didn’t have to be difficult, not at all! It just had to appear that way, if at all. But more importantly was the amount of enjoyment the audience would get from watching it. He grinned, having come up with something at least, though whether it was better than the previous stunt was doubtful. Never mind though, it was the only thing his search through his brain had yielded. He wasn’t a performer after all, an acrobat yes, but not a performer.

He tweaked the positioning of his chair one last time, and then walked towards the edge of the crowd with a rather brisk pace, the target being a girl with a sketchbook in hands, randomly chosen as she was right in the trajectory of his next stunt. The brief stroll also served to flatten the blanket of snow covering most of the streets today. The cold’s teeth failed to reach him still though, his body was once again warming up, though goosebumps covered the whole of his upper body’s skin. He stopped a couple steps short of reaching the sketching girl, as to not accidently kick her when he started. A glimpse of the charcoal drawing was still caught though, and he raised an eyebrow at the sight of a figure that obviously resembled –although only vaguely- himself, wearing a rather flattering dress. Well.

Brandon turned around then, checking his own position with the location of the chair, frowned, took a small step towards it, nodded contently, and faced the sketching blonde again. A mischievous grin that could be a warning or a challenge addressed to her crossed his features, and then he launched himself in a slow backflip. The bat’s body traced a lazy arc, only spinning enough to fall on his head if he hadn’t caught himself on his hands, using them as a spring to bounce further and back on his feet. And then he repeated it, though faster this time, only using a small hop to enter the backflip. The next was even faster, as were the ones that followed.

With each flic-flac handspring the distance between himself and the chair shrunk, and with each moment spent standing on his hands, the Kelvic gauged how close he was to the seat. Since it was important he would land with his feet rather close to the chair, it was crucial he monitored and adapted the distance covered with each flip. He saw it, for a split-tick while standing and springing on his hands; he was almost there. As he reached the desired point, the bat propelled himself as high in the air as he could, the setup for yet another backflip, but contrary to the previous one, now he tucked himself in as tight a ball as he could, as to spin faster. He sailed over the chair, spinning not once, not twice, but two and half times, then unfolding again and landing on his hands, elbows bending slightly to lessen the impact.

Slowly he stepped backwards on his hands still, turning towards the crowd. Perhaps what he’d done was not difficult per se, at least the flic-flacs weren’t, but the flips following were much harder. Of course, the chair wasn’t all that tall, so getting over it was no problem at all, but the landing was a different story altogether. Nevertheless, it was flashy, and Brandon himself had always loved the sight of rapid flic-flacs, and apparently, the audience did too. They clapped, they cheered, and the kids grew ecstatic. Brandon grinned, brought one arm closer to the axis of his body, twisted the position of his arm and hand a little, and then brought the other to his abdomen, parallel to his shoulders. He bent through his elbow of his supporting arm then, an upside down curtsy of sorts, because well, he couldn't bow like this.

Credit goes to Cylos Marn

[Amelia]

At last the crowd appreciated her need for a clear view of the performer, but now Amelia felt embarrassment creeping up her spine. She tried to keep her eyes down - she felt someone was watching her, presumably the parent of whatever little brat she had just shouted at - and did not want to cause a scene. Instead, she continued with her hurried sketches, cutting around the male’s neck, arms and legs with different cuts and styles of skirt. Some of the sketches were even adorned with jewellery or bows. All in all, he looked rather dashing.

There seemed to be a lull in activity and sound around her, so finally Amelia peeled her eyes away from her parchment and up to the scene. She was surprised to see the performer striding directly towards her, the path of audience members now seeming like a daunting trap. Clutching the charcoal in her right hand - the closest thing to a weapon she had - and the parchment in her left, Amelia sat perfectly still. But her gaze narrowed into a challenging glare; if this performer had any issues with her drawing him in womens’ clothes, then tough luck. If he hadn’t been making a show of himself, he would never have attracted Amelia’s casual artistic attention. So really, she decided, it was his fault. And plus, he dress designs were far more flattering and better designs than what he wore now.

These very defensive and quick-tempered thoughts popped and fizzled in the blonde’s mind. But when the male came to a stop several feet away from her, she could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. When she did noticed his eyes drop to her sketches, instead of fearing his comeuppance, Amelia found herself smirking. She tilted her papers so he could see the sketches more clearly and arched an eyebrow: suits you, sir.

In no time the male had spun around from her, and Amelia once again returned to her drawing. Now she had seen him up close, his appearance was imprinted on her memory. She tried to regurgitate his face with her charcoal; the tip of his nose, the facial hair. She drew quickly, but maintained a light pressure with her charcoal so that any errors she made could be corrected with relatively ease. His hair was added, extended to the shoulders and made far… scruffier looking than what Amelia had previously sketched. All in all her sketches of him in a dress (there were four now) resembled him far closer than they had done before.

When she looked up from the parchment this time, stimulated by the oohs from the audience, Amelia found herself quite distracted with his performance. She lent forward, peering at the way his body arced and moved as he flipped over and over again, closing the distance between himself and the chair. When it was obvious even from Amelia’s partially blocked view of the chair, that seat and performer could collide, she gasped. She didn’t want her model to break his neck, and so she opened her mouth, the word “Careful!” Shaping on her lips.

But her caution was unnecessary, as clearly he had had something planned all along. The acrobat tucked himself into a ball, wheeling above the chair and landing the other side of it on his hands. The audience, and Amelia, let out a collective sigh of relief and appreciation before applauding this latest effort. Even Amelia found herself clapping once or twice, before she realised what she was doing and returned stubbornly to her artwork. But there was a smile on her face now, and it softened her eyes and demeanour as she continued to sketch.

[Brandon Blackwing]

x

Whereas the audience seemed to love Brandon’s performance thus far, there was one individual not quite as happy with it. They broke through the crowd, elbowing their way to the middle of the semicircle, approaching the upside-down bat with an irritated expression. Brandon swiftly cartwheeled back onto his feet, a brow raised questioningly. It was a young woman carrying a drum, and she headed straight for the Kelvic, stopping only when her face was about two inches away from his. She was a little bit taller than him, and while the attempt at being intimidating was a complete failure on her part, Brandon did take a step back so she wasn’t inside his personal space.

“This is my spot,” she hissed at him in a whisper, pointing at the snowy ground.
“Was,” the bat corrected her, keeping his voice just as low so they wouldn't be overheard, “It became mine when you left.” He crossed his arms to trap his body heat, the bite of the cold already getting to him now he wasn’t moving. “I needed a short break , I was only away for maybe five chimes!” Her face was reddening, the anger apparent. “Besides, I stand here almost every day. This is my spot!” Brandon shrugged, spotting people leave due to the lack of exciting activities happening.

“I’m not going to be here much longer.”
“Quite right, you’ll be leaving now. Find yourself a different spot. Go be a clown there.” More and more people were starting to drift away. The bat took a deep breath in. “Listen. I’m in the middle of something-”
“I don’t give a damn. You leave. Now.”
“I said listen! I’m performing. I’m making money.” He pointed at the small collection of coins gathered on his katinu. “I could leave now, like you’re insisting I do, but I can assure you that most of these people will leave with me. This is my crowd.”

There was a short pause to let his words sink in, then he continued, not allowing the musician to speak. “I’m offering you a deal. You let me stay for a little while longer. I end my performance. I get money. I split my earned coins with you. Half-half, alright?” He glanced around quickly, spotting the drum again, the instrument now in his thoughts. “Better yet, you could support my act with some music. How’s that sound?” She shook her head. “Firstly, if I’m going to provide back ground music for you, I want three-quarters.” Brandon raised an eyebrow. “You can try to negotiate, however, do know that the longer you try to get your way, the less money you’ll get. Even less than my first offer.” He gestured at the thinning crowd. “Time is not your ally here.” Another smirk.

Being a busker, street musician or whatever she purported to be, there was no way she could misunderstand, and thus she also knew very well what Brandon was getting at. The longer they’d stand here, more people would leave. Which meant less money to be made. Besides, the bat wouldn’t be around much longer, and he had a crowd gathered already. Not all of them would stick around after he finished, yes, but there was a fair chance the audience would fix their attention on the musician after the Kelvic left. Not a certainty, true, but the possibility was there. Grudgingly she accepted, “Fine. But I want my chair back.”
“Sorry, but I need it.”

A grumble left the woman’s mouth, and she just clamped the large drum between her knees, bending over slightly to play a beat. Perhaps not the most comfortable way to play, but it did work. Brandon nodded, doing some flips and barrel rolls to test the versatility and the busker’s ability to match music to situations. She was good, as to be expected, changing the rhythm to increase the tension, to clue the audience in on the end of a trick,… Her beats inserted the right state of mind into the heads of the audience, dragging them in, letting them forget about the rest of the world as they watched. Brandon’s performance hadn’t been perfect before, but if there had been any element that obviously had been lacking, it was the music. And now that element had been included too.

Truly, Bran wasn’t really trying to think too hard about what he was doing now; he just ran a couple steps, did some flips, some cartwheels, some handsprings… He did many, many things, all following each other quickly and fluidly, the point of it all being to draw more people, and to get his body warmed up once again. It was a test for the musician, a warm up, and a lure all at once. A high speed acrobatic stunt exposition to hype the crowd for what was coming. The thief did his part, and the music did the rest. Alright, it’s about time for the finale…

x

credit goes to Euthisa

[Amelia]

Confrontation was not an easy thing for a fashion designer to work with, and so when the rightful owner of the chair bustled her way through the audience, Amelia surrendered her artistic rights for a good eavesdrop. She shuffled forward on her bench, until she sat right on the edge of it and, along with the rest of the audience, watched the scene unfurl carefully.

She heard barely a word, so Amelia had to do her best to piece together the discussion. She presumed the two did not know each other; they were irritated with one another, but not to the extent a couple might be, or even close friends. The seamstress tried to read the male’s lips, but he spoke too rapidly for Amelia to understand anything of great detail.

Is he talking about cake?

Eventually, she gave up and returned to her parchment, pressing down on her charcoal with more pressure than before to add details to her otherwise lightly sketches designs. Thus far, her favourite dress was the third one; it featured the male performer in a stunning floor length ballgown, complete with a train that swept down and onto the invisible ground below his feet (which, despite only the very smallest part of his toes being visible, were fitted in a startlingly high pair of heels).

Amelia tilted her head, looking carefully at her sketch and trying to imagine how exactly a dress that long would look on her model. She glanced back up to the male - still discussing with his rival - and watched him carefully. She tried to envision him wearing the dress: what colour would suit his complexion? What material?

She was starting to learn the limits of one’s imagination, and Amelia had half a mind to ask her performing model to come with her to the Silk Palace to once and for all get him into a frock. But no — he was an utter stranger to her, and such an invitation would hardly go down well. So instead she struggled on, narrowing her eyes and growling at any audience that stepped into her view.

Lilac lace!

The idea came to Amelia like a whisper, faint but loaded with meaning. She grinned, nodded, and set to her parchment again. Yes! With his pale complexion, lilac would suit the male without washing him out, and lace would make the most of the slight curves Amelia had given his sketch. She set to work, adding fine lines along the sleeves to imitate lacework.

By the time she completed her design, Amelia took note that her model had returned to his flipping and jumping, and again she paused to appreciate his acrobatic technique. Though she had some experience in dance (in the way most young women did), physical exertion had always been far from Amelia’s favoured pastime. She hated sweating, and even the idea of smelling made her lips curl even now. No, what got her heart racing was a good pair of shoes, sweet-smelling perfume and a stunning down.

Much like the ones she had designed for her performer. Amelia sighed wistfully.

But you’ll never know how beautiful you could look with my help. She thought pensively.

[Brandon Blackwing]

x

OOCLilac lace? Seriously ? -__-“ Have I already told you this thread is messing up my image of Bran?

The flurry of stunts reached an end, and Brandon slowly strode to the chair, running over the steps in his head. He looked at the musician, and she gave him a small nod, starting a drumroll which would serve to build up the tension, and for now was pushing Brandon forwards. The chair was grabbed, and taken to the fountain, where the Kelvic stepped onto the edge of the basin, now comparing the width of it with the legs of the seat. Good, this would work, or rather, it could if the bat didn’t mess this up.

A deep breath of air flowed into the thief’s lungs where he held it for a tick, then allowed it to escape. He repeated the process a couple times, preparing himself mentally while calming both mind and body. He had no need for this tenseness. Slowly and carefully he placed the two back legs of the chair on the edge of the basin, and the drumroll grew louder and louder, but still the Kelvic could hear his heart beating in his ears. What was this feeling? This anticipation? Was it because of the music? Was it because he doubted whether he could pull this off?

No time to dwell on it, he steeled himself, breathing out with closed eyes, then kicking off the stones, one hand on the back of the chair, the other on the edge of the seat. His body swung upwards like it would have when attempting a handstand, but now his balance was precarious. A chair had four legs for a reason; balancing on two was difficult, and impractical. The Kelvic’s arms were working hard, increasing and decreasing the pressure put on the sides of the chair, while shifting his hips and shoulders ever so slightly, taking care of the balance that felt so fleeting and fragile.

It reminded the thief of his youth in Kalinor, of the ropes that hung in between houses. The ropes that acted as roads and streets, traversable only by the Symenestra and superior acrobats. Brandon had been neither back then, but he too had managed to get around, though his method of transportation had been based on sheer tenacity. The ropes had been a challenge, and challenges were like candy to the Kelvic bat. Back then he’d only managed a step or two before falling off, having to wrap his arms and feet around the cord as to not fall down into the dark depths of the cavern… this act reminded him of that, but now the depth was replaced by mockery and laughter, as well as failure.

He gritted his teeth, feeling beads of sweat form on his forehead as he shifted his weight a little bit to the left, so the side that had been rising steadily was pushed back down. Too much, he had to tweak it again, to the right with that body weight, push back the balance that was about to expire, cling on to it, force it until he found the right spot. Breathe, Bran, breathe. Air flowed hesitantly, coming out in shivers of exertion. This was much harder than he’d imagined; an ordinary handstand was nothing, he could keep at it for a dozen chimes if not more, should he set his mind to it. But this was different. Until he found the point where his weight was equally distributed, the spot where retaining the balance was not difficult at all anymore, this stunt would tire him out quickly.

Stay calm. Stay calm Brandon. Breathe. In and out. Calm. Focus on this one thing. Find the balance. Cast away the worry. I can do this. I can do this. Focus. Stay calm. Don’t worry about falling, just search for the balance, and do it methodically, else I’ll never find it. Yes, yes that’s right. Stay calm, and focus… Breathe… Breathe… He was tilting again, slowly leaning towards the cold water of the fountain. Doesn’t matter. Focus. Breathe. Stay calm. He moved his weight a little bit, slowing his descent a tad bit. A little more. A little more still. It stopped. The tilting stopped, and the Kelvic let out a shaky sigh, but he knew this wasn’t over yet. Slowly he felt the chair slant to the other side, first going to the middle, where he slightly tweaked the distribution of weight once again, aiming for the center.

He ran through the process a couple more times, though each time he diminished the amount of tilting, eventually finding the perfect balance with a content release of air. Good. That was step one out of the way, more difficult than he’d imagined, but still not too much. Yes, he could take this one step further, he could do that. As long as he remained calm he could achieve anything, as long as he had his focus. Sweat dripped off of his body and face, though he barely noticed it, everything except for himself, the chair, and the fragile equilibrium.

x

credit goes to Euthisa