[Closed] All The Old Words Cease To Rhyme
Posted: Wed Sep 09, 2020 6:22 pm
32nd Loshis, 2719
OLD ROSE | MORNING, POST COFFEE
OLD ROSE | MORNING, POST COFFEE
MusicShow
There wasn’t really anywhere ‘quiet’ when it came to Old Rose, Elias was learning rapidly. Sure, there was the room he shared with the stunning Gioran, and the beach…but the Bastian needed something where he could play—and fail—without an audience. Not that Xavier would judge him—actually no he would but that was different. What the brunette needed was space to spread his field, without feeling like every human and wick in the room were glaring at him.
So with Leandrah’s harpsichord in hand, the lanky young man picked his way along the harbour till he found Cassandra’s Oasis. It was quite the pretty cove, clearly a popular place for callouding couples to tuck in and get frisky, fortunately not at mid morning however. Some thoughtful soul had dragged one of the sun bleached and saltwater rotted tables from the Dove, and two empty small rum barrel as chairs. Cigarette hanging loose from a stubble dressed face, Elias set up the portable instrument and sat himself down.
He'd been practicing, now and again, here and there. Now that he’d found a connection to the mona, and to his family, the galdor felt like it was a drug. Poking the keys, letting the songs of his childhood seep back into his very being. Muscle memory—and actual memory—played a large part in his motions. He knew how to read music, but he had none to read from, so his songs came from his past. Sometimes they were warm in his chest, and sometimes they burned.
Seated on the barrel, Eli took the cigarette between two fingers, exhaling the smoke lazily and leaning his elbows on the dubious table. His gold-green eyes scanned over the view of the ocean from his vantage point, watching gulls hover over diamond scattered waters as he finished the rolled tobacco. Butting it on the side of the barrel and placing the left over nub in his pocket (he couldn't afford to waste tobacco at this point), the Bastian withdrew a pair of slightly bent wireframed glasses from his pocket. His attire was far from his tastes, but within the range of affordable for a broke galdor mooching off the charity of a too-kind wick. Black shirt, perhaps belonging at one stage to a dockhand, with sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of loose grey slacks. And brown boots with the heel coming away. It was an assault on his fashion focused soul, but it was clothing. Clean clothing at that.
Lifting his hands with a deep inhale, Elias placed them on the keys, a loving gentle touch that was complemented by a cautious expanding of his field to the sentient particles around him. He didn't ask for anything, only sharing of himself as much as one would with a partner or family, vulnerable and open to the mona. The linger of his Static specialty seemed to lure those like minded particles, brushing curiously around the edges of his aura. What had once been able to fill a room, now only encompassed the table and chairs, with frayed edges reaching further with lovers fingers.
He exhaled, and began his prayer of music. The notes were smoother than his first attempt, the song itself playing through the first few bars in an even pace and without a stumble. Slightly tinny, the decorated harpsichord plinked out his tune, heartfelt notes dancing in the air. His accompliment, the whice in the trees, chirping to each other about the magician in their midsts. Closing his eyes, Elias focused on the music and the mona, his aura ever so slightly chasing the warmth out of the air around him. It was cooler, and almost whispy, as the mona listened.
So with Leandrah’s harpsichord in hand, the lanky young man picked his way along the harbour till he found Cassandra’s Oasis. It was quite the pretty cove, clearly a popular place for callouding couples to tuck in and get frisky, fortunately not at mid morning however. Some thoughtful soul had dragged one of the sun bleached and saltwater rotted tables from the Dove, and two empty small rum barrel as chairs. Cigarette hanging loose from a stubble dressed face, Elias set up the portable instrument and sat himself down.
He'd been practicing, now and again, here and there. Now that he’d found a connection to the mona, and to his family, the galdor felt like it was a drug. Poking the keys, letting the songs of his childhood seep back into his very being. Muscle memory—and actual memory—played a large part in his motions. He knew how to read music, but he had none to read from, so his songs came from his past. Sometimes they were warm in his chest, and sometimes they burned.
Seated on the barrel, Eli took the cigarette between two fingers, exhaling the smoke lazily and leaning his elbows on the dubious table. His gold-green eyes scanned over the view of the ocean from his vantage point, watching gulls hover over diamond scattered waters as he finished the rolled tobacco. Butting it on the side of the barrel and placing the left over nub in his pocket (he couldn't afford to waste tobacco at this point), the Bastian withdrew a pair of slightly bent wireframed glasses from his pocket. His attire was far from his tastes, but within the range of affordable for a broke galdor mooching off the charity of a too-kind wick. Black shirt, perhaps belonging at one stage to a dockhand, with sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of loose grey slacks. And brown boots with the heel coming away. It was an assault on his fashion focused soul, but it was clothing. Clean clothing at that.
Lifting his hands with a deep inhale, Elias placed them on the keys, a loving gentle touch that was complemented by a cautious expanding of his field to the sentient particles around him. He didn't ask for anything, only sharing of himself as much as one would with a partner or family, vulnerable and open to the mona. The linger of his Static specialty seemed to lure those like minded particles, brushing curiously around the edges of his aura. What had once been able to fill a room, now only encompassed the table and chairs, with frayed edges reaching further with lovers fingers.
He exhaled, and began his prayer of music. The notes were smoother than his first attempt, the song itself playing through the first few bars in an even pace and without a stumble. Slightly tinny, the decorated harpsichord plinked out his tune, heartfelt notes dancing in the air. His accompliment, the whice in the trees, chirping to each other about the magician in their midsts. Closing his eyes, Elias focused on the music and the mona, his aura ever so slightly chasing the warmth out of the air around him. It was cooler, and almost whispy, as the mona listened.