Vienda was plumb pretty, sure, but Xav was prettier and the ban on nomadic wicks was a real clockin' cramp to their style of living life, considering they were one.
Pale hair in intricate braids laced with a couple of ribbons, a dark feather dangling from one of many silver earrings, and the cozy comforts of a pair of thin, hand-knit wool scarves in deep amethyst and dusky mauve complimented the rest of the willowy albino's stage outfit for the evening which was, to be fair, not much different from the outfit they wore yesterday or the day before that: layers of muted color linen that made their long, tunic-like shirts, a dark charcoal brocade vest that surely fit more like a corset than was at all normally acceptable, a dark high-collared coat against the chill, far more jewelry than normally necessary, freshly shined knee-high boots, and trousers that were perhaps purposefully tailored to be just as slim and scandalous as the wick that wore them so well.
The frigid dip in temperature and heavy snow had brought a crowd to huddle in the warm glow of the Toy Lantern tonight, having spent the past few days digging out of the thick frozen layers of white fluff, and as Xavier settled comfortably onto the stage, oud polished and mother-of-pearl inlaid moons catching the light of candles to send it dancing in an array of colors onto colorless hands with nails meticulously painted just as black as the wood of their instrument, it was impossible for the albino not to gather a bit of attention.
Perhaps not enough, though.
Xav could never really gather enough attention, but the eyes that turned in the direction of the tall, pale creature wearing just enough kohl and just enough pale purple lip stain to make deciding on which sort of creature they really were— mysterious and quite content that way—were so very expectant gazes. And the truth was, they were eager to please them all (if only for the hope of extra tips).
While a chair had been offered, the wick had refused, choosing instead to stand on the stage and keep a few of the band from the last gig around for accompaniment. There was nothing wrong with sharing a bit of the profits, so long as Xav got to go home with enough to sleep somewhere warm tonight, preferably somewhere that served breakfast and didn't squint at that fake writ folded into the pocket of their well-tailored coat too closely.
Violet gaze swept the crowd with a smile, and lithe fingers laden with silver rings began to pluck and strum a few vibrant chords, slowly filling the hazy, body-laden room with a melody that was definitely not inspired by Anaxas. Mountains and valleys, clouds and sky—Xavier played the familiar landscape of their homeland but as seen through their memories and changed by their travels: music that was no longer from anywhere other than the creature of moonlight that played it.