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Author Topic: Pygmalion  (Read 652 times)

gilshem ironstone

Pygmalion
« on: April 08, 2012, 06:37:04 pm »
An elf clad in black enters the Buckle one evening, his cloak drawn close, his demeanor stand off-ish as many might expect.  He inquires at the bar after the Master of the House, and shortly thereafter, Andrew Reid himself greets the elf and shows him to the office.  They are sequestered inside for a few hours, and when they emerge, there is patches of grease paint on their clothes, and some to be seen on the elf's gray skin.

They part company and the elf finds a quiet corner by the fire and sits in thought.
 

RollinsCat

Re: Pygmalion
« Reply #1 on: April 08, 2012, 09:04:54 pm »
For the second time, the elf is gone without so much as a single pleasantry.  The heavy double office doors swing shut and the bard sits at his desk chair, one hand on his theater kit, the other lifting up a cigar stub.  A puzzle, that one - and a lousy liar.  For whatever his reasons for wanting what he wants, it is most certainly not what he is owning up to.

Steel, you blue son of a pit fiend, for what reason did you bring my name into this?

He had no reason to deny tutelage.  No tiny misgivings, nothing from Ilsare; he didn't believe the elf followed any god; and no tiny hairs stood at the back of his neck.  The arrogance was nothing new, of course, nor the coldness, and the elf had been suddenly and overwhelmingly charming and charmed by Minu when she'd stepped into his office during their first meeting.  Fascinating.

And, he was a fairly quick student, at least on the purely mechanical side of what he wanted to do.  The emotional side...the social side...well.  You can sew a pig's ear into a purse but that doesn't make it silk.  A lot of work there...yes, indeed...a lot of work.  He couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was looking forward to it and it bothered him more that he knew he was already dedicated and still didn't know why.

This is how you get into trouble, Tashe!

Oh, the hells with me.  

They had not discussed payment and he wondered then what the proud, stiff elf could afford.  He must ask for what was reasonable for someone of his skills - and Steel was right, he was very, very good at this - and yet not break the elf's bank.  And, he should move Iri's things into Tori's room and offer the elf a place to stay.  The halfling lady didn't appear to be returning anytime soon and neither did her human friend.  He'd find someplace for them when they did.  Minu would be pleased at any rate.  Another of Voltrex's children, albeit a pale grey one, always brought out the sun elf mother in her, and he did love to see her fuss.

Humming, he leaves the last few puffs of cigar in the glass bowl and heads upstairs to check Iri's room and prepare it for a new tenant.
 

gilshem ironstone

Re: Pygmalion
« Reply #2 on: May 28, 2012, 10:28:01 pm »
Some weeks later, in the dark of night, with an ill wind off the harbor, the door to Buckle opens, and a figure cloaked in shadow pours in to the room.  Its silhouette, for those awake and sober enough to notice is blurry.  The shadow finds a dark corner and then vanishes in to the dancing flicker of the firelight.  Then no movement and no sound emanates from the corner it occupies, instead there is only the feeling of quiet anticipation.
 

RollinsCat

Re: Pygmalion
« Reply #3 on: May 30, 2012, 12:38:35 pm »
The bard comes to examine stocks of food.  The soup kitchen has not been permitted yet and neither have the greenhouses; meat is scarcer, rice is scarcer, grains are scarcer, and the tables don't seem as full.  The meals served have become plain.  He considers, again, trying to grow food on the flat parts of the roof.  At least from what he hears the famine-horses or whatever they are can't fly.  He hopes.

Yes, the roof...it will be difficult, and it won't produce much, but they have preserved healthy grains.  Ilsare watch over them, it should produce enough to keep his employees from starving.  He'll ask Jane if she will lead the effort.  She's quite handy with plants.

It is quiet, at least right now.  Unrest in the city has not abated but tonight is cold and the winds off the harbor feel like a hostile caress; people are, sensibly, indoors; as is he.  His seat by the low-burning fire is a velvet glove he slips into, only slightly misshapen where a little boy had been jumping on it earlier.  And would you care for a cigar, Tashe?  No...even the tobacco crops have suffered and what he has must last until the famine is solved or he runs out and once again is quit by circumstances.  He can wait a little longer.  It is a good time to sing, as good as any, this song is a prayer to his Goddess that a solution is found.  He is, he believes, alone...
 

gilshem ironstone

Re: Pygmalion
« Reply #4 on: May 30, 2012, 09:28:06 pm »
The bard's prayer fills the room, it's warmth enough to banish to chill omens for a time.  Memories flit through his mind's eye, vivid and unforgiving, that snap his eyes open, bringing him from the cusp of reverie, from the precipice of his dark dream world, back to the smokey present. The shadow, attuned to the supplication, deigns to speak, but a gurgle is all that emerges. A look of shock, a recognition that his vocalization would undermine him. A snort, and then a curling smile; a near-rictus to greet the singer as the cloak of illusion falls away.

"Master Reid, it would seem there is work still to be done."

The elf eases back in to cushions, his finger toying a circle in the embroidery.
 

RollinsCat

Re: Pygmalion
« Reply #5 on: May 31, 2012, 10:31:57 am »
His head swivels as a voice pierces the musical bubble.  In the fire's flicker, red - red eyes - one hand snaps to his rapier's hilt and the other prepares motions for a song as he's pushing up and out to...to...the timbre registers, then the voice sinks in as does the voice's owner onto the white settee.  A blurry but not black-skinned elf.

He closes his eyes and breathes.  Not his captors coming to reclaim him.  He sits.  His imagination, his paranoia, that's all.  It is his student returned.  Nothing more.  

On the other hand, he was wide open and buried in his own voice.  This is how they're going to kill you, Tashe.  Sitting here where your blood will only refresh the color of this old chair.

The elf's grey fingers swirl across fanciful stitching on a cushion and his face is set in a death mask grin; the bard can't tell if he is amused at the reaction or not.  Well - it isn't as if Rook doesn't enjoy playing the "scare the wits out of Andrew" game, he should be used to it.  That and as he has nothing pressing to do right at this moment...
 "Indeed.  Tell me what you have practiced.  Let me hear."
 

RollinsCat

Re: Pygmalion
« Reply #6 on: June 15, 2012, 03:03:36 pm »
And again.  Discussions this time not on presentation but on becoming.  Inhabiting.  Naming.  Believing.

"It's a voluntary self-delusion."

"That is the essence of acting, indeed."

The accent was swiftly taken up - the elf had an ear for voices, perhaps because he didn't spend much time speaking - and practiced.  Discussions about pleasantries and protocol, and very specifically something that was never far from the bard's mind; time.  All elves he'd met with the single possible exception of Night Sky experienced time differently than humans.  It was a subtle but important point.  

"We live our lives in a rush of sound and fury.  We live only one-tenth as long as you.  Remember that."

More discussion.  Discussion...not so accurate; lecturing.  It was an easy mode to slip into.  Next time he'd have to be a lot more quiet.  There should be a test soon, with a nice reward if his student passed, a reward that was carefully folded and awaiting the next visit.  It concluded as before, the elf leaving without a single goodbye.  And that was alright.  There were enough self-absorbed, hostile humans in the world; Night would not stand out once he joined them.

The bard spared a grin as he tossed his cigar stub in the fire.  He was looking forward to the next meeting, if he was honest - he'd given that elf one hells of a homework assignment.
 

RollinsCat

Re: Pygmalion
« Reply #7 on: July 16, 2012, 12:46:05 pm »
Sebastian Bel-Join.  A mildly mannered man, not entirely friendly but given his profession that was to be expected.  Scribes always seem more at home with their vellum and quills than in the company of others.  The anonymity of the blank page, the scratching of feather-tip on parchment, the forming of words - theirs, or other's - into a permanent record...the quiet artistry of language.  

Sebastian was not short but not at all tall, of middle build and muscled for a wordsmith.  Toned.  Perhaps all that toting of heavy books?  His skin was pale, a touch greyish, but again - a scribe doesn't get out much.  Parchment and weather are not good bedfellows.  His accent was developing; now it held only hints of the long vowels that his sensei had heard in southern Belinara but soon, next lesson, Sebastian would start to sound like himself.  A childless, unmarried man in his prime, parents deceased, which for a Nesar native hailing from the capital city was not at all uncommon, who trades his parent's gift of literacy for coin.

The curiosity was burning the bard.  Why all this?  There had to be some good reason Night was pushing himself and absorbing the methods like a sponge.  Already the elf half-mastered the makeup; the tone needed further refining but the edges to the hairline were nearly seamless.  He'd seen much worse on professional stages.

Dare he ask?  

...no, the elf would share or not, and he had a feeling not or he would have already.  Still.  Simply one of his best students ever, if for no other reason that the as-yet-unnamed motivation.  There would be another gift, then, because he could afford it and because he was flattered that someone found his talents and teaching useful.  

Flattery.  Really, he was so shallow.  A chuckle, and he put out the cigar.  He looked forward to next time, indeed...
 

gilshem ironstone

Re: Pygmalion
« Reply #8 on: August 02, 2012, 12:16:59 pm »
He was not sure what he was doing anymore.  After his tryst, this disguise seemed a child's game, but the challenge was compelling nonetheless.  Perhaps the simple desire to be better at being human than humans were is what drive him?  Perhaps.

He appreciated the boldness of the bards questions.  He cut to the meaningful heart of the matter; the place where nothing but an honest answer would serve the purpose.  The answer was given and the man continued despite it, but he contended that my beliefs could be a hindrance.  The truth must out, as it is said, and this case could be no different and as a wolf-pack can sense its leader instinctually, so it will be in this subterfuge.  However, the propriety of the situation must be maintained, for the Blue Mercenary speaks truly when he says that once in the game people will watch, and the truth of the matter, above all else must be maintained and to do so, he must behave as if there were no deeper truth than is apparent.