Voices Raised [Arvalyn]

[Torin Kilvin]

Frost 36 120

It had taken the day, and the night, after he finished his solo project before he felt himself again. As soon as he'd woken up that morning, late for him, the sun already up he'd wanted to get out, to see Aurin, to show him.

The walk itself, through the morning bright, sparking off everything; glass, and magic, snow, and ice was like the first breath after you've been swimming underwater. You wanted the swim, it felt good to stretch and move, but now you need to breathe, and that feels good too.

There was a small package in his pocket, wrapped carefully in a handkerchief because he couldn't think of anything better.

When he arrived at the Velvet Cabaret there was smoke blooming from the kitchen chimneys, he could smell breakfast still cooking and his stomach responded despite having been fed right before he started the hour-long walk. Stomping through the drift occupying the alleyway that led to both the back of the establishment and Aurin's little cabin he knocked on the cabin door and waited.

There was no answer, even after a minute. There was no chance that Aurin would sleep through someone approaching his sleeping place, he must be out. Pulling a little disappointed face that he wouldn't be able to repeat their last morning together, he considered what to do. It made the most sense that the sharp redhead would be in the Cabaret if he wasn't in his cabin. At least, those were the only two places he'd ever found the man. Unconsciously giving into confirmation bias he stomped back to the front of the building and entered by the main door.

Inside he was greeted by a sleepy-looking woman who gave him a little smile, called him 'Aurin's waif' with a laugh that made it sound like a running joke, and waved him inside. Nodding his thanks, not use how else to respond, he stepped into the main area. People dressed in what he thought of as 'normal' clothes were making their way around the room cleaning up food, drinks, and other leavings from a night of celebration and indulgence.

He figured he would just make his way to the kitchens, and if Aurin was not there, there should be someone who knew where he might be found. Even having been allowed inside it felt like he wasn't supposed to be there. This was the first way he'd seen the establishment, but, having now also seen it at its height it was a bit jarring with the sunlight pouring in.

Poking his head politely into the kitchen, pulling his warm hat off to clutch between his large hands he politely made his inquiry. The cook looked him over, made a comment that he didn't catch in the bustle of the kitchen, but the kitchen helped all laughed or grinned, turning to look at them. Unsure he returned a grin and asked if Aurin was about. The laughter returned, it didn't seem cruel, and the head cook called out to one of the sleepy runner boys and told him to go find 'Master Kavafis'. The boy went off running, giving Torin vague guilt.

He thanked her, and the room in general, and ducked back out into the main room. The stage was clearing of a pair of contortionists who had finished their practice set. A single person walked on after them. Not really looking at who it was, knowing he wouldn't know them, he moved to sit out of the way, where he couldn't really see the stage. He didn't want to distract the performer.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn paced backstage, as the contortionists finished stretching their forms an extent that defied nature. His footfalls were soft upon the boards, but his anklets and bracelets jangled along with his motion, as he murmured the verse to himself willing his brain to retain the flowery text. He wore only one garment that was visible- a long, satiny vestment with a metallic, golden sheen bisected by a patterned black belt. It looked like it might have been a robe or it might have been a frock. The piece covered his shoulders and midriff, leaving much of the chest bare to view, and it draped down over his slender thighs to end just below his knees. As he passed the contortionists and stepped into light, one could see the glimmer of gold twinkled on what could be seen of his bare skin, as well- The remnants of a sparkling powder he'd worn the prior night for a performance, and been unable to completely scrub away.

He took centre stage and stared down at his feet, which he brought together with a clink of the two anklets that met as he did so. He adjusted his balance from one foot to the other and back, before settling in to spread his weight evenly between them. He shut his eyes, thought about the first words of the song. He thought about the scene that must have taken place just before. He let his mind drift back- far back into his most remote memories. His first memories of being a child, innocent and unaware of life's complexities. Finding magic in the simplest things like a flake of snow or the changing hues of a sky sundered by lightning and thunder.

He lifted his head and cast his golden-eyed gaze across the room, above the cabaret tables that started at the lip of the stage. He nodded, and from off-stage a plaintive melody played on reed instruments. By and by, the weeping of a string duo joined. Arvalyn's eyes were already glassy by the time the first words spilled beyond his lips.

"I remember..." The sentiment was clear in his eyes, though the lyrics were delivered in High Mythrasi. Behind his eyes, Arry was painting pictures specific to his own memory, as he sang words that detailed the memories of the poet. These were fond memories, but they weren't happy ones. It was the nostalgia of peering through a lens now cracked and clouded, through which one could, at one time, regard the very gates of Elysium.

The second verse built upon the energy of the first, but the singer looked ever more distraught as the song progressed. It grew and drove forward to a point that seemed to teeter on the very precipice of hopelessness, and then suddenly everything fell silent. Arvalyn's voice, tender and vulnerable, crept in to occupy that void. Slowly the instruments slithered in to join him as he sang the refrain in sotto voce. The passion behind his eyes was gone, and all that was remained was something breathy and fragile that one could barely hear over the accompaniment. As he lowered his eyes, they crossed over a stranger in the house, and they briefly hung there as the final chord sounded the ultimate sentiment of the song: Resignation.

Arvalyn lowered his head, and the instrumentation faded to silence. The sounds of the kitchen and the bar rose up to overtake the sounds of the stage. After a moment's pause, the ostensible Hytori youth turned toward the wings,

"Do we have time to practice that entrance out of the bridge again, or-..." His long, sharp ears perked and he nodded at the reply. "All right, fine. Fine. Do what you have to do." He rolled his eyes, and sighed as he hopped down from the stage to the clangour of his metal jewelry, and padded toward the kitchen to see about breaking his fast.

[Torin Kilvin]

The song was beautiful, when it came, expected, pouring out through the large empty room. His own, rounded human ears, perked and he closed his eyes. What the singer looked like mattered far less than the resonance of emotion coming flooding out toward the country lad waiting for his friend.

He remained still, sightless, living inside the melody. He was back home, in the sunlight his hand inside his mother's as they walked together. He was hiding in the forge, too scared of the big man she had left him with to come out. He was been scooped up by the Runesmith, still small enough to weigh nothing in his huge arms, but he was laughing now. He tall enough to see over the anvil, listening to the man's words, careful to memorize each one, watching as he hammered steel into a curve. He was alone in the forest, high in the trees, his limbs growing too long as his adolescent body tried to catch up, face turned up to the beam of afternoon light breaking through the branches. He was reading a letter, written in the Runesmith's wife's neat hand, trying his best not to crush it as he shattered like badly quenched iron.

When the music ended he found tears on his face. His voice shuddered as he drew it, realizing he hadn't been remembering to breathe for the final lines. He didn't clap, he felt like a voyeur, and not vaguely welcome type he had been on his one trip to the Cab as a real patron.

The back of his hand ran roughly over his face to dash away the emotion that felt stolen as he cleared his throat.

In the kitchen, the head cook filled a plate for the young singer and handed him a second, instructing him to 'feed the big boy out there, and tell him Master Kavafis isn't about'.

Torin was wishing he had a glass of water, wishing he could go and wait in Aurin's cottage alone till he felt less raw when he saw the singer returning out from where they'd disappeared into the kitchen. They (he?) were holding two full plates, which reawoke some of the apprentice's baser instinctive urges. He stood, ready to step outside and lean against the door that had twice protected him from the night when he realized the singer was approaching him.

The plates were both set down on his table and he blinked down at them,

"I"m sorry, I'll be out of your way." He ducked his head, voice rougher than it normal, choked. He took one step toward the door before turning back, hat crushed tight between his hands, "I'm sorry. Could you tell me the name of that song, please?" The rough of his voice now sounded wounded, or, as though it might be wounded if he didn't get what he was asking for.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn cursed in Mythrasi. He'd taken to doing that back in Antiris long before he'd ever dreamed of the persona he now inhabited. The curses were beautiful, and had the added benefit of not scandalising the locals. With his protestation at being relegated to the detested role of waiter having been voiced, if not comprehended, Arvalyn did oblige the cook who'd handed him the plates. He was curious as to who was after Aurin, this time, though it was hardly surprising. It seemed like it was always someone. Sometimes there were even benefits to rendezvous with these Aurin-seekers. Just a few weeks back he'd met one who was now his Mythrasi tutor for whom he tutored Common in exchange. A smirk crossed his lips as he recalled the embarrassing malapropism he'd conjured into existence when he first attempted to propose their linguistic entente.

The smile faded from his visage as he headed back out into the cabaret area, and found the boy whose eyes had met his at the end of his song. He'd actually forgotten that had happened, until now. When he was truly in the moment on stage and tapping into something grounded, he tended to forget whatever transpired as soon as he stepped off the boards.

"Y-..." He hadn't even gotten a syllable of his thought out, before the lad was rising, apologising and excusing himself. Arvalyn closed the lips he'd just parted, wondering whether he might have just snagged the opportunity to enjoy two breakfasts. He placed the plates down on the table and took a seat, glancing up as the pivoted back around.

"Oh, the song?" Arvalyn clarified, meeting the lad's gaze with his own bright yellow eyes. "It is called..." He spoke two words in elegant Mythrasi. His gaze danced up to the human's ears, before returning to his eyes. "It means, simply, 'I Remember'." Arvalyn gestured to the second plate he'd placed down.

"I was to give this to you, but you started to flee before I had the chance to say so. Cook says," And for this, Arvalyn did a rather exemplary impersonation of the rough-and-tumble man the boy had met in the kitchen a few minutes earlier: "'Master Kavafis isn't about.'" Arvalyn nudged one of the forks toward the other plate, and picked one up for himself, jabbing it into a mound of scrambled eggs.

"Apparently he thought you'd be so distraught you'd need a free meal for your troubles." Arvalyn noted, with a tone that said: 'Must be nice'. "Maybe cook is keen on you. Gods know my meals come with heaping sides of grievances anytime I ask for scrap." He shoveled the eggs into his mouth, and chewed less gracefully than one might expect from the elegant creature who'd promenaded onto the stage and who spoke in such musical tones.

"What do you want with Kavafis, anyway? I'm sure I can relate anything you need to impart."

[Torin Kilvin]

He memorized the foreign words, closing his eyes and mouthing the syllables under his breath to make sure he had them.

When he opened his eyes again he was being directed toward the second plate of food the smaller man (he was fairly sure it was male) placed on the table.

"Oh." He was still feeling quite raw but hunger won out over emotion most of the time now. Taking back his seat, moving with slow care, as though he thought he might break the chair, or possibly the table, if he wasn't careful.

Picking up his own fork with equal care he said,

"That makes sense. It made me remember." Before tucking in as though he hadn't eaten only two hours prior. A look of confusion crossed his face as he chewed and swallowed,

"Who is Master Kavafis?" He looked down at the rest of the food, wondering if this had actually been intended for him. "I can pay for the meal, I don't mind." He nodded to both their plates in turn, just in case. He didn't want this person getting in trouble for giving away free food.

"I'm Torin, Kilvin. I came to see Aurin." Had the kitchen folk misunderstood him? He didn't think so, they had seemed to remember him quite clearly for some reason.

The way the other boy was talking about the staff and the situation at the Cabaret didn't sound like how Aurin had described it to him. As far as he's seen, those who worked at the establishment enjoyed it. Maybe there were things he didn't know.

"Do you not like it here?" He asked with the grave earnestness of the very young, some of his voice's resonance returning with the addition of food and drink. "Do they not feed you?"
His brows drew down at the idea. The boy was quite slim. A lot of those who worked here were slim but not all of them. Maybe they kept the performers on a special diet to keep them... (His mind roved his vocabulary for an adequate word) appealing?

When asked why he was there his left hand, the one not occupied by eating, unconsciously rose to rest over the small lump in his breast pocket protectively.

"I just wanted to show my friend something I made. It's not important. Not business. If he isn't here I can come back later. I sent a note but it was only about an hour before I came."

He was halfway through the food already, seeming to hardly notice as it disappeared.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn arched an eyebrow, watching the human silently repeat the Mythrasi words he'd delivered. Interesting, he thought, as he took another bite. He glanced up with a smile,

"I'm glad to hear that. Maybe I'm not completely butchering the song, if you got the intent." He pursed his lips, "We'll see if they ever give me a slot with it, though." Another bite of the scramble.

"I was quoting the cook, but... Well, if you don't know who Master Kavafis is, maybe you lucked out and intercepted another man's breakfast." Arvalyn gestured broadly toward the kitchen, "Cook said big guy, and... Well, I suppose I didn't get very far, you were the first big guy I saw, so..." He shrugged, "A meal well earned, in my reckoning." He waved away the notion of payment dismissively, and returned his attentions to his plate, until the boy mentioned Aurin by name.

"You don't know Master Kavafis, but you know Aurin? Interesting. Funny thing- I've never seen the two of them in the same room at the same time. You thirsty?" Arvalyn didn't wait for an answer, he hopped up and swooped over to the service bar, grabbing a water pitcher and two cups, which he delivered back to the table. He poured for the stranger first, before repeating the action for himself.

"Of course I like it here!" Arvalyn seemed taken aback that anything to the contrary had even crossed this person's mind. "This is my home. This is my family!" He exclaimed, knitting his brow. He took a sip of his water, and suddenly it dawned on him, "Oh!" He grinned profusely, "I'm an entertainer. We like to complain. Part of our job is to exaggerate our emotions, so they fill a whole, big room. It bleeds out- Don't read into it too deeply." He glanced at the big boy's plate, and muttered to himself- "Etaiss' tits, he eats even faster than I do..."

Arvalyn pinched a sausage link between in index finger and thumb, lifting it for a bite, but pausing just shy of his lips.

"Your 'friend'?" He repeated, tilting his wrist back in a way that caused the sausage to flop in the stranger's general direction. "Your 'friend' Aurin?" He clarified. "You're 'friends' with Aurin, but unacquainted with Master Kavafis? Mm." Finally he bit down on the wobbling link of meat, sundering it in half with his teeth. There was a pregnant pause as he chewed and swallowed, then popped the second half into his mouth and did it all again. He washed it down with water, and clapped his hands down on the edge of the table.

"Well, I'd like to see what you've made." He noted, nodding toward the lump in the boy's breast pocket that he'd drawn attention to during his explanation.

[Torin Kilvin]

The other youth spoke quickly, and most of it didn't make sense to Torin. He listened, tried to keep up. The comment about Aurin and whoever Master Kavafis was made less sense to him than the rest. He was fairly sure he was being mocked in some way. He had been mocked often enough to pick up on it without having to understand how it was being done.

His brow furrowed as though he was frowning, though his mouth stayed flat across his face in the brief moments he wasn't chewing.

He took the glass of water once it was filled but waited to drink it until the other boy had drunk from his mug. Then he drank most of it at once. His long walk, the song, and the food had earned him his thirst.

"But, " He tried, speaking slowly, "You just said they don't feed you but scraps and you have to beg for those?" The idea felt monstrous to Torin, who had suffered much in his short life, but never from hunger that wasn't self-imposed in his work.

When he was answered that entertainers enjoy complaining he gave a half-nod sort of head shake and went back to finishing off what was left on his plate. It sounded like the other boy was telling Torin not to believe him, that believing him was practically an insult. The last comment, about his eating, caught him as he was lifting the last forkful to his mouth. Selfconsciously he swallowed it and put his fork down,

"I forget to eat sometimes when I'm working. I just finished a long project, so my stomach is trying to catch up."

The incredulous way in which this strange man reacted to Torin's reference to Aurin as his friend made something in Torin's chest flare and his expression became a frown for true. There was something artlessly dangerous in the way his large body suddenly pulled itself from his eating hunch to his full height. Something like a threat in how the muscle on his arms and torso tightened and flexed. When his project was mentioned the hand resting on the table came into a fist,

"It's not for you." His voice came full to bare, deep more than low, but strong, as though a mountain resonated inside his chest. He spoke with the certainty of one who has never had their whole lives ripped away from them. He enunciated every word with the same slow care as he'd sat down, and he met the golden eyes across from him the whole time.

"If you want an example of my work, your Mistress has a piece of it in her office." It was probably in her office; it was a lock that would burn any hand that touched its surface but her own. He realized, after he'd spoken, that perhaps the owner of the Velvet Cabaret didn't want others knowing that she had things worth protecting with magic in her office.

Trying to cover having to answer any questions about his statement he stood,
"If Aurin isn't here, I'll go."

As he stood runner boy, that the cook had sent after Aurin for him, popped into the main room and informed him that 'Aur...That is, Master Kavafis', had stepped out but was likely to be back soon. The lad eyed the empty plate before Torin's empty seat with a jealous expression but ran back off readily enough. Who Master Kavafis was finally clicked in his head.

Not sure what to do with himself now, but not wanting to be gone when Aurin returned and was told of his presence, he hesitated for a moment before sitting back down. Trying to make the situation less awkward he said,

"Do you sing in common at all?"

[Arvælyn]

"Hyperbole." Arvalyn replied with a cavalier shrug. He eyed the large specimen, contemplatively. He didn't seem worldly. Nor was Arry, but he had it on good authority that he seemed to be so, and that was what was important. Appearances. They were particularly paramount at the Velvet Cabaret. The lad's reaction to his simple exaggerations made Arvalyn wonder whether this fellow wasn't the sort who was particularly prone to literalism. That might further suggest a sheltered background, if a character study was to be done.

"I'm impressed, is all." Arry responded, sounding quite sincere as he added, "Usually I'm the fastest eater on the floor." That was one relic from his past that didn't really jibe with the current persona. He liked to evoke a creature born to comfort and privilege, who only worked this job because it amused him to do so. However, he ate like one unaccustomed to regular meals. He devoured his victuals like they might be the last to ever cross his chops.

When the large man shot into a looming posture, Arvalyn didn't ostensibly respond except insofar as his ears tilted back. He was perfectly prepared to take flight in a split second, if need be, but his first response was none at all. He took a sip of his water, and glanced up as if lazily to meet the eyes that seemed to glare down at him.

"Suit yourself." Arvalyn offered with a shrug, "It was an observation, not a command. Keep your secrets, then." He glanced down at his plate, letting his fork hover above another sausage, without coming down to skewer it. His eyes darted back up at the mention of his mistress. He misliked the way the boy invoked her... It brought to mind an aspiring celebrity, railing at the serving staff with that old refrain: 'Don't you know who I am?'

He clucked his tongue, and lowered his gaze back to his plate with a sigh, placing the fork down atop it and pushing it to the centre of the table, unfinished. He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as the stranger began to withdraw. Arvalyn started to rise to his feet, but he paused in reaching for his plate as the boy turned back.

"Mm, yes, I do." His fingers closed around the rim of the plate, and he started to lift it, but stopped. "You can finish this if you'd like. I've..." He self-edited, "I'm through with it."

[Torin Kilvin]

The large apprentice shook his head at the offer of additional food. His stomach was all acid and he didn't want anything else filling it. He wanted to maintain friendly relations with the staff of the Cabaret, didn't want any issues when he came here looking for Aurin. The Cab was interesting in its own right when it was open for business, though he would like to encounter it on a less busy night than his first attempt. If there were less busy nights...

He nodded to the other boy as he picked up the dishes and began to walk away. Half to himself he said,

"Your song, it reminded me of one my mother used to sing." Remembering her voice calmed him, and without really thinking about it he sang the first few lines in an imitation of his mother's lilt. He wasn't sure where she had come from that had added the accent to her voice. He'd only known her for a little more than four years, and his memories of that time were vague or painful more often than not. Actual conversations with the woman were lost to him, but, in the way of human memory, her songs remained.

His voice rose clear and clean, neither very deep nor very high, but strong. The tune was similar to the one that had woven through Arvalyn's song, enough to be noted easily. It wasn't the same song, the words denoting the joy of simple things. It was a country-folk song, certainly. After the first verse, he let his voice fade to silent. His insides were a combination of embarrassed and adrenal, he felt stupid for having reacted as he had.

There was nothing threatening about curiosity. Torin himself had enough of it in him to fill three boys his own size.

"I"m sorry." He called after the other boy, unsure if he would be further mocked or simply ignored.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn pursed his lips and nodded acknowledgement, when the large youth's gesture indicated he would decline the remaining victuals. The Hytori-presenting halfbreed placed his own half-empty plate atop Torin's consummately empty one, and stacked the water cups. He began to bus them back to the kitchen, but Torin's voice stopped him in his tracks and he glanced over the shimmery shoulder of his garment with eyes that seemed to match its golden sheen.

A smile softened his gaze, and he turned back round. He was surprised to hear the bulky creature engender such a delicate timbre as he began to sing. Arvalyn took a few slow steps closer, examining the face of this new acquaintance as he intoned a melody alike and different from the Hytori hymn he'd been rehearsing earlier. There was genuine emotion tied to the tune- Clear as sunlight on the boyish face of the human. Arvalyn placed the dishes back down on the table as Torin finished the musical phrase, and his smile became playful.

"Hush now, Torin." He stepped forward and placed a smooth-skinned hand on the boy's arm, meeting his eyes. "You're like to put me out of a job, if you keep that up." Arvalyn's voice was still a work-in-progress. The song he'd rehearsed wasn't on the performance schedule. He'd only had solo lines in ensemble numbers, thus far, and mostly in sequences that were more centred on dancing. He wasn't a bad singer, but nor had he been a child who'd grown up using his voice in that way. Back in Antiris the goal had been to detract attention, not draw it. His first attempts at vocalisation had only begun a year earlier, when Aurin helped secure him work here at the Velvet Cabaret. Torin's raw instrument was stronger than Arvalyn's, even if the mixed blood was more aware of technique. Where Arvalyn excelled was in the acting... The emoting of the lyrics, which tended to distract people when the flaws in his voice presented themselves. He'd grown skilled at using those flaws to great affect in performance, but he still knew them to be faults and worked to overcome them.

"I don't imagine Aurin will be too long, if you wanted to wait to show him your... Mysterious concoction." He said, glancing down to the chair Torin had abandoned.