In the Fifth Circle of Minas Tirith stands a grand building of white stone with arched windows, columns, and sculptures adorning its facade. At night, candlelight and torches illuminate the building with a warm, welcoming glow.
Main floor
An arched antechamber opens up to a long, pillared hallway. In the corner, doors lead to small workshops for luthiers, windsmiths, tambouriers, and reedmakers. Velvet carpets leads to the grand concert hall with a white, domed ceiling and perfect acoustics for operas, symphonies, ballets, and concertos. Performances draw crowds many afternoons and evenings and private boxes are available for the privileged few.
A maze of rooms behind and beneath the concert hall house the costume and dress rooms where mirrors line the walls and the green room where performers tame nerves and make final preparations before their big moment on stage.
Second Floor
A winding staircase leads to the next level, providing access to the concert hall’s balcony seating. Also on the second floor, a smaller audience chamber at the back of the building hosts chamber music, recitals, and more intimate performances. Practice rooms with thick stone walls allow students and musicians private rehearsal time and classrooms provide space for teaching.
Top Floor
The top floor houses an archive of orchestral and operatic scores, plays, concertos, librettos, lyrical songs, and all manner of musical pieces.
---
Twice a year, the Hall of Song hosts on an open day, in which members of the public are invited inside to peruse instruments, talk to tutors, and spend money to fund performances. Other special events may take place if the occasion calls for it. (Feel free to make up your own event.)
Come for a performance of a lifetime, to learn or practice a new instrument or song, to have your instrument repaired, enroll in classes, or hire a private tutor.
Be creative! You do not necessarily need to make performance or music a large part of your story here. Simple, slice of life opportunities abound as well as something more dramatic or mysterious or even something interwoven with a performance like in the Phantom of the Opera. The possibilities are as endless as your imagination.
Many people might spend time here, including (but not limited to): composers, conductors, directors, tutors, students, singers, musicians, dancers, bards, minstrels, playwrights, luthiers, windsmiths, tambouriers, reedmakers, costume designers, prop and set creators, stage hands, audience members, ushers, messengers or delivery people.
Please note, the Hall of Song is run cooperatively by people from all aspects of music and no one person is in charge. I hope this will allow us all to build and grow this setting cooperatively together.
---
Rules
- ALL characters/races are welcome!
- This thread has no dedicated timeline. Feel free to play in any age/year and label if appropriate for your story.
- Please mark the top of your posts as Open (other RPers are welcome to join in) or Closed/Private (on your own or with other player(s) either pre-arranged or one you meet along the way and choose to run a story with). Feel free to use the OOC thread or RP Request to make connections.
- Canon Characters: All canon characters are open to everyone. If it happens that two people want to write the same canon character, they are free to do so; all duplicates will be considered as existing in different universes and not interfering with each other, unless otherwise agreed upon by the players. (Rule courtesy of @Moriel)
- Content Warnings to be used at the discretion of the writer, bolded, and placed at the top of the post.
- OOC is fine here if marked (no need to white out) or in the OOC thread, up to you.
- Please no bright/light colors. Small pictures only, please.
Thanks to @Rillewen for the idea of starting the thread and helping draft the OP!
Hall of Song
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Oluion and Ôlthel Felmë
(Many years ago)
Wide brown eyes stared up at the grand building in front of them, amazed at the size and beauty just of the outside. "Are we really going in there, Daddy?" Ôlthel asked, tightening her grip on his hand.
"We are," He assured her with a smile. Multitudes of other folks were coming in and out of the building as they climbed the steps, Ôlthel skipping along next to her father with great excitement. An instrument case hung at his side from a strap over one shoulder.
"Why's there so many people?" Ôlthel wondered, sticking close to his side, nervously.
"Apparently, they're having a performance happening today," He explained, helping Ôlthel open the heavy, ornate door.
Once inside, the interior took her breath away. She paid no attention to the crowd bustling around, waiting to get in to find a seat for the event. If she had thought it was beautiful outside, it was nothing compared to the inside! "What's a performance, daddy?"
"When a lot of musicians, singers, actors, or dancers, come to perform on the stage," He explained with a little grin.
"Are you going to play in it?" She asked, wide-eyed, looking at the instrument he carried. She forgot what he'd called it.
"Oh, no." he laughed. "I'm no professional. And anyway, remember, I only came to get some new strings put on."
"Oh." She nodded, remembering. "Will there be anyone around to do it?" She wondered, imagining that the people he needed to fix his instrument might be doing all the performing, and would be too busy.
"Well, I hope so," Ôluion replied, glancing around. "I didn't realize there was a concert happening today, but there ought to still be some people working in the repair shops."
They weaved through the crowd, climbing up a grand staircase to the second floor, and continued on their way until reaching at a quieter hallway, and Ôlthel turned to look back as they left the crowds of people behind. She wondered what the concert would be like, but sadly, it seemed she would not get to find out. Soon the excited chatter of the crowd in the lobby fell away from them, and her father stopped at one of the doors down at the end and knocked.
"Come in!" A voice called from inside.
Stepping inside the workshop, Ôluion smiled and greeted the man there. "Saelben, how are you?" He shook hands with the man. "This is my daughter, Ôlthel."
"Hello, sir." Ôlthel smiled politely.
"Good to meet you, little lady." The man smiled before addressing her father again. "What brings you here, Olu?"
"I need some new strings," He explained, resting his case down on a table before opening it to show that one of his strings had broken.
Curious to see, Ôlthel stood on tiptoe at first, but soon grew bored as the two grown-ups began to talk about strings and sound and vibrations and whatnot. Soon the two were deeply engaged in conversation about music and things that were way over her head. And completely focused on her daddy's instrument.
Growing more and more bored, the small girl of seven watched her father for a moment before deciding that he would probably not notice if she slipped out for a few minutes. Just to look around a bit. Tiptoeing out of the room, she left the door ajar ever so slightly, just so that it wouldn't make any noise upon latching. Then grinned to herself and wandered down the hallway to satisfy her curiosity.
The place was enormous! After wandering down the length of the hallway, a noise caught her attention. It made her stop and look around. The noise of a large assembly of musicians all striking up their music at once, in perfect unison and harmony. She caught her breath, listening, as the noise drifted down the hallway. Drawn toward it, she followed the of the music. Eventually, she found a set of doors. The music was just on the other side, she just knew it!
Pushing the door open, Ôlthel stepped inside and stopped again, eyes widening further as she found herself on a balcony overlooking it all. It was like nothing she ever would have imagined! The huge, vaulted ceiling rose up high, a gorgeous chandelier with many candles all burning brightly was hung from the center of the ceiling. The walls were lined with box seats all around the enormous room, and in the middle, below her, were rows and rows of seats. All filled with people. And down at the end, a collection of musicians played all together. That was what caught her attention the most. She had heard her daddy play his instrument, and he played nicely, but this was totally different than anything she'd ever heard before.
"Excuse me miss. Where are your parents?" An usher startled her, appearing from somewhere off to the side.
"Oh.. um.." Ôlthel was a bit alarmed to realize she might have lingered a bit longer than she meant to.
"Do you have a ticket? That will tell me where to find them," He offered, helpfully.
Ôlthel did not have a ticket, and realized she was probably not supposed to be here. Not to mention the fact that her father had probably noticed her absence by now, and would be looking for her. Instead of answering the man, she fled back through the door and raced down the carpeted hallway, hoping to rush back to the workshop room before she got in trouble.
| Oluion and Ôlthel Felmë
(Many years ago)
Wide brown eyes stared up at the grand building in front of them, amazed at the size and beauty just of the outside. "Are we really going in there, Daddy?" Ôlthel asked, tightening her grip on his hand.
"We are," He assured her with a smile. Multitudes of other folks were coming in and out of the building as they climbed the steps, Ôlthel skipping along next to her father with great excitement. An instrument case hung at his side from a strap over one shoulder.
"Why's there so many people?" Ôlthel wondered, sticking close to his side, nervously.
"Apparently, they're having a performance happening today," He explained, helping Ôlthel open the heavy, ornate door.
Once inside, the interior took her breath away. She paid no attention to the crowd bustling around, waiting to get in to find a seat for the event. If she had thought it was beautiful outside, it was nothing compared to the inside! "What's a performance, daddy?"
"When a lot of musicians, singers, actors, or dancers, come to perform on the stage," He explained with a little grin.
"Are you going to play in it?" She asked, wide-eyed, looking at the instrument he carried. She forgot what he'd called it.
"Oh, no." he laughed. "I'm no professional. And anyway, remember, I only came to get some new strings put on."
"Oh." She nodded, remembering. "Will there be anyone around to do it?" She wondered, imagining that the people he needed to fix his instrument might be doing all the performing, and would be too busy.
"Well, I hope so," Ôluion replied, glancing around. "I didn't realize there was a concert happening today, but there ought to still be some people working in the repair shops."
They weaved through the crowd, climbing up a grand staircase to the second floor, and continued on their way until reaching at a quieter hallway, and Ôlthel turned to look back as they left the crowds of people behind. She wondered what the concert would be like, but sadly, it seemed she would not get to find out. Soon the excited chatter of the crowd in the lobby fell away from them, and her father stopped at one of the doors down at the end and knocked.
"Come in!" A voice called from inside.
Stepping inside the workshop, Ôluion smiled and greeted the man there. "Saelben, how are you?" He shook hands with the man. "This is my daughter, Ôlthel."
"Hello, sir." Ôlthel smiled politely.
"Good to meet you, little lady." The man smiled before addressing her father again. "What brings you here, Olu?"
"I need some new strings," He explained, resting his case down on a table before opening it to show that one of his strings had broken.
Curious to see, Ôlthel stood on tiptoe at first, but soon grew bored as the two grown-ups began to talk about strings and sound and vibrations and whatnot. Soon the two were deeply engaged in conversation about music and things that were way over her head. And completely focused on her daddy's instrument.
Growing more and more bored, the small girl of seven watched her father for a moment before deciding that he would probably not notice if she slipped out for a few minutes. Just to look around a bit. Tiptoeing out of the room, she left the door ajar ever so slightly, just so that it wouldn't make any noise upon latching. Then grinned to herself and wandered down the hallway to satisfy her curiosity.
The place was enormous! After wandering down the length of the hallway, a noise caught her attention. It made her stop and look around. The noise of a large assembly of musicians all striking up their music at once, in perfect unison and harmony. She caught her breath, listening, as the noise drifted down the hallway. Drawn toward it, she followed the of the music. Eventually, she found a set of doors. The music was just on the other side, she just knew it!
Pushing the door open, Ôlthel stepped inside and stopped again, eyes widening further as she found herself on a balcony overlooking it all. It was like nothing she ever would have imagined! The huge, vaulted ceiling rose up high, a gorgeous chandelier with many candles all burning brightly was hung from the center of the ceiling. The walls were lined with box seats all around the enormous room, and in the middle, below her, were rows and rows of seats. All filled with people. And down at the end, a collection of musicians played all together. That was what caught her attention the most. She had heard her daddy play his instrument, and he played nicely, but this was totally different than anything she'd ever heard before.
"Excuse me miss. Where are your parents?" An usher startled her, appearing from somewhere off to the side.
"Oh.. um.." Ôlthel was a bit alarmed to realize she might have lingered a bit longer than she meant to.
"Do you have a ticket? That will tell me where to find them," He offered, helpfully.
Ôlthel did not have a ticket, and realized she was probably not supposed to be here. Not to mention the fact that her father had probably noticed her absence by now, and would be looking for her. Instead of answering the man, she fled back through the door and raced down the carpeted hallway, hoping to rush back to the workshop room before she got in trouble.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 7:52 am, edited 4 times in total.
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Ôlthel Felmë
(Many years ago)
The carpet muted the sound of her running feet. After ways, she stopped and looked back. No one was chasing her. She breathed heavily from running, and slowed her pace as she continued. Now, how far down the hallway was the door? She stopped and looked around, then started checking each door. On and on she went, until at last one of the doors opened. Surprised, she stepped in to find.. not her father.
Instead, there was a lady inside, cleaning a blackboard. "Did you forget something?" She asked, turning, then looked surprised when she saw Ôlthel. "Oh, hello. I thought you were my student, returning."
"Your student?" Ôlthel tilted her head, looking around. "I didn't know this was a school."
The lady smiled. "It is, in a way. But not like you're thinking of. I teach people how to sing." She explained.
"To sing? You mean you teach them new songs or something?"
The lady laughed lightly, and sat down on a bench, facing Ôlthel so she was more at eye-level with her. "That is some of it, yes. But I can also help them to learn how to use their voice to sound nicer when they sing."
"Ooh!" Ôlthel grinned. "That sounds like fun. Can I learn?"
The lady paused, considering her for a moment. "Well, that would be something to discuss with your parents. Where are they?"
"Oh.." Ôlthel remembered her father. "My daddy is here getting his instrument fixed. He'll be a while longer."
"Hmm, alright. Well.. if you're truly interested, perhaps I could give you a short lesson, this one time, and you can ask your father whether you might continue taking lessons. Would you like that?"
"Yes!" Ôlthel brightened, eager to know these secrets to learning to sing well. "What do I need to do?" She wondered, already trying to think of how she might be able to convince her father to let her take these lessons. And she was so excited about whatever this lady would teach her, that she completely forgot that she was supposed to be going to find her father.
Ôlthel Felmë
(Many years ago)
The carpet muted the sound of her running feet. After ways, she stopped and looked back. No one was chasing her. She breathed heavily from running, and slowed her pace as she continued. Now, how far down the hallway was the door? She stopped and looked around, then started checking each door. On and on she went, until at last one of the doors opened. Surprised, she stepped in to find.. not her father.
Instead, there was a lady inside, cleaning a blackboard. "Did you forget something?" She asked, turning, then looked surprised when she saw Ôlthel. "Oh, hello. I thought you were my student, returning."
"Your student?" Ôlthel tilted her head, looking around. "I didn't know this was a school."
The lady smiled. "It is, in a way. But not like you're thinking of. I teach people how to sing." She explained.
"To sing? You mean you teach them new songs or something?"
The lady laughed lightly, and sat down on a bench, facing Ôlthel so she was more at eye-level with her. "That is some of it, yes. But I can also help them to learn how to use their voice to sound nicer when they sing."
"Ooh!" Ôlthel grinned. "That sounds like fun. Can I learn?"
The lady paused, considering her for a moment. "Well, that would be something to discuss with your parents. Where are they?"
"Oh.." Ôlthel remembered her father. "My daddy is here getting his instrument fixed. He'll be a while longer."
"Hmm, alright. Well.. if you're truly interested, perhaps I could give you a short lesson, this one time, and you can ask your father whether you might continue taking lessons. Would you like that?"
"Yes!" Ôlthel brightened, eager to know these secrets to learning to sing well. "What do I need to do?" She wondered, already trying to think of how she might be able to convince her father to let her take these lessons. And she was so excited about whatever this lady would teach her, that she completely forgot that she was supposed to be going to find her father.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 7:52 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Oluion Felmë
(Many years ago)
He'd only turned out around for a moment, wrapped up in conversation with Saelben. And, while he had not expressly told his child to stay, he had assumed this did not need to be told. How wrong he was. He ought to have known better, Oluion realized, the moment he turned to check on her, and saw that Ôlthel was gone.
Rushing up and down the corridor, he called, "Ôlthel!" But he got no reply. She couldn't have gone far, right? Úllothel was going to kill him for losing their daughter! He could hear the symphony going on, elsewhere in the building, but he could hardly enjoy it, being so distraught over his missing child.
Many of the doors along the narrow hallway led to empty rooms. Still, he stepped in and called his daughter's name. Either she was not there, or she was hiding for some reason. She wouldn't be playing a game, would she? He hoped not. He was growing more panicked the longer he went without finding her. At the end of the corridor, just before the staircase down to the lobby, he took a moment to try and think. Taking a deep breath, he tried to imagine what a small girl might do, or where she might go in a place like this.
The music. He realized it, as soon as he began trying to put himself in the child's place. She'd be enraptured by the magic of the symphony, surely. She'd want to go and see the source. He hastened toward the balcony doors, hesitating before cautiously peeking his head through.
Oluion paused for a second to let his gaze scan the scene, half-hoping to spot his little girl, but another half of him wished he could afford to buy tickets and take his family to see something like this.
"Can I help you, sir?" An usher approached, speaking softly.
"Oh, perhaps?" He was a mix of disappointed and relieved. "My little girl has wandered off, and I can't seem to find her.. you wouldn't happen to have seen her?"
"Ahh, about so high, dark hair? Big brown eyes?" The usher asked with a small smile.
"Yes, can you tell me where she is?" Oluion asked, anxious.
"Well, she wandered in here, and when I asked her where her parents were, she ran off, I'm afraid."
Oluion's heart sank. "Did you see which way she went?" He was growing more and more worried. This place was huge, after all, and it was easy enough to get lost when you knew your way around a little bit. For a little child being here for the first time, it would be very easy to get turned around, or distracted by some wonderful new sight or sound...
"I did," The usher replied, to the relief of the worried father. He motioned for him to follow as he led the way back to the large hallway/lobby, where he pointed to one of the doors at one end. "I saw her disappear down that way. I figured she must be finding her way back to you. Hope you find her."
"Thank you!" Oluion exclaimed in relief. The door was quite close to the one leading to the hallway where he had been, so he could understand how the child might have gotten confused. He hastened down this new hallway, unsure what might be down this way.
Oluion Felmë
(Many years ago)
He'd only turned out around for a moment, wrapped up in conversation with Saelben. And, while he had not expressly told his child to stay, he had assumed this did not need to be told. How wrong he was. He ought to have known better, Oluion realized, the moment he turned to check on her, and saw that Ôlthel was gone.
Rushing up and down the corridor, he called, "Ôlthel!" But he got no reply. She couldn't have gone far, right? Úllothel was going to kill him for losing their daughter! He could hear the symphony going on, elsewhere in the building, but he could hardly enjoy it, being so distraught over his missing child.
Many of the doors along the narrow hallway led to empty rooms. Still, he stepped in and called his daughter's name. Either she was not there, or she was hiding for some reason. She wouldn't be playing a game, would she? He hoped not. He was growing more panicked the longer he went without finding her. At the end of the corridor, just before the staircase down to the lobby, he took a moment to try and think. Taking a deep breath, he tried to imagine what a small girl might do, or where she might go in a place like this.
The music. He realized it, as soon as he began trying to put himself in the child's place. She'd be enraptured by the magic of the symphony, surely. She'd want to go and see the source. He hastened toward the balcony doors, hesitating before cautiously peeking his head through.
Oluion paused for a second to let his gaze scan the scene, half-hoping to spot his little girl, but another half of him wished he could afford to buy tickets and take his family to see something like this.
"Can I help you, sir?" An usher approached, speaking softly.
"Oh, perhaps?" He was a mix of disappointed and relieved. "My little girl has wandered off, and I can't seem to find her.. you wouldn't happen to have seen her?"
"Ahh, about so high, dark hair? Big brown eyes?" The usher asked with a small smile.
"Yes, can you tell me where she is?" Oluion asked, anxious.
"Well, she wandered in here, and when I asked her where her parents were, she ran off, I'm afraid."
Oluion's heart sank. "Did you see which way she went?" He was growing more and more worried. This place was huge, after all, and it was easy enough to get lost when you knew your way around a little bit. For a little child being here for the first time, it would be very easy to get turned around, or distracted by some wonderful new sight or sound...
"I did," The usher replied, to the relief of the worried father. He motioned for him to follow as he led the way back to the large hallway/lobby, where he pointed to one of the doors at one end. "I saw her disappear down that way. I figured she must be finding her way back to you. Hope you find her."
"Thank you!" Oluion exclaimed in relief. The door was quite close to the one leading to the hallway where he had been, so he could understand how the child might have gotten confused. He hastened down this new hallway, unsure what might be down this way.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 7:51 am, edited 3 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."
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Oluion and Ôlthel Felmë
(Many years ago)
Being unsure of exactly where Ôlthel had gone, Oluion stopped to check each door along the hall. After he had gone a long ways, he began to hear something. Singing. He stopped, listening, and realized that was his daughter's voice. She was singing! He breathed out a sigh of relief, and laughed softly to himself. Approaching the door from which it seemed to be coming, he paused and listened. Yes, that was definitely Ôlthel, he confirmed. He quietly opened the door and looked inside.
And sure enough, there was his daughter, standing at a songbook stand, in front of a blackboard. A lady was standing nearby, watching, nodding here and there, as if coaching her, and listening carefully. Somewhat amazed by this unexpected sight, Oluion just watched for a moment. When Ôlthel had finished her song, the lady spoke kindly, saying what a good job she had done, and followed up with a little suggestion on how she might do better.
He chose this moment to step in, and cleared his throat softly. "Excuse me.."
"Daddy!" Ôlthel happily came to hug him, then looked a bit guilty as she remembered that she might be in trouble.
"I was worried sick about you," He informed her, attempting a stern look.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wander off," She insisted. "I was just curious, and then I got lost, and..oh! This is Ms. Thilirien, Daddy. She's teaching me how to sing nicely!" She declared happily.
"Ms. Thilirien," Oluion nodded to the lady. "I apologize for my daughter, but I thank you for keeping her in one place until I could find her."
"Of course," She smiled. "Ôlthel is a sweet girl. She has a very nice voice, too."
He smiled. "She often sings along for me, when I play." He explained with a little grin at Ôlthel.
"Please, can I take lessons with Ms. Thilirien all the time?" Ôlthel begged. "Please, Daddy?"
He looked thoughtfully at her, then at the voice teacher. "Well, maybe. Let me talk to Ms. Thilirien about that. And then, of course, we'll have to talk to your mother. But you," He looked sternly at his daughter. "Have to promise you'll never again wander off like that! You scared me, Ôlthel."
"Sorry, Daddy. I won't do it again, I promise." She hugged his leg. "Please, let me take lessons?"
He laughed lightly. "Why don't you go over there and sing that lovely song again, while I talk to Ms. Thilirien about it?"
"Alright!" She happily bounced over to the stand to start the song over, while Oluion went to discuss what sort of prices were involved with these private lessons. He did hope it would be affordable, as it didn't seem quite fair to Ôlthel that her brother was off training to become a knight, in Belfalas, while she had nothing to compare with that.
By the time Ôlthel had finished her song, Oluion was feeling fairly satisfied with his ability to convince his wife to invest in these lessons, and hoped that it might be something that Ôlthel would enjoy. "Thank you, Ms Thilirien. I'll talk to my wife, and if she agrees.. then we shall return to discuss a schedule with you." he told the lady. Ôlthel was clearly excited, and honestly, he was a little bit excited for her.
"Excellent, I would love to have Ôlthel for a student. She shows much promise," Ms. Thilrien smiled. "Goodbye, Ôlthel. I hope to see you again soon!"
"Bye!" Ôlthel waved, a little disappointed to have to leave, but she was very excited about the prospect of maybe coming back. "I hope Mother says I can take lessons!"
"I'll see if I can convince her," Oluion replied, smiling slightly. "I think it would be nice for you."
Skipping along next to her father, Ôlthel was still singing quietly as they stopped at the other workshop to collect her father's instrument back from Saelben, which had its new strings in place by now. After paying for the new strings and the work done, Oluion bid farewell to Saelben, then made sure to keep a firm grip on his daughter's hand, so that she would not be tempted to run off again as they left the Hall of Song. Already, he was figuring out the best way of convincing Ullothel that they could afford this. They both worked jobs, and while it was a little difficult at times to pay all the bills, it would be worth the extra cost if it made his daughter happy.
(end)
| Oluion and Ôlthel Felmë
(Many years ago)
Being unsure of exactly where Ôlthel had gone, Oluion stopped to check each door along the hall. After he had gone a long ways, he began to hear something. Singing. He stopped, listening, and realized that was his daughter's voice. She was singing! He breathed out a sigh of relief, and laughed softly to himself. Approaching the door from which it seemed to be coming, he paused and listened. Yes, that was definitely Ôlthel, he confirmed. He quietly opened the door and looked inside.
And sure enough, there was his daughter, standing at a songbook stand, in front of a blackboard. A lady was standing nearby, watching, nodding here and there, as if coaching her, and listening carefully. Somewhat amazed by this unexpected sight, Oluion just watched for a moment. When Ôlthel had finished her song, the lady spoke kindly, saying what a good job she had done, and followed up with a little suggestion on how she might do better.
He chose this moment to step in, and cleared his throat softly. "Excuse me.."
"Daddy!" Ôlthel happily came to hug him, then looked a bit guilty as she remembered that she might be in trouble.
"I was worried sick about you," He informed her, attempting a stern look.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wander off," She insisted. "I was just curious, and then I got lost, and..oh! This is Ms. Thilirien, Daddy. She's teaching me how to sing nicely!" She declared happily.
"Ms. Thilirien," Oluion nodded to the lady. "I apologize for my daughter, but I thank you for keeping her in one place until I could find her."
"Of course," She smiled. "Ôlthel is a sweet girl. She has a very nice voice, too."
He smiled. "She often sings along for me, when I play." He explained with a little grin at Ôlthel.
"Please, can I take lessons with Ms. Thilirien all the time?" Ôlthel begged. "Please, Daddy?"
He looked thoughtfully at her, then at the voice teacher. "Well, maybe. Let me talk to Ms. Thilirien about that. And then, of course, we'll have to talk to your mother. But you," He looked sternly at his daughter. "Have to promise you'll never again wander off like that! You scared me, Ôlthel."
"Sorry, Daddy. I won't do it again, I promise." She hugged his leg. "Please, let me take lessons?"
He laughed lightly. "Why don't you go over there and sing that lovely song again, while I talk to Ms. Thilirien about it?"
"Alright!" She happily bounced over to the stand to start the song over, while Oluion went to discuss what sort of prices were involved with these private lessons. He did hope it would be affordable, as it didn't seem quite fair to Ôlthel that her brother was off training to become a knight, in Belfalas, while she had nothing to compare with that.
By the time Ôlthel had finished her song, Oluion was feeling fairly satisfied with his ability to convince his wife to invest in these lessons, and hoped that it might be something that Ôlthel would enjoy. "Thank you, Ms Thilirien. I'll talk to my wife, and if she agrees.. then we shall return to discuss a schedule with you." he told the lady. Ôlthel was clearly excited, and honestly, he was a little bit excited for her.
"Excellent, I would love to have Ôlthel for a student. She shows much promise," Ms. Thilrien smiled. "Goodbye, Ôlthel. I hope to see you again soon!"
"Bye!" Ôlthel waved, a little disappointed to have to leave, but she was very excited about the prospect of maybe coming back. "I hope Mother says I can take lessons!"
"I'll see if I can convince her," Oluion replied, smiling slightly. "I think it would be nice for you."
Skipping along next to her father, Ôlthel was still singing quietly as they stopped at the other workshop to collect her father's instrument back from Saelben, which had its new strings in place by now. After paying for the new strings and the work done, Oluion bid farewell to Saelben, then made sure to keep a firm grip on his daughter's hand, so that she would not be tempted to run off again as they left the Hall of Song. Already, he was figuring out the best way of convincing Ullothel that they could afford this. They both worked jobs, and while it was a little difficult at times to pay all the bills, it would be worth the extra cost if it made his daughter happy.
(end)
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 7:53 am, edited 2 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."
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Steward of Gondor
Posts: 2713
Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
(Private)
Úllothel Felmë
About 12 years ago
The grand entrance hall was quiet as Thel walked inside, but from the depths of the place, somewhere in the upper floor where the classrooms were, one could faintly hear the sound of lessons and practices going on, but it was muffled enough that she couldn't tell much about the instruments being played.
Glancing around, she hesitated and glanced around for someone to talk to. Having taken the opportunity to come over here during her lunch break, she knew she couldn't take too long. So, following the sound of the muffled music, she ventured up the stairs. A soft smile came over her face as she recalled the many times she used to walk up these very steps with her little girl, taking her to her singing lessons. Ôlthel had loved it, and while it had been hard financially, it had been worth it. She hoped to make a similar investment, now, years later.
A gentleman and a young man emerged from one of the rooms, both with an instrument in hand. After bidding farewell to the young man, he turned to Thel with a smile. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
"I hope so." She smiled. "I was interested in enrolling my grandson in music lessons, but I'm not sure who to talk to."
"Ah," he smiled. "Well, I happen to be one of the tutors. What sort of instrument is your grandson interested in?"
She laughed softly. "All of them." She smiled. "At the moment, he plays on my pots and pans mostly, but I would like to direct his attention toward a proper instrument." She explained. "His friend has just given him some sort of instrument for his birthday, mostly a toy, but... well, Ithought it would be nice if he could learn a proper instrument."
He laughed slightly. "Yes, indeed.. well, perhaps we can help. How old is he?"
"Eight," She answered. "His mother used to take singing lessons here when she was a child, and she absolutely loved it. But she passed away a couple years ago," She added sadly, "but now Trevadir is showing interest in music, as well. My husband used to play an instrument but I don't remember what he called it, and.. he's gone now too." She sighed sadly.
"I'm sorry to hear that." He replied, sympathetic. "As for your grandson, eight is a good age to begin," He nodded. "Would you like to step inside and talk about it more?"
"Thank you. I haven't got long, though." She warned, before stepping in to sit with the gentleman and discuss the details involved. But soon, disappointment settled in her heart as the topic of money came up. The cost of lessons had increased since Ôlthel was a child. And Ullothel's income had greatly decreased, since Uluion's passing. Left with only one income and two young boys to raise on her own, she struggled already to pay the rent and keep food on the table.
With a soft sigh, she stood and shook hands with the tutor. "Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions," She told him. "I'm afraid it's a little more than I can afford at this time, but perhaps later on," She tried to sound hopeful that their situation might improve in the near future, though she very much doubted it.
As she bid farewell to the tutor, Ullothel tried not to feel too disappointed, but also decided that it would be best not to tell Trevadir anything about it. As much as it had disappointed her to not be able to let him take lessons, how much more disappointing would it be for him to be told that it was an option that existed, but he couldn't do it? Besides, even if she could somehow manage to scrape together enough money to pay for Trevadir, what about his little brother? Though Tobedir was only two right now, he would grow, and develop his own interests, which might also cost. And it wouldn't be fair to Tobedir if Trevadir got to do something and he couldn't.
Shaking her head to herself, she decided it was probably best that this place was up on the fifth level, where Trevadir was unlikely to ever notice it. From the outside, it just looked like some library or museum that the young boy would likely never pay any attention to it even if he did see it. That was a small consolation to her, to know that he would never really know what he was missing, but she still felt a bit saddened as she returned to the shop where she was employed to alter and tailor the clothing as customers required. At least she could take her mind off it by focusing on her work.
Úllothel Felmë
About 12 years ago
The grand entrance hall was quiet as Thel walked inside, but from the depths of the place, somewhere in the upper floor where the classrooms were, one could faintly hear the sound of lessons and practices going on, but it was muffled enough that she couldn't tell much about the instruments being played.
Glancing around, she hesitated and glanced around for someone to talk to. Having taken the opportunity to come over here during her lunch break, she knew she couldn't take too long. So, following the sound of the muffled music, she ventured up the stairs. A soft smile came over her face as she recalled the many times she used to walk up these very steps with her little girl, taking her to her singing lessons. Ôlthel had loved it, and while it had been hard financially, it had been worth it. She hoped to make a similar investment, now, years later.
A gentleman and a young man emerged from one of the rooms, both with an instrument in hand. After bidding farewell to the young man, he turned to Thel with a smile. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
"I hope so." She smiled. "I was interested in enrolling my grandson in music lessons, but I'm not sure who to talk to."
"Ah," he smiled. "Well, I happen to be one of the tutors. What sort of instrument is your grandson interested in?"
She laughed softly. "All of them." She smiled. "At the moment, he plays on my pots and pans mostly, but I would like to direct his attention toward a proper instrument." She explained. "His friend has just given him some sort of instrument for his birthday, mostly a toy, but... well, Ithought it would be nice if he could learn a proper instrument."
He laughed slightly. "Yes, indeed.. well, perhaps we can help. How old is he?"
"Eight," She answered. "His mother used to take singing lessons here when she was a child, and she absolutely loved it. But she passed away a couple years ago," She added sadly, "but now Trevadir is showing interest in music, as well. My husband used to play an instrument but I don't remember what he called it, and.. he's gone now too." She sighed sadly.
"I'm sorry to hear that." He replied, sympathetic. "As for your grandson, eight is a good age to begin," He nodded. "Would you like to step inside and talk about it more?"
"Thank you. I haven't got long, though." She warned, before stepping in to sit with the gentleman and discuss the details involved. But soon, disappointment settled in her heart as the topic of money came up. The cost of lessons had increased since Ôlthel was a child. And Ullothel's income had greatly decreased, since Uluion's passing. Left with only one income and two young boys to raise on her own, she struggled already to pay the rent and keep food on the table.
With a soft sigh, she stood and shook hands with the tutor. "Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions," She told him. "I'm afraid it's a little more than I can afford at this time, but perhaps later on," She tried to sound hopeful that their situation might improve in the near future, though she very much doubted it.
As she bid farewell to the tutor, Ullothel tried not to feel too disappointed, but also decided that it would be best not to tell Trevadir anything about it. As much as it had disappointed her to not be able to let him take lessons, how much more disappointing would it be for him to be told that it was an option that existed, but he couldn't do it? Besides, even if she could somehow manage to scrape together enough money to pay for Trevadir, what about his little brother? Though Tobedir was only two right now, he would grow, and develop his own interests, which might also cost. And it wouldn't be fair to Tobedir if Trevadir got to do something and he couldn't.
Shaking her head to herself, she decided it was probably best that this place was up on the fifth level, where Trevadir was unlikely to ever notice it. From the outside, it just looked like some library or museum that the young boy would likely never pay any attention to it even if he did see it. That was a small consolation to her, to know that he would never really know what he was missing, but she still felt a bit saddened as she returned to the shop where she was employed to alter and tailor the clothing as customers required. At least she could take her mind off it by focusing on her work.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 8:04 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."
- Points: 5 919
Balrog
Posts: 3550
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 11:02 am
Wind and Color: A Final Walpurga Tale
Behind the Curtains of the Main Stage
(Open)
When she awoke that morning, she had not expected the sense of finality that washed over her. She let out a beath she’d unconsciously been holding, the air slid through her teeth giving her a sense of calm. When was the last time she’d sung in front of a group of people? That time in Rohan didn’t count, there were too many odd circumstances revolving around that. She might have tried to sing once or twice in Benton, but that had been a lifetime ago. She was a different person now, complete with warts and all. She licked her lips, they were dry from nerves. Just a song, just one song. That’s all this was going to be, and it wasn’t an aria, or anything complicated like that. It was a song, accompanied by a guitar. When she’d come to Minas Tirith, tired, with a badger and three skunks as company, she never imagined she’d be here. She had no idea how to play an instrument, had had no desire to learn one. Not until she met her. The meeting felt inconsequential at the time, just another customer on the opening day of Sword and the Scone. No, no, who was she kidding. It was the most consequential meeting she’d ever experienced. Time slowed when Vipsania entered the little out of the way coffee shop. The world shifted and the sun started setting in the east, winter became hot and summer was full of snow. The moon was up at night and the sun hung high at midnight. Vipsania made the world complete. Wherever she walked there were colors she’d never noticed before, never understood. She played the violin and made the wind itself cry from its beauty. She was vibrant and alive, and she passed that life and exuberance unto her. She learned guitar for Vipsania. It was hard going, but she was determined. What was she if not? Lessons were painful as the callouses developed on her fingers, they were troublesome and tiring and exasperating. Chords and notes and so, so many chords. How was she supposed to remember all the chords, hundreds of chords to make even more melodies and songs and the list could go on and on. But it was all worth it. She’d played for Vipsania a few times, a few spring days in the park when the light of evening was just starting to dim and butterflies were plentiful, beneath the cherry blossom trees, white like snow. Vipsania had loved it, and so she had loved it. Confidence had never been a strong suit for her. Growing up in Benton how could it? But Vipsania gave her that confidence, that simple assurance that she was worth it.
None of that had really prepared her for this moment though. Well, that’s not true. It had and it hadn’t. They’d been dating now for two years. It was time for something to happen. If she were being honest with herself, she would have proposed that day in the coffee shop but that might have seemed a little… forward. She’d never been so certain of anything in all her life. Why did she have butterflies in her stomach then? Well, aside from the public performance and public declaration of love. The people of Minas Tirith were kind and accepting, but what if there were a few that were not and those few people decided tonight was the night to attend the Hall of Song? Well, even if that were a problem, she and her bride to be would be leaving soon, taking up on a little farm in Anórien. She’d been in contact with the former occupant for weeks now, preparing all the details and logistics. It was time. She missed her roots. The city was fine, full of light and life, and it was full of Vipsania. But soon Anórien would be full of Vipsania too. They’d talked about it, but Vipsania had no idea what she was planning. Her parents had helped her preserve the surprise, and Ystr, too. She felt it was the right time. Minas Tirith was a place for new folks. She’d had her time now. What new souls would occupy her rooms, her shop? Time could only tell.
She took another deep breath. She could hear the low murmur of a gathered crowd. The butterflies returned. Public performance was not one of her favorite past times, but the occasion called for it. Walpurga touched the frets of the guitar, guiding fingers along musical steel string. It was an old instrument, a secondhand instrument with uncounted years already etched into its wood. Some people name their swords and axes, she named her guitar: Súruquilya, Wind and Color.
It was time. The longer she put off the performance the more nervous she would become. Another deep breath…
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh
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Balrog
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Wind and Color: A Final Walpurga Tale
In the Audience of the Main Stage
(Open)
Walpurga, when they met, had no idea how to hold a guitar let alone play one. And yet, after two years, two blissful years, she was about to perform at the Hall of Song. Vipsania had performed here in the past and knew the nerves her Walpurga must be feeling. She could vividly recall her own first time, she had so many butterflies she thought she was going to float away, instead she just threw up in her mouth. Not ideal, but at least none of it escaped her lips. Walpurga had been cagey about tonight’s performance, more so than her usual reticence. That could only mean one thing, something big was going to happen tonight. Suddenly, sitting amidst the audience, Vipsania became very nervous, likely more nervous than her girlfriend about to perform a song. What song would it be? Walpurga had been very secretive about it, she’d been secretive about a lot of things lately. She’d managed to sus some things out, but not the song. She’d managed to sneak bits and pieces of the song, an eavesdrop here, a half second glance at sheet music there. It was all enough to add up to nothing Vipsania could recognize. Had Walpurga created an original composition? Despite her onset of nerves, Vipsania was proud.
There was something big Ystr had let slide though, she thought smugly. A farm in Anórien. A tiny little plot, just enough for two people and a handful of animals, maybe even some crops when the seasons were right. She blushed reflexively. Her girlfriend bought her a farm. When one’s girlfriend of two years buys a farm and goes to great lengths to conceal that fact, it could only mean one thing.
Two could play at that game, then. Ystr couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, but Krittithee and Zoë, Ystr’s wife, were much better at keeping secrets. Zoë herself had gone to the farm to check it out, to make sure the kitchen at least was up to her exacting standards. If a home had a bad kitchen, it would have a bad marriage. Fortunately for Vipsania, Zoë came back verily green with envy. It was time to fill the place with animals now. That was were Krittithee came in. He had connections all over Gondor and beyond. There was no way the man was a simple restauranteur. No way. That, however, was a secret for another day, another time. He bought animals to fill the farm, the best. Pigs (Walpurga’s favorite), rabbits (Vipsania’s favorite), goats, and some chickens. Krittithee knew, too, exactly the breeds to get and who to get them from. By the time Walpurga revealed her secret, to which Vipsania would act flabbergasted and amazed, the place would be a veritable city of animals.
A hush was beginning to fall over the crowd. Vipsania realized she was holding onto the arm of her seat like a vice. Was she really that nervous? She licked her lips, they were dry as a summer afternoon. Why was she so nervous? It was Walpurga performing this mystery song. Sympathetic nerves? That sounded like nonsense, so it was probably true.
Suddenly the place was silent. Vipsania, taken off-guard, hiccupped. The sound had a strange echoing effect. The acoustics of this place were wild, eldritch, and unexplainable. Architecture was never an interest of hers, but she assumed it was some sort of clever trick, the way the walls made sound move, herding it from one area of the auditorium to the other.
She was distracting herself. She closed her eyes, let her thoughts slough off momentarily, and took a deep breath.
The curtain opened…
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh
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Balrog
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Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 11:02 am
Wind and Color: A Final Walpurga Tale
Outside the Main Entrance
(Open)
Draugûrdaer watched from outside the Hall of Song. He was a good boy, even if he wasn’t doing what he had been told. Both Walpurga and Vipsania had told him to stay at home, but well, he couldn’t do that. What dog on earth would have stayed at home under these circumstances? Only dogs that had no sense of loyalty, or a sharp enough nose.
There was something in the air, something that told Draugûrdaer that tonight was going to be a very important night. The air smelled different; it smelled like expectation. What did expectation smell like? Well, it smelled like expectation. It was not the answer a human might want to hear, but it was an answer a dog was able to give. Humans were so limited in their understanding of things. Even though both his humans were very sharp, very intelligent, they could not see, smell, or hear all the things he could. He knew things that he could not explain, he understood things most dogs, loyal to the end, would never understand. Most dogs, though, had not been charged by Huan himself to look after a human. Walpurga didn’t know that of course. Even if he could have communicated that to her, she would not have understood why. Draugûrdaer himself was not sure of the why. Only that it must be done. So, here he was. Watching over her, protecting her.
Tonight was a momentous night. He knew that instinctively. Both Vipsania and Walpurga had been all a tizzy this afternoon, buzzing like bees back and forth. Walpurga must have tried on three different dresses, three more than she’d ever worn in the entire time he’d been watching over her. Vipsania tried on five, which was five less than she normally tried before decided. Walpurga examined her guitar so much today, fiddling and staring at it that Draugûrdaer thought she was about to eat it. It would not make sense on any other day, but today was very different.
That was why he couldn’t stay at home. If he stayed at home during Walpurga’s performance tonight, he would not have been a good dog. And Draugûrdaer was the best of dogs.
He growled at a few passing rangers, dressed in militaristic finery that made them look like little boys. He did not like the rangers of Minas Tirith. They did not like him either. The wolfhound husky mix was an enormous dog, nearly the size of a small pony (he’d let a few children at the coffee shop ride around on his back so they could giggle and have a good time), and rangers were naturally skittish, overly sensitive creatures. They were worse than cats in that way. They hissed and whined like cats though. These rangers didn’t hiss or why at him though, they crossed the thoroughfare, looking like they’d been cowed. He was satisfied with that response. Whoever they were or whatever they were doing, they would not be interfering with his humans tonight.
It was a very important night tonight. Something big and lifechanging was going to happen tonight, the wolfhound could feel that in his gut. He would have bet the juiciest, bloodiest tomahawk steak on that. He sniffed the air. Expectation and anticipation. The air was full of the smell. He liked it well enough, but he knew it was a smell that could go stale fast if things did not turn out well. Things would turn out well though, he knew this. He was hear to guard his humans after all. And he’d been charged by Huan to keep them safe from anything and anyone.
He wondered, as time wore on that night, who else might show up. Surely someone would interrupt or interject something about a giant hound being too close to the Hall of Song, unappreciative of his talents both in guardianship and song (he was quite talented of course but his talents were never fully appreciated by those around him). His thoughts drifted to the skunk siblings, his other charges, tiny balls of black and white energy. Danger kittens. They loved and trusted him, otherwise he might have been sprayed countless times. They were skittish, but they were also willful. They too had been admonished by Walpurga to stay at home, but they were even worse listeners than Draugûrdaer himself. He sniffed the air absently, no, no sign of skunk, but that didn’t mean they weren’t about, just that they were being careful. He’d search for them, after.
Right now though, something was about to happen inside…
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh
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Balrog
Posts: 3550
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 11:02 am
Wind and Color: A Final Walpurga Tale
On the Main Stage
(Open)
The curtain opened and the world changed around her. The auditorium was split into a chimeric sky of black and white, she saw faces in the crowd but each was veiled in shadow, only half visible from her elevated position. She scanned the crowd. Each face was unique, filled with stories and worries. Their eyes told stories their mouths never could, and the eyes would never shut up the way the mouth would. They never clammed up and refused to give a secret. They were open, honest, and (more often than naught) terrifying. The eyes told stories that not every listener wanted to hear. There were hundreds of eyes on her tonight, watching hers, trying to gauge who and what she was. Minas Tirith was a grand city, a city so filled with people that getting lost in the hubbub was more a certainty than a possibility. It was a place where identity might go to die, like an oliphant graveyard (not that Walpurga believed in those). Yet, standing here, on a stage with a named guitar and a song fairly ready to rip it’s way out of her stomach, she felt intact, whole. She felt like Walpurga. Her eyes found what they were looking for: they found the soft jade eyes of her Vipsania.
She began to strum without preamble. Her performance tonight was not for the madding crowd, it was not for the critics. It was for her. It was for Vipsania. They would forget about her as soon as they left the theatre anyway. Better to get straight to the point. Her fingers moved across the fretboard with practiced purpose, yet not without the tiniest flaws and inconsistencies that gives music personality and life.
Her voice was smooth, intense as an inferno but soft as a Minas Tirith Summer Morning.
I call you when I need you, my heart's on fire
You come to me, come to me wild and wild
When you come to me
Give me everything I need
Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams
Speak a language of love like you know what it means
MMm, and it can't be wrong
Take my heart and make it strong, baby
You're simply the best
Better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
I'm stuck on your heart
I hang on every word you say
Tear us apart
Baby, I would rather be dead
In your heart, I see the star of every night and every day
In your eyes, I get lost, I get washed away
Just as long as I'm here in your arms
I could be in no better place
You're simply the best
Better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
Ooh, I'm stuck on your heart
I hang on every word you say
Don't tear us apart, no, no, no
Baby, I would rather be dead
Each time you leave me, I start losing control
You're walking away with my heart and my soul
I can feel you even when I'm alone
Oh baby, don't let go
Ooh, you're the best, ooh
Better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
Ooh, I'm stuck on your heart
I hang on every word you say
Don't tear us apart, no, no
Baby, I would rather be dead
You're the best
Ooh, you're simply the best
Better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
I'm stuck on your heart, baby
I hang on every word you say
Don't tear us apart, no, no, no
Baby, I would rather be dead
Oh, you're the best
You're better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
Ooh, you're the best
You come to me, come to me wild and wild
When you come to me
Give me everything I need
Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams
Speak a language of love like you know what it means
MMm, and it can't be wrong
Take my heart and make it strong, baby
You're simply the best
Better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
I'm stuck on your heart
I hang on every word you say
Tear us apart
Baby, I would rather be dead
In your heart, I see the star of every night and every day
In your eyes, I get lost, I get washed away
Just as long as I'm here in your arms
I could be in no better place
You're simply the best
Better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
Ooh, I'm stuck on your heart
I hang on every word you say
Don't tear us apart, no, no, no
Baby, I would rather be dead
Each time you leave me, I start losing control
You're walking away with my heart and my soul
I can feel you even when I'm alone
Oh baby, don't let go
Ooh, you're the best, ooh
Better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
Ooh, I'm stuck on your heart
I hang on every word you say
Don't tear us apart, no, no
Baby, I would rather be dead
You're the best
Ooh, you're simply the best
Better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
I'm stuck on your heart, baby
I hang on every word you say
Don't tear us apart, no, no, no
Baby, I would rather be dead
Oh, you're the best
You're better than all the rest
Better than anyone
Anyone I've ever met
Ooh, you're the best
The song could have been played with wild and unrestrained exuberance, full of storm and thunder, or it could be played as she had, subdued but earnest. Each style had its value and its place, its seat in the pantheon of song. She preferred the softer, quieter version. It was intimate, it pulled at her soul. It was calming, a cellar in a great whirling tornado, a place where the howling of mundanity and responsibility held no sway. It was where Vipsania was, the place where Walpurga wanted to spend each waking moment from now until her hundredth year. Life before had been fine, difficult, but fine. Now, now it was sparked with joy, she woke with giddiness and excitement. She knew dark times might lie ahead, but with Vipsania she could face them. She looked at those calming jade eyes and whispered so softly not even her own years could catch it. “I love you.”
She didn’t hear the crowd’s response. Whether they booed or cheered she knew not, nor would she have cared either way. Vipsania was smiling, she was blushing.
The song was a success.
(OOC:Song Credits: "The Best" by Tina Turner, specific inspiration for this post comes from the Noah Reid version from "Schitt's Creek)
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh
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Balrog
Posts: 3550
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 11:02 am
Wind and Color: A Final Walpurga Tale
In the Audience of the Main Stage
(Open)
She looked amazing on stage. The light hit her and exploded in showers of gold and silver. Her aura radiated around her. The way she moved on stage, on catspaws, it was as if she was the source of the light. Walpurga would never have admitted it, but she had a dancer’s grace. She hid it behind a clumsy, self-deprecating demeanor. Her black locks flowed like a stolen patch of midnight, wrapped in ribbons the same deep-sea blue as her eyes. They sparkled with a vibrance that belied her nerves. Vipsania’s breath caught when Walpurga came on stage. Yes she’d seen her only a few minutes before the performance but, well that was before the stage lights hit her and transformed her, stripped away the awkward, gawkishness that Walpurga protectively wrapped herself in. On stage was no less than one of the great, ancient spirits of the age before the sun. Surely, Walpurga was something more.
Then came the song. The song. Oh, that song. It was a good thing She was seated; she felt her limbs grow weak as Walpurga began to strum, her fingers dancing with the same hidden grace. That song, that song, oh that song! Vipsania had heard bits and pieces, here and there, but the sum was so much greater than the parts that the parts themselves looked like fireflies next to a blaze. Walpurga’s voice was soft, but it commanded the room, it was warm, with a glow all its own. Vipsania felt a catch in her throat. That song, oh that song. She listened, fingers digging into the arms of her seat. The man next to her looked at her for a moment, his eyebrow raised protuberantly. She ignored him. She ignored everything. An earthquake could have ripped the city apart in that very moment and Vipsania would not have even felt the slightest tremor. Walpurga stood at the center of the world, she was the earth, the moon, the sun, and all the stars. And she was looking at Vipsania, she was looking at Vipsania in a way that made her want to crack open and spill out all over the floor. No one could have ever made Vipsania feel like that, beloved and terrified. Love, in fact, was a surreal thing, a sublime thing that made no sense in the emotions it utilized within the human heart. Her stomach was all atwitter, a hundred butterflies of orange, pink, and rose ready to burst out of her, she felt on the verge of screaming and crying and laughing. Love. That song, oh that song.
This was the woman that Vipsania wanted to be with for the rest of her life. As often as she felt like she was on the edge of a cliff, she never wanted to be separated from Walpurga. Never, never, never. They were made for each other, they fit better the most bespoke key and lock. Whether it was hosting a party in the sixth circle or slopping for pigs in Anórien. They would be together and that was all that mattered.
Vipsania finally felt the heat in her face. She was blushing. When had she started blushing? The blush felt like a furnace door had opened. The crowd was applauding uproariously. Tears began to stream down Vipsania’s face. She wanted to clap but she couldn’t the emotional weight of the song so heavy that all she could do was watching Walpurga and her deep-sea blue eyes. She blinked away tears, smiling broadly. She was shaking. Walpurga mouthed “I love you” and in an outpouring of absurd emotions, love overriding her senses, she laughed. She laughed nearly to the sound of the applause still going on around her. “I love you too” she mouthed and did it again and again. Walpurga’s eyes glittered too, making her eyes look like sparkling sapphires.
This moment would last forever in Vipsania’s memory. No matter how old she became, no matter what happened in the future, this moment would matter the most. It would be the first thought in the dark of pre-dawn and the last thought before senility and everything in between.
The world lay ahead of them.
She wiped her eyes and blew Walpurga a kiss.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh
- Points: 5 919
Balrog
Posts: 3550
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 11:02 am
Wind and Color: A Final Walpurga Tale
Up in the Rafters Above the Main Stage
(Open)
This was great, absolutely fantastic. No one suspected they were here, not a single person. Ecthelion snickered to himself. He was clever, the cleverest skunk to ever set foot in Minas Tirith. It did not really occur to him that he and his siblings might be the only skunks in Minas Tirith, but even if it had, the bold claim would have remained. No one could have coordinated as seamless an escape from Mamma’s house as he, and no one could have avoided detection in a city so full of tall people. Ecthelion was the best. Sally and Pignin agreed. They were the skunk sibling trio, and they would not be denied! They didn’t know what it was that Mamma and Vipsy were doing tonight, but they knew it had to be something big. Why else would they have told the trio to stay inside tonight? Parents try to be sneaky like that, trick their children into thinking they’re not doing something fun, when, in reality, they are doing the funnest thing of all. There was just a question of what that fun thing was. Ecthelion had been the first to suggest they escape; he was the oldest so naturally the leadership role fell to him. Sally was the last to come round. She was a natural rule follower, but her siblings still loved her. It took nearly ten whole minutes to convince her that tonight was the night to break rules. Ten minutes! In the life of a young skunk, that’s just about an eternity. But none of that mattered now because they were all there, together. It took the most sneaking that Ecthelion could muster. Not only did they have to avoid all the people of Minas Tirith, they didn’t like skunks here much for some reason, but they had to avoid Draugûrdaer, Mamma and Vipsy’s protector. He was big, the hugest, the lorgest dog that every was. He had an excellent sense of smell and always seemed to know what they were planning, even before they did! He was going with Mamma and Vipsy, well, sort of. He was supposed to watch them and make sure they didn’t get into any trouble at home, He’d left only a few minutes after them. That was what convinced Sally to come, if it was important enough that Draugûrdaer was sneaking out then it was important that Mamma’s three favorite children went as well.
The Hall of Song, not that any of the skunks knew that was its name, was a very big place filled with people. So many people that Ecthelion wasn’t sure he was going to be able to sneak himself and his siblings inside. There were so many smells, so many smells! Everyone assumes things about skunks and senses of smell, but they are, of course, all wrong. The three little skunk siblings all had excellent senses. That was how they found the alleyway, filled with refuse of all sorts and levels of decay. Pignin nearly abandoned the quest to investigate all the smells. Ecthelion had to admit it was very, very tempting, but in the end, it was far more important to see what Mamma and Vipsy were doing here. There were so many people! Mamma didn’t like this many people, she was very shy and introverted, surely a place as crowded as this would have made her want to crawl under the bed. Right? It was a mystery that needed to be solved.
In the alleyway was a storm drain, a small stone outlet that allowed water from the top of the building to flow to the bottom and into the sewer system. It was just wide enough, just barely, to fit a skunk. Sally nearly balked, it was too small, it was smelly, she was going to get stuck. But Ecthelion, the good big brother, assured her that it was not so. He would go first to show her that it was possible, he was bigger than her after all, if it was large enough for him, it would be large enough for her.
He was very nearly incorrect. The size of the water drain was not consistent the entire way up. Near what he assumed was the top, the pipe narrowed, nearly enough to squeeze him tight. He panicked for a moment, fearing that he would be stuck here forever, his little sister and brother left all alone in the world. But he persevered, he crawled inch by inch until he was through the squeeze. It was not an easy climb, it was very dark and cold and wet, but it led him all the way to the roof of the building.
Sally and Pignin followed, a little slower. They made it through the squeeze much easier than he and made sure to tease and point that out to him.
They were on the roof now, nearly the entire city was below them. They were so high up! Sally was certain that if they climbed to the top of the city they could touch the clouds, looking out right now, Ecthelion agreed with her.
They were on the roof, part one of the plan had been a success. Well, part six really, there were many parts to this plan, from Mamma’s House to here. It was a long way, but they were nearly done. Surely there was a door or a latch or something that led to the roof from the inside. Surely. People liked to watch the stars from roofs. Mamma and Vipsy loved to go to Vipsy’s mamma’s house and go on the roof. They would have picnics up there, bring their instruments, or just watch the sky go by. The skunks, as small as they were, would often join them on these outings
They sniffed and investigated the roof for several minutes, spreading out all over the large roof. It was much larger than their own roof or even Vipsy’s mamma’s! It might take them an hour or more to sniff the whole thing. They didn’t have that sort of time though! Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. They needed to find a way down. What if they missed what Mamma was going to do? What if they went all this way, braved all those city circles, bypassed all those lazy guards, snuck passed all those green becloaked rangers, tricked that candlestick maker, for nothing?
The thought was a horrifying one, and one they all shared. Ecthelion could smell the anxiety and desperation that came from not just himself but his siblings as well. They all wanted, no, needed to find a way in!
Ecthelion would not let his fears distract him! He motioned to Sally and Pignin. They were all tired and stressed, eager and confused. This could not be the time they failed to get in somewhere. They were the skunk siblings! The greatest escape artists in all of Minas Tirith! One giant building was not going defeat them!
Ecthelion stamped on the ground with his paws. Given the size of the building, he did not think he could bring it down, nor did he want to, given Mamma and Vipsy were inside. Still, this building needed to know who was boss.
They sniffed collectively for another five minutes, moving east to west when they find a trap door. It was nothing more than an old piece of wood with some iron studs keeping it together. It looked waterlogged and ready to go. Ecthelion snickered, his laughter spread to his siblings as they all used their noses to lift the piece of wood and slither inside, one after another.
They found their way to the rafters; it was not a hard task once they were inside. The light was much less in here, but they were skunks and not having lots of light to see by was never going to stop them. They had defeated a giant music hall; a lack of light (and some poorly placed cobwebs) was not even going to faze them.
There were people below, so many people. A hum of conversations, none of them about skunks up in the rafters, drifted about like smoke. They moved through the shadows unseen, like three little ghosts. Ecthelion led the way, testing each beam to make sure it would hold the weight of his siblings.
They settled above the stage, far above it, but close enough to recognize faces. They all saw Mamma straight away; she was on stage with her guitar with all the faces of the people in the audience on her. She looked wonderful, but she always did. She was Mamma. It took a moment to find Vipsy, she was in the crowd, watching Mamma play her guitar and singing. Mamma could sing! Instinctively, all the skunk siblings knew this but to get to hear it and see it was quite another thing. Vipsy liked to sing and play a violin, she would dance and run and climb up buildings as she played. Mamma was much more reserved, as she sang, she stood still. That was how they all found Vipsy, Mamma was looking directly at her. Their eyes were locked.
All three skunks watched, enraptured by their Mamma’s music. It cast a spell over the entire building. It was a very good idea to sneak out and watch. A very good idea indeed.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh
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Chief Counsellor of Gondor
Posts: 1310
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:37 am
Unalmis Raxëlilta and Iole Ishen
A little light Evening Entertainment. For fun. And for friendship.
Set in September - Open.
“I’m fairly certain we’re not meant to be in here ..”
Iole ought to have been suspicious when he offered to walk her home. If it had been a stranger, she would never have even entertained the notion. But knowing .. actually, she ought to have known better with Unalmis as well. She certainly knew that trespassing was bad, despite all her friend’s insistence that the doors had not been locked, which meant that it was not breaking and entering. It was only entering, and that was not a crime. He said. Still dubious, she was rather more concerned with letting him go forth unsupervised than she was worried about either of them getting caught. Or worse, both of them .. How had he ever .. no, no. She knew exactly how he had managed to talk her into coming .. two circles further than where he had promised to escort her. This had been a definite mistake. But he was very hard to say no to. The young woman glanced from one side to another of them, before making the further grand mistake of raising her eyes high. The vast domed ceiling filled her with awe, awe in the sense of wonder and intimidation. Nal’s hand making contact with hers, stole her attention back from the grandeur of it all, but she remained wide-eyed.
“Trust me, will you ?” he said, in that way he always did. “This is important,” he had decided and she knew better than to try and debate the matter. Best to simply get whatever he had set his mind on this time over with, as soon as ever possible. So that they could get out of there, and far from any risk of trouble ...
“Wow,” the young man had stalled, long enough to admire their surroundings himself now.
“Yes, it is .. extremely wow. And now you’ve seen it so ..” she agreed, turning foolishly to revel in that wow for just a moment. When she turned back, he was not where she had left him. “Nal !” she called out, as loudly as she dared to. With no wish to disturb the scene that stood so far removed from anything they were accustomed to. “No ! Don’t ! Get down ! Come on ..”
It was far too late for to think better of it now. Unalmis had chosen to selectively hear her say ‘don’t get down’ .. even as he had strolled across and sat down then upon the front edge of the stage. This managed, he let both legs dangle with a stupidly satisfied look on his face. Glancing nervously over her shoulder, Iole checked that they were still alone. There were lights .. which of course he’d set to light. And when she had protested, he had only pointed out they might very well have an accident if they couldn’t see where they were going. This was such a bad idea. Hastening over to try and catch his foot with her raised arm from below, the young woman glanced up, to note her friend’s head was bowed, hands resting in his lap. When she whispered his name, it was as though he did not seem to see her.
“Have you ever felt like nobody was there ?” **
Unexpected. What was he .. was he .. singing ? Iole fell back onto her heels where she stood, completely taken by surprise. “What are you doing ?” she hissed. It didn’t help at all.
“Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere ?”
He wasn’t asking. He was remembering. She knew those words as well as he did. Trevadir had composed the song. She knew the meaning of those words. She knew this tune. She didn’t know at all what he was doing though ..
“Have you ever felt like you could disappear ?”
“Nal. Please ..”
“Like you could fall, and no one would hear ?”
He leaned an arm back on either side to support him as he reclined then, throwing back his head so that the words were aimed at the ornate canopy far above.
“Well, let that lonely feeling wash away
Maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay ..”
“Someone is going to hear you !” she interjected, as though it would make any difference. Why, oh why had he never grown out of getting them into trouble ? They were going to be in so much trouble ..
“'Cause when you don't feel strong enough to stand
You can reach, reach out your hand ..”
He was literally reaching out his hand, now. Extending and flexing all the fingers on that hand, to encourage her join him. The young woman braced where she stood and resolved to hold her ground. Whatever this was …
“And oh-oh, someone will come running
And I know, they'll take you home ..”
The song fell away as the prompt intruded. “Come on, Leelee. You know you want to ..”
She most certainly did not .. want to. Not outside of dreams, not where there were repercussions. Undaunted, he watched her shaking her head, he waited for her to rise up regretfully from the seat which she had only hovered over, unsure if she dared to sit. He knew .. even before she came over, even if she were as slow as though these were her first steps ever .. only to shake her head at him. She found her way onto the stage in his wake, convinced that she was only going to drag him away.
“Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you
When you're broken on the ground
You will be found.”
Still he sang, as easily as if he had been speaking to her, ignoring the uncertain expression that was her response. Iole had no idea what to do with her face. And still he would not stop. Dedicating time and practice to an instrument like Trevadir did, was very beyond the patience of Unalmis, let alone the learning to read an entirely other language to understand quite what and how and when the sound should work to sound .. perfectly. But noise, and attention, Nal certainly had no problem with.
“So let the sun come streaming in
'Cause you'll reach up and you’ll rise again
Lift your head and look around
You will be found ..”
Against her best efforts Iole fell into cahoots with it all, in the end. Fighting it was doing nothing useful anyway and had he not told her a thousand times ? If you’re going to be nervous anyway, might as well do something worth being nervous about.
“You will be found,” she sang back. Meekly. She’d heard the boys messing around with the lyrics before now. Enough times to recall the chorus at any rate. With a shake of her head that she could not believe she was even entertaining .. this. Was this supposed to be fun ? She was terrified ! Somebody was going to find them. Somebody was going to come running alright. They were going to be arrested !
“You will be found,” he repeated back to her. Before they took the last one together. “You will be found.”
A slow clap of footsteps were no applause at all and yet the only audience which had come across the impromptu performance.
“Well,” Iole tucked in her lower lip as Nal seized her hand and led her down off the stage to meet their critic. “I think we have been found ..” she muttered, so embarrassed. He did not look surprised, least of all shaken by their discovery at all.
“What is the meaning of ..?” the shadow began. “Do you have any idea what time it is ? You can’t just wander in off the streets you know ? There are protocols. You have to reserve the auditorium for rehearsals if .. Let’s start with who are you, shall we ?”
The two young people waited for the onslaught of questions to stall, so that there might be chance to answer any of them. Iole was not exactly sure what she could say at this point. She had more questions than answers herself. Fortunately, or maybe not, for her, Nal rarely had a problem wondering what to say.
“We are the auditory advisors, for the Trust,” he shrugged. “Come to test out the acoustics, for the what-have-you .. , the benefit”
Their inquisitor removed and cleaned his eye glass while he regained his composure. “And for whose benefit .. would that be ?”
Iole cast blue eyes toward the floor and fought a want to flee. But her hand was in her friend’s grasp and she could not be afraid. He was certainly not afraid. Why oh why was he not afraid ?
“Why for the benefit of widows and orphans of course,” was the apparently obvious answer. Unalmis offered a shock which suggested he was the one who ought to have been surprised. “The trust is a charity which recognises the needs of our nation’s widows and orphans. That’s why .. ”
“And who exactly runs this ‘Trust’ For the widows and the orphans ?” the enraged ‘janitor’ or well, he might as soon have been anybody really. He had not introduced himself at all, Unalmis observed and so maintained his stance. “You ?” the man all but exploded, in disbelief, after glancing the pair up and down.
“Oh no. Gosh. That would be ridiculous,” Unalmis all but laughed, and Iole smiled, awkwardly beside him. “Me ?” the young man shook his head. “No. Our director .. directors ..are ... excessively talented musicians. They are very very busy of course. So I .. that is, we, are here on their behalf. To assess if your arena ..?”
“Theatre ?” his friend whispered helpfully close to his ear.
“Thankyou,” he grinned, with almost an ‘ahah’ for having cajoled her into participating, as he turned to take in Iole’s face. An eyebrow was raised in amusement before the lead trespasser remembered the protest facing their unauthorised presence. “Theatre,” Nal corrected his explanation accordingly, and cleared his throat, to return to meeting their enquirer face on. “To assess if it will be adequate .. for their charity benefit performance.”
“Well,” the resident narrowed his eyes. “I have never heard of … anything until now, about any of this. You will have to give me the details so that I can meet with your directors in person and discuss the specifics ..”
“Oh of course. Naturally” Unalmis nodded agreeably. “If you have scroll and ink, I can write down all relevant name and contact details ..”
Of course the Ranger had not come prepared with such materials himself. And of course, the other fellow naturally had them about his person. He might have been Lieutenant Brian’s brother .. or perhaps even some other trespasser, having his very own joke at their expense .. who could say ? Nonetheless, he allowed for the two young people to depart, and glanced over the given contact details .. thoughtfully.
“Tell me,” Iole almost tripped over the front step as they made good their escape. “Did you have us come up here with this benefit your true motive the whole time ?” she narrowed her eyes in perfect mimicry of the man they had fled from. “Or did you just make that up on the spur of the moment ?” she had to know.
“What do you think ?” Nal only grinned.
“I think .. he’s going to kill you,” was the young woman’s honest opinion. “They’re both going to kill you. Nal,” she tried rather undecidedly to take her hand out of his, but still made the impetuous fool face her at least. “You can’t just go about volunteering people for things they don’t even know about.”
“You were the one who said he’s all excited about the theatre,” was the unfazed retaliation. “He’s been going on and on about it. You said ...”
“I did not say for you to do this !” she wanted to make very very clear. “And why did you go and get me involved in ..”
“You were the one who keeps going on about getting him to speak to GrammyU,” was his answer. “She will love this. She can help him with costume ideas ! And Eryn is forever saying about the state of that orphanage ..” a shrug. “I just thought ..”
“You didn’t think ..” she frowned.
“I know, I know. Not my strong suit. But really, I don’t see what the problem is.” Unalmis twirled Iole where she stood, and then she did break his hold on her, stepping back a little determinedly. As though she had to decide whether she would take offence. “Its something they’ll both enjoy,” he pointed out, as though to convince .. her at least. “And.. well, if they really truly don’t want to do it, they have only to say so. They have only to say no ..”
“To the widows and orphans ?” Iole’s tone was weary and doubtful.
“Trevadir would never disappoint the nation’s widows and orphans,” Unalmis corrected her gravely, before raising up both hands before him, in apparent surrender. Though he did not stop nor show the slightest remorse “All I’ve done is sow the seeds, that’s it. Its .. an opportunity. Neither one of the two of them have a job at the moment, no purpose or excuse and .. well, they have loads of free time. They both want redemption, and recognition for you know .. doing good deeds. And they both love making music, bringing joy .. its a good cause ..”
The last of the dim lights was muted from the Hall of song, an encouragement if any more were required to have the pair cease their converse upon the very steps. It did not discourage Nal’s explanation. If anything, it was easier to express the next part of his confession without her seeing his face too distinctly.
“I got to thinking some about Ryn,” the young Ranger’s voice was quieter than it had been, as though he had been replaced in the sudden shadow of the street outside, by someone with more common sense. Though it seemed quite unlikely. ”How people, just like him, give their lives in service of this country all the time,” he made clear his thinking, the motive maybe ... “Ryndir, Amarthel, so many others I can’t even … Why shouldn’t there be a benefit to help those who they leave behind ? To prove we’ve not forgotten them. To celebrate the lives which won’t be brushed under some carpet of war. They were people and they mattered. And somebody should .. ”
Somebody should .. say. Something. He couldn’t say though, not about the recent murders. The debriefing had not left him, though he’d left the Headquarters since then, of course. He could not share it, not properly. It was difficult to speak of. This was .. the only way he could think of to react to it. To do something. It felt as though if ever there was something that needed doing, it might be the likes of this.
“Ryn would think it was a good idea,” he all but sulked as a conclusion.
“He would,” Iole admitted, not unhappily. “So why don’t you just bring the idea to Trev, yourself ? Then he and Macardil could consider it. In their own time.”
“Oh you know,” the excuses seemed prepared, and yet not far flung from reality. “He’d be all .. ‘modest and rubbish and ‘nobody would want to listen to me’ blah blah blah. He wouldn’t take the idea seriously if it just comes from me.” Nal kicked at nothing upon the street and then reached for his friend’s hands anew, both of them. “But if the Chairman of musicality or whatever he is called comes a-knocking, and supposing already in his head that they’ll do it … well, they might just believe it then, that there are people who believe in them. Because they’ll be hearing about it from people who know something about all that .. stuff”
“But i mean, you can’t just expect people to do what you want.” she reiterated, though, determined to be the voice of reason. Whispered as it might be, rather than raise up a ruckus on the street at this hour.
“Even its what they want ?” he rolled brown eyes. “Probably,” he relented. And then further.. “Possibly ? They just haven’t realised it yet. They just need a little help.”
“And are you going to ?” she demanded, regarding the young man rather seriously all of a sudden.
“What ?” he confused. “I already ..”
“Are you going to help ?” the young woman enunciated, as though he were an idiot and required it broken down. “You can’t just think up some wild idea and then hand over all the responsibility to people who never asked for it, and wipe your hands of it all. You started this …”
There was a moment, just a moment mind you, when Unalmis seemed as though he was absorbing all that Iole put to him. He glanced at his feet and seemed to be taking the time to mull it over. Then, as though the spell was broken, he began to walk away unconcerned.
“Why don’t we see if they even want to do it first ?” he supposed, the dusk concealing a hint of mischief, though it soon became evident. As he added, very offhandedly, “Honestly, Iole. I mean, you’re quite rushing ahead of yourself a little here, aren’t you ? They haven’t even said yet if they want to … ”
He knew instinctively to run, even before she began to give chase. But there was no real hurt in the ‘dispute’. They were as glad and merry as though they were still seven years old, pounding down the Circles and before long it was just another race. At any rate, he saw her home. A detour only, he would name it afterward. And what might come of it, if anything, would be up to others. It might come to nothing at all. Or something which might just make a difference. But that was not his decision to make. From small rocks cast, are avalanches begun. And just hopefully this one would do no damage. It was kindly meant at least, if somewhat optimistic. Time would tell.
(@Rillewen @Arnyn)
** Lyrics borrowed from and therefore credited to the song -‘You will be Found' ; from the musical, ‘Dear Evan Hansen’.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
- Points: 2 696
Ent Ancient
Posts: 1830
Joined: Sat May 23, 2020 11:34 pm
Falaneth (private)
The Hall of Song, Fifth Circle
Spring bloomed in the White City. Pastel pink and yellow blossoms brightened the pale streets and bird song lilted from flower-studded trees and sunny eaves. Snow melted into cool streams and Falaneth faded, still clutched by winter’s thrall, withering a little more with each passing day. Renhir’s betrayal was the final shove that pushed her over the edge, plummeting into a dark chasm where she could not find the strength to raise her head. She’d mistaken an ally for a friend. She had allowed her heart to dare to hope, exposing its tender flesh and been bruised in return. She wandered the library aimlessly, hovering in aisles and seemingly staring at nothing like a haunted ghost. Every task was done by rote memory, her muscles moving, her mind lost in a numb fog, far from her listless limbs.
Falaneth trudged through the heavy wooden doors of the Hall of Song carrying a satchel over her shoulder. One of the librarians had sent her here to deliver orchestral scores, suggesting some sun and fresh air might do her good and lend her pale complexion some color. Between the usual heartbreak, the grotesque crime she had witnessed, and the swollen wrist from her fall, they had offered a reprieve to recuperate. She refused. All she had left lay within the walls of the library. Without that, she was terrified of the emptiness she would find wracking her home, her heart, her mind.
Two steps inside, she stopped in her tracks. The entrance chamber to the Hall of Song, normally quiet and austere, was bustling with bodies and full of noisy clamor. Pipes and flutes breathed airy tunes and fingers strummed stringed instruments in seemingly endless harmonies. Heat crept up her body, wrapping around her neck. The noise drowned her thoughts, overwhelming her senses.
Today was the open day, when the city was invited inside to peruse the instruments, to speak with tutors and composers, to engage in the arts with their own hands and inspire them. To drum up funding, of course. The librarian had to know he had sent Falaneth into this chaos without a warning. Caught off-guard, she searched for an escape from the crowd as she sidled between people, squeezing this way, looking for room to breathe.
Finally, a light burst in the darkness. An unobtrusive door was half-open, spilling a sunbeam onto the floor, beckoning her forth. Falaneth raced into the room without looking inside and leaned back against the wall, unclasping the cloak from choking her neck. Closing her eyes to find the quiet inside, she steadied her breath. The stone walls and wooden door buffered the noise and provided a barrier between her and everyone else. Or so she thought.
Once her pulse slowed, Falaneth peeled her eyes open. A man sat on a stool, crouched over a table below the sunspot, intent on an instrument in his hands. The light gilded his short dark hair and pooled on his stooped shoulders.
“I’m not really here, either,” he offered casually as if she were not an unexpected visitor to his…whatever this room was. A luthier’s workshop, perhaps? Stringed instruments of all sizes and shapes lazed on stands and tools hung on the wall in neat rows. The pleasant scent of fresh wood shavings filled the cool air. “The crowds are stifling, aren’t they?”
“I’m just here to deliver this.” Hugging the wall, she gestured at the satchel. “From the library.”
He barely glanced at her with disinterest before refocusing on his task. “Picked a busy day for it,” he remarked.
“I…didn’t know.” With his attention elsewhere, she edged forward, taking in the array of instruments and tools, curiosity creeping in. “I wouldn’t have come if I had.”
Chuckling, he replied, “You and me both.” He set down his tools and lifted the instrument, cradling it in his arms. A melody as smooth and soothing as a river running on rocks rang out as his fingers danced over the strings, strumming and plucking in precise movements. “Ah, much better,” he muttered to himself with blissful satisfaction.
“It’s beautiful,” Falaneth admitted.
He shook his head and laughed as rich and warm as the song he had played. “That was nothing special, just a little ditty.”
But those handful of notes, they had conjured something intangible, and she wanted to hear it again, to feel swept away from this place on a rising melody. “Would you play something else?”
His brows rose slightly. This time, his gaze settled on her like a coin sinking in a wishing well, laden with hopes and dreams. “All right…” Resettling himself on the stool, he closed his eyes and moved his fingers. One of them was missing the tip but it didn’t seem to bother him in the least.
Unlike the blaring cacophony of instruments in the entrance chamber, the oud’s peaceful, soft song floated in the air like a dove. It took her away from the past and awoke something sleeping inside her. Something long forgotten. Tears prickled her eyes and she closed them, turning her face away. Joy, in all its foreign wonder, tumbled through her, a torrent that terrified her with its unfamiliarity and watered dry roots of shame to dare feeling anything so pleasant.
The notes faded into memory and silence but their impact lingered. Savoring it, his eyes remained closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks. “Do you play?” He murmured and enfolded the instrument in his arms.
“No.”
“Would you like to try?” A warm smile crept onto his face.
She hesitated. “I don’t know where to begin…”
“Well, the first step is holding it.” He stood and placed the oud in her hands. “Sit.” He gestured to a chair.
Falaneth sat and fumbled with the strings. She strummed and cringed. Rasping, discordant tones ground out and set her teeth on edge.
“May I?” He asked politely, holding a hand out to her. With her her permission, he adjusted her grip on the instrument. “Relax your wrist.” Calloused fingers lightly brushed against her pulse. “And now move your fingers here...“ He delicately placed each finger of her left hand upon the strings in an uncomfortable position. “There,” he pronounced, stepping away, granting her freedom. “Now strum.”
Barely breathing to keep her left hand still, she ran her fingers across the strings in sequence, producing a sweet, melodious sound. It seemed to thrum through her whole body, smoothing away tension. She closed her eyes and held on to the moment. “It’s lovely.”
“It is.” His smile broadened.
Cradling the oud in her lap, a glimpse of joy within reach, for something of her own. Falaneth allowed her heart to speak volumes. “Could you teach me?”
He slouched away from her. “I’m not a tutor, I’m not even really a oud player,” he explained sheepishly, clearing his throat. “I mostly play viola de gamba.”
“Oh.” She deflated. “I see.” Stomach sinking, she regretfully offered the oud back to him. In that moment, she had wanted nothing more than to feel the strings beneath her fingers produce beautiful sounds, whisking her away from grief and sorrow.
He accepted the instrument with deft hands, fingers tapping nervously along its base. “I…could try, I suppose.” Pink crept into his cheeks. He spoke in staccato, alternating between stuttering and rapid bursts of words. “It’s just– I don’t have a classroom here. I’m not really very good and– and, well, I wouldn’t really know where to begin.”
Falaneth clasped her hands in her lap. “The first step is holding it,” she repeated his words. “So we’ve already begun, haven’t we?”
“I suppose, when you put it like that, you’re right. There’s no harm in trying.” He set the oud on the table and wound a string around his fingers. “Just remember, I did warn you I’m not a professional.”
“That’s all right. I wouldn’t know any better, anyway.” Falaneth eased herself from the chair and stepped delicately between elegant wooden instruments toward the door.
“I’ll send you a note once I figure out where we can meet. What is your name, miss? For the note?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Falaneth Liraluin. And yours?”
“Garthain Berian.”
(Originally posted in Minas Tirith Streets and Levels Apr 2023)
The Hall of Song, Fifth Circle
Spring bloomed in the White City. Pastel pink and yellow blossoms brightened the pale streets and bird song lilted from flower-studded trees and sunny eaves. Snow melted into cool streams and Falaneth faded, still clutched by winter’s thrall, withering a little more with each passing day. Renhir’s betrayal was the final shove that pushed her over the edge, plummeting into a dark chasm where she could not find the strength to raise her head. She’d mistaken an ally for a friend. She had allowed her heart to dare to hope, exposing its tender flesh and been bruised in return. She wandered the library aimlessly, hovering in aisles and seemingly staring at nothing like a haunted ghost. Every task was done by rote memory, her muscles moving, her mind lost in a numb fog, far from her listless limbs.
Falaneth trudged through the heavy wooden doors of the Hall of Song carrying a satchel over her shoulder. One of the librarians had sent her here to deliver orchestral scores, suggesting some sun and fresh air might do her good and lend her pale complexion some color. Between the usual heartbreak, the grotesque crime she had witnessed, and the swollen wrist from her fall, they had offered a reprieve to recuperate. She refused. All she had left lay within the walls of the library. Without that, she was terrified of the emptiness she would find wracking her home, her heart, her mind.
Two steps inside, she stopped in her tracks. The entrance chamber to the Hall of Song, normally quiet and austere, was bustling with bodies and full of noisy clamor. Pipes and flutes breathed airy tunes and fingers strummed stringed instruments in seemingly endless harmonies. Heat crept up her body, wrapping around her neck. The noise drowned her thoughts, overwhelming her senses.
Today was the open day, when the city was invited inside to peruse the instruments, to speak with tutors and composers, to engage in the arts with their own hands and inspire them. To drum up funding, of course. The librarian had to know he had sent Falaneth into this chaos without a warning. Caught off-guard, she searched for an escape from the crowd as she sidled between people, squeezing this way, looking for room to breathe.
Finally, a light burst in the darkness. An unobtrusive door was half-open, spilling a sunbeam onto the floor, beckoning her forth. Falaneth raced into the room without looking inside and leaned back against the wall, unclasping the cloak from choking her neck. Closing her eyes to find the quiet inside, she steadied her breath. The stone walls and wooden door buffered the noise and provided a barrier between her and everyone else. Or so she thought.
Once her pulse slowed, Falaneth peeled her eyes open. A man sat on a stool, crouched over a table below the sunspot, intent on an instrument in his hands. The light gilded his short dark hair and pooled on his stooped shoulders.
“I’m not really here, either,” he offered casually as if she were not an unexpected visitor to his…whatever this room was. A luthier’s workshop, perhaps? Stringed instruments of all sizes and shapes lazed on stands and tools hung on the wall in neat rows. The pleasant scent of fresh wood shavings filled the cool air. “The crowds are stifling, aren’t they?”
“I’m just here to deliver this.” Hugging the wall, she gestured at the satchel. “From the library.”
He barely glanced at her with disinterest before refocusing on his task. “Picked a busy day for it,” he remarked.
“I…didn’t know.” With his attention elsewhere, she edged forward, taking in the array of instruments and tools, curiosity creeping in. “I wouldn’t have come if I had.”
Chuckling, he replied, “You and me both.” He set down his tools and lifted the instrument, cradling it in his arms. A melody as smooth and soothing as a river running on rocks rang out as his fingers danced over the strings, strumming and plucking in precise movements. “Ah, much better,” he muttered to himself with blissful satisfaction.
“It’s beautiful,” Falaneth admitted.
He shook his head and laughed as rich and warm as the song he had played. “That was nothing special, just a little ditty.”
But those handful of notes, they had conjured something intangible, and she wanted to hear it again, to feel swept away from this place on a rising melody. “Would you play something else?”
His brows rose slightly. This time, his gaze settled on her like a coin sinking in a wishing well, laden with hopes and dreams. “All right…” Resettling himself on the stool, he closed his eyes and moved his fingers. One of them was missing the tip but it didn’t seem to bother him in the least.
Unlike the blaring cacophony of instruments in the entrance chamber, the oud’s peaceful, soft song floated in the air like a dove. It took her away from the past and awoke something sleeping inside her. Something long forgotten. Tears prickled her eyes and she closed them, turning her face away. Joy, in all its foreign wonder, tumbled through her, a torrent that terrified her with its unfamiliarity and watered dry roots of shame to dare feeling anything so pleasant.
The notes faded into memory and silence but their impact lingered. Savoring it, his eyes remained closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks. “Do you play?” He murmured and enfolded the instrument in his arms.
“No.”
“Would you like to try?” A warm smile crept onto his face.
She hesitated. “I don’t know where to begin…”
“Well, the first step is holding it.” He stood and placed the oud in her hands. “Sit.” He gestured to a chair.
Falaneth sat and fumbled with the strings. She strummed and cringed. Rasping, discordant tones ground out and set her teeth on edge.
“May I?” He asked politely, holding a hand out to her. With her her permission, he adjusted her grip on the instrument. “Relax your wrist.” Calloused fingers lightly brushed against her pulse. “And now move your fingers here...“ He delicately placed each finger of her left hand upon the strings in an uncomfortable position. “There,” he pronounced, stepping away, granting her freedom. “Now strum.”
Barely breathing to keep her left hand still, she ran her fingers across the strings in sequence, producing a sweet, melodious sound. It seemed to thrum through her whole body, smoothing away tension. She closed her eyes and held on to the moment. “It’s lovely.”
“It is.” His smile broadened.
Cradling the oud in her lap, a glimpse of joy within reach, for something of her own. Falaneth allowed her heart to speak volumes. “Could you teach me?”
He slouched away from her. “I’m not a tutor, I’m not even really a oud player,” he explained sheepishly, clearing his throat. “I mostly play viola de gamba.”
“Oh.” She deflated. “I see.” Stomach sinking, she regretfully offered the oud back to him. In that moment, she had wanted nothing more than to feel the strings beneath her fingers produce beautiful sounds, whisking her away from grief and sorrow.
He accepted the instrument with deft hands, fingers tapping nervously along its base. “I…could try, I suppose.” Pink crept into his cheeks. He spoke in staccato, alternating between stuttering and rapid bursts of words. “It’s just– I don’t have a classroom here. I’m not really very good and– and, well, I wouldn’t really know where to begin.”
Falaneth clasped her hands in her lap. “The first step is holding it,” she repeated his words. “So we’ve already begun, haven’t we?”
“I suppose, when you put it like that, you’re right. There’s no harm in trying.” He set the oud on the table and wound a string around his fingers. “Just remember, I did warn you I’m not a professional.”
“That’s all right. I wouldn’t know any better, anyway.” Falaneth eased herself from the chair and stepped delicately between elegant wooden instruments toward the door.
“I’ll send you a note once I figure out where we can meet. What is your name, miss? For the note?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Falaneth Liraluin. And yours?”
“Garthain Berian.”
(Originally posted in Minas Tirith Streets and Levels Apr 2023)
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Trevadir Thôrmaetha
Last week of August
It hadn't been all that long since Trev had learned about this magical place, the Hall of Song, and yet it was quickly becoming his favorite place in the city. The first time he had come with Macardil, and had been so awed by... everything, that he could hardly think of where even start making inquiries. What's more, he'd been rather stunned to learn that the place was actually within sight of the shop where his grandmother worked! While he had noted the fact, when coming here with Macardil, he had said nothing about it. Partly, because he was too eager to see the inside of this grand building.
In fact, he had been astonished to realize that he had probably seen this place dozens of times in his childhood, but back then, it had been in need of a little touching up, and there had been no sign to declare what it was. As a child, he had merely passed it by assuming it was some boring museum or library, and never gave it a second thought. How he regretted that, now!
But now he knew better. Not only that, he knew how to find it. And better still, there was no entry fee to go in, and he was thoroughly delighted by that. His friends, of course, had heard all about it by now, and he'd even made a point of pointing it out to Cali, today when he was walking her to work. She claimed she didn't need an escort, that her leg was fine, and she had no reason to be afraid anymore, but Trev couldn't help feeling a little protective. He had convinced her to 'swing by' along the way to the sixth circle, which actually meant going a little out of the way to get there, and then a little longer once he'd convinced her to step inside. Well worth it though, in his opinion.
But she was in a hurry, so he returned after he'd seen her safely to the armory doors. And so, he was back. Stepping inside, he inhaled slowly and deeply. There was a very distinctive scent of instruments lingering in the air, a fragrance that couldn't really be properly described, nor copied by anything else he could think of. There were multitudes of vases filled with flowers placed all over the hall, yet their perfumes couldn't quite mask that scent that Trev enjoyed. He strolled leisurely along the hall, looking around.
"Hello. Can I help you find something?" Someone asked.
Trev turned and smiled at the lady there. "Uh, well. I was just looking around, really." he admitted. "It's beautiful here, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." She smiled. "Do you play anything?"
"Yes," his smile widened. "Anything I can get my hands on, actually," he laughed lightly. "But primarily, the flute. Though, I would love to find out some information about an instrument my grandfather used to play."
"Oh? What sort of instrument is it?"
"Umm," Trev paused. "That's the problem. I don't know." He admitted awkwardly. "It's stringed, that's all I know."
"Ah.. well, we have a gentleman here who might be able to help. He's worked with stringed instruments for longer than you've been alive," She smiled. "If you go down this hallway," She led him to a door and pointed down the hall. "His workshop is the very last door on the left."
"Thank you!" Trev smiled as he set off down the hallway, hopeful that he might have a chance to get some answers at last.
Trevadir Thôrmaetha
Last week of August
It hadn't been all that long since Trev had learned about this magical place, the Hall of Song, and yet it was quickly becoming his favorite place in the city. The first time he had come with Macardil, and had been so awed by... everything, that he could hardly think of where even start making inquiries. What's more, he'd been rather stunned to learn that the place was actually within sight of the shop where his grandmother worked! While he had noted the fact, when coming here with Macardil, he had said nothing about it. Partly, because he was too eager to see the inside of this grand building.
In fact, he had been astonished to realize that he had probably seen this place dozens of times in his childhood, but back then, it had been in need of a little touching up, and there had been no sign to declare what it was. As a child, he had merely passed it by assuming it was some boring museum or library, and never gave it a second thought. How he regretted that, now!
But now he knew better. Not only that, he knew how to find it. And better still, there was no entry fee to go in, and he was thoroughly delighted by that. His friends, of course, had heard all about it by now, and he'd even made a point of pointing it out to Cali, today when he was walking her to work. She claimed she didn't need an escort, that her leg was fine, and she had no reason to be afraid anymore, but Trev couldn't help feeling a little protective. He had convinced her to 'swing by' along the way to the sixth circle, which actually meant going a little out of the way to get there, and then a little longer once he'd convinced her to step inside. Well worth it though, in his opinion.
But she was in a hurry, so he returned after he'd seen her safely to the armory doors. And so, he was back. Stepping inside, he inhaled slowly and deeply. There was a very distinctive scent of instruments lingering in the air, a fragrance that couldn't really be properly described, nor copied by anything else he could think of. There were multitudes of vases filled with flowers placed all over the hall, yet their perfumes couldn't quite mask that scent that Trev enjoyed. He strolled leisurely along the hall, looking around.
"Hello. Can I help you find something?" Someone asked.
Trev turned and smiled at the lady there. "Uh, well. I was just looking around, really." he admitted. "It's beautiful here, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." She smiled. "Do you play anything?"
"Yes," his smile widened. "Anything I can get my hands on, actually," he laughed lightly. "But primarily, the flute. Though, I would love to find out some information about an instrument my grandfather used to play."
"Oh? What sort of instrument is it?"
"Umm," Trev paused. "That's the problem. I don't know." He admitted awkwardly. "It's stringed, that's all I know."
"Ah.. well, we have a gentleman here who might be able to help. He's worked with stringed instruments for longer than you've been alive," She smiled. "If you go down this hallway," She led him to a door and pointed down the hall. "His workshop is the very last door on the left."
"Thank you!" Trev smiled as he set off down the hallway, hopeful that he might have a chance to get some answers at last.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 8:05 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."
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Trevadir Thôrmaetha with Saelben
Last week of August
"Well! It's certainly been a long time since I saw one of these." The elderly musician declared, looking a bit surprised at the sketch he had been handed, shortly after Trevadir had introduced himself to the man.
"Do you recognize it?" He asked, feeling a flare of hope inside.
Saelben nodded slowly, smiling. "Indeed, I do, young man. Only ever knew of one person around here to play a zither."
"Zither? That's what it's called?" Trev asked, intrigued. It was a strange name, one he'd never heard before.
"That's right." Saelben confirmed. "Old friend of mine used to play one. He's been gone for a good many years now, but he used to bring his instrument in to me when he needed new strings or anything of the sort." He lowered the sketch, raising an eyebrow at the eager young man in front of him. "You said your grandfather owned this instrument?"
Trev was staring at him, a little wide-eyed. "Yes, sir. Was your friend.. by any chance.. named Oluion Felmë?" He inquired, with a slight tug on his heart.
"Indeed, that was his name!" Sealben smiled wider. "I suppose that was your grandfather, then?"
"Yes sir!" Trev grinned. "He died before I was born, but I've heard a lot about him. He really enjoyed playing, didn't he?"
"Very much." The old man smiled, leaning back in his chair, reminiscing about those old times. "We'd often sit here and talk for hours, unless he had something pressing at home he had to do. Right were you're sitting now, in fact!" He declared, as if that was some sort of exciting coincidence, despite this being the only other chair in the room.
Trev smiled though, trying to imagine what his grandfather might have been like. It felt a little strange to think of him sitting in this very spot, chatting with his friend while he worked on his instrument. His Zither. Such a unique name, but Trev kind of liked the sound of it.
"One time," Saelben laughed. "This was many years ago, of coures. But one time, he brought his little girl along with him. I suppose that'd be your mother? Anyway, I was putting some new strings on his zither, and she wandered off while we were talking. And when he realized she wasn't still with him, I never seen him panic so much! He took off up and down the halls, calling for her and fretting about what his wife would say when she found out he'd lost their child!" He laughed heartily at the memory.
Trev grinned, leaning forward with interest. It was interesting to hear a story about his mother when she was a little girl. She'd wandered off? She sounded a bit like himself, he thought with amusement. "So, what happened?" He asked with a laugh.
"Well," the old man grinned. "There was an orchestra performance going on in the main theater, and apparently she'd wandered in to watch that. But the attendant sent her away, and Olu was getting very frantic, until he finally found her, in one of the rooms way down the other hallway, talking to one of the singing instructors. Getting a lesson, no less!" He laughed. "Anyway, after that she begged him to let her take singing lessons, until he talked her mother into it. She was a sweet little girl, your mother." He added with a smile.
"Olu used to come down here and talk with me while she was having her lessons. It was a regular thing, up until he got sick anyway." He sighed. "After that, well, he often didn't feel up to coming out, and your grandmother would bring the girl to her lessons. I didn't see him very much after that, much to my regret. I think after a few years, they couldn't afford to let her continue the lessons." He concluded sadly.
Trev nodded slowly, saddened. He knew his grandfather had been sick for years before his death. "So, my mother took singing lessons here?" He asked, amazed. He frowned. His grandmother took her to her lessons. So, his grandma knew about this place. And she hadn't ever told him? She'd never mentioned knowing of anyplace where he could take lessons... there were plenty of things that his grandmother had told him over the years that he'd forgotten and hadn't paid attention to, but he knew that if she'd said anything about music lessons, he wouldn't have forgotten that. He was a little confused about that, but tried not to get too deeply involved in figuring out why she wouldn't have said anything to him.
"Oh, yes, and Olu claimed she had the most beautiful voice for singing," He laughed. "He might have been a bit biased, of course." He grinned. "But I heard her sing before, too. I agree, she sang beautifully."
Trev smiled faintly. "She did." He agreed softly, remembering from when he was little. His mother's singing was one of the few things that he remembered about her. But he kept quiet as he listened to Saelben talk and tell stories about different funny things that Oluion had said or done thirty years ago, or things that Oluion had told him about his family. Trev hardly noticed the time passing until he heard the bells tolling, and realized he'd been there for a several hours already, and it was getting late.
"Wow, I can't believe how much time has passed," He laughed. "Sorry, it's been great hearing all these stories, and I'd love to come back sometime, if you don't mind-"
"Absolutely!" Saelben agreed eagerly. "You know, I've worked on instruments in this workshop for many years, and I love doing it, but it's always a pleasure when someone takes the time to sit and talk with me. It gets a bit lonesome down here all alone."
Trev smiled. "I'll be sure to come by again, then. Perhaps," He hesitated. "If I could find my grandfather's.. zither?" He checked that he'd said the right name, and when Saelben nodded in confirmation, he went on, "and bring it to you, could you show me how it's supposed to be tuned?" He asked, hopefully.
"Hmm," The man took a moment to think. "Yes, I believe I might be able to help. I should have something around here somewhere," He took a moment to glance around the workshop, but seemed to decide it wasn't something he'd be able to find right away. "I'll dig around for it, so when you come back, I can try to have it for you? How's that sound?"
"Great!" Trev smiled, then stood and held out a hand to shake. "It's been great to meet you, sir. I'm pleased to meet an old friend of my grandfather's."
"Likewise, it's good to see his love of music has passed on to his grandson." He smiled, shaking Trev's hand. "Until next time, Trevadir."
As he left the Hall of Song, Trev's thoughts were caught up with all the tales about his grandfather whom he'd never met, and his mother when she was little, and feeling excited about the possibility of finally getting to learn how to play that instrument of his grandfather's. But first, he would have to find a way to get it, and he wasn't sure how to do that without going to talk to his grandmother. And he wasn't quite sure how to do that, yet. Especially after what he'd just learned, which troubled him somewhat. Sighing softly, he set off toward the sixth circle, to see if Cali was finished working yet so they could walk home together.
Trevadir Thôrmaetha with Saelben
Last week of August
"Well! It's certainly been a long time since I saw one of these." The elderly musician declared, looking a bit surprised at the sketch he had been handed, shortly after Trevadir had introduced himself to the man.
"Do you recognize it?" He asked, feeling a flare of hope inside.
Saelben nodded slowly, smiling. "Indeed, I do, young man. Only ever knew of one person around here to play a zither."
"Zither? That's what it's called?" Trev asked, intrigued. It was a strange name, one he'd never heard before.
"That's right." Saelben confirmed. "Old friend of mine used to play one. He's been gone for a good many years now, but he used to bring his instrument in to me when he needed new strings or anything of the sort." He lowered the sketch, raising an eyebrow at the eager young man in front of him. "You said your grandfather owned this instrument?"
Trev was staring at him, a little wide-eyed. "Yes, sir. Was your friend.. by any chance.. named Oluion Felmë?" He inquired, with a slight tug on his heart.
"Indeed, that was his name!" Sealben smiled wider. "I suppose that was your grandfather, then?"
"Yes sir!" Trev grinned. "He died before I was born, but I've heard a lot about him. He really enjoyed playing, didn't he?"
"Very much." The old man smiled, leaning back in his chair, reminiscing about those old times. "We'd often sit here and talk for hours, unless he had something pressing at home he had to do. Right were you're sitting now, in fact!" He declared, as if that was some sort of exciting coincidence, despite this being the only other chair in the room.
Trev smiled though, trying to imagine what his grandfather might have been like. It felt a little strange to think of him sitting in this very spot, chatting with his friend while he worked on his instrument. His Zither. Such a unique name, but Trev kind of liked the sound of it.
"One time," Saelben laughed. "This was many years ago, of coures. But one time, he brought his little girl along with him. I suppose that'd be your mother? Anyway, I was putting some new strings on his zither, and she wandered off while we were talking. And when he realized she wasn't still with him, I never seen him panic so much! He took off up and down the halls, calling for her and fretting about what his wife would say when she found out he'd lost their child!" He laughed heartily at the memory.
Trev grinned, leaning forward with interest. It was interesting to hear a story about his mother when she was a little girl. She'd wandered off? She sounded a bit like himself, he thought with amusement. "So, what happened?" He asked with a laugh.
"Well," the old man grinned. "There was an orchestra performance going on in the main theater, and apparently she'd wandered in to watch that. But the attendant sent her away, and Olu was getting very frantic, until he finally found her, in one of the rooms way down the other hallway, talking to one of the singing instructors. Getting a lesson, no less!" He laughed. "Anyway, after that she begged him to let her take singing lessons, until he talked her mother into it. She was a sweet little girl, your mother." He added with a smile.
"Olu used to come down here and talk with me while she was having her lessons. It was a regular thing, up until he got sick anyway." He sighed. "After that, well, he often didn't feel up to coming out, and your grandmother would bring the girl to her lessons. I didn't see him very much after that, much to my regret. I think after a few years, they couldn't afford to let her continue the lessons." He concluded sadly.
Trev nodded slowly, saddened. He knew his grandfather had been sick for years before his death. "So, my mother took singing lessons here?" He asked, amazed. He frowned. His grandmother took her to her lessons. So, his grandma knew about this place. And she hadn't ever told him? She'd never mentioned knowing of anyplace where he could take lessons... there were plenty of things that his grandmother had told him over the years that he'd forgotten and hadn't paid attention to, but he knew that if she'd said anything about music lessons, he wouldn't have forgotten that. He was a little confused about that, but tried not to get too deeply involved in figuring out why she wouldn't have said anything to him.
"Oh, yes, and Olu claimed she had the most beautiful voice for singing," He laughed. "He might have been a bit biased, of course." He grinned. "But I heard her sing before, too. I agree, she sang beautifully."
Trev smiled faintly. "She did." He agreed softly, remembering from when he was little. His mother's singing was one of the few things that he remembered about her. But he kept quiet as he listened to Saelben talk and tell stories about different funny things that Oluion had said or done thirty years ago, or things that Oluion had told him about his family. Trev hardly noticed the time passing until he heard the bells tolling, and realized he'd been there for a several hours already, and it was getting late.
"Wow, I can't believe how much time has passed," He laughed. "Sorry, it's been great hearing all these stories, and I'd love to come back sometime, if you don't mind-"
"Absolutely!" Saelben agreed eagerly. "You know, I've worked on instruments in this workshop for many years, and I love doing it, but it's always a pleasure when someone takes the time to sit and talk with me. It gets a bit lonesome down here all alone."
Trev smiled. "I'll be sure to come by again, then. Perhaps," He hesitated. "If I could find my grandfather's.. zither?" He checked that he'd said the right name, and when Saelben nodded in confirmation, he went on, "and bring it to you, could you show me how it's supposed to be tuned?" He asked, hopefully.
"Hmm," The man took a moment to think. "Yes, I believe I might be able to help. I should have something around here somewhere," He took a moment to glance around the workshop, but seemed to decide it wasn't something he'd be able to find right away. "I'll dig around for it, so when you come back, I can try to have it for you? How's that sound?"
"Great!" Trev smiled, then stood and held out a hand to shake. "It's been great to meet you, sir. I'm pleased to meet an old friend of my grandfather's."
"Likewise, it's good to see his love of music has passed on to his grandson." He smiled, shaking Trev's hand. "Until next time, Trevadir."
As he left the Hall of Song, Trev's thoughts were caught up with all the tales about his grandfather whom he'd never met, and his mother when she was little, and feeling excited about the possibility of finally getting to learn how to play that instrument of his grandfather's. But first, he would have to find a way to get it, and he wasn't sure how to do that without going to talk to his grandmother. And he wasn't quite sure how to do that, yet. Especially after what he'd just learned, which troubled him somewhat. Sighing softly, he set off toward the sixth circle, to see if Cali was finished working yet so they could walk home together.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."
- Points: 5 708
Steward of Gondor
Posts: 2713
Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
(tagging @Ercassie purely because of your own solo post, which inspired this one and is implemented into it somewhat lol)
Cleaning girl - Wisteria
September - Evening, after hours
The broom rested against the corner of the stage, forgotten for the time being. The girl who was supposed to be using the broom to sweep in between each of the many rows of seats out in the audience seating area, was, instead, involved in a private little performance of her own, up on the stage. Twirling and leaping across the platform in the near-dark, dancing to the sound of a grand orchestra heard only in her own imagination.
She had only a single lantern lit, for it could be easily moved along with her as she worked, to see where she was sweeping. It was much cheaper on the folks in charge of the grand Hall of Song, than having the entire auditorium/theater lit up while the cleaning girl worked. Which, as it happens, would have been even more costly for them if they had done that, since she was not actually working when she was supposed to be. But it was the only time she had, really, in which to freely dance on this wonderful stage! To pretend that she was a real, official ballerina.. which was her dream. She could not afford the costs of taking lessons, though she didn't let that stop her from spying on those who could, and learning what she could in secret.
“I’m fairly certain we’re not meant to be in here ..”
The young aspiring dancer was in the midst of a very slow, graceful, yet difficult Développé combination she had seen some of the advanced students practicing earlier in the week... when the sound of a voice startled her. She froze, just as she was straightening her leg into the air, out to one side. One arm stretched up, rounded, above her head, while the other was curved out to the side. She held her position for a moment as she listened, feeling the sweat trickling down her skin from all the exertion of holding this pose. An answering voice requested the first to trust him, and soon the sound of hushed (and sort of hushed) voices began to draw nearer, proving that whoever it was, they were definitely heading into the theater!
Wist returned her foot silently to the floor, breathing a little hard as she glanced around hastily, fighting panic. Was she about to get in trouble? Her bare feet hardly made a sound on the surface of the stage as she hurried to the front edge of the stage, snatched up her discarded shoes and her lantern, then turned the flame as low as it would go without being extinguished while she hastened off to one side of the stage, taking cover in the wings. And then.. she waited, anxiously. Who were they? She'd never heard their voices before. And to listen to them, she might almost think that the young woman was scolding a child, but the voice that came from the one being scolded was certainly no child.
As she stood in the deepest shadows, out of sight, Wist was almost as surprised as the young woman out there, when the young man began to sing. The words startled her slightly, but she felt drawn toward the singer. She inched a little closer to the edge of the curtain which hid her from view, wondering if she could sneak a look at them. They had lit some of the lights, it seemed, for it wasn't as dark out there as it had been, yet thankfully, that light had not crept as far as her hiding place in the wings.
“Someone is going to hear you!”
The singer's friend's persistent protests almost made Wist giggle, but she bit her lip and merely smiled to herself. Someone had indeed heard him, if Wist counted as 'someone'. She inched another step closer to the edge of the short curtain, cautiously peering around it. They didn't look like the sort of people who would be angry to be eavesdropped on, she thought. She hoped. And then, the young man burst into the chorus of the song.
Those words.. that song! She listened with great interest as he continued singing despite his friend's protests. It was a wonderful song, and she didn't want him to stop. She smiled softly, feeling as if the song could almost be directed at her. She'd never heard it before, but it was lovely. It was.. inspiring, or stirring, or something she couldn't quite put her finger on. And it made her want to dance along, to express the feelings stirring in her heart as she listened. She fought that desire, and instead clutched her shoes close to her chest as she stayed behind the heavy fabric, watching from the shadows.
After a little while, she began to feel tempted to step out into the open and let them know that she was here, and tell them that she found the song to be beautiful, and maybe talk to them, ask questions maybe... where did they learn that song? There was no music, but she could imagine what it might sound like, if there was. And she wondered who they were, and a great many other things.
But just as she was considering showing herself, she heard the ominous sound of approaching footsteps, same as they did. She tensed, her breath catching in her throat as none other than her boss made an appearance! The Hall's caretaker was a strict man, and did not approve of after-hour activities occurring in his domain at all. She had taken great risk in slacking off from her duties to dance on the stage, but it had been simply too irresistible. Now, her gaze darted over to the broom, forgotten in a dark corner, and hoped that he would not spot it.
As Wist ducked back deeper into the shadows, she listened to the pounding of her own heart while the strangers spoke boldly with the man, declaring their business here. Well, technically, it was more the young man who spoke boldly, but anyway.. when Wist heard what their purpose was here, her eyes grew round, and her eyebrows raised up in surprise. A benefit for widows and orphans? She risked a very careful peek out again, curious to get a better look at these people. She had never heard of The Trust which he spoke of, but she was very intrigued. Was there really such a thing? She suddenly liked these two even more after hearing that they were putting together some sort of thing to benefit orphans. While it didn't affect her anymore.. since it had been a few years since she'd called the orphanage 'home'.. it was nice to hear that there was someone out there who cared about them, and who wanted to help them. She smiled faintly as she continued to eavesdrop, until at last the two had departed from the theater.
After they had gone, Wist remained very still as she listened to the retreating sound of her boss grumbling as he put out the lights that the strangers had lit. After what felt like an eternity, she heard the sound of his footsteps retreating, at last. Once she'd heard the door of the theater close, she let out a soft sigh of relief before going to where she had set her lantern, further back. She raised the flame again so that she could see, then cautiously emerged.
The grand room was empty once again. Wist smiled as she slowly twirled out from behind the wings and onto the stage, with the lantern and her shoes still held in her hands. She happily waltzed toward the edge of the stage, and sat down to put on her shoes before hopping down to the floor below. While she would love to continue dancing, she really had to finish sweeping between all those rows of seats.. and she was only about half done!
So with a little sigh, she grabbed her broom and got back to work. Yet, she couldn't resist humming the tune from that song as she worked, and it wasn't long before her sweeping looked more like dancing after all... yet, somehow, the dust and dirt on the floor was gathered into an orderly pile, anyway, and deposited into a bin. After that, she had a few other tasks to finish before her work was done for the evening.
Even after she had finished her work for the night and had laid down to sleep, Wist was thinking about what she'd overheard, and wondering about the benefit and when it would be, and what sort of things would be in it. Would there be auditions? was it only for music, or would there be more stuff? She wondered how long it would be before this thing was made public knowledge, and if she would get in trouble for knowing about it before time... and many other things that flowed into her thoughts before she finally fell asleep.
Cleaning girl - Wisteria
September - Evening, after hours
The broom rested against the corner of the stage, forgotten for the time being. The girl who was supposed to be using the broom to sweep in between each of the many rows of seats out in the audience seating area, was, instead, involved in a private little performance of her own, up on the stage. Twirling and leaping across the platform in the near-dark, dancing to the sound of a grand orchestra heard only in her own imagination.
She had only a single lantern lit, for it could be easily moved along with her as she worked, to see where she was sweeping. It was much cheaper on the folks in charge of the grand Hall of Song, than having the entire auditorium/theater lit up while the cleaning girl worked. Which, as it happens, would have been even more costly for them if they had done that, since she was not actually working when she was supposed to be. But it was the only time she had, really, in which to freely dance on this wonderful stage! To pretend that she was a real, official ballerina.. which was her dream. She could not afford the costs of taking lessons, though she didn't let that stop her from spying on those who could, and learning what she could in secret.
“I’m fairly certain we’re not meant to be in here ..”
The young aspiring dancer was in the midst of a very slow, graceful, yet difficult Développé combination she had seen some of the advanced students practicing earlier in the week... when the sound of a voice startled her. She froze, just as she was straightening her leg into the air, out to one side. One arm stretched up, rounded, above her head, while the other was curved out to the side. She held her position for a moment as she listened, feeling the sweat trickling down her skin from all the exertion of holding this pose. An answering voice requested the first to trust him, and soon the sound of hushed (and sort of hushed) voices began to draw nearer, proving that whoever it was, they were definitely heading into the theater!
Wist returned her foot silently to the floor, breathing a little hard as she glanced around hastily, fighting panic. Was she about to get in trouble? Her bare feet hardly made a sound on the surface of the stage as she hurried to the front edge of the stage, snatched up her discarded shoes and her lantern, then turned the flame as low as it would go without being extinguished while she hastened off to one side of the stage, taking cover in the wings. And then.. she waited, anxiously. Who were they? She'd never heard their voices before. And to listen to them, she might almost think that the young woman was scolding a child, but the voice that came from the one being scolded was certainly no child.
As she stood in the deepest shadows, out of sight, Wist was almost as surprised as the young woman out there, when the young man began to sing. The words startled her slightly, but she felt drawn toward the singer. She inched a little closer to the edge of the curtain which hid her from view, wondering if she could sneak a look at them. They had lit some of the lights, it seemed, for it wasn't as dark out there as it had been, yet thankfully, that light had not crept as far as her hiding place in the wings.
“Someone is going to hear you!”
The singer's friend's persistent protests almost made Wist giggle, but she bit her lip and merely smiled to herself. Someone had indeed heard him, if Wist counted as 'someone'. She inched another step closer to the edge of the short curtain, cautiously peering around it. They didn't look like the sort of people who would be angry to be eavesdropped on, she thought. She hoped. And then, the young man burst into the chorus of the song.
Those words.. that song! She listened with great interest as he continued singing despite his friend's protests. It was a wonderful song, and she didn't want him to stop. She smiled softly, feeling as if the song could almost be directed at her. She'd never heard it before, but it was lovely. It was.. inspiring, or stirring, or something she couldn't quite put her finger on. And it made her want to dance along, to express the feelings stirring in her heart as she listened. She fought that desire, and instead clutched her shoes close to her chest as she stayed behind the heavy fabric, watching from the shadows.
After a little while, she began to feel tempted to step out into the open and let them know that she was here, and tell them that she found the song to be beautiful, and maybe talk to them, ask questions maybe... where did they learn that song? There was no music, but she could imagine what it might sound like, if there was. And she wondered who they were, and a great many other things.
But just as she was considering showing herself, she heard the ominous sound of approaching footsteps, same as they did. She tensed, her breath catching in her throat as none other than her boss made an appearance! The Hall's caretaker was a strict man, and did not approve of after-hour activities occurring in his domain at all. She had taken great risk in slacking off from her duties to dance on the stage, but it had been simply too irresistible. Now, her gaze darted over to the broom, forgotten in a dark corner, and hoped that he would not spot it.
As Wist ducked back deeper into the shadows, she listened to the pounding of her own heart while the strangers spoke boldly with the man, declaring their business here. Well, technically, it was more the young man who spoke boldly, but anyway.. when Wist heard what their purpose was here, her eyes grew round, and her eyebrows raised up in surprise. A benefit for widows and orphans? She risked a very careful peek out again, curious to get a better look at these people. She had never heard of The Trust which he spoke of, but she was very intrigued. Was there really such a thing? She suddenly liked these two even more after hearing that they were putting together some sort of thing to benefit orphans. While it didn't affect her anymore.. since it had been a few years since she'd called the orphanage 'home'.. it was nice to hear that there was someone out there who cared about them, and who wanted to help them. She smiled faintly as she continued to eavesdrop, until at last the two had departed from the theater.
After they had gone, Wist remained very still as she listened to the retreating sound of her boss grumbling as he put out the lights that the strangers had lit. After what felt like an eternity, she heard the sound of his footsteps retreating, at last. Once she'd heard the door of the theater close, she let out a soft sigh of relief before going to where she had set her lantern, further back. She raised the flame again so that she could see, then cautiously emerged.
The grand room was empty once again. Wist smiled as she slowly twirled out from behind the wings and onto the stage, with the lantern and her shoes still held in her hands. She happily waltzed toward the edge of the stage, and sat down to put on her shoes before hopping down to the floor below. While she would love to continue dancing, she really had to finish sweeping between all those rows of seats.. and she was only about half done!
So with a little sigh, she grabbed her broom and got back to work. Yet, she couldn't resist humming the tune from that song as she worked, and it wasn't long before her sweeping looked more like dancing after all... yet, somehow, the dust and dirt on the floor was gathered into an orderly pile, anyway, and deposited into a bin. After that, she had a few other tasks to finish before her work was done for the evening.
Even after she had finished her work for the night and had laid down to sleep, Wist was thinking about what she'd overheard, and wondering about the benefit and when it would be, and what sort of things would be in it. Would there be auditions? was it only for music, or would there be more stuff? She wondered how long it would be before this thing was made public knowledge, and if she would get in trouble for knowing about it before time... and many other things that flowed into her thoughts before she finally fell asleep.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."
