[Silver Sliver] Sing Us A Song [Tycho]

[Hadrian]

63rd Summer, 511 A.V. So far, Ravok was not treating Hadrian unkindly. This bar had proven fortuitous, as he had run into an old acquaintance from Zeltiva who was looking for someone just like Hadrian in order to make some serious money, the which he could use to start his career as a true magecrafter. And so he was back on the off chance that luck would repeat itself. He ate a meal, and sat back at his table -- after two visits, the table by the window with a view of the Plaza was his table -- and thought about things, about what brought him to Ravok and what he hoped might get him out of there unscathed. His Auristics were again engaged, his attention spread out between many of the people present. Sure that nobody was paying him any real attention, he focused as well on the djed floating within his hands. One was held palm up, his index finger curling to meet the tip of his thumb, his other hand blocking view from anyone who might glance his way. He tried to be as nonchalant as possible, and the minutes dragged by before he was able to imagine the space between the discrete bits of air grew, pushing them aside in a tiny, yet expanding, bit of vacuum. When it finally reached that size threshold, still tinier than a pinprick, it became a true portal to the Void. He stretched the little whorl of nothingness until it was the size of a copper miza and then set it to spinning like a coin. Once created, the tiny portal required less of his energy and attention to maintain, although this was still difficult, precise work for him. He felt a bit of a tug from it, that faint Pull charge that drew things into the Void. Mildly surprised and unsure how to change that in a portal already created, he quickly exuded a bit of Shield energy and willed it to form a bubble of faint glimmering around the Void portal. The thickness of the energy was uneven; his work with Shields still amateur at best, but it blocked djed, and seemed to block Pull, because once the bubble was fully formed around the tiny portal, the faint tug ceased. Smiling, he only had a moment to relish his small success before he felt the attention of the serving girl turn to him, and he quickly let the world fill in that vacuum, letting the bubble of Shield energy collapse in on itself to be sure nothing came out of the imploding portal. There was a barely audible 'pop' as it disappeared, and he wasn't sure if that was something he had heard or something he had felt, but he blinked and smiled a bit dazedly when the young woman approached. Afterimages burned in his vision as if he were going to suffer a migraine, and he smiled ruefully when she asked what he wanted "I'm getting a bit of a headache so I will have to be boring and ask for tea," he said. "White willow bark if you have any." He wasn't the greatest herbalist by any stretch of the imagination, but Caelum had often prescribed willow bark tea for his overgiving headaches when he had been a student at the University and Caelum himself a stationary chirurgeon.. As she moved off, he kept his Auristic senses only lightly tuned in around him, not wanting to aggravate the impending headache. Instead he used his eyes to see those around him.

[Tychonius Nioni]

He had said he would take anything. He did not mind, in fact. Tychonius stood on the small wooden stage and looked out on the sparse audience in the Silver Sliver. People sat and wallowed alone or sat and wallowed with others. Barmaids weaved through the tables like insects on their insect-like journeys, entirely motivated by something entirely invisible. They were the worker bees of this place, the servers. “And I’m the entertainment,” thought Tychonius, “Here to sing a ballad a ballad about a story Kolit once told me.” Kolit. Oh, Kolit. Kolit was Tychonius’ mentor. A friend, a father. He was a skilled sailor, a ruthless sword-fighter, and an exciting story teller. Tychonius had learned much from Kolit. Tychonius was smiling without noticing it. This was the state he enjoyed most to be in, fondly remembering some warm memory so that he did might not have to constantly remind his face to be smiling. Not have to constantly remind himself to be friendly, an exciting and energetic stage presence. When he remembered Kolit, or Mother, or his friends at the university, or his professors; when he did this, he did not need to pretend to be happy as he sang, he needed only sing. He had in his right hand, dangling loosely, his flute. He pulled it to his mouth, set the piece into his lips and held the flute at lazy, habited attention, and played a strong, melodic set of notes which pierced through the air like the happiness that emanated from a newly-weds’ kiss. He took the flute from his mouth, the notes echoing in his head to give him his starting note, and he put the instrument down on the stool which he had up there with him. On the barstool, also, was a glass of wine. He coughed quietly, the notes still echoing in his mind strongly, insistently, giving strength to the words about to be loosed, helping the song press against Tychonius’ palate, press with excitement and happiness, press like a gladiator about to escape into the ring. People had turned, some of them, curious to the sounds from the stage. Some looked surprisingly hostile, others depressingly hopeful. Tychonius opened his grinning mouth, and began: In Zeltiva by the sea on a ship called “Destiny” The Hero stood by on the deck… His voice soared through the air, supported by his diaphragm, flying up and over, weaving like the barmaids through the tables, through the heads of the patrons. Unlike the barmaids, his purpose was not uncannily invisible and formic, Tychonius’ voice had a strong, ethereal and heavenly purpose. It bounced along in the melody, sometimes, with the consent of the musicality of the verse, the voice transcended the melody and became the song itself. Tychonius had his voice on a leash. Although he himself was singing, the song that came from him, the song he had written, it had been performed so often that it had come to have its own life, its own insuppressible and harmonic life. Tychonius, smiled the whole time, except in the parts where it was not appropriate, and fixed his eyes above the doorway of the Silver Sliver, to which he sang the whole song as if to someone. He moved about the stage, and would sometimes look out into his audience, but he kept returning to that spot above the door. The Song was about Kolit. It was the story he had told Tychonius about how he had lost his arm. A pirate ship had attacked and in the battle Kolit had lost his arm in a bloody spray, and his limb had gone flailing into the salty sea. Tychonius had spiced it up a little, though. In the first verse, the action was introduced. Kolit, who was referred to as “The Hero”, “Makutsi’s man”, or “Makutsi’s chosen, was on the ship called “Destiny” and was sailing towards Zeltiva carrying precious cargo. Suddenly the brigands appear. The chorus comes here, detailing Kolit as a hero, describing his characteristics: bravery, strength, cunning. Then the action escalates. The brigands near, firing arrows towards “Destiny”, killing many. “Destiny fires back, and there is much bloodshed. Kolit lives.” The third verse tells of the villain, a man named “Ger Vol” who is there to steal a woman, a woman who happens to be the most beautiful woman that has ever set foot on a ship. He intends to have her as a wife and make her bear her children, and he does not care how many people die so that he may have her. Tychonius loved singing this song. At this point, he began making eye contact with audience members, He did not linger on them for any more than three words, until he sang the line: “And then he said…” Here he looked at the man sitting in the seat next to the window overlooking the plaza, who was not looking up. He thought he recognized the man, vaguely, very vaguely, as if he had seen him many times, but had never met him or looked at him twice. Tychonius forgot about him quickly, and continued singing the song. Next, Ger Vol and Kolit became engaged. They fought for three days, and the two crews, noticing this epic battle, came to the edges of the ships and watched silently, passing kelp beer around and eating all of “Destiny”s bread. And in the final verse, the most beautiful woman ever is dragged out onto the ship by Ger Vol’s men, and Ger Vol, taking advantage of this disturbance, chops at Kolit, severing his arm with the help of “Yshul himself”. Kolit falls to the ground. A great cheer comes up from Ger Vol’s men as he steps over Kolit to grab his prize. “And Key change…” Kolit grabs the sword again, for it was his left arm that was severed, and thrusts up through the groin of Ger Vol. Ger Vol falls screaming and shouting and bleeding and clutching at his groin and his genitals when Kolit scrambles up, blood still spurting from his arm, and he beheads Ger Vol. Kolit holds up Ger Vol’s head and shouts in triumph, as his crew begins to kill the shocked and defeated pirates. And then Tychonius’s voice softened and he sang directly to that point above the door. He sang of Kolit marrying the most beautiful woman on the sea, and sang of Kolit himself and praised Kolit. And by the end of it, Tychonius was grinning like a new father and tearing up with joy and remorse and sadness. And then he bowed. When he came up, the tears had been wiped away, and his face was clean.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian looked up when the note of the flute pierced his weary brain, but the tea and his steady, relaxing breaths helped ease the threatening headache. He did listen to the song, recalling life in Zeltiva, but didn't look up until he felt eyes on him. But when he did look up, the singer was looking away, and so Hadrian stared a bit, watching how his trained voice made the djed around him resonate on a similar frequency as his own aura. Truly it was almost magical how something as mundane as song could affect the world around a person. When he relaxed his hold on several of the auras in the room in order to focus on the nuances and intricacies of this one, he began to see things in that aura of his, getting impressions almost of faces, memories, intentions. His stomach tightened, realizing that he was truly near a breakthrough in his Auristics, when his senses would be so heightened that some might consider him a mind reader. This was a dangerous power to have, a slippery slope toward corruption, perhaps. But he would have to keep himself in check. Finally he closed his eyes, letting his Auristic sense focus instead through his ears. The man singing was like a gong struck, reverberating with a particular sound that could not belong to anyone else. He memorized it, because he normally didn't bother to use non-visual perspectives and it would be good practice. When the song ended, he opened his eyes, clapped politely until he realized that he was one of very few admitting to paying close attention to the music. He quickly ceased and brought his eyes down to focus on his tea before anyone could make eye contact with him. Public embarrassment was something he liked to pretend didn't faze him any longer, but he did not enjoy being the strange one all the time.

[Tychonius Nioni]

Tychonius, grinning still, heard a smattering of claps. Most of which came from the man by the window, who had clapped quietly and consciously for a few moments before looking down. Now, who is that? I know I've seen him before, somewhere in Zeltiva, probably. Tychonius, now, took a controlled sip from the wine on the barstool, careful to swish it about in its glass before. Then he downed the rest in an impulsive gulp. He set the glass lightly on the table and felt the heat of the alcohol swim down his throat and settle in his belly. He picked up his flute. He picked up the wine-glass he had just put down, cursed himself for his inefficiency and put it on the ground next to the stool, on which he set himself as on a perch, his feet resting on the top rungs of the stool so that his knees splayed out like a gargoyles. He blew a test note into the flute. It whistled through the air like some direct and speedy fairy, which flew about the room and sprinkled its dust everywhere before dying majestically. The note faded. He pulled the flute from his mouth and coughed into his wrist. He darted his tongue out and dragged it across both lips in a deft and practiced movement. He replaced the flute in his mouth. Then he let his legs drop. Wasn't so comfortable anyway. Then his fingers set themselves and he began to play. The song began slow, and ponderous, with an infectious and repeating melody. It was slow and melancholy, music to be played to a Full Moon over a lake, when there is no one else around. Tychonius closed his eyes and imagined himself back in Zeltiva, with her. The pace did not pick up for a long time, but the intensity of the notes did. Each one wavered and vibrated from the flute like the wailing of a crying woman. And as it picked up, so did Tychonius, standing up from the stool with determinism, as if some quest or some unseen motivation pushed him up. The song picked up and the melody was diluted with notes that sounded alternatively black and white, blue and green, unhappy and happy. And as the black and blue notes were slowly sifted out, as dirt through a sifter, the green and white and happy notes began to take to the air, as if the sun had come up. Tychonius had to work hard to keep the smile off of his face. He had begun beating his feet down on the ground to keep pace, raising his knee and slamming his foot down. He was painfully aware of how little he was being accepted in the Sliver, but he could not stop himself, the energy of the song, the energy of his experience channeled through music was far too much to be resisted. The melody returned, this time as far from melancholy as imaginable; now praising, excitable, hymn-like. At the height of this jubilation, he ended it with a surprising finishing-chord, and then bowed twice. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Gathered his things in the pack, and by things one means to say his flute. Looked out into the sparse crowd and, smiling still with the energy of the song pulsing through him like a drug, he made a rash decision. He walked, confidently, up to the man by the window, pulled the seat out, sat in and scooted himself up. He paused a moment, smiling coyly, then arranged himself so that his chin was cupped in his right palm and his left hand was lying on the table underneath. This man was smart. His eyes said so. He was smart and wise and respectable, and Tychonius found himself silently admiring him, respecting him. He said, Do I know you, sir?

[Hadrian]

The man's flute playing had soul, but lacked the skill of his voice, but it didn't matter. He didn't clap that time, not to be impolite or because he didn't enjoy it, but because a major goal in Ravok was not to make a spectacle of himself, which would put not only him in danger, but the rest of his friends, too. But then the man sat down across from him, and he was blinking at him in surprise. He hadn't been paying attention to his aura and so he was able to sneak up on him. That was unacceptably lax attention. "Oh." He hem-hemmed. "I don't know that you do. Andry Ellis." He put out his hand to shake, playing the part of the Zeltivan intelligentsia, which was not exactly a lie if the name was. "I'm from Zeltiva, but I've relocated here for the time being. Excellent songs," he added. "Thank you for those. I have an ash flute myself, but I'm crap with it."

[Tychonius Nioni]

"Zeltiva? I'm from there too! Dabbled at the University there, studied music and things. Mainly voice though." The Bard tapped his throat on his Adams Apple. He was careful to appear stupid, or at the very least of average intelligence. Appearing as less than you are, Tychonius knew, is always the best course of action when meeting someone. And it cultivates humility. One of Kolit's virtues, there. Tychonius reached out his own hand and took Andry's with a firm grip. Tychonius hands were nimble, his fingers strong and thin. He shook the hand excitedly but gingerly. "Name's Tychonius. And thanks much for the compliments; people here-,"Tychonius took a moment, and his eyes flickered across the room and his hand came up in an open handed gesture. His stupidly happy smile wore down into an intelligent but beneficent smirk. "-they don't much care for my music. I don't suspect they care much for music period, though. It's refreshing to hear of a fellow musician. Ash Flute, wood. Love its sound, I do. And I'm sure you're not half as bad as you say; probably better than me! I didn't spend enough time on it back in Zeltiva. I sure wanted to. But somehow, something held me back." With difficulty, Tychonius mentally attributed his lack of work with the flute to his alcohol problem. Although he did not call it a problem. He said he was simple "Partial to Kelp Beer".

[Hadrian]

"Ah, yes. I'm a University man myself." They shook hands and he smiled; this would be where he would invite the man to sit down, but he had already taken care of that. "Well, Teresa Wright Allwave could throw pearls before swine and they would still be swine." He paused. "Please don't tell anyone that I implied the citizenry of Ravok were swine. Just an allusion. Anyway, do they serve kelp beer here? There have to be enough Zeltivans doing business here... "And no, I'm really crap with the flute. It was an attempt to be musical, but I get the theory and mathematics more than the soul of it. Luckily I'm not trying to get by on my musical talents, such as they are." Fortunately, Andry Ellis seemed to be more glib and companionable than Hadrian Aelius, otherwise his usual awkwardness might have made his cover story fit incorrectly. "I'll have to ask the barmaid when she returns," he said, mostly to himself. "So... you're here for a bit of adventure and to try your songs in a new venue?"

[Cassandra Coven]

"...sorry! Sorry I'm late! Man trouble. You know. Sorry!" Cassandra stumbled out the kitchen door, her back away from the main tavern in general and she seemed to be talking to someone in the room whence she came. When she turned around, it has hard not to notice the flushed quality of her face and the labored heaving of her chest, as if she had just run a good distance. A faint smile was on her lips however, sign that whatever had made her late had been a pleasant distraction. Arranging the haphazardly thrown apron around her waist to make herself look more presentable, the dark-haired barmaid ran down her palm from its hem down to mid thigh to straighten its wrinkles before grabbing one of the wooden trays set at the bar. She scanned the room for the nearest occupied table she could wait on and sashayed towards it. It happened to be the table where the two men sat. They appeared to be in the middle of a conversation, though only one of them hand a drink in hand. That was open invitation for her to come over and convince the one without a drink to order for something to imbibe the same as his companions, and possibly entice the other man - or both of them! - to ask for something to eat as well. The tavern wasn't just a place for mingling; the owners, Papa and Mama, were running a business here, after all. "Good day, gentlemen!" she greeted them, the whisper of a curve of her lips blossoming into a full-fledged smile as she did so, causing the dimples of her cheeks to show. Wooden tray held before her chest, her gloved hands working in precise movements as she fanned herself with it. "Hot day, isn't it? Or maybe it's just me, I had to run her from across the plaza..." She fanned herself even harder as she took in a few deep breaths. The contours of her modest breasts as her chest rose with each inhalation would not be hard to miss for either of the men. "So! What can I get for you? How about a drink, sir?" Cassandra asked the bearded man, the one without a drink in his hands. "You should try the Sliver, it's what we're known for. Or how about a meal, for the both of you? For two gold each, I'll give you a mug of the Sliver with a plate of roast and bread, what do you say?" Again her smile flashed as she made eye contact with both men, taking the time now to study their features. One was tall and rather lanky - Cassandra thought he looked like the studious sort - while the shorter one had a much more solid frame. That one, the bearded one, looked attractively rugged for her, and she leaned his way, the subtle body language a sign that she was showing interest in him. It was a calculated move, one meant to entice a patron by presenting to him a pretty face that had at least some amount of attraction for him to get him to agree that, yes, what she had just offered sounded like a damn good deal. Of course, the two did not know that. But then, Cassandra's charm usually worked on men. It's why Papa could forgive her even when she came in late for work.

[Tychonius Nioni]

Tychonius nodded throughout Andy Ellis’ speaking, as he spoke of and addressed the truth of the Ravokian collective apathy towards music, and when he mentioned Kelp Beer, Tychonius’ eyes widened in excitement, but his mind was quick to bat down his eagerness with a bat made of reason. “I don’t think they do, actually. Heart-breaking really, all I had was a glass of wine, here. They didn’t have Kelp Beer.” He leaned in close in the way that a confidante might and said, “I call it my medicine.” He broke away in laughter, his face cracking into a charming and noble smile. As Adrian spoke of his flute, Tychonius’ did not feel quite so quick to reassure him. He believed Adrian and his stated abilities with math and theory, and without soul. He seemed austere, his actions well thought out, well composed… Yes, composed is the word. Composed and chained to himself, it seems. I feel myself unbound and thus in danger, and he, he is bound to himself and somehow secure. Adrian Ellis’, and nothing more. But certainly nothing less either. As Adrian was asking the question that all travellers ask one another, a barmaid approached. “Good Day Gentlemen…” Tychonius was immediately charmed. Women. Another of my myriad weaknesses. His eyes floated across her face; her lips, her cheeks, those dimples. Tychonius fought to listen to what she was saying. Something about a meal. Tychonius found himself entirely not hungry. But he found himself with plenty of room for drink. And even if there was no kelp beer… His mouth was open, the tongue set to hiss the “s” in “Sliver” when she leaned his way and his nose picked her up. His mouth stopped and repeated the last thing she said: “a mug of the Sliver with a plate of roast and bread.” When he caught himself, and he did, around the word “plate”, Tychonius acted cool, acted it off. He finished the sentence and smiled up at the girl, his teeth white and his eyes shining. He had to fight the urge to wink. “For me, that is. I don’t know about my friend, Adrian, here.”

[Hadrian]

"Andry," he corrected quietly, his eyes distracted by the young woman who was so far out of his league it wasn't even funny. Or, if she was in his league, it was likely only if he had the money to pay for it. Thankfully, the bulk of her charms appeared aimed at Tychonius, which meant that Hadrian could observe and remain largely unswayed. He let his Auristics narrow down to the two auras closest to him, gauging their interaction even as he damped down his own aura to seem to any less skilled aurist to be a man without any power at all, really. "Ah," he said finally. "If he's having wine now and Sliver later, I suppose I should order some as well to replace my tea. That is, unless you happen to have any Zeltivan kelp beer. We might need some of that after the Sliver if it's available. Nostalgia, you know." Smiling into his tea, he wondered if Tychonius wouldn't find the bar wench better company. He couldn't blame the man. She was a fine specimen.