High Seas, Old Rose Harbor
Some days, it was simpler to do these things and puppet this body. Oh it certainly wasn't effortless but it was less like trying to hold onto something slippery while lacking the strength to have any sort of a decent grip. On the good days, they were less aware of the ways the joints in their fingers bent, all those little bones shuffling around as muscles pulled and the digits, the hands, the arms, the whole blasted corpse could be played as it ought to be. Oh the tunes that the raen played was a simple one and they never got into the true flow of life. They were too aware of everything that was necessary to produce what they wanted from the organic instrument and it was done mechanically rather than naturally. They weren't one with it, just as they weren't one with the guitar that rested on their trousered thighs.
It was rare that the control was good, that this fragile galdor was something that could be played in any way decently but when they were with Kit... The man could help them produce deliciously sweet symphonies, something about the pair together that produced a beautiful harmony between the raen and their inhabited body, the golly musician and the former wick seamster. But he wasn't here now and even then he couldn't help them with this. There was no way he could help their control although he could damn well unravel it.
The act of playing music without interference was their way to reclaim what they’d lost, to have a chance to find themself. It was a chance to discover exactly who and what they were now and they’d found a place where they could do it without being judged and without - they hoped - being in danger from Peregrine.
The location they’d settled on for their playing was called ‘High Seas’, a mix of bar and smoking den, opium being one of the big sellers but there was really a smorgasbord of drugs available whether you wanted to experience delight and pleasure or to forget. The kind of people who came in here weren’t the sort to go talking to anyone that Cordelia’s husband would know, humans and wicks of different shades and classes although none of them could be classed as being particularly prosperous. For those who were better off, there were far nicer joints than this so you weren't likely to find any galdori in here and very few of the Bad Brothers. It was a place they'd discovered in their wanderings and while their pretty Bastian, golly-seeming features made them stick out like a sore thumb, Shae felt oddly safe there. People might look but their gazes didn't tend to linger and soon their eyes were glazed over and they didn't care about anything much after that.
The raen was something of a curiosity. The soft music they played wasn't too disruptive to the customers and if anything, the gentle and repetitive rhythms seemed to soothe them. A dropped note or a sour twang of a string wasn't liable to bother them and unlike when they were around Kit, they didn't grow embarrassed and flustered and make further mistakes. The sound of the guitar did carry a little into the street though, a reasonably quiet thoroughfare that was off the main routes. High Seas itself only had a gentle hum, the languid occupants not that concerned with making conversation and noise. There was something alluring about the guitar, even with the simplicity of what the former wick drew out of it and so those who had reason to pass were sometimes drawn to peek in and then the sight of the unusual player enticed them further.
All in all, everyone was happy, especially Shae as they had peace and their galdor roommate hadn't managed to find them here. There was so little chance of that uncomfortable world encroaching on this sanctuary of theirs that they'd actually succeeded in relaxing over the past few days since they'd found this place.
At least until he walked in.
You could take a well-off galdor and stick them in rags but there were always indications of what they were. In the Rose where many of the residents were below or near to the poverty line, an impoverished look was common. This man had been getting his meals and they'd been decent ones. However, in spite of some obvious advantages, it was clear that he was tired, stressed even, a grey undertone to his skin tone, shadowing under the eyes and a slight slump to the shoulders betraying a world-weariness. His coat was too big for him and his clothes weren't of a good cut or quality but they still recognised him for what he was. What was more, there was something familiar about him.
The raen had glanced up automatically when he entered, the movement slow, natural while they released their pressure on a fret and ran their thumb lazily down the strings. The natural note of each string sang in the air, the transition from one to the other not perfect as they hadn't succeeded in making the movement smooth just yet but it wasn't unpleasant all the same. It was the last sound form the instrument though, every cell of the youth suddenly frozen in place as they assessed his look and came up with galdor. Their heart accelerated, their lungs wanting to follow the blood pump's example but Shae had to force themself to stay calm, not show that they were ready to hyperventilate; it made everything feel much worse. Their body screamed for air, brain insisting that they were going to suffocate, that they didn't have enough air and that if they didn't gasp it in-
But the man was familiar and that trapped them in indecision and uncertainty, not knowing if he was friend or foe. So they dropped their gaze, hoping that the recognition wouldn't work both ways and now cursing how unusual they were in this setting. Shaking fingers tried to trace out the shape of a chord across two of the frets but they couldn't move their fingers right. They were stiff, uncooperative and yet somehow loose at the same time, curling them at the joint difficult and then nearly impossible to make them stay in one position after that; it was like connections had been severed. They tried though. Calloused fingertips found the right spots on the tense strings, pushed down until the wood of the neck was felt beneath the aching tips, feeling the string slip under them as it bit into one side and then the other. They couldn't seem to get it directly under their fingers. The other hand skimmed over the strings, a dull buzz and twang occurring instead of the sound they'd intended.
They just needed to calm down. He wasn't here for them. He had other things to worry about besides them. They weren't of any interest.
At least that was what the former wick told themself.