Open [Scholar's Demise] Conundrum

[Sigfrid]

oocI'll be posting around once a week if no one joins, more frequent once somebody does. If no one joins, I'll just turn this into a short job thread. 40th of Spring, 515 AV "Where is that petching oaf?" She mumbled, pacing aimlessly at the edge of Scholar's Demise, stopping only to take a glance out the window. The Ethaefal, slightly hunched over with an inked quill and scrap of parchment, grew ever more curious as strings of muffled swears continued to drip from the woman's lips. She tried her best not to lift her head to take a better look, settling for unreliable peripheral vision as she continued to write down the melody. It was not often that Sigfrid recorded her short compositions, but she grew worried of forgetting the Benshiran hymns in particular when she nearly blanked just an hour prior, during her second performance of the night. These were memories she could not replace, for she doubted even the books in the Bharani library contained these local songs. Once lost, she could never hope to regain, and so fear drove her to parchment. Despite her elegant appearance, Sigfrid's writing was rather illegible, likely worse than a child's and particularly a Lhavitian child, so her free hand served as a shield from wandering eyes. It would be the death of her to be caught with these scribbles that she called words. Unfamiliar with formal music composition, or really the concept of notes, the Ethaefal attempted to create a system of her own. Mentally she labeled the strings with numbers starting with the ones closest to her body when holding the harp, writing small notes at the top about what number string was at the middle and end for quick reference. Then, with a hand on the harp seated beside her and another holding the quill, she began to record each part of the melody. For quicker rhythms, she placed the numbers closer together and added a vertical line between them in order to distinguish between single and double digit numbers. For ones that she deemed "longer than average", she placed a horizontal line underneath the number. Pauses she denoted with a circle to resemble the moon, which denoted night and rest, since a crescent became annoying to draw after sometime. It was a long procedure, particularly since she had to count nearly every string if they were not near the previous string, or for the times she would lose count. Thankfully, many of the hymns were rather short or repeated (which she marked with an arrow and a number along it, denoting the number of repetitions), and so she had managed to finish one and begun on another when she was interrupted. "Pardon me, but are you Sigfrid?" The Ethaefal twitched, wondering if from the newcomer's angle they see her messy work. With as much grace as she could, she pulled the damp parchment further from view, placing it on top of the stack with the back, blank side revealed, hiding both the page and the pile. Mentally she cringed, wondering how much of that she would have to redo due to the still wet ink. Fixing her expression, the Ethaefal lifted her gaze to find it land on the anxious woman from before. Now able to stare unabashedly, Sigfrid realized that she was rather beautiful, striking with her rich, brown hair and polished makeup. "I am, how can I help you?" She replied, softening her expression into a smile. The woman then sighed. "You may have heard of me, 'Stella the songbird' as some like to call me." She paused, searching Sigfrid's eyes for recognition but in finding none, continued. "Well my lute player still hasn't shown up and I'm about to perform. Aleah tells me you play the harp; do you mind accompanying me tonight?" The Ethaefal was surprised to say the least, first that she had never heard of this performer and the second, by the fact that she asked her of all people. She couldn't even read music after all! However, before Sigfrid could say even formulate a polite rejection, Stella replied for her. "Great, thank you so much." Faintly, the Ethaefal could feel her lips separate into shock, but quickly closed them shut once she realized. The woman took a sip of her drink in the meantime, scanning the bar as though she had completely forgotten Sigfrid's presence. "Worried?" Stella asked, returning her attention to the Ethaefal, her words smoothed by Merlot. The young girl reeled her lips in, pulling them taut into an expression of playful worry. The songstress grinned, her grip gentle as she reassuringly squeezed Sigfrid's arm. "Fear not my dear, the patrons came for me. They won't give thought to the accompaniment." Despite the hidden venom in her words, Stella's smile remained brilliant. Aside from a brief pause, the Ethaefal managed to compose herself with some internal struggle, her body warming with anger. This Khur-va... She released her expression into one of quieted distress, giving Stella little cause to pay her further attention. After all, to Stella, Sigfrid was just a pretty face with little talent, saved only by the singer's skill. She'll simply have to do.

[Snouit]

40th of Spring, 515 AV A gigantic smile dominated Snouit's clay features for multiple reasons. Firstly, his location was ideal. Snouit sat upon his favorite table, in his favorite bar- A Scholar's Demise. Secondly, his company was fine as could be; He sat alone, listening to the fine music of a performer twirling and dancing through the air, the soft melody bending to kiss his elephantine ears and whisper sweet things into them. The third thing that made him happy was the full-size glass of alcohol. It had cost him but a kina, and he would be able to taste the mellow watermelon and lime mixture all night long. As soon as the music had ceased, Snouit had clapped wildly, and even considered wandering up to talk to the artist. It seemed, however, that the night of song was not yet done. As the next singer was preparing her things, she made her way outside the bar and spoke in hushed tones to someone there. Snouit leaned over the edge of the table to better see and satisfy his curiousity, but he caught only glimpses of the two women's faces. The woman who had not yet been in the bar was blushing furiously, seemingly ashamed, perhaps embarrassed, or potentially even angry. Her beautiful light hair fluttered about her face gently, hiding the worst of the blush in the poor light. There was a chime's worth of polite exchange before both women nodded in agreement, and headed for the stage- together- once more. One woman was a singer. Snouit was not familiar with her, but when she announced herself as Stella the Swan, there was appreciative murmuring about the few collected there. The name rang a few bells, but the Pycon could find no reputation- good or bad. The second woman appeared to play the harp. It was a good sized harp; it needed to be set on the lap of whomever played it. It appeared to be heavy. It looked as though that harp could crush a human under its weight the way a shoe could crush Snouit. Finished appraising the two artists, Snouit sat back, leaning against the centerpiece on the table. He wiggled his nose in excitement and a grin broke his clay lips. Two performers! He took a long, luxurious sip of his cocktail. This is going to be one Hai of a night!

[Sigfrid]

oocI tried to give you something to reply to since I figure Snouit would be more likely to approach Sigfrid than her going near a random table

There was little time for discussion as Stella proceeded to introduce herself, her gestures grand and voice booming, silencing the room if for a moment. Impressive... She had never heard the audience so quiet, her hands tickled at the desire to clap at the display. Some patrons shifted their weight in their seats, turning so that they may witness this supposedly impressive act. Much to her dismay, a few seemed to recognize Sigfrid, for she regularly performed. She drew a breath, releasing it in a sharp exhale in attempt to calm her nervousness. Finding that ineffective and somewhat backfiring, the musician tried to occupy herself with other thoughts.

Her mind wandered to Stella and how out of place her actions seemed, finding them more suited for the opera house than a simple tavern. However popular the Scholar's Demise was, it was still at its core a place to drink and meet, and not so much for appreciating art. Sigfrid had come to find that in performing here, though she too had come in with the entirely same impression, thinking that perhaps taverns in Lhavit were different. She then wondered once more why she had never heard of this woman and if she was perhaps exaggerating about her status, for she was behaving how Sigfrid did when she first played. Though she is Ethaefal, her first introduction was unnecessarily formal and dramatic, insincere in its pretentious tone. She cringed, the embarrassment from seasons past tinging her cheeks. In an attempt to avoid remembering other not so pleasant memories, she looked anywhere but at the Swan, her gaze halting at a strange object lying on the table. From her distance, it was difficult to discern what it was, her eyes shrinking into silver slivers as she squinted. Fortunately, she had other matters to attend to, as Stella reminded her, gracious as she was to introduce her accompaniment, the harp player "Sifrid". Hiding her slight exasperation with a smile, Sigfrid found solace in her mental reply. Why thank you Smella, so lovely to be here.

Now was the moment of truth, or rather, pretend. The Lethaefal lifted her harp into her lap, cushioning it between her thighs. Looking to Smella, who was as expected, not looking back at Sigfrid, she then brought her fingers to the strings in a sign of readiness. A voice much like her own then flowed from her lips, smelling sweet rather than reeking of arrogance. If it weren't for her focus in not embarrassing herself, Sigfrid would have been more caught off guard by the Swan's caressing tones. She tried to first figure out the song to see if she knew or had heard it before, but it was foreign to her ears. The scraps of sheet music before her sat forgotten, for the Ethaefal trusted her hearing more than her speed in comprehending unfamiliar theory. The first few lines of the verse became a capella, for Sigfrid sat in deep concentration, knowing that there was still the rest of the verse for Smella to complete. Though she had no name for this, she recognized the key pitches in the melody that should be accented, and which string it matched. In knowing that, she knew which other strings would match the harmony when played together. This of course, only worked alright with the verse, lightly peppered as it was with the sound of her harp. However, when it came to the chorus, Sigfrid was momentarily at a loss. This manner of accompaniment would not do for a climaxing part of the song, though she did try to play the strings louder and more frequently for the first few lines. Worse of all, this was not a piece meant to be followed with the sound of a harp, or at least, this sort of chord accompaniment. It felt lacking to say the least, but she did her best to match each section of music, allowing her harp to be carried by the Swan's impressive voice. Since the song had some repeated parts, Sigfrid had some time to observe, finding her eyes drift toward the songstress.

It was a mistake to say their voices were similar for hers had a clarity in tone, smoother texture and a higher range than the Ethaefal. If anything, she had much to learn from her, a thought that was surprisingly easy to welcome. She was not one to hold grudges despite her easily riled anger, already forgiving the woman in her mind. Instead she took this precious time to watch the singer closely, observing the rhythm in which she took her breaths, the hands that overlayed under her bosom that seemed to steady the air and the way she sometimes freed one hand to make a sweeping gesture that not only matched the music but rose and fell with the pitch, as though it were also an aid. In some time, the trauma finally ended, albeit shorter than expected much to Sigfrid's surprise. She thought Smella would take as much time on the floor as possible, but it appears that this would be yet another one of her preconceptions that were wrong. Smella - Stella may be worthy of her title after all.

The patrons clapped, finding little fault in the performance as most were unaware of the details of the music. Even those who had heard this song performed before found it enjoyable, thinking it to be a different (and strange) rendition of the song to which they were not exactly mistaken. She found some relief in their appreciation, soaking up the small applause with a courteous smile, finding the attention both lovely and unwarranted. Thankful for the chance to escape, Sigfrid took a small bow beside Stella before exiting the spotlight, returning the table she previously occupied.

Meanwhile, a server in charge of clean up approached Snouit's table. Unaware of the Pycon's presence, he lifted watermelon and lime drink from the table, his washcloth at the ready to wipe down the table.

[Snouit]

OOCApologies for the delay. One moment, he was watching the performance, wide eyed with wonder at the Swan's presence. She seemed to conduct with her hands, not only the music, but also the room. With her upward gesture, the Pycon found himself wanting to rise to his feet, and just as eager was he to fall back with her when she pulled the music down. The background music was just that- in the background. He paid little attention to anything but the enchantment that the singer brought. Perhaps Snouit should have paid attention, however. Then he may have seen the hand ready to wash down his table as he sat in silent awe of the Swan. Had he paid attention, he might have felt the wetness as the server picked up his drink, causing the condensation to run all over the table. He may have even felt the breeze as the man brought his cloth to the table and began to scrub at a small, single stain. But he didn't pay attention at all. Instead, Snouit found himself jumping up at the last second, calling out as loudly as he could to attract attention. "Hey! No, I'm here! See!" He even jumped up and down on his short little legs, doing his very best to look conspicuous. The server halted, frowning at the loud interruption. When his eyes landed on Snouit, a thin layer of blush ran over his cheeks. "I'm...very sorry, sir. My apologies. Was this your drink?" Snouit crossed his clay arms. "It was, but I don't need it anymore. I'm done." Hopping down from the table, onto the chair, and then sliding down its leg to the floor, Snouit finally landed upon the ground with a minute grunt. "Should I walk you to the door, sir?" It was a kind offer (there was a very real danger of being stepped on as patrons left the performance) but Snouit waved it off. "I'll be fine." He insisted, "I want to go up and talk to Stella Swan anyway. Uh, if that's okay." "Of course." The server nodded and walked back to the bar, head hung low with embarrassment as he carried the drink. Snouit, on the other hand, headed the opposite direction, fighting through crowds of shoes to find his way to Stella Swan. After many ticks of trying to fight the crowds in an already in a frustrated mood, Snouit gave up and tugged on the pant leg of a nearby woman. "Hello? Sorry to bother you, but do you think you could lift me up so I could see where I'm going, by any chance?"