class affinity: minstrel
- It had taken far too long to come up with the cadence he had been searching for, but it was well worth it now that he was on the cusp of discovering something new. Zhan hummed as he scribbled, freeing lyrics from his mind as the breeze across the bow ruffled his hair, and—
"Zhan."
He inhaled a swift breath, sharp with surprise. So much for flow.
"Yes?"
"The captain has requested your presence in her office." Taley was one of the few members of the crew who didn't sound ridiculous when speaking full sentences. Zhan recognized that wasn't accurate, but right now he was too prickly to be fair.
"Thank you."
He pushed down his irritation as he stood, similarly bottling the temptation to let the heels of his boots clack loudly on the deck beneath him. Zhan didn't pass anyone on the way to Volarik's office, and when he arrived he knocked once and entered, not waiting for a response. If she wasn't ready for him, he didn't care.
"Captain."
"You already know why you're here."
"Hm. Yes. We both know that Oku is capable and that we suffered minimal losses. So all I need to know is whether or not she can stay."
"And your punishment." Her eyes, so like his own, sparkled with amusement though her tone was flat. She could have him thrown from the ship with less than the clothes on his back, and they both knew it. "Five tasks, to be assigned when I see fit."
"May I go now?"
"Yes, dear. Return to your little Yaeli. Be free."
Zhan left before she could see the splotchy color rise in his cheeks. He hated how betrayed he felt by himself when he was caught off guard, and while he had fought to gain control of most of those unconscious reactions, he had been failing at doing so more than he liked lately. He didn't return to his room, pulling off his boots and continuing past his door. There was a spot no one cared to investigate, a crawlspace he had claimed more than ten years ago, and Zhan went there now, the weight of his frustration slipping away as he shimmied between a pair of worn planks. It was dry in here, and sometimes the air that funneled between the cracks sounded like it was singing.
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, reaching for the notebook in his pocket with a sigh. Despite the interruption, he knew he was on the way to a new composition. Although his muse for lyrics had been chased away, he was hoping he might find a melody to accompany what he had. His vision having adjusted to the dim interior of this space, Zhan looked around at his collection, waiting for something to inspire him to pick it up. There was a bead-filled gourd from Oba, a sweet-voiced shell flute from Matori, several odd bells from all over Belrea that he had fashioned into a set, and a small harp he had picked up in Ilidan.
Zhan lifted the harp with careful fingers and began to play.
[ 523 words ]
