Shadows 9.1
Mar. 14th, 2007 12:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
measured_wordsThis is beta stage - I need ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
longpig's approval on my Piove portrayal before I can consider it official :)
ETA: Approved, but apparently it needs more Piove! She's still around, I asy. Also it helps if I can remember the right ship names...
Shadows 9
Leo was pleased with himself. The Swift-as-a-Fox had anchored the day before, and Captain Triskin had allowed a bit of shore leave while she and the other officers squared things with the locals. It was nice going onto a Southern port. Between the government and the yaks there was always at least a day delay before any of their cargo could get moved. His watch had drawn the lot for first leave, and that was when his luck had started to improve.
He’d lost his pay gambling with Mr. Hallock – the captain’s mate as he was called when the quarterdeck crew was out of earshot. Despite the fact that he always won, there was always a place at the table for him, be it cards, dice, or anything else. Losing to Mr. Hallock was no shame. He rarely sat in for more than a few rounds and was generally pretty generous with his access to the liquor cabinet. It was all in good fun, except Leo hadn’t managed to win anything back of his mates this time, and found himself bumming around the waterfront with no coin and nothing worth doing.
Now, in a twist of fate, he just might get to be the luckiest man on the crew. It was a clear sunny day and there’d been a deep red sunset the night before. His prospects looked good. Leo approached the cabin, hat in hand, and knocked.
The door snatched open in a second and there she stood, frowning slightly. Her clothing was airy – a wispy skirt of white and yellow silk and a midriff-baring top to match that was all flowing sleeves and décolletage. Her blonde hair spilled across her shoulders as she tossed her head. She smiled then, unconcerned or unaware of the effect this had on the flustered sailor who stood before her door.
“Ooh!” she chirped, “a present already?”
“Um,” managed Leo. He was first – that was good news. Everyone on the crew brought her offerings even if it wasn’t exactly encouraged. She was their luck: their personal goddess. But Leo didn’t have anything concrete to give her. “No. I, that is, I don’t have… I saw something?”
“What?” Piove blinked in confusion. Leo shuffled his feet, feeling a flush spread across his face and preying his weathered skin wouldn’t expose his embarrassment.
“I heard something. Something for you to hear.”
“Then why did *you* hear it?”
He crumpled his hat in his hands. How suave! “I mean… I think you’d like it.”
“Oh?” She rested a finger on her chin, curious. Leo floundered on.
“There’s this cripple who plays music. At the dock markets. Elf songs, they say. Everyone knows you don’t much like the South…”
“I don’t like Southern*ers*,” she corrected, pouting beautifully. “They’re stuffy and mean!”
“Um… right. The songs though. I though you’d like ‘em. Maybe you could dance?”
“Southerners don’t like dancing.” The breeze picked up around them, and she cocked her head as if listening to something.
He ducked his head. This wasn’t going as well as he hoped. “Well… lots of folk here aren’t Southern. We like your dancing plenty! And if the Elf music has caught on, maybe the dancing will go better?” Leo wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get that all out with those butterflies churning around in his gut, but Piove smiled sunnily after brief consideration.
“Okay! They’ll like my dancing…. Or else!” She punched the air. Leo froze, wondering if he hadn’t gotten himself into too much trouble with this proposition.
Matteo almost hadn’t found the energy to make it out for the morning crowd. The market-goers weren’t always as generous as the sailors who rambled through drunkenly on their way to and from their ships at night, but they were also less likely to harass him. He mightn’t have bothered, except that there had been fresh rumors circulating that some Northern ships had come in late the night before.
His presence was mostly tolerated by the market regulars, except when he attracted too large a crowd and it slowed down traffic. He set up on a low stool, just off the crossroads upwind of the fish stalls. This area got the most passers-through, but he couldn’t stand to be any closer. The smell was too overwhelming, especially since he still couldn’t manage solid food and went hungry much of the time.
Chiyo had gotten him help form her Order once they’d reached cities with larger eta populations. By that point, he’d barely been conscious an hour or two a day, and counted himself lucky not to have been dumped in a ditch somewhere along the road. The clerics of the Order of Repose had used spells to break his addiction and helped restore some of his lost strength, but he was still crippled, malnourished, and weak. He barely recognized his own reflection – a dirty, disfigured, rail thin man blinked back at him with one dull green eye. The other, when not covered to keep out the light, was a cloudy yellowish brow. His skin was also an unhealthy sallow colour. His hair and nails were brittle and dull.
His body was covered in small scars, the worst of which were on his hands where Geron had passed the bolts through flesh and bone to hang him from a tree. He couldn’t even wear gloves to hide the damage – the empty fingers just drew attention. At least the mess on his right leg was easy to cover up. He was lucky his fact hadn’t scarred worse, but Geron had used a sharp knife there. Chiyo’s spells had helped ensure that there was nothing but a network of thin nearly invisible lines. He’d learned to live with the wheezing and mysterious chest pain that sometimes seized him.
On his more optimistic days, he liked to think he wasn’t doing too badly for an ugly mute bard. He’d definitely gotten better with the lute, and had learned to compensate for his own physical limitations and the idiosyncrasies of instrument at his disposal. If his communication with Volaris was more sporadic of late, it was because the Court Wizard was more convinced that he would be alright. The Loyalists would get him back and take care of him. He just had other business requiring his attention and energies. That was all. They hadn’t forgotten him.
His Local support was growing a little thin as well. With no contact from the Loyalists he couldn’t follow through on his promises of money for getting him safely to the coast. There was a huge eta mura outside the capital, but Genming in particular seemed keen to get away from Shiroeki. With limited ability to communicate, tensions were unsurprisingly mounting. Qiu and Minsheng kept talking about trying to stow away on a ship bound for Nampung where social prejudice was at least nominally outlawed. Chiyo seemed unsure of the prospect, but Genming insisted that whether or not they would be accepted there, they’d still need money if they wanted their lives to be any better. And then he’d look to Matteo.
There wasn’t much else he could be doing. He’d tried to leave messages at the Inn Volaris had indicated, but the owners didn’t seem too impressed with his presence and he had no confidence that anything he left would get passed along. It was a bright and sunny day, at least. If nothing else, he might have a chance to learn something about the newly arrived ships. He laid down his staff, unslung lute and stool, and set up for another day of earning his dinner.
It took a while to get down to the markets where Leo had heard the performer the night before. The strains of music drifting their way told him he was on the right track. The difficulty was maintaining Piove’s interest. He’d almost given up. If he wanted her regard it would be easier just to save his coins and stay away from the card tables until he could shell out for something really special. Her favour was fleeting anyway. She couldn’t even bother to remember the names of people she’d sword were her best friends – or worst enemies – the day before. Only a select few seemed capable of making any lasting impression. But even a day of her attention…. Now, for instance, she smiled like spring sunshine, and Leo felt his heart melt into a puddle.
“I know this song!” She hummed along, tracing out the melody in Elven when the market sounds drowned out the distant lute.
~Depuis l’aurore du jour je l’attends, celui que j’aime, que mon coeur aime…~
Leo led her around the long way, avoiding the louder and smelly areas close to the fishmongers. He didn’t want to spoil her mood with anything unpleasant. She had such a forceful presence and radiated such an innocent joy that those they passed couldn’t help but stop and smile. Some of them even smiled at Leo. He basked in her presence.
There was a small crowd gathered at the crossroads. He’d switched to a song Piove was less familiar with, but she still skipped and spun as the mood struck her, humming harmonies she made up as she went along. Soon there were as many people watching her impromptu performance as gathered to listen to the music. Someone in the crowd threw her some flowers.
“Make him play something dancey-er!” she commanded.
Leo stepped up to comply, shouldering his way through to the minstrel. There were a few others, all men, who’d come up to relay her demand, and he frowned. She was with him. Sort of, anyway. The crippled lutist was peering curiously into the throng before him to catch sight of the excitement. Leo cleared his throat, interrupting the others. “Piove wants you to play something with a better beat for dancing.”
The man’s eye was on him I an instant, an unreadable expression on his dirty face. He nodded, striking a new chord as he stood carefully. The crowd let him pass, limping forward with furrowed brow to a spot where he could see. Leo didn’t recognize the song he played, but the melody seemed to be made for her. She sang along, her clear Elven voice ringing through the street as she danced. One song blended into the next as the crowd grew. People threw coins and other favours at both artists. Someone had brought over the cripple’s stool, and he was sitting again, seemingly as enthralled by Piove as everyone else. Leo beamed. It was a beautiful thing, and he’d had no small part in making it happen. Even Sir Valentine might be jealous!
It couldn’t last.
The song changed for the third or fourth time and she hesitated after a few bars, stepping towards her accompanist.
“Hey! How do you know that song?”
He looked at her with an almost desperate expression, and reached out to take Piove’s hand.
She snatched it back, then slapped him. “Ew. Don’t touch me, you’re gross!” She stepped back, fists on her hips. He started to open his mouth, but she turned her head and wrinkled her nose. The crowd, Leo included, shifted uneasily. “And didn’t your mother tell you that it’s rude to stare?”
He had the grace to look away briefly, and Piove snatched up a copper piece, repeating a few short arcane words. Leo held his breath, but she only frowned more. There was a definite chill in the air.
“You’re creepy. And ugly. And a jerk.” She scanned the crowed and pushed a finger towards Leo. “Come on, sailor. We’re leaving.”
longpig's approval on my Piove portrayal before I can consider it official :)ETA: Approved, but apparently it needs more Piove! She's still around, I asy. Also it helps if I can remember the right ship names...
Shadows 9
Leo was pleased with himself. The Swift-as-a-Fox had anchored the day before, and Captain Triskin had allowed a bit of shore leave while she and the other officers squared things with the locals. It was nice going onto a Southern port. Between the government and the yaks there was always at least a day delay before any of their cargo could get moved. His watch had drawn the lot for first leave, and that was when his luck had started to improve.
He’d lost his pay gambling with Mr. Hallock – the captain’s mate as he was called when the quarterdeck crew was out of earshot. Despite the fact that he always won, there was always a place at the table for him, be it cards, dice, or anything else. Losing to Mr. Hallock was no shame. He rarely sat in for more than a few rounds and was generally pretty generous with his access to the liquor cabinet. It was all in good fun, except Leo hadn’t managed to win anything back of his mates this time, and found himself bumming around the waterfront with no coin and nothing worth doing.
Now, in a twist of fate, he just might get to be the luckiest man on the crew. It was a clear sunny day and there’d been a deep red sunset the night before. His prospects looked good. Leo approached the cabin, hat in hand, and knocked.
The door snatched open in a second and there she stood, frowning slightly. Her clothing was airy – a wispy skirt of white and yellow silk and a midriff-baring top to match that was all flowing sleeves and décolletage. Her blonde hair spilled across her shoulders as she tossed her head. She smiled then, unconcerned or unaware of the effect this had on the flustered sailor who stood before her door.
“Ooh!” she chirped, “a present already?”
“Um,” managed Leo. He was first – that was good news. Everyone on the crew brought her offerings even if it wasn’t exactly encouraged. She was their luck: their personal goddess. But Leo didn’t have anything concrete to give her. “No. I, that is, I don’t have… I saw something?”
“What?” Piove blinked in confusion. Leo shuffled his feet, feeling a flush spread across his face and preying his weathered skin wouldn’t expose his embarrassment.
“I heard something. Something for you to hear.”
“Then why did *you* hear it?”
He crumpled his hat in his hands. How suave! “I mean… I think you’d like it.”
“Oh?” She rested a finger on her chin, curious. Leo floundered on.
“There’s this cripple who plays music. At the dock markets. Elf songs, they say. Everyone knows you don’t much like the South…”
“I don’t like Southern*ers*,” she corrected, pouting beautifully. “They’re stuffy and mean!”
“Um… right. The songs though. I though you’d like ‘em. Maybe you could dance?”
“Southerners don’t like dancing.” The breeze picked up around them, and she cocked her head as if listening to something.
He ducked his head. This wasn’t going as well as he hoped. “Well… lots of folk here aren’t Southern. We like your dancing plenty! And if the Elf music has caught on, maybe the dancing will go better?” Leo wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get that all out with those butterflies churning around in his gut, but Piove smiled sunnily after brief consideration.
“Okay! They’ll like my dancing…. Or else!” She punched the air. Leo froze, wondering if he hadn’t gotten himself into too much trouble with this proposition.
Matteo almost hadn’t found the energy to make it out for the morning crowd. The market-goers weren’t always as generous as the sailors who rambled through drunkenly on their way to and from their ships at night, but they were also less likely to harass him. He mightn’t have bothered, except that there had been fresh rumors circulating that some Northern ships had come in late the night before.
His presence was mostly tolerated by the market regulars, except when he attracted too large a crowd and it slowed down traffic. He set up on a low stool, just off the crossroads upwind of the fish stalls. This area got the most passers-through, but he couldn’t stand to be any closer. The smell was too overwhelming, especially since he still couldn’t manage solid food and went hungry much of the time.
Chiyo had gotten him help form her Order once they’d reached cities with larger eta populations. By that point, he’d barely been conscious an hour or two a day, and counted himself lucky not to have been dumped in a ditch somewhere along the road. The clerics of the Order of Repose had used spells to break his addiction and helped restore some of his lost strength, but he was still crippled, malnourished, and weak. He barely recognized his own reflection – a dirty, disfigured, rail thin man blinked back at him with one dull green eye. The other, when not covered to keep out the light, was a cloudy yellowish brow. His skin was also an unhealthy sallow colour. His hair and nails were brittle and dull.
His body was covered in small scars, the worst of which were on his hands where Geron had passed the bolts through flesh and bone to hang him from a tree. He couldn’t even wear gloves to hide the damage – the empty fingers just drew attention. At least the mess on his right leg was easy to cover up. He was lucky his fact hadn’t scarred worse, but Geron had used a sharp knife there. Chiyo’s spells had helped ensure that there was nothing but a network of thin nearly invisible lines. He’d learned to live with the wheezing and mysterious chest pain that sometimes seized him.
On his more optimistic days, he liked to think he wasn’t doing too badly for an ugly mute bard. He’d definitely gotten better with the lute, and had learned to compensate for his own physical limitations and the idiosyncrasies of instrument at his disposal. If his communication with Volaris was more sporadic of late, it was because the Court Wizard was more convinced that he would be alright. The Loyalists would get him back and take care of him. He just had other business requiring his attention and energies. That was all. They hadn’t forgotten him.
His Local support was growing a little thin as well. With no contact from the Loyalists he couldn’t follow through on his promises of money for getting him safely to the coast. There was a huge eta mura outside the capital, but Genming in particular seemed keen to get away from Shiroeki. With limited ability to communicate, tensions were unsurprisingly mounting. Qiu and Minsheng kept talking about trying to stow away on a ship bound for Nampung where social prejudice was at least nominally outlawed. Chiyo seemed unsure of the prospect, but Genming insisted that whether or not they would be accepted there, they’d still need money if they wanted their lives to be any better. And then he’d look to Matteo.
There wasn’t much else he could be doing. He’d tried to leave messages at the Inn Volaris had indicated, but the owners didn’t seem too impressed with his presence and he had no confidence that anything he left would get passed along. It was a bright and sunny day, at least. If nothing else, he might have a chance to learn something about the newly arrived ships. He laid down his staff, unslung lute and stool, and set up for another day of earning his dinner.
It took a while to get down to the markets where Leo had heard the performer the night before. The strains of music drifting their way told him he was on the right track. The difficulty was maintaining Piove’s interest. He’d almost given up. If he wanted her regard it would be easier just to save his coins and stay away from the card tables until he could shell out for something really special. Her favour was fleeting anyway. She couldn’t even bother to remember the names of people she’d sword were her best friends – or worst enemies – the day before. Only a select few seemed capable of making any lasting impression. But even a day of her attention…. Now, for instance, she smiled like spring sunshine, and Leo felt his heart melt into a puddle.
“I know this song!” She hummed along, tracing out the melody in Elven when the market sounds drowned out the distant lute.
~Depuis l’aurore du jour je l’attends, celui que j’aime, que mon coeur aime…~
Leo led her around the long way, avoiding the louder and smelly areas close to the fishmongers. He didn’t want to spoil her mood with anything unpleasant. She had such a forceful presence and radiated such an innocent joy that those they passed couldn’t help but stop and smile. Some of them even smiled at Leo. He basked in her presence.
There was a small crowd gathered at the crossroads. He’d switched to a song Piove was less familiar with, but she still skipped and spun as the mood struck her, humming harmonies she made up as she went along. Soon there were as many people watching her impromptu performance as gathered to listen to the music. Someone in the crowd threw her some flowers.
“Make him play something dancey-er!” she commanded.
Leo stepped up to comply, shouldering his way through to the minstrel. There were a few others, all men, who’d come up to relay her demand, and he frowned. She was with him. Sort of, anyway. The crippled lutist was peering curiously into the throng before him to catch sight of the excitement. Leo cleared his throat, interrupting the others. “Piove wants you to play something with a better beat for dancing.”
The man’s eye was on him I an instant, an unreadable expression on his dirty face. He nodded, striking a new chord as he stood carefully. The crowd let him pass, limping forward with furrowed brow to a spot where he could see. Leo didn’t recognize the song he played, but the melody seemed to be made for her. She sang along, her clear Elven voice ringing through the street as she danced. One song blended into the next as the crowd grew. People threw coins and other favours at both artists. Someone had brought over the cripple’s stool, and he was sitting again, seemingly as enthralled by Piove as everyone else. Leo beamed. It was a beautiful thing, and he’d had no small part in making it happen. Even Sir Valentine might be jealous!
It couldn’t last.
The song changed for the third or fourth time and she hesitated after a few bars, stepping towards her accompanist.
“Hey! How do you know that song?”
He looked at her with an almost desperate expression, and reached out to take Piove’s hand.
She snatched it back, then slapped him. “Ew. Don’t touch me, you’re gross!” She stepped back, fists on her hips. He started to open his mouth, but she turned her head and wrinkled her nose. The crowd, Leo included, shifted uneasily. “And didn’t your mother tell you that it’s rude to stare?”
He had the grace to look away briefly, and Piove snatched up a copper piece, repeating a few short arcane words. Leo held his breath, but she only frowned more. There was a definite chill in the air.
“You’re creepy. And ugly. And a jerk.” She scanned the crowed and pushed a finger towards Leo. “Come on, sailor. We’re leaving.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-03-14 01:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-14 02:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-14 03:41 pm (UTC)*does not confess that she seekritly searches each installment for her character's name before reading*
no subject
Date: 2007-03-14 03:49 pm (UTC)