cynric the unflinching (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hamelinic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixwordstories2013-06-05 08:38 am
hamelinic) wrote in sixwordstories2013-06-05 08:38 am
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And I... might walk 500 miles.
"Excellent." Her smile turns beautific. "Plenty of repairs needed about the place. I'll set you to work."
She shoos an underfoot cat. What's one more stray?
She shoos an underfoot cat. What's one more stray?
An arch of her brow at that, "Are you so perceptive that you've seen something I'd not want told, Mister Cynric?"
[Maybe she'll settle on an affectionate insult and he'll be given free reign to come up with new and exciting misnomers for her profession for the rest of their time bumping into each other. Or maybe it won't matter as they each wander off into their own corners of the world again.
Which doesn't seem overly impossible for having one's life story laughed at. He'd like to think he's not a petty person, but giggles about--from his perception--not always having enough food, about general dissatisfaction that led him to combative psychology with strangers.
There's little more than a cranky arch of a brow from him, at least. Because there is, despite the laughter, a sort of understanding in the monk's face, and that's got to count for something. Not everyone has wanderlust, after all--and people who didn't were so much more difficult to be around.]
No, my monastic mistress. That was a gift. [And, with a slight shrug,] Or, at least, not a song on a contract.
Which doesn't seem overly impossible for having one's life story laughed at. He'd like to think he's not a petty person, but giggles about--from his perception--not always having enough food, about general dissatisfaction that led him to combative psychology with strangers.
There's little more than a cranky arch of a brow from him, at least. Because there is, despite the laughter, a sort of understanding in the monk's face, and that's got to count for something. Not everyone has wanderlust, after all--and people who didn't were so much more difficult to be around.]
No, my monastic mistress. That was a gift. [And, with a slight shrug,] Or, at least, not a song on a contract.
[She's not quite so blind to facial expressions to miss that her new stranger-friend isn't so happy that she was laughing. It's not her fault that he appears so keen to dramatics!
But she can feel the echoes of sincerity from his story and hopefully her sense of existential humor doesn't make him think her cold. She knows the trials of not having enough food, although she's never played music or entertained crowds to rectify that.
Where she's initially from, actually, that wouldn't even have been possible.
With her laughter cleared there's a warmth in her form that wasn't there before. He might be readying himself to close off, but for Lee this was all necessary chinks in armor that had to be shed before... Before...
Her brow wrinkles in thought and her mouth opens, hesitates. And then:]
If I did pay you - not with money, I don't have that - but if I could give you food and a place to sleep, would you play more songs?
But she can feel the echoes of sincerity from his story and hopefully her sense of existential humor doesn't make him think her cold. She knows the trials of not having enough food, although she's never played music or entertained crowds to rectify that.
Where she's initially from, actually, that wouldn't even have been possible.
With her laughter cleared there's a warmth in her form that wasn't there before. He might be readying himself to close off, but for Lee this was all necessary chinks in armor that had to be shed before... Before...
Her brow wrinkles in thought and her mouth opens, hesitates. And then:]
If I did pay you - not with money, I don't have that - but if I could give you food and a place to sleep, would you play more songs?
[He didn't choose the dramatic life; the dramatic life chose him. Or, well, his parents chose it for him, raised him in it, ensured that there would never not be a huge amount of drama pouring out of his system at any given point in time, even while being completely earnest about himself and his world.
At least laughter, even of the at someone's expense variety, is a joyful thing. At least it leaves her shoulders in a better place than the strictness of their first meeting when he prodded too hard at her beliefs.
At least her question is the sort of thing that surprises a properly confused arch of his brow for a few seconds before he can school his expression again.]
An' wouldn't I be a madman to turn down a place to stay warm for the night? [Food could be gone without, he knew, for quite a few days, but one night sleeping in the rain and chill? That could disable a voice for weeks. And then where would a chatty soul like Cynric be?] Play anything you like for a meal and a corner inside, Lady.
At least laughter, even of the at someone's expense variety, is a joyful thing. At least it leaves her shoulders in a better place than the strictness of their first meeting when he prodded too hard at her beliefs.
At least her question is the sort of thing that surprises a properly confused arch of his brow for a few seconds before he can school his expression again.]
An' wouldn't I be a madman to turn down a place to stay warm for the night? [Food could be gone without, he knew, for quite a few days, but one night sleeping in the rain and chill? That could disable a voice for weeks. And then where would a chatty soul like Cynric be?] Play anything you like for a meal and a corner inside, Lady.
[She's already shaking her head 'no' as he agrees.] Not anything I like, I'm dreadful with...popular songs. [Not music as a whole, but surely the ancestors-old songs her parents hummed through their yurt weren't common fare in bars or even in this bard's arsenal of songs. No, Lee's got a different reason to ask than nostalgia.] If there's more of what you've composed yourself, I'd rather that. The ones you said people don't like attending properly.
Just...play until you're satisfied and I'll let you follow me to food and a roof. [She's already settling in as if for a good story, because that's what this is, isn't it? Music tells stories, and in the absence of lyrics she can understand - then she'll feel her own. It's a challenge that's not intimidating, a welcome respite. (Something to benefit the both of them, perhaps, and she doesn't wonder if she could have gotten more songs out of him for free. She'd rather give in return, even if she gives of someone else's hospitality.
...She'll cross that bridge when they come to it.)]
Just...play until you're satisfied and I'll let you follow me to food and a roof. [She's already settling in as if for a good story, because that's what this is, isn't it? Music tells stories, and in the absence of lyrics she can understand - then she'll feel her own. It's a challenge that's not intimidating, a welcome respite. (Something to benefit the both of them, perhaps, and she doesn't wonder if she could have gotten more songs out of him for free. She'd rather give in return, even if she gives of someone else's hospitality.
...She'll cross that bridge when they come to it.)]
You're a ridiculous man. ((She teases, between the soft kisses she presses to his lips.))
"Not much of one, I'm afraid, but perhaps you've special Joker-magic you're using to pry deeper than you should."
Because that's a thing with Joker's isn't it?
Because that's a thing with Joker's isn't it?
[It takes a few moments before a smile scrawls its way across his lips again. It's not the genuine cheer of playing, is certainly a little crooked at the edges and more a glimmer than a flame in his eyes, but it's a good direction.
How often does a man who makes a living of entertaining other's whims get to play something of his own composition, genuinely dear to his heart? How often does he get to settle in and spin at his own will in front of someone who looked so deeply earnestly ready to appreciate music as it was meant to be?
There's an agreeable bob of his head as he stretches his legs carefully before tucking one back under himself again. The lute resumes her rightful place in his lap, expression somewhat more ephemeral for the moment, attention clearly fluttering away to somewhere in the middle distance of proper reality. There's just a touch of Suggestion infused in the tune he begins to pull from the strings, after all; just a touch of something to turn the dulcet tones toward the drawn sound of a violin as he plays.
Maybe something cheerful next, but for now, the moodiness bleeds out through his fingers and low soft voice. Hopefully the Suggestion isn't so strong as to ruin her own mood.]
How often does a man who makes a living of entertaining other's whims get to play something of his own composition, genuinely dear to his heart? How often does he get to settle in and spin at his own will in front of someone who looked so deeply earnestly ready to appreciate music as it was meant to be?
There's an agreeable bob of his head as he stretches his legs carefully before tucking one back under himself again. The lute resumes her rightful place in his lap, expression somewhat more ephemeral for the moment, attention clearly fluttering away to somewhere in the middle distance of proper reality. There's just a touch of Suggestion infused in the tune he begins to pull from the strings, after all; just a touch of something to turn the dulcet tones toward the drawn sound of a violin as he plays.
Maybe something cheerful next, but for now, the moodiness bleeds out through his fingers and low soft voice. Hopefully the Suggestion isn't so strong as to ruin her own mood.]
Oh, princess. Oh, that's such a fabulous confirmation. The flash of victory is brief before he shrugs slightly.
"Wasn't aware there were 'shouldn't's in your life. What shouldn't you like to share with the class, Mistress? Aren't leaders meant to be exemplary before us all?"
"Wasn't aware there were 'shouldn't's in your life. What shouldn't you like to share with the class, Mistress? Aren't leaders meant to be exemplary before us all?"
[Considering his first choice of song and the conversation that spanned between, Lee probably should have expected a more somber composition. And she's not surprised by it - but she also doesn't detect that vague hint of something extra that's entwined with his singing and strumming.
Perhaps her own bard has numbed her to any awareness of musical Suggestion, or perhaps it's how she is genuinely trying to see what the music can conjure up for her on its own merit, but Lee is a bit woefully unprepared to feel anything in response to the song. (But that's what songs are for, aren't they? Not always blissful meditation but visceral emotions for display.)
Her fingers grip her crossed knees with a hold that's threatening to whiten her knuckles, but at least once the song is fully over Lee feels she can breathe properly again. She's not suspicious of his playing because of her mood, but it does give life to a question she can't help but ask.]
If music is such a powerful tool, why would you play sad songs and not just...giddy ones? And why...why do people want to listen to them? Does it make past hurts feel better when someone else is talking you through them?
...Or listening in with you?
Perhaps her own bard has numbed her to any awareness of musical Suggestion, or perhaps it's how she is genuinely trying to see what the music can conjure up for her on its own merit, but Lee is a bit woefully unprepared to feel anything in response to the song. (But that's what songs are for, aren't they? Not always blissful meditation but visceral emotions for display.)
Her fingers grip her crossed knees with a hold that's threatening to whiten her knuckles, but at least once the song is fully over Lee feels she can breathe properly again. She's not suspicious of his playing because of her mood, but it does give life to a question she can't help but ask.]
If music is such a powerful tool, why would you play sad songs and not just...giddy ones? And why...why do people want to listen to them? Does it make past hurts feel better when someone else is talking you through them?
...Or listening in with you?
"Everyone's entitled to their little secrets."
Although hers is. Quite a bit bigger than little.
Although hers is. Quite a bit bigger than little.
[There's also the fact she asked for his own compositions. A person writes what he knows--and when a person writes the deeply personal, he tends to draw back to the beginning. It was simply the unfortunate state of things that Cynric's beginnings, however happy, had been obscured now by the filter of being broken off from them so abruptly and painfully.
Besides, most people needed help contemplating the less than chipper. It was something of a service to others. Maybe.
There's no smile this time as he glances up at her, eyes taking a moment to lose their slight spark of magic and become again just eyes. His fingers continue to play over the lute, just a little absent and almost unconscious in their purpose, chords he had learned in childhood and never quite gotten out of his fingers even when his mind was elsewhere.]
Because life isn't all giddy, gāosēng. You know that, surely. [Although, he'll admit as he bobs his head to the side,] Nor is it all sorrow. People are simply more inclined to understand on their own what they've enjoyed, what's easily made sense of by a cheerful disposition. It's working through one's sadness that requires a... push. Or a bit of... assistance in knowing that it's all right. That-- other people have felt the same pain and that their own will be... soothed for its universal nature.
[But. Well.]
Shall I play you something less sombre, sister?
Besides, most people needed help contemplating the less than chipper. It was something of a service to others. Maybe.
There's no smile this time as he glances up at her, eyes taking a moment to lose their slight spark of magic and become again just eyes. His fingers continue to play over the lute, just a little absent and almost unconscious in their purpose, chords he had learned in childhood and never quite gotten out of his fingers even when his mind was elsewhere.]
Because life isn't all giddy, gāosēng. You know that, surely. [Although, he'll admit as he bobs his head to the side,] Nor is it all sorrow. People are simply more inclined to understand on their own what they've enjoyed, what's easily made sense of by a cheerful disposition. It's working through one's sadness that requires a... push. Or a bit of... assistance in knowing that it's all right. That-- other people have felt the same pain and that their own will be... soothed for its universal nature.
[But. Well.]
Shall I play you something less sombre, sister?
"But public figures not to big ones," he practically hums, although there's no malice in the twist of his lips. "I'll never say a word about your eyes if you'll spare a man his breakfast."
Never mind it's so late in the day. He hasn't eaten since last night.
Never mind it's so late in the day. He hasn't eaten since last night.
Dense? I'll have you know I didn't do anything particularly unusual to break a leg.
And who needs a broken bone to learn to run on crutches?
And who needs a broken bone to learn to run on crutches?
[Perhaps it's her own contented - or at least, unmarred by true tragedy - past that's responsible for Lee not having realized just how upsetting her new acquaintance's early life might have been. (Or towards the end of his early life, or the middle stages, or the current-stages, she's really just not too sure of anything he is except what he presents to her in the current moment.)
But his serious gaze feels like it speaks volumes to her, as his music was attempting to, and her own face settles into something walking the line between solemn and concerned.
The question almost feels like a reproach, when it comes at the tail end of his explanation of why to play such melancholy tunes. She frowns, although it's more of a grimace while she bites her lip thoughtfully.] No, of course not.
[And, realizing she's not meaning to snap at him:] As I said, play of your compositions what you feel like sharing. Don't bother with what you think I'd rather hear. [She's not sure when this became less of a curiosity and more of an interpersonal quest, but if he felt like sharing a few shades of pain to expose how common that was in the world, well... Then Lee can contend with both of them feeling a bit off.
--Speaking of things being off, guess who's just realized what's been missing since they met?] --My name is Lee by the way, minstrel.
But his serious gaze feels like it speaks volumes to her, as his music was attempting to, and her own face settles into something walking the line between solemn and concerned.
The question almost feels like a reproach, when it comes at the tail end of his explanation of why to play such melancholy tunes. She frowns, although it's more of a grimace while she bites her lip thoughtfully.] No, of course not.
[And, realizing she's not meaning to snap at him:] As I said, play of your compositions what you feel like sharing. Don't bother with what you think I'd rather hear. [She's not sure when this became less of a curiosity and more of an interpersonal quest, but if he felt like sharing a few shades of pain to expose how common that was in the world, well... Then Lee can contend with both of them feeling a bit off.
--Speaking of things being off, guess who's just realized what's been missing since they met?] --My name is Lee by the way, minstrel.
"Well, if you're so desperately in need of it." And since it's better to be safe and sorry.
Here you go, Cynric. She's even had a change of heart and gone for offering the whole sandwich.
Here you go, Cynric. She's even had a change of heart and gone for offering the whole sandwich.
... we're both equally silly.
... You can't say I'm any sillier than you. I forbid it.
... You can't say I'm any sillier than you. I forbid it.
I do make a living bothering with what I think others would like to hear.
[Thinking and considering with his lute in his lap tends to involve absently continuing to pluck. Something traditional, if only of his own mountain, nothing overly creative in its own right.]
And mine isn't 'minstrel,' Miss Lee. [Look what a good boy, even when mildly distracted by his own brain.] It's Cynric.
[Thinking and considering with his lute in his lap tends to involve absently continuing to pluck. Something traditional, if only of his own mountain, nothing overly creative in its own right.]
And mine isn't 'minstrel,' Miss Lee. [Look what a good boy, even when mildly distracted by his own brain.] It's Cynric.
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