The ghost of a smile passed over his face at the mention of Merry's newborn's wail. The back and forth between the two was like a game of real tennis, and he felt as though he were an observer as much as he was a part of this little conversation.
"One can certainly find trouble in Solunarium," he allowed. "Best not look for it."
At the mention of a nocturnal open stage regroup, he nodded, though he found it strange a tavern would only be open once a week. Then again, he didn't truly understand the economics of such things. He had only been the hired talent, not the venue owner before.
When she identified herself as a bard of Syren, he was glad he had tried to dissuade her from trouble. He bore no particular ill will toward the Orkhan race; in Kalzasi, they were the forebears of the more cosmopolitan Kalzasern population, and they held positions of respect in temples and schools, even if they were subject to the Avialae elite. If she didn't cause trouble, he wouldn't have to don his Sentinel blacks and do something about it, though he would, on the morrow, perhaps, report the presence of a suspected bard of Syren to the Vigilia Argenti.
"As you wish."
There was no sign of Merry or Rory when he arrived at their Rusty Trombone, but they hadn't suggested a specific time so he wasn't worried. Someone recognized him and fell to their knees.
"Pax," he declared, waving his hand, though it was his due as an empyreal lord of Aværys, perhaps even as the consort of the Umbrian crown prince. There was nothing to it but to accede to his demands and not bow. There were whispers about him, as well as about the gods-forged steel instrument upon his back, but as the symphonies were suitably respectful, he didn't need to play Sentinel. He hated policing people, much preferring to protect and serve, and was glad that the Custodes Deorum kept him away from playing at the constabulary.
The minstrel on stage beat a hasty retreat as soon as her song was over. He didn't play often in public anymore, but some had heard him in such an intimate venue and many more had heard him perform in public religious events or otherwise. They hungered for more, and his god was the God of Hunger.
He took the stage without fanfare, and there was no pandering applause, only respectful silence. It only took one person to recognize him before a crowd knew him. That was strange, and new.
Without preamble, he began to play. In Solunarium, those gifted with the Rune of Command were happy to weave it into their music. Despite his rune and his emblem, as well as the power Varvara had vested in Her instrument, he didn't use it, instead relying upon his skill. Whether that was the discomfort of a peregrinus with their musical customs or a power move was anyone's guess.
Varvara's instrument plunked ponderous, inexorable notes that resonated in the chests of his audience. His voice was husky at first, soaring later.
"I still look at you with eyes that want you.
When you move, you make my oceans move too.
If I hear my name, I will run your way.
Can we say that we love each other?
Can we play like there is no other?
If I hear my name, I will run your way.
It's my desire that you feed.
You know just what I need.
You have power, you have power,
You have power over me.
I give my all now, can't you see?
Why won't you set me free?
You have power, you have power,
You have power over me.
I was lost until I found me in you.
I saw a side of me that I was scared to,
But now I hear my name and I'm running your way.
All I feel as I get closer to you
Is the desire to move like you do.
So now I hear my name and I'm running your way.
I am ready now.
You're the one that seduced me, lured me in with your beauty.
Now I know that you used me; all you did was confuse me.
You're no longer what I need. Touch me slow, feel my heart bleed.
I'm ready now."
When the song finished, he opened his eyes to silence, unsure whether that was a good thing or not.
"One can certainly find trouble in Solunarium," he allowed. "Best not look for it."
At the mention of a nocturnal open stage regroup, he nodded, though he found it strange a tavern would only be open once a week. Then again, he didn't truly understand the economics of such things. He had only been the hired talent, not the venue owner before.
When she identified herself as a bard of Syren, he was glad he had tried to dissuade her from trouble. He bore no particular ill will toward the Orkhan race; in Kalzasi, they were the forebears of the more cosmopolitan Kalzasern population, and they held positions of respect in temples and schools, even if they were subject to the Avialae elite. If she didn't cause trouble, he wouldn't have to don his Sentinel blacks and do something about it, though he would, on the morrow, perhaps, report the presence of a suspected bard of Syren to the Vigilia Argenti.
"As you wish."
*~*~*
There was no sign of Merry or Rory when he arrived at their Rusty Trombone, but they hadn't suggested a specific time so he wasn't worried. Someone recognized him and fell to their knees.
"Pax," he declared, waving his hand, though it was his due as an empyreal lord of Aværys, perhaps even as the consort of the Umbrian crown prince. There was nothing to it but to accede to his demands and not bow. There were whispers about him, as well as about the gods-forged steel instrument upon his back, but as the symphonies were suitably respectful, he didn't need to play Sentinel. He hated policing people, much preferring to protect and serve, and was glad that the Custodes Deorum kept him away from playing at the constabulary.
The minstrel on stage beat a hasty retreat as soon as her song was over. He didn't play often in public anymore, but some had heard him in such an intimate venue and many more had heard him perform in public religious events or otherwise. They hungered for more, and his god was the God of Hunger.
He took the stage without fanfare, and there was no pandering applause, only respectful silence. It only took one person to recognize him before a crowd knew him. That was strange, and new.
Without preamble, he began to play. In Solunarium, those gifted with the Rune of Command were happy to weave it into their music. Despite his rune and his emblem, as well as the power Varvara had vested in Her instrument, he didn't use it, instead relying upon his skill. Whether that was the discomfort of a peregrinus with their musical customs or a power move was anyone's guess.
Varvara's instrument plunked ponderous, inexorable notes that resonated in the chests of his audience. His voice was husky at first, soaring later.
"I still look at you with eyes that want you.
When you move, you make my oceans move too.
If I hear my name, I will run your way.
Can we say that we love each other?
Can we play like there is no other?
If I hear my name, I will run your way.
It's my desire that you feed.
You know just what I need.
You have power, you have power,
You have power over me.
I give my all now, can't you see?
Why won't you set me free?
You have power, you have power,
You have power over me.
I was lost until I found me in you.
I saw a side of me that I was scared to,
But now I hear my name and I'm running your way.
All I feel as I get closer to you
Is the desire to move like you do.
So now I hear my name and I'm running your way.
I am ready now.
You're the one that seduced me, lured me in with your beauty.
Now I know that you used me; all you did was confuse me.
You're no longer what I need. Touch me slow, feel my heart bleed.
I'm ready now."
When the song finished, he opened his eyes to silence, unsure whether that was a good thing or not.
