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Quiet Night [ Open RP ]


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[align=center]OOC; I don't mind more than one person joining, but no more than two please. I find it easier to keep up with. Also, I apologize if this isn't any good, I'm just a little bit rusty.[/align]

 


 

The Drowning Wench was eerily empty this night, giving off the impression that the city was dead. On the contrary; however, there seemed to be quite a lot of movement outside. It made no difference to Kheda'ya, so absorbed in his work, the man forget everything else surrounding him. His knife slid through the wood with ease as the Miqo'te sat diligently at the table in the far back. 

 

Adept fingers worked as he finished up the small statue. Resembling that of a baby Chocobo. It stood in a proud stance, giving off the impression that it was joyful and carefree. Everything he wasn't. The low-light of the room glinted off the edge of the blade as Kheda'ya lowered his sculpting tool to the table. There was a low tune playing in the background, and as his alabaster eyes studied the figurine, he hummed along. 

 

A barmaid walked up to him gracefully, her supple hips swaying with each step. Leaning down she placed a hand on the table and crossed her ankles delicately. "Can I help you, sir? You've been sitting here for quite awhile, you must be thirsty?" Grabbing one of his tools, a brush, he began to dust off any stray chippings before looking up at her. Ears twitched lightly as he tilted his head thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "I suppose....some milk then?One of her thin little brows lifted, as if she hadn't been expecting such an order. 

 

Without another word she turned and sauntered off, coming back only minutes later to give him a glass of milk. Leaning forward he took a hesitant sip of it, growling lightly, he wrinkled his nose at her. "It is not warm." Big blue eyes stared at him as the Hyur woman gave him a disapproving look. With a light huff she turned, warmed the milk and then returned. After taking another sip, he smiled and leaned back in his chair, lifted his feet up on the table and relaxed. The woman took this as her cue to leave, and so did.

 

All the while he studied the figurine on the table, trying to determine if it was worth keeping.

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An inconspicuous stool, in a well-lit corner.

One does not notice the girl who looks like she belongs; like part of the crowd... like just another patron.

 

In a way, she was. Though she did not drink, nor eat, but sat, and stared. A purple tail swished behind her as she watched the male Miqo'te with her mismatched eyes; one purple, like her hair, the other blue like the highlights woven throughout her do'.

 

As the male Miqo'te carved his statuette, a small smile touched her lips, and she closed her eyes. There was a band playing; a low tune, but it was not them her ears twitched towards.

 

Scrape. the sound of blade against wood, and the soft kiss of the shavings as they caressed the table.

 

The steadfast hum, escaping his lips, working in rhythm with his hands. She found her fingers tapping in beat along with him, as a whispering hum of her own played in her head. When she found the right note, the right beat, she synced it with his, and found harmony.

 

Abruptly, the perfect moment of unity was cut short, as the Miqo'te ordered something from a barmaid. The finished statuette was placed on the table, and the man regarded it.

 

Now, she bound from her stool. Her stride was lively, -but measured. Confident, yet reserved; as though giving a mere glimpse of the boundless energy that lay beneath. She sat at his table with a plop, and then softly blew the shavings with a steady stream of wind from her lips, watching as they ran like wild things towards the dangerous precipice of the table's edge. She closed her eyes again, and tilted her head to try and catch their final resting place, on the floor of the Drowning Wench.

 

She could not.

 

"Hmph," she said, and put her hands on the table.

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