Humming... was that humming?
Images and sensations flashed... glasses of rum, laughter, burns in the throat, couerl-print tops, then golden eyes and red hair and cheers and the screech of table legs on stone floors and a soft, soft touch...
And humming. No, not quite humming. Buzzing? No, buzzing, flies, bees, chigoes, those were grating, but this was... soothing. Mmm. Like a soft blanket to the ears... like a soft touch to the cheek, like...
Purring. That was it, purring. That would explain...
His eyes bolted open, though there was not much to see in the darkness of the room. Their room. Mostly hers, really, but he was slowly, gradually, coming to see it as a little bit of his, for after all, he'd spent more nights here than he's spent in, well, any one place since... since he'd taken up the idea of becoming a paragon of Oschon, to put a sacred task to the rather profane life of being a wandering bard.
The bed was soft under him, softer than he perhaps had any right to have, or had ever expected to want to have; it was one of those rounded canopy beds popular among the more successful merchants of Gridania. It wasn't the sort of bed he'd grown up sleeping in at all, and the warmth and soft breathing he could both hear and sense beside him were, likewise, not what he'd grown up accustomed to, nor what he'd expected to find when, alone and determined, he'd simply walked away from the Outer Shroud with nothing more than clothes, a lute and some rather bitter determination to help him follow roads and stars.
The purring, also, the purring was also... all right, it was not entirely new.
"Hello, Minuet," he whispered, and reached up to lightly scratch under the chin of the black kitten that had climbed up his bare shoulder with soft paws, to nuzzle and purr at his cheek, and which was biting at his disheveled hair.
The kitten had every right to be there, of course. The little thing seemed to have a penchant for finding him every time he'd come to the city. Maybe it was because he'd slipped the creature a bit of salmon that one night, and had treated the little beast like a surrogate companion enough times, but he'd thought nothing of it, really; it was a happy wanderer, as was he. But then, he'd not been so alone anymore, and the little furball had come stepping up one night, after a show, when the lovely white witch and himself had been relaxing... and with a mew pitiful enough to shake a primal's heart, the black kitten at once found herself a new home and a new name, and had taken to becoming the official mascot of the budding duet.
"Hungry, are you? Now, where does she keep your treats..."
He turned on the bed as softly as he could, and let his bare feet fall to the rug, pushing gently to get to his feet, wiping his eyes. There was just enough moonlight slipping into the window to light a dim path to the desk in the room's far corner.
The bard padded his way softly across the floor, and to the desk, where there was somewhere within a little pack of dried fish. That the kitten knew this already was obvious enough, for there was plenty of light for its eyes, and it padded around him, nuzzling his calves, purring loudly. His lute, to, laid upon the desk, as if keeping a vigil upon this part of the room.
He opened a drawer, and heard the crinkle; he pulled out a small piece of the fish, snagged his lute, and plodded over to sit on the rounded, cushioned chair in the other corner, the one whose upholstery matched the bed. The kitten scampered immediately behind him, and set its paws upon his shin, sniffing, with all the persistent looks and mews that the gods had granted to keep such beasts in the graces of Eorzea's races.
"Enjoy," he whispered, and tossed her the morsel. Minuet spun, purrs growing even louder, and proceeded to chomp at her treat.
He took a long breath, and stretched out, taking a look around the moonlit room. Irony, such irony... for days, they'd been rehearsing a performance for the glory of Oschon, now but a few suns away, and it was not lost on him how his own goals had... well, if not changed, really, adapted. She had such a good voice, and had taken well to the harp, and when he sung with her, it was as if a piece of his youth had been given back to him, a tiny sample of his troupe lived on, summoned by and echoed in their harmonizing. Perhaps it was a slight betrayal, but still, they wandered about, seeing the world, as he'd wanted to; in fact, as soon as the next performance was done, they would be off to Coerthas, to entertain the stoics there, and to fulfill her dream of seeing castles and spires and knightly displays, snow or no snow. They were becoming a troupe of two, one more occasionally finding itself in the city, true, but still... if it had first felt strange, with every song, it had begun to feel more... more right.
He didn't know whether to laugh at himself as a fool, or to embrace it as simply more foolishness. Wisdom, even for himself, had never been his strong point.
He glanced down at the kitten, which was still noisily gnawing at its tasty acquisition, and whispered. "Quiet, you scamp, or you'll wake up..."
The clearing of a throat was audible from the bed.
He peered into the darkened corner, and could see enough, the shapely form sitting up in the bed, watching them. He couldn't see her face clearly, but he was sure he sensed a smile.
His fingers fell to the lute, in what was surely a betrayal of all desire to be quiet, and seemed to start playing on their own. Perhaps they knew his mind better than he did, and his voice, soft yet bass in the relative quiet, followed their instinct. It wasn't their song to Oschon... but to the god's bride.
"I stop to see the horizon glow at Swiftperch, where the spires of Limsa lie across the bay
There's light still showing warm from the remnants of the last campfire of a wanderin' day
They say you're never truly alone here, with the stars in thousands watching from above
And in that thought… I take… in my comforts, but by those lingering embers, sometimes I think of love.
I ask aloud,
Menphina, how many times will I fall for it?
Forget it come sunrise, but by moonrise, I'm all for it.
And an evening like this one.... seems to call..... for it.
I have roamed around the world, hoping I can find that girl,
The one I can't ignore... or maybe I will.
When you see walls of Uldah for the first time, you'll never wonder why you came this way
Where only stone and a thousand years of history are protecting everyone from the burning day
I stop in for a drink from the Quicksand, and I toss a smile at the lady behind the bar
She smiles at me as if she's got the knowing, of why with whom we want to be, is so rarely where we are.
I wonder now,
Menphina, how many times will I fall for it?
Forget it come sunrise, but by moonrise, I'm all for it.
And an evening like this one.... seems to call..... for it.
I have roamed around the world, hoping I can find that girl,
The one I can't ignore... maybe I will... Oh, maybe I will.
Soon, I'll see the endless tops of the Twelveswood, and I may be from there, but it's not quite home.
For among the woods it's too easy to miss the sunrise, which tells me every day when it's time to roam.
And though the memories are thicker than the thickets, I doubt that I will linger here for long.
For soon the moon will be showing through the canopy, and all that I have to offer her, is a solitary song.
Goddess, tell me now,
Menphina, how many times will I fall for it?
Forget it come sunrise, but by moonrise, I'm all for it.
And an evening like this one simply seems to call..... for it.
I will roam around the world, hoping I might find that girl
The one I can't ignore... maybe I will. Love knows, if I will.
Images and sensations flashed... glasses of rum, laughter, burns in the throat, couerl-print tops, then golden eyes and red hair and cheers and the screech of table legs on stone floors and a soft, soft touch...
And humming. No, not quite humming. Buzzing? No, buzzing, flies, bees, chigoes, those were grating, but this was... soothing. Mmm. Like a soft blanket to the ears... like a soft touch to the cheek, like...
Purring. That was it, purring. That would explain...
His eyes bolted open, though there was not much to see in the darkness of the room. Their room. Mostly hers, really, but he was slowly, gradually, coming to see it as a little bit of his, for after all, he'd spent more nights here than he's spent in, well, any one place since... since he'd taken up the idea of becoming a paragon of Oschon, to put a sacred task to the rather profane life of being a wandering bard.
The bed was soft under him, softer than he perhaps had any right to have, or had ever expected to want to have; it was one of those rounded canopy beds popular among the more successful merchants of Gridania. It wasn't the sort of bed he'd grown up sleeping in at all, and the warmth and soft breathing he could both hear and sense beside him were, likewise, not what he'd grown up accustomed to, nor what he'd expected to find when, alone and determined, he'd simply walked away from the Outer Shroud with nothing more than clothes, a lute and some rather bitter determination to help him follow roads and stars.
The purring, also, the purring was also... all right, it was not entirely new.
"Hello, Minuet," he whispered, and reached up to lightly scratch under the chin of the black kitten that had climbed up his bare shoulder with soft paws, to nuzzle and purr at his cheek, and which was biting at his disheveled hair.
The kitten had every right to be there, of course. The little thing seemed to have a penchant for finding him every time he'd come to the city. Maybe it was because he'd slipped the creature a bit of salmon that one night, and had treated the little beast like a surrogate companion enough times, but he'd thought nothing of it, really; it was a happy wanderer, as was he. But then, he'd not been so alone anymore, and the little furball had come stepping up one night, after a show, when the lovely white witch and himself had been relaxing... and with a mew pitiful enough to shake a primal's heart, the black kitten at once found herself a new home and a new name, and had taken to becoming the official mascot of the budding duet.
"Hungry, are you? Now, where does she keep your treats..."
He turned on the bed as softly as he could, and let his bare feet fall to the rug, pushing gently to get to his feet, wiping his eyes. There was just enough moonlight slipping into the window to light a dim path to the desk in the room's far corner.
The bard padded his way softly across the floor, and to the desk, where there was somewhere within a little pack of dried fish. That the kitten knew this already was obvious enough, for there was plenty of light for its eyes, and it padded around him, nuzzling his calves, purring loudly. His lute, to, laid upon the desk, as if keeping a vigil upon this part of the room.
He opened a drawer, and heard the crinkle; he pulled out a small piece of the fish, snagged his lute, and plodded over to sit on the rounded, cushioned chair in the other corner, the one whose upholstery matched the bed. The kitten scampered immediately behind him, and set its paws upon his shin, sniffing, with all the persistent looks and mews that the gods had granted to keep such beasts in the graces of Eorzea's races.
"Enjoy," he whispered, and tossed her the morsel. Minuet spun, purrs growing even louder, and proceeded to chomp at her treat.
He took a long breath, and stretched out, taking a look around the moonlit room. Irony, such irony... for days, they'd been rehearsing a performance for the glory of Oschon, now but a few suns away, and it was not lost on him how his own goals had... well, if not changed, really, adapted. She had such a good voice, and had taken well to the harp, and when he sung with her, it was as if a piece of his youth had been given back to him, a tiny sample of his troupe lived on, summoned by and echoed in their harmonizing. Perhaps it was a slight betrayal, but still, they wandered about, seeing the world, as he'd wanted to; in fact, as soon as the next performance was done, they would be off to Coerthas, to entertain the stoics there, and to fulfill her dream of seeing castles and spires and knightly displays, snow or no snow. They were becoming a troupe of two, one more occasionally finding itself in the city, true, but still... if it had first felt strange, with every song, it had begun to feel more... more right.
He didn't know whether to laugh at himself as a fool, or to embrace it as simply more foolishness. Wisdom, even for himself, had never been his strong point.
He glanced down at the kitten, which was still noisily gnawing at its tasty acquisition, and whispered. "Quiet, you scamp, or you'll wake up..."
The clearing of a throat was audible from the bed.
He peered into the darkened corner, and could see enough, the shapely form sitting up in the bed, watching them. He couldn't see her face clearly, but he was sure he sensed a smile.
His fingers fell to the lute, in what was surely a betrayal of all desire to be quiet, and seemed to start playing on their own. Perhaps they knew his mind better than he did, and his voice, soft yet bass in the relative quiet, followed their instinct. It wasn't their song to Oschon... but to the god's bride.
"I stop to see the horizon glow at Swiftperch, where the spires of Limsa lie across the bay
There's light still showing warm from the remnants of the last campfire of a wanderin' day
They say you're never truly alone here, with the stars in thousands watching from above
And in that thought… I take… in my comforts, but by those lingering embers, sometimes I think of love.
I ask aloud,
Menphina, how many times will I fall for it?
Forget it come sunrise, but by moonrise, I'm all for it.
And an evening like this one.... seems to call..... for it.
I have roamed around the world, hoping I can find that girl,
The one I can't ignore... or maybe I will.
When you see walls of Uldah for the first time, you'll never wonder why you came this way
Where only stone and a thousand years of history are protecting everyone from the burning day
I stop in for a drink from the Quicksand, and I toss a smile at the lady behind the bar
She smiles at me as if she's got the knowing, of why with whom we want to be, is so rarely where we are.
I wonder now,
Menphina, how many times will I fall for it?
Forget it come sunrise, but by moonrise, I'm all for it.
And an evening like this one.... seems to call..... for it.
I have roamed around the world, hoping I can find that girl,
The one I can't ignore... maybe I will... Oh, maybe I will.
Soon, I'll see the endless tops of the Twelveswood, and I may be from there, but it's not quite home.
For among the woods it's too easy to miss the sunrise, which tells me every day when it's time to roam.
And though the memories are thicker than the thickets, I doubt that I will linger here for long.
For soon the moon will be showing through the canopy, and all that I have to offer her, is a solitary song.
Goddess, tell me now,
Menphina, how many times will I fall for it?
Forget it come sunrise, but by moonrise, I'm all for it.
And an evening like this one simply seems to call..... for it.
I will roam around the world, hoping I might find that girl
The one I can't ignore... maybe I will. Love knows, if I will.
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."