Glimmer [Finn]

[Arvælyn]

36th of Frost
120th Year of the Age of Steel

After breakfasting with a strange, provincial youth who'd come to the Velvet Cabaret in search of Aurin, Arvalyn's day was already set-up to be a strange one. He hadn't slept well, due to nerves. It was probably silly for him to have been anxious about a practice-session for a song that wasn't even scheduled to be performed, yet, but it was the first time he'd be singing with the full instrumental ensemble backing him up. He wasn't someone who'd grown up singing. He had good ears- Gods knew they were large enough, thanks to his mother's very prominent genes- and his intonation was naturally pretty good, but it had only been a year and his instrument was still more raw ore than precious gold, polished smooth. What he lacked in refinement technically, he endeavoured to make up for with flair. Though he hadn't grown up singing, he'd spent his entire life acting in one way or another: Acting like a human, acting innocent of crimes he'd committed, acting comfortable in places that terrified him, and lately he acted through his entirely life under an assumed persona. It was this skill-set that truly set him apart as an amateur performer at the cabaret.

The rehearsal had gone well enough. Enough so that the stranger seeking out Aurin had felt obliged to compliment him. They'd chatted a bit, and found a few things in common- Aurin, foremost- and parted to go about the rest of their respective days. Arvalyn had a few hours before he was to take the stage in his typical role: That of the eye-catching chorus boy- Always splitting stage and mirroring steps to keep the symmetry- Never centre stage, never the fulcrum of said symmetry.

With breakfast behind him, Arvalyn went up to his cramped room to change into warmer garb to take on the Frosty day without. He doffed his robe-cum-frock in favour of ill-fitting leather trousers he'd gotten as hand-me-downs from Aurin when he'd first moved to Kalzasi. They weren't as ill-fitting as they'd been at the time. He was better fed these days and had built muscle atop the sinew, but the breeches still required a belt. He covered his long torso with a brown leather jerkin with bronze buckles up the front. Matching travel boots were tugged up his slim legs to the knee, and finally a heavy cloak the hue of mahogany was slung over his narrow shoulders.

Thus bedecked, Arvalyn jogged back down the stairs and out the front door onto the streets of Kalzasi. Feeling confident after Torin's warm reception to his performance, the Hytori-presenting mixed-blood boy decided to look for something special to wear in the event that he was ever allowed to actually perform it. Most of his costumes were half of matching sets, but if he was to be a soloist he would require something one-of-a-kind. It was with this in mind, that he sauntered by the carts and stalls of an upscale marketplace. He weaved through the crowds, in search of something to make him glimmer.

Long ears perked under the hook of his cloak as he heard music floating into the frosty air from a street corner behind one of the jewelry stalls. Canting an eyebrow, he slipped by the jeweler and regarded the music-maker who'd drawn his attention. Arvalyn peeled back his hood, the midday sunlight setting his golden gaze aglimmer as the chill wind whipped his hair about his sunkissed face. As the song drew to an end, he applauded- nodding with a sincere smile.

"Bravo." He offered, quietly.

[Finn]

Winter was an odd time for beginnings, but it was the Season of Frost wherein Finn's tossed dice had landed him a spot at the Academy to add depth and breadth to his education. He was a minstrel now, but he would be a bard someday. He would learn new languages, new modulations. He would copy the masters and find his own voice. He had begun to dream again, which was always dangerous.

But House Zatrian's beneficence only covered his tuition. He still had to make ends meet, whether that was running errands for Lyra, manning Talon's forge, or playing in all his old haunts. Today, he was busking. A scarf helped keep his throat warm, and he had warmed up a great deal before taking to the streets. Fingerless gloves kept slender fingers from losing too much of their heat to the air without losing any facility with the strings of his lute. He was learning how to take care of his instrument—voice and lute—in all seasons. And while his teachers went on about perfection and performance, they were talking about the musicians who could sell out the Golden Peacock. He was used to charming a few extra coppers out of tradesfolk at the Crown and Lion.

So, he tried to give his teachers what they asked for. Here, though, he tried to give the people what they wanted. His accompaniment was simple, not trusting something more complicated to his hands in these weather conditions. His voice, too, sang sweetly enough. He had it, the thing all performers wanted, but which couldn't be taught. But he was not yet a virtuoso. All the same, he played with the dynamics, he emoted as he sang, and some people, at least, were paying attention.

You made me love you; I didn't want to do it
I didn't want to do it
You made me want you and all the time you knew it
I guess you always knew it
You made me happy sometimes, you made me glad
But there were times, baby, you made me feel so bad

You made me cry for I didn't want to tell you
I didn't want to tell you
I want some love that's true, yes, I do
Indeed, I do, you know I do
Give me, give me, give me what I cry for
You know you've got the kind of kisses I'd die for
You know you made me love you.

There was a bit of applause from the odd passerby, and a few coins thrown into his lute case. He thanked them sincerely. How not when their generosity was going to put food into his belly today? Then his eyes caught upon a shopper who must have snuck up on him. Sometimes he got a little bit too into his music and stopped paying attention to his audience, which could be a problem. But the sun favored this fellow, one of the golden elves of the east.

"Oh, many thanks, good sir. Trying not to squawk and break strings in the cold, you know. Very kind of you."

► Show Spoiler

[Arvælyn]

It was with no pleasure that Arvalyn had to acknowledge a talent greater than his own- Or at least a more refined one. The man's voice had a polish that his own still lacked. He felt as though he'd hit a wall in his vocal education. When he'd started out at the Velvet Cabaret, a few of his colleagues helped him out, because they were instructed to. He was certainly no threat, at that point, since all he could really do was carry a tune. Since then, he'd learnt how to blend into an ensemble, to relax his sound rather than forcing something stylised that highlighted rather than covered his vocal flaws. He'd learnt any number of other tricks and techniques, but he had yet to land a solo.

He reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a coin purse, from which he withdrew a silver aven. The pouch disappeared back into the fabric, but Arvalyn stepped toward the human and crouched to deposit the token with the rest of his haul.

"For your talents." He said, with a cordial smile, before rising again to a standing position.

"I wonder..." He began, sounding a bit uncertain. A notion had crossed his mind at just that moment, and he hadn't had time to contemplate whether it was a cogent idea or a foolhardy flight of fancy. He spoke on, in spite of his ambivalence:

"Do you give lessons?" He glanced to the lute, "In singing or in playing?" He clarified. Golden eyes darted from side to side. It wouldn't do to have one of his colleagues catch him making such a proposition to a street busker. Regardless of the man's obvious talent, it would give fodder to his competition and leave him vulnerable to all manner of ridicule, and of the worst kind- The sort that he'd actually take to heart.

[Finn]

"Thank you," he said, simply and sincerely. He bowed with his hand over his heart. He didn't know this man's station, but treating people with respect was sort of his thing. His head canted to the side as the elf wondered aloud, then considered his question.

"I have done. Usually a lesson here or there. Those who can afford teachers tend to... I don't know... go looking for more famous songsters. But I'm at the Academy now, too, so I'm learning things like... pedagogy." He said the word with relish, enjoying new words even if that would be a difficult one to work into a song. "But also, normally I've just given a lesson for a meal or... you know, barter. I wouldn't know what to charge."

He strummed a major chord and looked expectantly at the elf, a dark brow raised curiously.

"What's your favorite song to sing? Maybe I know it. We could sing it together, just for fun. No pressure. And I'll see if anything stands out... easy fixes, that sort of thing. Then, if you think I'm helpful, we could talk more about it."

Then he strummed three separate chords in a row which, if he did end up teaching the elf an instrument, would be the first three chords he would teach him since a huge repertory of popular songs barely strayed from them unless one wanted to embellish and ornament a drinking song. That was rarely the point of them, but one did have to read one's audience.

"I'm Finn, by the bye. I'm considering adopting the surname the Fantastic, but I figured I ought to become fantastic first lest it be called false advertising. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mysterious Stranger." He smiled. It was rather sincere for a performer.

[Arvælyn]

"Nothing to thank." Arvalyn said with a wave of one hand, which was promptly brought to his chest to return the salutary gesture the busker had executed. He inclined his head, then regarded the man as he replied in earnest. Arvalyn retained a relatively stoic expression as a default, and he was particularly guarded under these circumstances. He was out on the street in a crowded area speaking about vulnerabilities- flaws that impacted his livelihood. His countenance let on very little, instead evoking the hauteur of the genteel Hytori as which he presented himself.

"No, no." He said, stepping a bit closer to the human, "Bartering is good. I like bartering." Arry didn't have much in the way of coin, so the notion of exchanging a meal, a service or perchance trading something stowed in his prop closet-cum-dormitory that had been forgotten by the house, was far preferable.

"Oh..." The question about his favourite song to sing threw Arvalyn a bit. "Well, I've been... practising a song lately, but it's an Hytori hymn. The lyrics are in Mythrasi..." He trailed off, pondering. "But I know songs in common, as well. And I'm a quick learner, but-" He cut himself off, and did a slow turn to regard their surroundings. "You want me to sing with you right here? On a street corner?" He finally had a clear expression, and it suggested that notion was anathema to him.

"Well met, Finn the Future Fantastic." Arvalyn smirked, and took a spot beside the human, leaning his back against the wall of the building before which he'd set up his busking enterprise. "I am Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron and I have yet to style myself with a flattering moniker nor have I even meditated on one to adopt in days to come... Will my being here have a deleterious effect on your income?" The Elf wondered, gesturing down to his middling hoard of coin.

[Finn]

Finn nodded acknowledgment of a preference for barter. That was well and good; he mostly only had songs to trade. He knew how to use the sword at his back, which he now wore constantly knowing how close they were to the Warrens. It was probably paranoid of him, but nobody would be laughing at him if shades or shamblers suddenly erupted from the sewers to slay them all and at least he had something sharp to hand for swinging at them.

His fingers plucked an ambling sort of melody as he ruminated. It was both to keep his fingers warm and a general reflex; when he had an instrument in hand, he wanted to be pulling forth music.

"I don't actually speak Mythrasi... yet. But I know several songs in the language that I've learned by ear." He laughed. "So I sort of know what I'm singing, but I might also be singing look at the ugly human who caterwauls like a dying cow. Difficult to say when the whole language sounds like poetry. Hm, well, you probably aren't warmed up with the cold weather. But if you take a lesson, you're going to have to start with something you love so I can hear you unschooled and just... passionate. The technique is important, but if you don't care about what you're singing..." He shrugged. "Boring."

He smiled. "A thousand apologies. The street corner is stage enough for Finn the Future Fantastic, but Lord Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron requires finer things!" His tone was mocking, but gentle about it, as if Arvalyn were invited into the joke rather than the butt of it. And the way he spoke the elf's assumed name might make one believe he actually could learn songs in Mythrasi by ear alone.

At the question, he glanced at the people passing through the market. His audience had dispersed, but in places like this, they were always ephemeral.

"Let's see?" He started simply again, though there was something more polished and perfected about this melody. Whether it was his playing or the composer's genius was a question for more learned minds and sophisticated ears. He blatantly indicated Arvalyn when he sang of the Sun, then took it out to a pale woman when he sang of the Moon. More warmed up now, he let his voice soar when the music swelled. A little more training, a little more orchestration, and maybe he would be fit for the Golden Peacock, but he would have to claw his way through all the would-be stars to get there. For the time being, this corner in the marketplace was his firmament and he glittered enough to delight the passersby.

The Sun, whose rays are all ablaze with everlasting glory,
Does not deny His majesty; He stands in fire before me!
He won't be coy, a blushing boy, complete with childish whining,
But, fierce and bold, in fiery gold, He glorifies his shining!
I mean to rule the earth as He the sky.
We really know our worth, the Sun and I!
I mean to rule the earth, as He the sky.
We really know our worth, the Sun and I!

Observe the flame, you icy dame, the Moon's Celestial Highness;
There's not a trace upon Her face of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light that, through the night, mankind may all acclaim Her!
And, truth to tell, She lights up well, so I, for one, don't blame Her!
Ah, pray make no mistake, we are not shy;
We're very wide awake, the Moon and I!
Ah, pray make no mistake, we are not shy;
We're very wide awake, the Moon and I!

The Moon, the Sun, and I.

There was some applause again, a handful of coins added to his cache, shining there in the thin winter sunlight. He bowed and thanked everyone before turning back to Arvalyn with all his attention. His fair cheeks were flushed from the cold, but also, perhaps from the passion he spoke of. Whether his song made people wonder whether he was on a first-name basis with celestial bodies or not, he had seemed to live in that fiction for a few minutes.

► Show Spoiler

[Arvælyn]

Finn's noodling on the lute seemed to intrigue Arvalyn, who attempted to take note of the fingering as he watched. He held his own hands up and mimed the gestures, attempting to replicate the motion of the busker's hands with an imagined instrument of his own. After a moment, he lowered his hands and they disappeared back into the umbra of his dark, brown cloak.

"With no offence intended, Finn the Future Fantastic, I hadn't expected you would speak Mythrasi." Arvalyn offered with a mild shrug. Frankly, he was glad of it. He knew Mythrasi conversationally, and he'd taken the time to make sure he understood every thematic nuance of the song he'd been practicing, but he still stumbled over a lot of the grammar and had a limited vocabulary in actual conversation.

"I agree. I am not an absolute beginner..." He explained, shifting slightly to face Finn, with his shoulder now resting against the wall, rather than his back. "I think where I excel is in the expression, the- Acting and the storytelling. Or so I am told. When it comes to the technique, though, I feel plateaued a bit. I am seeking to... o'erperch that hurdle. I would like to strengthen my intonation on legato phrases, in particular and, if all goes well, to expand my range beyond its current limitations." He ran his hand through his hair get a few strands out of his face that had been windswept over his eyes.

He smiled faintly at Finn's gentle ribbing, but didn't go so far as to laugh.

"Quite the showman." He said, dryly, and crossed his arms over his chest as the man resumed his performance. He found the lyrics peculiar- Flowery to the point of sounding almost academic. The simple, repetitive melody might have sounded academic also, if not for the embellishments of the singer. Arvalyn took note, for such improvisation was something else he should like to learn about. He seemed a bit taken aback, at first, when Finn seemed to reference him, but once it registered he just shook his head at the busker.

Finn proceeded into another verse, by which point Arvalyn felt he knew the melody well enough. Quietly, he hummed a harmony that sat delicately atop the minstrel's melody. He thought he was being quiet enough that none would hear it, but his proximity to Finn might have allowed the human to glean hints of it every now and again. When the song drew to a close, he just cleared his throat and clapped along with the others.

"Well. I'm glad to see I'm not impacting your haul too negatively."

[Finn]

"Now, if you had been dancing, I might have made more," he said, "but if you were dancing, I would have had to split my haul." He smiled, crouched down to collect his coin, and put his lute in its case. He slung it over his shoulder. "Enough for a few days of food, I should think. The market can be lucrative, especially when it's cold. Some people do have hearts."

He smiled and glanced at the nearest cart.

"I don't know if you've finished with your shopping, but I need to put something hot in my belly. I've been out here for an hour or so and unless I take up dancing, I'm just going to get colder. If you want, you can come with me. I'll let you pluck at my lute and give you some hints and corrections while I eat. If you like."

Finn didn't know what he would charge for that—likely nothing. A few hints and corrections would be worth a little company, he thought. He was a social creature, and he had connected with several people in Kalzasi, but he didn't know if he really had a friend—not like the friendships that had been immortalized in song, which was perhaps unfair to expect from a little life like his, but it felt more as though nobody really knew him. They liked him because he was friendly and willing to share a laugh and a song with anybody, but that wasn't the same thing.

"Or if you're looking for something more formal, we can discuss our schedules and find a time where we're both free—preferably somewhere warm with hot food that I can put in my belly before I die." He winked. Death wasn't imminent, but he was certainly ready to have a full stomach and full feeling in his fingertips.

[Arvælyn]

"If you think me too grand to sing on a street corner, well should you know that dancing on one would be anathema to me." Arvalyn teased, glancing down to get an idea of what kind of coin street-singing could yield. "Huh..." Not bad, at all.

"I should think my shopping can wait." Arvalyn noted, glancing to the sun's placement in the sky for confirmation. It was barely noon and he wasn't needed back at the cabaret until early evening. "I shall join you." He said, and his posh accent coupled with a stoically flat expression made it seem as though he thought it Finn's privilege that he would- Even as he was the one seeking favours, here.

Arvalyn glanced about, to get his bearings, and stroked his chin contemplatively as Finn gathered the rest of his things.

"If you're keen on a warm setting to pair with your hot meal, I recall there being rather a quaint public house not far from here. If you're set on street food, of course, far be it from me to draw you away from it, but for a creamy bitter and a fresh pasty, you could do worse than The Wobbly Stool." He paused a beat, "That's... that's the name of the pub, you understand." He made eye contact to let that register, before gesturing up the road.

Arvalyn, for his part, didn't have many friendships worthy of verse himself. Only Aurin would he consider a dear friend, and that was part and parcel to the role of saviour he'd occupied first. It had taken a while to allow Aurin down from his pedestal to the point where Arry could properly call him 'friend', but that day had come for him. Sure, Aurin had streaks that might have scared off someone else acquainted with hardship. To Arry, however, even in his inconsistencies Aurin was more an anchor than he'd known since the death of his father.

Amongst the other entertainers at the Cabaret, there was just so much competition and cattiness that it was difficult to make an unmitigated connection. Plus there was the whole persona he'd adopted, which had caused him to keep people at arms length as he developed his backstory and found ways to weave his own experiences into those of his fictional lordling as to render the whole façade more grounded. He'd lived in that character for nearly a year, now, and felt practiced enough to branch out a bit more.

"It's just two blocks this way, and then a turn down an alley."

[Finn]

"Lead on, my lord Val'Cithaeron," he said with a florid bow. It was, of course, intentionally comical. He knew how to play for an affluent, powerful, and cultured crowd. Mostly he was just a ghost until he had a stage to shine upon. The reality of artistic competition and the plateau of his career had him at the Academy learning more to hopefully become better, but the spark was there. He just had to fan it into flames. As for Arvalyn, there was something odd about him and his manner, but Finn couldn't put his finger on it. There was no reason to listen to his symphony, though; not yet. Perhaps if things drew out into an indefinite engagement for lessons, he might want to know more. Then again, familiarity might just breed knowledge in that case and then he still needn't risk using magic.

He needed to become more subtle with it, though, if he was going to augment what little genius he had with magic to tug at the heartstrings of his audiences. Patience, Finn the Fantastic. Patience.

"When you're singing correctly," he offered, "your whole body is engaged. Not tense, but supporting your voice. It's better to be warm than cold and even though I warmed up in a warm room, standing out in the cold, I could feel myself straining more than I needed to, so with supper assured, I didn't want to hang around even though some of the street food is quite good. A lot of my meals come from the taprooms I play in. That, at least, is a sure thing. Tips — well, that depends on the generosity of the audience. I think your skill at acting and storytelling ought to help with that, though. That is a big part of engaging an audience."

Finn tried to gauge Arvalyn's responses. He had no idea what skill and knowledge level he was dealing with, and he had found that his own education had some holes in it for all that what instruction he had had was solid.