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Canon: © Anne Bishop
Board's Plot: Blood Rites
Points Scheme: Mother Night
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Established February 2010
by Jamie, Gina & Bowie.


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Scelt is a Territory in turmoil and peace is tenuously held together by the Sceltic Queens. Rivalry between the Clans errupted into horror for the Territory that resulted in many dead, on both sides, and culimated in Clan Sheane being outlawed in the Territory. Further troubles plague the Territory in a variety of manners - Landen villages are raided, Courts are attacked, and no one seems to be safe.
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Author Topic: Glass Full of Players, Without A Sound  (Read 325 times)

Description: Tag: Faldimar, Fall 192

Offline Naia Garcia

  • Character Account
    • blood
    • female
    • Role

      Vocal Performer

    • Faction

      The Hammer & Anvil

    • Territory

      Scelt

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Haloriel

    • Posts

      8

    • "Make them love you, but only upon the stage."

    • View Profile
Glass Full of Players, Without A Sound
« on: Jul 31, 18, 11:06:24 PM »
Locale: Backdated 192, Fall. Hammer and Anvil, Outdoors; Lower Rooftop.

Of the places one could offer practice performance, the outdoors was quite possibly the best to do so. She was still after all these months, skittish generally of stepping on to the stage except for when called to do so, with the exception of one time in being caught. So Naia Celestine had found a perch that meant she had to literally climb the side of the building to get to it. One of the lower sections of roof that even with Basic Craft, she could jump right down to the ground if she needed to immediately move from where she was.

It was an excellent position if anyone asked her, which of course was why the 'Lady' Naia was there. The Blood Female figured the likelihood of her being discovered was slim to none this time, except for the fact that she did not consider how the strength of her voice could potentially carry with the acoustics of the roof itself to the inside. So far, she had been featured with small parts with the Hammer and Anvil, though even those had been exquisite. It was more than enough pay as well to keep her in a good sized room at a nearby Inn. Given that she was still at the place of her employer, the vocalist considered that she needn't have an Escort just sitting outside.

Skimming through a chapbook of songs and ballads, perfect for advanced vocal runs, she marked the places on the inexpensive pages that she liked best and might save for a later date. Dressed in a long, split black skirt with trousers beneath it and sturdy yet fashionable black boots, the only bit of her that stood colourfully out in her opinion was the faint golden threads that were embroidered subtly over the whole outfit, paired with the very pale golden blouse. While almost murmuring and whispering song she swung her feet back and forth, a little of a smile grew upon her face. From this vantage point, she also figured that her other reason for being way up here could possibly be realised. She wanted to catch the 'Great Lord' at a very specific angle to confirm her suspicions. While seldom she had exchanged more than polite speech with the male that really could have been considered the master of the playhouse and one that could possibly make, or break a fellow player with the exception of Epona Corcoran's word, there was something about him that had made her wonder from the very moment she had seen him in action. Not when she met him and the rest of the players, but the action of performance. The distinction was a most imperative one to make.

I am certain beyond a doubt the man I am looking at is Eyrien and by no means a Dhemlanese man in his prime.

So she had to know, for sure, despite the fact that she had no idea what to do with that kind of knowledge. Naia simply wanted to know and was far too nervous to ask the question. Even thinking it made her senses spin off into the oblivion of no. This, of course, was as well the perfect place for her other, more harmless intention. Flipping the page, she alighted upon a very lovely selection that sprang from her parted lips before she could think very much upon it. ♩"Take my hand, I'm a stranger in Paradise,"♩ she began, the words sung in a beautiful mode despite the fact that she was merely toying with the phrases.

It was pretty, enthralling, and Naia could imagine very easily singing the words in truth to someone she had never truly met many times before. Very easy then, it was, to infuse that quality of tenderest stupefaction into every word and flick of phrase. Poured some loving vestiges of the heart into it, soaring away akin to a flock of birds on the wing. ♩"All lost in a wonderland, a stranger in paradise. If I stand starry-eyed, that's a danger in paradise ... for mortals who stand beside an angel like you ..."♩

Offline Faldimar Maskov

  • Character Account: Inactive
    • blood
    • male
    • Role

      Great Lord

    • Faction

      The Hammer & Anvil

    • Territory

      Scelt

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Bowie

    • Posts

      4

    • View Profile
Re: Glass Full of Players, Without A Sound
« Reply #1 on: Aug 01, 18, 01:43:48 AM »
She was right, of course, in no small amount of ways.

s. The Great Lord, as he was often called, an old stable who took all the juiciest  but the leading man roles (and, depending on the play, even those), he bore with him an intense magnetism and power in the passion of his performances. He could bring a crowd loudly in japing airs to a sobbing defeat, or rouse a somber group of those long defeated into a rowdy cheer through clever japes of his own or even thrilling action.  Even as the villain, he commanded the crowd, and eyes could rarely leave the Long-Lived man who had been within this playhouse longer than even its proprietor could recall, him having once bounced her on his knee.

He stood in a courtyard, with no one beside him, holding a script curled before him as he recited lines, professing his devoted words from the script out to the crowd that did not exist. The lines were comfortable, and he referred to them only between attempts, clearly trying different inflections and moods behind each line in turn, checking for his contexts as he drilled through his options.

But he had an audience, it so turned out; and she was, indeed, all too correct. FIrstly, he was not in any way a man one could consider in their prime, the man showing his weathered age with a surprisingly handsome cut to the wrinkles that had grown over the last centuries. He had likely grown only a few gray hairs since the Purge, but he was old long before it had struck these lands. Secondly, he was an Eyrien,  who had done very well to impersonate - and even sculpt his features, perhaps through Craft of some paid Healer - to resemble a Dhemlanese man. But one could see it in a few telltale ways only if one was, themself, a member of the very group to which he pretended at. Fortunately, few Long Lived bothered to patronize this playhouse, and fewer yet focused on him beyond his makeup and attire to look deeper. She, however, proved an issue, though he had grown too confident to practice his efforts to safeguard against it.

She gave herself away, however, proving his audience, and his eyes caught sharply upward as strains of music dared past her full lips, eyes catching the fellow long-lived above him on the balcony over his little private stage in his mind. She was stunning, with and without music, but she was also impairing his abilities to perform. He vanished the script, coveting it in what limited capacity he had to so contain it, and considered the woman above.

Playful, at least, he cleared his throat and joined her in melody. He may not be as focused so on music, but he knew well to shape his throat, and flourished under her training.♩ I saw your face… And I ascended … Out of the common place … Into the rarest, somewhere in space…”♩ he crooned along, singing up to her, above him, to a place he did not ascend. A flattering smile, he bowed to the very woman hunting him, before moving in towards the establish itself. If he could not practice, he would pursue his second vice: drinking,

Offline Naia Garcia

  • Character Account
    • blood
    • female
    • Role

      Vocal Performer

    • Faction

      The Hammer & Anvil

    • Territory

      Scelt

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Haloriel

    • Posts

      8

    • "Make them love you, but only upon the stage."

    • View Profile
Re: Glass Full of Players, Without A Sound
« Reply #2 on: Aug 01, 18, 07:58:13 AM »
It had been sheer training which had kept Naia Celestine singing with the 'Great Lord' when she realised how very close he had been to her. How, how in the sweet Mother's blessed name had she missed his presence as well outside? Thinking over the moments before, she noted only in recollection that she had snared upon a warm rumble of sound that had drawn her outdoors, to begin with.

Wonderful voice, clarity of sound, that must have been him. Even at a distance, just as they did upon the stage, his golden eyes tore through her as much as they would have anyone observing; the fact that he was nearing the middle of his years while she was merely toward the beginning of her long life did not seem to make much of a difference as a deterrent. That she had confirmed her thought of where he was from at least in some cultural difference as it was clear he very much preferred his guise ended solely to enhance her curiosity to a near fevered pitch.

It had been playful the way he sang with her, not bothered that Naia, the mere Ingenue had thoughtlessly interrupted him. Tightly did her hands curl around the chapbook and air seemed a luxury after the departure of the charming man's presence, whether he had intended to flummox her mind or not, it had so richly been a success. Sweet Celes' golden and brown eyes closed as she slid down into hiding, pressing the pages to her poor pounding heart. Should she seek him out? Could she dare think to find him after such a casual, uncertain exchange? Perhaps if she waited some weeks the male would forget her. "Foolish, foolish, bird. What were you thinking!?"

In the end, the Lady Garcia was simply too full of nerves to dare. Surely that moment had been nothing more than a coincidence, and after all, he had been trying to practise. She surmised the man had gone again to do exactly that and for the day, despite the fact that Naia was practically walking on clouds, she went to her little room at the Inn and tried in vain for six hours to recapture the sound and presence of his voice mingled with hers before falling to an exhausted, overwrought sleep filled with more dreams than the lady had a name for.

Two days later, however, she was back. Courage restored. The thumping of her pulse could be entirely disregarded as coincidence again, as well. This time she climbed inside the stage, absolutely certain not a soul would notice the cleverness of her perch, not thinking that the man she was quietly looking for probably knew every hiding space or sitting notion within the Hammer and Anvil that a player could think to make use of. The acoustics here were even sweeter than the outside roof; she could whisper-sing a note and push it without Craft all the way to the far edge of the greater audience seats without a soul able to discover her position. Ay, me! How romantic, Naia thought.

She bit her lower lip until it was truly red without artifice, beginning to sing once more after having seemingly vanished without a trace for days. There were several pieces of music that she toyed with, from Sceltic traditional pieces of sweet fluff to operatic selections that worshipped the highest and truest forms of idealistic love. Yet, eventually, Naia found herself wandering back to that same simple, and very tender melody. Really, she couldn't help herself even if she had tried. ♩"Won't you answer this fervent prayer, of a stranger in paradise?"♩

Her breath marks had improved, if one could believe it to absolute silence of the perfect rest between phrases, that might drag in a listener whether they wished to be so pulled or nay. The highest notes seemed like some ghostly imagining out of the memory rather than a woman hiding at the top edges of a stage works. ♩"Don't send me in dark despair, from all that I hunger for!"♩

Winding toward the tenderest climax of a flurry in notes that were neither too many nor overly few, Naia allowed her voice to truly fly, to become more than a mere memory for a moment's play. The angels' arms, whatever that could surmise could only be viewed as real, while the warmth in her face and bearing were a pang of lingering heartbreak, paired with wistful and wishful thinking upon the rarest imaginings of a true charmer. ♩"But open your angel's arms, to this stranger in paradise!"♩

This time, she finished the full phrasing rather than allowing the notes, not a single one to falter and land incompleted nor unwanted by the artist. ♩"And tell us that we need be ... strangers no more!"♩ When finished, Naia's laughter was warm, bright and full of the springtime of a half Long-Lived woman's youth and seemed perhaps too perfect for the moment.

Of course, it never occurred to the Lady Garcia that she was probably interrupting ... again.

 

 

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