[Shooting Star Inn]Eyes Gently Closed (Dor)

[Julian]

Summer, Day 15, 511AV Two identical wine bottles sat proudly next to one another on a tall, narrow vanity table. Each one existed on opposite sides of the mirror that reflected the warmly lit inn suite, illuminated with crystal sconces. The darkened image of Julian Meredith was dwarfed by the tall, green bottle as he sat on the chair across the room, hunched over his cello. A crumpled sheet of parchment rested precariously in his lap, marked with an odd series of lines and dots and circles. His tan trousers were smudged with spots of black ink, effectively ruining them, but he didn't seem to notice. Julian's attention was fixed entirely on the cello held delicately upright in one hand, filling the room with rich baritone as he drew the bow gracefully back and forth across its strings. His gray-blue eyes scrutinized his callused fingertips upon the strings as he gently nodded with the melody. After a few moments of sawing out the same repeating measure, Julian nodded with a look of satisfaction. He passed the bow into his other hand, holding it there temporarily as he reached down and grasped the feathered end of a quill from an inkpot sitting on the floor. Lifting it with two fingers, he quickly adjusted his grip on the quill, tapping excess ink back into the vial before pressing its darkened tip to the parchment in his lap. He marked six more darkened ovals across a set of five drawn lines, mouthing to himself the name of each note. Replacing the quill, he took up the bow again and continued the melody past his present spot in the song. A merciful breeze drifted in through the open window, snaking invisibly through Julian's room and finally passing through his neatly tied raven hair. As it rustled in his face, he paid it no mind, his eyes entirely intent on his cello. It easily grew stuffy in his upstairs suite, just a floor above the commotion in the Shooting Star Inn's dining area, as these summer nights grew hotter. Julian had abandoned his vests tonight, contenting himself with only a halfway buttoned green shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The bulk of his slender ponytail hung around his neck, dangling over his chest as it seemed to prefer. Having already played his set tonight, Julian was free to spend the rest of his evening alone. Miraculously, the bottle on his desk remained corked. It might have been something Elhaym had said the day before about his drinking, or the fact that he he'd already drunk his fill downstairs as he had played. The last vestiges of a clouded, pleasantly watery sensation were melting away from his head as the alcohol was slowly separated from his blood. Well into the evening, the bell having chimed twice only a few minutes ago, Lhavit was roiling and crowded as usual. The musician was happily hiding from the promise of social interaction here in his hot, tiny inn suite, accompanied only by the meager furnishings provided by the Shooting Star, and the lingering aroma of wine that had absorbed into them. But his mind wasn't on his reclusive nature, his wine, his clothing, on the room, or even the city. For now, all he cared about was the music, and recording the voice of his budding new sonata in hurried, chaotic scrawls of notes and measures. This was music. It wasn't supposed to look pretty. His cello was best appreciated with a head slightly tilted and eyes gently closed.

[Dor]

The instrument’s soft speech spilled out the window of the Shooting Star Inn to sink into the aimless embrace of the wind. It was there that it reached a falcon on wing, grabbing hold of her attention and winding her in on an ever shrinking gyre. The stars dissipated in a helpless blur as the bird wheeled half in tune to the increasing volume of the music. While not nocturnal by nature, the depths from which the falcon had come caused her to be at once enraptured and ultrasensitive to Syna’s light. Lhavit’s queer arrangement of hours coddled her temperment in this regard. That combined with a belly full of unlucky pigeon left her drowsy, but the cello’s mellow tones sharpened her on curiosity’s edge. The clattering contact of wickedly curved claws against the windowsill came with a gust of wind to flap at the curtains, ruffling wings partially spread for balance. It was a startling landing, having swooped swift and fierce once the source of the music was ascertained. So there she hung, clinging to a precarious perch with no regard whatsoever given either the drop behind or the potential threat before. A lightless eye surveyed the cozy room, the musician and his instrument and all of the warm glow surrounding with disturbing intensity.

[Julian]

A sigh escaped the musician as he shook his head, frowning at his cello. The melody was going fine until now, but after jotting down the last few measures, he wasn't sure where else to go with it. Nothing sounded right. It was all flat. Julian's inspiration had escaped him. As that thought went through him, the image of the dark green wine bottle on his vanity became more prominent in his peripheral vision. He turned to look at it tiredly, then accusingly, as if the bottle itself had orchestrated his minor dilemma. Shaking the thought from his head, Julian ignored the wine and returned to his cello. Just as he laid the bow back upon the strings, a strange noise sounded at his window - a series of skittering scratches. He looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of a large bird perched in his windowsill. Julian's lips parted in astonishment. It was no pigeon, not any sort of bird normally associated with cities. It was a raptor, a bird of prey, reminding Julian of the falconers he sometimes saw in Syliras. He didn't know a great deal about birds, or any sort of animal, but he was certain that falcons didn't visit cities of their own accord, especially not during their busiest hours, and they certainly didn't make perches out of open windows. "Hello," Julian greeted stupidly, still dumbfounded at the sight. There were no leather bands wrapped around its legs. The bird appeared wild. Even so, he'd never seen one so close, not even a pet. "Did someone send you to spy on me?" He resumed his attention to his cello, playing three fingers on three strings at varying pressures. The bow rested on the strings again. What was he going to do with a falcon? He had no inclination to get up and pet the animal. Julian couldn't even begin to know what had brought it to perch in his window. Conceitedly, he wondered if it had been the sound of his cello. "I can't imagine who. That would be a perfect waste of time." Julian paused. That might not be a bad song title. Smirking, he shook his head and shrugged it off. "This should scare you off. If not, then you will quite possibly be the oddest audience I've ever had." The bow slid across the strings, filling the room with a long, deep hum. The bow reversed direction and the note sharply changed pitch. Julian's hand slid down the neck of the instrument and pressed upon a different set of strings, adding an unusually merry crescendo in the melody. It was perfect for his song, filling him with a warm sense of satisfaction. He kept playing fearful that he'd lose momentum if he stopped to record the notes. Nearby, the wine bottle in the corner of his vision looked sullen. What was the world coming to when a quizzical bird could give better inspiration than a glass of wine?

[Dor]

Julian was not the first person to call this particular creature an odd bird. It failed to phase the falcon who continued to perch upon the window sill, still as any of the stars seemingly fixed in their constellations from this earthbound perspective. Music had possessed a fascination for her since she had first heard the melodic calls of her avian brethren, a tonal beauty not granted the throat of a raptor such as she. The transformation occurred while the song was still in its infancy, rippling into a bright crescendo that a more poetic soul might find appropriate for the fizzing and wink of little lights off and on and off again. They settled and cleared to leave their ashes behind in girl shape, a tattered china shadow against the spangled curve of Lhavit's bustling night. "How do you do that?" Husky voice, heavily accented with soft, creeping syllables that were yet slippery with the sounds of the Common she spoke. A night wind wafted, fluttering gossamer tangles of hair against a bruised shoulder. The bruise was evident due to the fact that it and hair were the only things bothering to clothe her. Bare feet dangled down, scraped fingers curled about the window ledge she still sat in. The odd bird leaned too far forward in an attempt to get a better view of the cello.

[Julian]

The song faded as an unnatural, startling light shown from the window. Julian lifted his head, but was soon shielding his eyes with an arm and muttering a curse. Gods, what now? The light faded, and when Julian lowered his arm, he saw that the bird had been replaced by a nude young woman. He sat there in a stupor, still holding onto his cello as he blinked rapidly and tried to make himself believe that this had actually happen. It took just a little too long for him to logically piece it all together. "Kelvic," he whispered. That made sense. A bird wouldn't come to sit in his window and listen to music unless it understood to a degree what music was. Not that her being a Kelvic made any of this more comfortable. Julian realized with a start that he was now alone in his room with woman wearing nothing at all. He briefly looked toward his door to make sure it was closed, fearing first for her privacy and secondly for his own sense of decency. Though he tried not to ogle, he could see that the thin girl was certainly attractive, her wispy hair pouring over her shoulders. Julian's icy blue eyes lingered on a conspicuous bruise on her shoulder, but he declined to comment. Actually, now that he'd gotten over his mild shock and realized that it was a sentient creature that entered his room uninvited, he grew a little annoyed. Kelvics were odd and didn't understand civilization so well, as he'd heard, but she still should have known better. Julian continued to stare for a moment - mostly at her face - before he finally sighed and began to answer her. "You know, most of my visitors knock." He gestured toward the door with his cello's bow. Julian added a brief smile to soften the remark: he wasn't in any hurry to shoo away an unclothed woman. He tilted his head at her in surrender. "But the Star Lady knows I could use a bit of company now and then. If you don't mind, would you please put on that jacket there?" Using his bow, Julian pointed to one of his long jackets that was laying on the nearby bed. "Not that you aren't lovely, but I find your immodesty a bit distracting." He thought of inquiring about her bruise, but pushed the notion aside. Perhaps he would, later, if he should happen to convince her to slip out of the jacket again. Looking away to preserve her dignity (even if it was only for his sake), Julian laid his bow back upon the cello's strings. "Now, how do I do what?" He played a slow, high note, adding a vibrato with a smooth undulation of his forearm.

[Dor]

It was with a deliberate, dramatic motion that the young woman leaned far enough back in her window perch that someone watching from the street below might have had a heart attack in fear of her falling. Yet her balance was perfect, of course, even when she loosed a hand from the sill to rap her knuckles thrice in quick succession upon the exterior window molding. This, of course, was done with a straight face. That accomplished, she squinted after the gesture of his cello bow and stuck her tongue into her cheek contemplatively. Meanwhile, she straightened with a playful swing of her feet. "People always say that," she remarked. That her immodesty was distracting or improper or simply not done. It was -- as she had not so long ago informed a young acolyte -- clearly a people problem, not a kelvic problem. The suspicious smeared through the glance she threw at the musician discerned no immediate trick, so thoughts of potential threats were tossed aside as she completed the climb into the strange man's rented room without a so much as a stitch of clothing. This bird girl was obviously plagued by greater or at least completely alien concerns to any average, attractive woman in the whole of Mizahar. She gave him a wide berth, however, black eyes watchful from their corners while plucking her way across the floor towards the bed with the offered long jacket. Finally, feeling herself to be at a safe enough distance out of reach of arms, she looked down at the jacket to see if it was blue. That would be just wonderful. "Make music," she answered him. How did he do that?

[Julian]

As the young girl leaned out of the window, Julian fixed his eyes on her, mouth coming agape. He was speechless, instinctively worried that she'd simply fall right from the window. Something like that was completely unnatural, if inane, for any human to do, but he reminded himself that the girl wasn't human. She was probably only a few years old at that, but an adult, nevertheless. He had to reassure himself that she knew what he was doing, that she was a Kelvic bird. What would happen if she fell? Would she switch forms before she hit the ground? Would she have time? He tried not to wonder at things he couldn't possibly understand, but he couldn't stop his heart from beating in his throat. He was less worried something would happen to her, and more worried that she would hurt herself when Julian could have prevented it. Then she righted herself, and Julian let out the breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He relaxed in his chair, closing his eyes in annoyance. He didn't like being toyed with, even if the girl was doing it unintentionally. The differences between humans and Kelvics were made glaringly apparent by her behavior, and her dismissive remark about her immodesty. Fine, he thought bitterly. Stay undressed. I'm not complaining. Remaining civil, he kept the remark to himself. It was still irksome that she would be so casual about putting on the jacket after he'd asked her to do so. Women were so much easier to deal with then they would just listen. Elhaym's staunch independence and stubbornness had been trying, though he was fond of her. Receiving the same behavior from a stranger was nigh unbearable. Still, she was a nude woman he had all to himself in his private room. Julian was still willing to warm up to her if she'd let him. He could overlook everything else. "Yes, that jacket," he insisted, gesturing to it again. It was a black and crimson affair he'd purchased here in Lhavit made of fine, soft wool. It was some of the softest, most comfortable material he'd ever worn, and he wondered if it had come from the Okomo that lived in the mountain areas in and around Lhavit. Or if they could even produce wool. He had no honest idea. The mystery of livestock was best left to farmers. After she answered him, Julian lifted his bow off the strings and glanced up. "Make music?" He glanced at his instrument. "This is a cello. That's what it does. The strings vibrate and create melody when I draw the bow's hair across them." Julian felt like he was explaining this to a child. But she wasn't that. A devilish smile played at the corner of his mouth. Tapping the bow thoughtfully against his cheek, he decided she could do no real harm to the instrument. "Would you care to try?"

[Dor]

“I can’t make music,” was the pitiful explanation. A hand so pale that surely it had hardly known Syna’s sun flapped against the curve of her throat, fingers fluttering outward in an ineloquent diagramming of a physical failure. “Others can, pretty as songs. I’ve heard them calling to one another. Not me.” And she made a face of her displeasure with the fact of a falcon’s guttural caw. Though disappointed the musician’s offered jacket was not, in fact, blue, she shrugged into the soft warmth of it all the same, vanishing a wealth of too lean flesh in crimson and shadow. A flap was plucked at and, one arm bending to fan across the opposing shoulder, she spun to watch the tails of the jacket swirl. The result was her facing him with a smile and trundling her way back towards him while the cello warbled another line of melody. “Yes,” she answered him instantly. “Cello. I’ve seen them made small,” another gesture of her hands demonstrated, palms pressing against nothing that was supposed to be a fiddle. She did now know the word for it. “It had a different voice, but the body looked…” There was a hesitation in which she sought the appropriate word. “Similar. Do you know its name? What’s yours?”

[Mercury]

Julian Meredith Skill(s) Musical Instrument: Cello + 2 XP Composition: Music + 2 XP Observation + 1 XP Socialization + 1 XP Lore(s) An Artist's Mentality Dedicated, bordering on Obsession Music: Flat Inspired: Dor Kelvic Surprise Naked Woman… Surprise! The Perfect Gentleman Method to my Madness: Great writing. You are missed. Dor Skill(s) Observation + 1 XP Common (Basic) 2/6 Interrogation + 1 XP Intimidation + 1 XP Socialization + 1 XP Lore(s) A Siren's Call: Julian's Cello Music Julian's Muse Indecent Exposure (Intermediate) (Over)Confidence Identifying the Difference between a Cello and a 'Mini-cello' Method to my Madness: Won't be long till you're an expert at flashing ;p. Intimidation for being snooty about asking Julian to play more music… that and being naked, and proud of it, is pretty intimidating on its own. I'm sad this couldn't have been continued. I can't wait to read more of Dor. You can address any questions or concerns to the little voice in your head. A.K.A. PM me.