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Telluride · **03-16-2015, 08:42 PM**

Timing is everything, he thought to himself.

The thought jarred him, and he shifted on the mattress, blinking in the dark, and sighing in brief content at the softness of the mattress beneath him; it molded to his shoulders, though there was a dip in the left side of it, warmer than the right. That was as it should have been; he could hear the light breathing of the figure next to him, which, apparently, was now the benefactor of almost the entire bedspread. He smiled, unseen, for that, too was fine; the cool air was what he preferred at the moment, pulling the night's heat from his skin. Twelve bless the Ruby Carbuncle for not only hosting a rollicking night of drinking, but for having such a decadent and delightful hot spring, and perfectly comfortable beds. Too damnably comfortable, maybe, for a man who had slept on the ground more than most people sat on it.

But yes, timing. If he'd acted ten minutes faster, last night, he might have won himself a little monkey pet and the pink cap of the Carnival King, but time waits for no man, no matter what a protected fool he might be. He'd have performed a little dance and ditty inspired by the sublime silliness of the storyteller's session, which still rolled through his head like a stormcloud, keeping him from relaxing:

"You've seen the rest, now watch the best, and clap your hands at my behest...

So sing along and give a chance to the Frantic Sticky Marmot Dance!

Pink Sorceresses are fun to chase, but they'll summon waffles to your place...

And you, my friends, would also dance, when you're covered entire with spiders and ants!

So now before I spread my wings, and run off to find tastier things,

I offer you all this one last chance, to join in the Sticky Marmot Dance!"

Gods, the little ditty would not stop. He glanced to his side, trying to make out the form of his companion, but it was still too dark to make her out clearly. No matter; she still breathed peacefully. He reached out and rubbed a lock of her hair between his fingers, taking pleasure at the sensation. Her hair still carried the scent of spring water and light traces of the ash that once was his hat, which was now safely burned, hopefully having carried away with it his poor luck at the drinking contest. With any luck, that rowdy highland woman would cease to pester him with her need for revenge, though he felt a pang at the idea of the blind female harassing the contest's winner.

The ditty continued echoing through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, pulled a pillow over his head. No change. He sighed, once and deeply, and pushed himself from the bed, naked in the darkness. His partner did not stir more than to take a deeper breath of her own. It sounded happy, and pouty, both at once.

The little chair in the corner seemed twice as far in the darkness as it should have been, but a cool draft there welcomed him no less than would a host of angels. He sat, feeling the air waft over his bare skin, much the opposite of the sensation of hot water and loud camaraderie in the downstairs springs, mere hours before.

He laid his head back, and found the back of the chair surprisingly comfortable. He swallowed; the air was just as cool and comforting in his throat.

Something had to combat that damned song in his head.

He started humming to himself, hopefully too soft to be heard, mentally reciting instead a song he had written for himself, and sympathetic audiences, a moon ago, a smooth and lilting tune:

"There once was a day I was but a traveling man
The paths in the Shroud lead from where I used to stand
I'll never forget those days; I see them as clear as glass
With ramblers, and gamblers, that's how I spent my past

Some call me a fool, they say that it's just a dream
To think I can live in a series of idle schemes
But, love, if you ask me why, I'll throw a kiss and say goodbye
For this is my time, and I've already crossed the line.

I've learned to work the evening crowds
I can show them just how to feel
I'll drink rum cocktails all night long
And find a heart to steal
You all forgot all the heroes of the world
So, I'll take the name that I choose
If Uldah's Sultana can be three fulms tall,
Then I'm the King of Fools.

I'll show her the waltz, and hold her in passion's dance
To give her a taste of what she'll call true romance
I'll share all I know and love, if she can be kind
Libations, sensation, to bedevil the mind

I stride like an emperor, through alley and street
Lay charms on these ladies, languid and bittersweet
I go up when the sun goes down, play a tavern in every town
Make this world my own, every stop is a home, sweet home

I've learned to work the evening crowds
I can show them just how to feel
I'll drink rum cocktails all night long
And find a heart to steal
You all forgot all the heroes of the world
So, I'll take the name that I choose
If Uldah's Sultana can be three fulms tall,
Then I'm the King of Fools.

This is the night, when I'll be the leading man
I'll take one more drink as I approach the stand
I cried as I wrote this song, you'll understand if I play too long
This minstrel is free, to be what he wants to be

I've learned to work the evening crowds
I can show them just how to feel
I'll drink rum cocktails all night long
And find a heart to steal
You all forgot all the heroes of the world
So, I'll take the name that I choose
If Uldah's Sultana can be three fulms tall,
Then I'm the King of Fools."

Telluride · **06-11-2015, 12:02 PM**

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 thoughtâ€¦ I takeâ€¦ 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.

Telluride · **01-06-2016, 01:32 PM**

The world tilted as he bowed.

The room was packed with warm bodies dressed in splashes of colorful finery, all in motion, and he felt as much as heard their voices, the cheers flowing towards the stage like an incoming, rolling tide; roses and pink petals floated down in arcs from above.

He stood straight again, and realized that he didn't recognize the stage. There was a familiar chandelier above, a set of chairs in a completely clashing style off to one side, and timeworn, scuffed, carved-up tables in another corner, all looking familiar but not familiar together.

The voices weren't all directed towards him, either. A pair of paces before him stood a line of familiar hairstyles, blondes and reds and blacks and even a green. The people they were attached to had their backs to him, and were taking bows to the cheering, somehow insubstantial throng; the drifting petals found themselves lodged within locks, braids and tails, colors blending...

The vision, which he was certain must have once been sharp, became blurry, a smudged wash of moving, hazy hues. Only the sounds remained sharp, and as he squinted, trying to assign names or identities to splashes of color, a new sound became audible - a persistent, deep hum. The hum became louder, becoming at first reminiscent of the magitek engines he'd seen in Ishgard, but then less harsh and grating, and somehow comforting in the chaos of swirling color that the room was becoming, making him start to feel dizzy. Sprays of what must have been sparkling wines erupted from where the crowd must still be, dousing him and the band of people with him, forcing his eyes closed in reflex, but the liquid felt gritty, somehow...

... the haze of hues snapped into sharpness once more as his eyes opened again, and the air immediately felt cooler. Something still hummed in his ear and rasped wetly upon his cheek, but now it had form, and a name: Minuet. He was not standing, but reclined on his back, and the black kitten was licking at his face, purring.

He blinked thrice, chasing the morning grit from his eyes, and reached up to scritch the little creature between its ears. "Spoilsport," he said to her. The kitten arched her back, pushing her head against his attentive fingers, her little engine still murring.

He took the first deep breath of the morning, unwilling to move further. A green spread covered him, sandwiching him between itself and the matching green mattress underneath, and its persistent warmth lulled him more so than the cat's desire for attention.

The dream's impressions still floated behind his eyes, though. Accolades, adulation, some of his favorite things, but not all his. Shared. He might have been behind them, but he was not alone in them. The cheers had not been for him, not directly, but for... something larger, something that floated, loomed like an unseen pocket of comforting warmth to match the trapped and body-heated air comforting him.

For a moment, he could hear voices long lost, feel smiles long turned to ash and buried, but still real, somehow, still... yes. Where ash might fall, new grass, new growth, new trees and a new canopy might grow. The thought was as warm as the others. It wasn't a thing in itself as much as... something being filled: A hole, once gaping and open, was not so deep and wide as it once was.

The kitten nudged his nose with her own; the quick, cold contact made him startle a little, and then laugh. He didn't want to move. Gods, this felt good.

He peered to the window, caught the slant of sunlight illuminating the dust in the air. He blinked, and swallowed. He didn't want to move. It was dawn, like hundreds of others before it, yet... no paths beckoned. He didn't want to move.

But another sound pushed through his hazy, waking state. A splash, and a soft voice humming, just audible over the lick of tiny waves. He focused his eyes, and could see the hint of steam in the sunbeam, now. Ah, the tub...

He scritched the base of the kitten's tale. "I think it's time." He whispered. The kitten blinked at him, and hopped from his chest, giving a little impatient meow in her wake. Time. How long it felt since he'd started out, how many dawns had come and gone, and him with them, place to place, never actually going somewhere as much as away from wherever here was, with but stars and music and a tent for company. But one could not build anything, not a legacy, not a troupe, not a life, without some sort of foundation. Perhaps Oschon and Byregot were not antitheses, after all.

The soft hum resolved into something rhythmical, a sweet little singsong of a tune long known in the Shroud, rising from the unseen singer, hidden as the tub was behind screen and low wall, and resolved a dozen uncertainties at once. The song paused, and the voice behind it offered up a single word.

"Nathan?"
.......

Five minutes later, gold eyes, rimmed by a shade of green and framed by a head of hair the red of autumnal leaves, widened a little when a mostly-unclothed bard dragged a stool beside the edge of the tub. He covered his lips with one calloused finger, and touched her own lips with another. After a moment of stillness, he sat back, and the touch moved to the verdant gilt lute in his lap, letting tune and lyrics speak for him.

"Woke up in the mornin', and I looked up to the sun
Once, I would be on my way, but I think I might be done
I hear the paths a-calling, telling me to go my way
But there's a different call that's keeping me with you today

Can't help but play along, when I hear that special song
So I'm gonna see if I can get this right
Used to be gone with the sun, but you just might be the one
So you'll still have me around all through the night

'Cause I don't feel like wand'rin down those unknown paths today
My heart might feel that urge, but now it's tellin' me to stay
Oh, maybe we could find some shady lane where we could get away
But I don't feel like wand'rin, no ma'am, none of that today

Don't feel like wand'rin', wand'rin; I can see the sunrise fine from your room
Don't feel like wand'rin, wand'rin; don't need morning air when I smell your perfume
Don't feel like wand'rin, wand'rin; I'd rather stay in the bed for another dawn with you

In my time, I've walked about, through hamlet and empire
To sing and play from town to town was all I did aspire
It never mattered in the past just which road I would chose
But now there may be something that I can't afford to lose

Now, I can't pretend that I know how this will end
'Cause I've never set upon on this thoroughfare
But if it's the thing to do, let's try something really new
So that maybe we can build this as a pair

'Cause I don't feel like wand'rin down those unknown paths today
My heart might feel that urge, but now it's tellin' me to stay
Oh, maybe we could find some shady lane where we could get away
But I don't feel like wand'rin, no ma'am, none of that today

So let me linger with you yet, and play this song as a duet,
And my sun and stars be the bright ones in your eyes...

'Cause I don't feel like wand'rin down those unknown paths today
My heart might feel that urge, but now it's tellin' me to stay
Oh, maybe we could find some shady lane where we could get away
But I don't feel like wand'rin, no ma'am, none of that today

Don't feel like wand'rin', wand'rin; I can see the sunrise fine from your room
Don't feel like wand'rin, wand'rin; don't need morning air when I smell your perfume
Don't feel like wand'rin, wand'rin; I'd rather stay in the bed for another dawn with you"

-------------------------------------------------------

(Spoiler for inspiration! It took half a year to get back to this, and Nathan's been through so many changes...)

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RPC has moved! These pages have been kept for historical purposes