Green Wind, Green Branches (Urs)

[Finn]

60 Ash 120

'Twas a warm day for autumn and so Finn was soaking up the last rays of sunshine sitting on a park bench. His hands were making music. He was almost always engaged in music. But the tunes of his lute and the sound of his voice coupled with the good weather and the simple pleasure of existing in a bit of green space within the city, and suddenly he was busking. It was never his goal to make a great amount of money that way. He was grateful for it, but he would be practicing anyway, warming and limbering his hands and his voice for the evening's playing where rent was earned.

A teacher—back when he had the coin and the time for a teacher—had told him that it was important to go out and enjoy things sometimes, observe beauty and exist within it in order to refill the cup of his creativity. It would always come back on its own, albeit slowly. Sometimes one had to stop and smell the flowers to feed that well with joy and delight. That would be more difficult come winter, the season of Frost was less friendly to those out of doors. He would leave his lute where the cold couldn't crack the wood, and he would walk through the streets as bundled up as he could be, taking in the blank whiteness, the way snow muffled sound and crunching footsteps clawed their way out of it.

He supposed there was something comforting in the turning of the seasons, the thrum of life's endless cycle. At the moment, though, he was just trying not to think about making rent, about preparing to take his shot at Great House Zatrian and their patronage at the Academy. Time would bring what time would bring. All he could do was prepare himself, make plans, and be ready as possible when the time came.

A small child tentatively set a silver coin on the bench next to him and backed up. He smiled, thanked them, and sang an improvised bit about a child walking with their mother on a fine afternoon. This delighted child and mother, who listened for a time before wandering off toward errand or home, and Finn was again playing for the squirrels and the birds.

[Urs Wardell]

It was a beautiful autumn day. The sun colored everything in a delicate and warm light. A sharp wind occasionally gusted through the park, rattling the tree branches with promises of a long winter. Still, it wasn't so late in the season that there was snow or ice, and today, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The only thing that fell were red and gold leaves, spinning and twirling all the way down.

Urs had been spending more and more time in the city's parks. He'd watched as the whole world seemed to prepare for the colder months. He counted the last of the birds, heavy with a slow exhaustion, something greater than anything he'd Seen pulling them farther south. He'd found the forgotten spoils of squirrels, buried acorns and flowers, and then he'd found the squirrels, hidden in wiry nests of fur and wood.

Today, he'd chased music. Musicians of all sorts played in this park, their songs and instruments pulling the world's attention in ways he'd never noticed before. Sounds were pulled farther away with the wind or lulled until the ground. He'd heard the flute and a voice, and now he was following the sweet noises of a lute.

It didn't take him long to find the source.

A man - one his age, if not a bit older. He sat down, his back straight as he played the instrument, quickly and then slowly, his fingers moving with a practiced intent. A mother and daughter laughed as the listened, dancing, before giving him some coin.

"I've heard you play before," Urs said, not so much recognizing the music as he did the man's eyes. They were so blue, like the summer sky. "At a party, perhaps. And I bet you were making more than a few coins there." All he heard that night was how talented the man had been.

[Finn]

It wasn't until mother and child shuffled off to whatever awaited them that Finn noticed another listener a bit farther off. His voice had fallen silent, allowing his lute to do its singing alone for a little while. He had learned to pace himself when he expected to be playing and singing all night. When it came to making a living with music, it was a marathon rather than a sprint. He offered a smile that was more tentative than normal — an audience of one was intimate in a way that performing before a crowd was not. And then, of course, there were the compliments.

"You must be mistaken, my lord," he said, his mouth running before his mind had a chance to approve. "I would certainly remember you."

The man might not have been a lord, but his clothes were of a higher quality than Finn's own, which were serviceable and in good repair, but not fine by any means. He probably oughtn't to be flirting with a lord or even a wealthy merchant's son. Any denizen of the Low-City was on thin ice when the whims of the rich and powerful could sink them without breaking a sweat. He had learned that lesson in the High Hopes earlier in the season; his near miss still had him nervous. Perhaps that was why he reacted without thinking.

"Sorry. It's possible. I'm usually playing in taverns, but I have been known to play at private parties as well." It was whatever paid money, really. Hells, he even played at the Velvet Cabaret sometimes. The pay tended to be good, even if people thought he was one of the courtesans. That was actually flattering in some ways, but flustering in others. Fortunately — or unfortunately — the courtesans themselves were usually making the music and so it was a rare gig.

"Did you have a request, sir?"

[Urs Wardell]

"Not a lord," Urs said, his lips twisting into a smirk. "But thanks, I guess. Not many people confuse me with nobility ," he rolled his eyes, emphasizing the last word in a playful way. His family was famously known as hobnobs and bootlickers among the Kalzasi aristocracy, and his grandmother and father were shameless in their matchmaking. Yes, they were rich, but no one considered the Zaubers a noble lineage.

"And if it makes you feel better -," he said, looking at the musician. His eyes, Urs remembered, had been talked about as much as his music. "I was probably one of the least memorable people there that night." It'd been his cousin's wedding. She'd been married off to some foreign dignitary fo some country Urs couldn't remember.

"I don't know much about music," he shrugged, "So play me something you like - let me hear what musicians listen to."

[Finn]

"Well, Sir Not-A-Lord," he said, his tone teasing but not malicious, "you are very kind but you will have to forgive me for my faulty memory. Parties tend to put me on edge, if only because there are more people of means present, people who could help or hinder my career more easily than my audiences in taverns and brothels and theaters."

But while he had been playing for a good long while, he was mostly self-taught and so he hadn't the facility that others had. When people said something open-ended like play what you like, he tended to blank out. Instead, he found his fingers playing something catchy that he knew from somewhere. Like for his previous patrons, he improvised some lyrics on the spot. As such, they weren't very good, but if they made the young man laugh or even just smile, he would count it a win.

"Everyone else in the room can see it
Everyone else but you
You light up the world like nobody else
The way that you touch your hair gets me overwhelmed
But when you smile at the ground it isn't hard to tell
You don't know
You don't know you're beautiful."

It didn't occur to him in the moment that maintaining eye contact while singing those words might throw the man, might put him off, or make him scoff more than smile. Perhaps he ought to have tried to listen to the man's symphony for a better idea what would please him, but juggling the playing, the singing, and the improvising on the spot was more than enough without throwing magic into the mix. Even though he found himself practicing mostly when performing, it was when the night felt a lull and rather than let himself half-ass things, he threw another ball into what he was juggling and tried to read his audience with a mesmer's ear.

[Urs Wardell]

As he listened, Urs held Finn's gaze, unwilling to be the first to look away. He felt it was an invitation to stare back, to watch the world in his eyes. He saw see himself distorted in blue.

When Finn finished, Urs' smirk bloomed into a smile. His smile cracked after a moment and then broke, laughter tumbling out and into the warm autumn air. "That," he said, allowing a brief silence to hang between his words, "Was nice."

"Does that count as a serenade?" Urs asked, still smiling, "I mean, I asked for it so maybe not. And, well, it isn't night. And you aren't singing to me under my window," he paused, thinking, "- but that'd be too much of a cliché, don't you think?" Urs didn't go on to point out that they were in a park, not the lavish gardens of some far-off royal palace. They weren't lovers either. Only lovers serenaded each other.

"I'm Urs, by the way," he said, "Forgive me - I was rude for not introducing myself after you admitted to not remembering me." His lips still wore a smile, but sarcasm contorted it sharply.

[Finn]

He finished with a flourish upon the strings, something overblown in an attempt to be funny. Then he let the strings still as the young man laughed and introduced himself. He bowed.

"Finn, at your service, good Master Urs." He paused thoughtfully, not entirely sure how to respond, though the man's question was most likely meant in a humorous vein. "I would have to leave it to the discretion of better educated musicians as to what exactly constitutes a serenade. I was under the impression that I could stroll past people out in the open and serenade them with my lute, but I suppose the scene under a balcony would be picturesque enough for the boards of the Golden Peacock."

Unlike many minstrels, Finn wasn't so enamored of his own voice that he was never silent. In between words, he found himself imagining he saw a flash of silver in the young man's hazel eyes, but it must have been a trick of the light. With a slight shake of the head to clear his thoughts, another smile bloomed.

"Wait... are you inviting me to host a concert under your balcony? You would have to promise that nobody would release the hounds upon me. I could bring a sword, but I'm better with a lute, and I don't know whether being mauled or harming someone's dogs in self-defense would be more troublesome. Flesh heals, but pet owners can be more vicious and long of memory."

Urs might not be a lord, but he was also not from the Low-City as Finn was. Now that he was no longer playing, he was more confident that he could concentrate, and so he opened his senses to the man's symphony to get a better idea of how far he might go in the casual flirtation without upsetting him.

[Urs Wardell]

"Not sure I'm deserving of a bow," Urs said, still smiling, "Remember? Not nobility."

Finn. Finn. Finn. The name echoed as he thought it, as he imagined that he said it, was saying it. The name was unfamiliar. The man who owned it wasn't. "You could, but what if you stumbled upon someone who did not wish to be serenaded? Out here," Urs gestured with his arms stretched out to the park around them, "You'd run that risk. Some people just want to listen to birds, even in winter. If you only serenaded people in balconies, you don't run into that issue. People don't wait on balconies in the dead of night for birds, after all."

"Hounds?" Urs laughed again, "Has that happened before? You went to serenade some lonely noble creature, offering naught but sweet sounds, only to be surprised by guards or baying dogs?" He shakes his head, "You can trust that my family keeps no hounds or guards to scare you."

Not they needed any. His grandmother did very well at exaggerating the talents of her kin and no ordinary thief - or bard, for that matter, would try to sneak into House Zauber.

Urs' smile stretched over his teeth as he felt the chilled touch of magic. His own spell flared to life, casting out tendrils of scent and taste, coiling around the foreign power - reaching out over the connection to the bard. Clumsy. Finn's magic was sweet, like his voice, curious and searching. There was nothing dangerous, nothing compelling, just an awkward sort of wandering.

[Finn]

"So you shan't be awaiting me upon your balcony then?" His face fell. "Alack!"

He thought he heard a fleeting song of delight that quickly chilled. Was it alarm? Was the pretty not-lord-but-wearing-finer-clothing a magus of some sort? Of course, his magic was fumbling like a virgin eager to undress a would-be lover. Chastened, he released his hold on his aether and tried only to gauge the other's reactions by expression, voice, and body language. He was better at that anyway.

"I am sorry," he said more quietly. "I meant no harm. I was only curious. You said you knew me. I felt I was at a disadvantage." Though they said poets lied, he had always thought honesty the best policy. If his compositions were fictitious, he was trying to speak to something true, if not something real. Rather than let his sudden spate of nervous energy cascade upon itself, he strummed the strings of his lute, first a minor fall and then a major lift, hoping perhaps that music could reconcile his error.

"I try to read my audience better sometimes, the better to lift their moods." If a crowd was cheerier, they were often more generous with their tips and while Urs might not be a lord, Finn had to hustle to make ends meet. Thins might change, of course. Talon Novalys of all people thought he ought to audition for House Zatrian, seeking patronage to study at the Academy. He hadn't dared to engage his Rune to see if the Shinsei truly believed that or was just being kind to a poor minstrel whose luck had gone sour in an establishment too rich for his blood.

Meanwhile, his fingers plucked a simple, nervous melody upon the strings of his lute.

[Urs Wardell]

Sincerity was such a superficials thing.

His power broke through, easily like a heavy boot through blue spring ice. Smells, a rich bouquet of emotions, leaked from the crack. His magic speared something that lingered, crawling, spider-steps evaporating red. Regret, almost, sharp iron overwhelming his tongue. Urs sampled brittle honesty and grabbed at Finn's fleeting spell. He tore into and prodded deeper, and deeper still when he couldn't name the enchantment used.

Urs brought his own spell back to the shallows of Finn. Nerves trembled through the bard's body, vibrations, his heart playing its own strings in plain view for all to see.

"You shouldn't apologize," he said, "It's part of you, whatever you were using. As much as your eyes, ears, or nose." It wasn't Semblance, not a touch, not a poke, but something with weight. Still, Finn was using his magic like it was Semblance and guilt by Seeing was too-familiar to Urs. "Curiosity isn't a crime." All things he said to himself, again, and again, and again, until the words met nothing and the guild attached to them meant nothing too.

"But - it was clumsy," Oh - a Mesmer. Urs considered the bard again, wondering at his ability. "Caution isn't a bad thing, but practicing more would give you a softer hand." Urs chuckled, "I wonder if that's anything you've been told before?" His smile found his lips again.

"Maybe if you were to play under my balcony, I might teach you a thing or two about subtlety." His smile cracked into a grin, white teeth on full display.