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 Posted: Sun Jun 24, 2012 11:23 pm
In Rajani's experience, there were three different types of taverns. The first and most common on the coast and in large cities were those that the sailors, soldiers, and traveling merchants frequented. The were rowdy and boisterous, but she did not mind them. They were also the most accepting of her independence, and they tended to listen when she told them she was not interested in their attentions, and those that were slow to learn, well, she could deal with them.
The second type were the local taverns in smaller villages. These usually housed nothing more locals in for a pint and the occasional traveler. They were nothing remarkable, but they were peaceful enough and allowed her to earn her coin with little fuss.
Third were those in larger towns and cities where the wealthiest of merchants rubbed elbows with the most affluent of commoners and even the occasional noble. There were rarely brawls there, but the patrons tended to be more trouble than they were worth, what with their inflated egos and their airs. They thought they were entitled to whatever they liked.
Tonight, she was in the city, but she was not bothering herself with the wealthy. No, she was entertaining the soldiers and others in the lower classes, and she was quite pleased to be there. Much more enjoyable than the alternatives. She sang for them and they laughed and cried and danced to her tunes, her deep, sultry voice playing on their emotions, and she reveled in it.
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Posted: Mon Jun 25, 2012 9:50 am
Tavern keepers generally didn't much like Warwick. Unlike Rajani, his shows were difficult to contain within the small confines of the stage, were too athletic and exciting to promise with a hundred percent certainty that nothing would be broken, no glasses smashed or meals destroyed by an arrant juggling club. Quite the contrary; his one effort indoors had resulted in exactly that.
No. No thank you. Even when it began to get cold, Warwick was better off bundled up in the snow. It meant shedding a few pounds with the seasons, but better than being chased off the premises with nothing to show for it.
In all honesty, they probably didn't like him much better as a customer. Tattooed and dyed, even with the bright fabric stripped from the mess of his hair and dressed in his most muted clothing, Warwick was a rag man, a wild man, looked as gyspy as Rajani but with less to offer young men. And tonight, settled at the corner of a table with nothing more in front of him but a mug of cheap ale and a bit of cheap food, he wasn't even a good source of money, a good customer.
No. Not a fan. But he frankly didn't care. He sat enrapt and bright-eyed, watching Rajani sing and ignoring the sidelong looks from the proper customers around him.
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Posted: Mon Jun 25, 2012 11:56 pm
Even as she sang, people-watching was a habit. It was less out of any interest in the people themselves, and more to make certain that they were not going to cause her any trouble later...or to search for potential marks. Not that she was planning any thefts tonight, of course. Wrong establishment for that, anyway. However, she did have to be particularly watchful tonight.
Normally, she had Hawthorn inside with her to help keep an eye on things, but it was different now. A few nights ago, her totem had done, well, whatever it was that they did, exactly, and she had suddenly found herself with a fawn to look after. Well, he was too young to care for himself, obviously, but she still had to make her living. So, she had her rook keeping an eye on him while she sang. The gypsy struggled to keep the laughter out of her voice as she pictured them: the noble bird, reduced to babysitting a finicky little fawn.
Well, she would be done, soon, and poor Hawthorn would be relieved of his unfortunate duty. Ah, and her thoughts had gotten away from her.
Although she was not usually interested in any individual, Raja did have to admit that one in particular had caught her eye. Of course, it was rather difficult to miss him, brilliantly-garbed as he was. Clearly, he was of her ilk, though he was not from her own tribe, nor any other she had met. Still, if she had the heart to admit it, she would have said that it was nice to see another of her own kind. After she had parted ways with her tribe, such meetings were few and far between.
As she finished up her last song for the evening, she wondered if she ought to stop and chat a bit, but thoughts of her little Oberon pervaded her mind. Priorities. If the man wanted to talk to her, well, he had his own two feet. But first, to collect the rest of her wages.
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Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2012 6:36 pm
Warwick didn't look quite like one of her people. His roots, dark, were likely the right color; the line of his nose, too, was potentially the right shape, the right length, if narrowed by something else. Certainly he didn't speak the language, had never been embraced by the community...
Still, he did recognize her at least, a lopsided smile crossing his mouth when Rajani's eyes settled on him, and when he set was over, he was still there -- polishing off the last of his drink, watching as she eased through the place to collect her earnings, dropping a couple coins down by his empty mug and hesitating. Torn, he tried to figure out if he should wait outside, lurk about in the shadows, or stand here and hope she came back through this way.
Crippled with indecision, he rubbed at his cheek and stood there, looking awkward in his skin. Not something that happened often.
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Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2012 11:14 pm
She had to ward off a few attempts to draw her into conversation, but since she had no need to cross through the main room, they were not numerous or time-consuming. As soon as she had her coin, her eyes scanned the room and came to rest on the man. He looked as awkward as a teenage boy asking a girl for a dance. Endearing, if amusing.
When she was sure he saw her, Rajani nodded slightly toward the back. Then, without bothering to wait for him, she disappeared through the kitchens and out the rear entrance.
The sight awaiting her was, in a word, hilarious. It really shouldn't be, but she just could not help herself. She burst out laughing. It seems that Oberon had not been content to simply wait for her. Oh, no. He had gotten bored. Looking around, she could picture it clearly. The fawn had waited a while, pacing but relatively contained, but his patience had soon run out and the inquisitive nature inherent in any young creature had taken over.
That was when the trouble had started. Displeased with the arrangement of the alley's goods, he had poked and prodded until everything was rearranged to suit his pleasure - in short, until the crates and bottles and bits of paper and food were strewn about in utter chaos.
Not exactly polite behavior, but tolerable all things considered. But no, that was not the worst of it. Naturally, he would have grown bored with the alley. When that happened, well, it was time to test the limits of his guard-rook's authority. Now, Hawthorn was not precisely a patient bird, but he was well-mannered, and he had his orders: keep Oberon out of trouble and in the alley.
What had obviously started as an attempt to leave the alley - an attempt that Hawthorn had attempted to thwart by getting between fawn and exit - had turned into what was quite possibly Oberon's favorite game yet: let's poke the bird.
The very harried-looking rook was perched on an overturned crate, wings half-spread while the fawn was low to the ground, hopping around, his stumpy little tail wagging madly, looking for all the world like a playful puppy.
As soon as he spotted Rajani, Hawthorn glared and cawed what was surely a curse in a bird's language, then took to the air, clearly through with both of them for the foreseeable future.
The gypsy's boisterous laughter quieted to the occasional chuckle.
"Oberon," she called, and the little purple devil came prancing over, his tail still wagging, clearly pleased with himself and in high spirits. She rubbed him under the chin, then held his head so he would look at her. "Shame on you, causing your Uncle Hawthorn so much trouble. If you don't shape up, you're waiting in a stable next time."
She had no idea how much he could understand yet, but she was pretty sure she sensed a bit of chagrin from him and his wagging tail slowed to a stop. She shook her head with a fond smile, then looked up, wondering of her mystery guest had found her.
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 7:27 am
Oh, yes, he had. Looking much more comfortable now, multi-patched vest open over his raggedy shirt, leaning sideways to rest one shoulder against the wall. Warwick's eyes were blue, bright and amused, watching the scene -- but more than that, his expression also held a note of surprise, at finding another guardian around here, and in town no less.
He remembered what they were like, at foal. Wren had been more cat than dog, but the kind of cat that expected his attention all the time. There had been one show, Warwick recalled, where she had wandered into the act halfway through and had knocked him off his stilted construction. A fortunate thing he practiced falling so often, or he could have landed on his head.
As the bird flew off, his eyes flicked upward, thoughtful and curious, before resettling on Rajani's face. He wiggled hands down into his pockets.
"They ain't so fond of the city, I think, an' I understand that." His accent was definitely more country than gypsy, more lowbrow than her, most likely. Warwick smiled at her. "Wren don't understand why I come in."
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 12:15 pm
A considering eye met his gaze. He spoke as though...did he have a guardian, too? Not nearby, but then, she supposed, they would not have to be when they grew up.
Oberon's nosed at her pocket and she obligingly offered him the apple she had hidden in there. He munched happily away and she turned her dark eyes back on the stranger.
"I don't think he minds the city, but he does find infinitely more trouble here," she replied at last, then cocked her head. "You have a guardian?"
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 12:38 pm
His shrug was quick, crooked, maybe a bit shy. Sure, he dolled Wren up in bells and whistles -- some of those literal -- for the show, but somehow out of the public eye and without a crowd, he felt odd talking about her. Definitely felt odd talking about her like she was a pet, or a belonging. But then, maybe most Chosen didn't spend a good amount of their time chatting with the Guardians, didn't babble at them while they worked or talk incessantly as they travelled.
"She's out by the caravan. Like I said, don't much like the city." Another smile, his eyebrows raised. Dark, they too give away the fact that his hair isn't naturally that wheat yellow, that some work went into transforming this, like the rest of him.
"Anyway, someone's gotta make sure no one breaks in and steals my equipment." A mischievous edge creeps into his eyes. "And she, at least, ain't likely to trash it or make a mess."
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 1:53 pm
Had Rajani known his thoughts, she would have given Warwick a blistering lecture. Oberon was hardly a possession, and if she treated him anything like a pet now, it was because he was too young and their relationship was too new for them to communicate properly. But he would grow and he would learn. Someday soon, she had a feeling that their relationship would change.
As it stood, she did not know what he was thinking, so the gypsy merely raised an eyebrow at his teasing.
"And I suppose she was so well-behaved as a fawn?"
Done with his apple, the young fawn blinked and stared at the stranger, still licking juice off of his chin. He sniffed at the air a bit, but made no move to approach.
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Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2012 7:04 am
"Aye, she was the sweetest thing you ever saw." The words were serious, but the grin that took over his face -- well. That was less so. No, Wren had caused her share of trouble, but it hadn't been quite like this; mostly it had involved eating his clothing, and considering Warwick's slapped-together, patched and mish-mashed look, that was no real loss.
He swiped his cheek against his shoulder and then straightened, finally tugging a hand from his pocket so that he could offer it to her as he stepped forward. "Leslie Warwick. I heard you singing."
Which, of course, she knew. She'd seen him in there. But he wasn't quite sure what else to say. "I knew a couple those songs. From my mam."
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Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2012 11:58 am
Amusement lit her eyes. No, she did not believe him for a second. Regardless, she took the proffered hand. "Rajani. I saw you listening."
As for the rest, well, "I'm not surprised. A few of those songs are very old."
In truth, they could well have been around since the time of their oldest ancestors, in one form or another. At the very least, they had been passed down through several generations. The others, well, many of those were very new. In fact, she had written a couple of them herself. But that hardly mattered.
Questing for a topic, Rajani found that she must be out of practice at having decent conversations. Apparently, she needed to socialize more.
"You know what I do," she began. Or at least, he knew most of what she did. "But what about you?"
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Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2012 1:41 pm
"Juggle, tumble, tell jokes, fall on my face. Stilts. A bit of contorting." His smile didn't so much as wobble, or waver -- good natured and friendly, his hand light in hers, it only lingered for a moment before he pulled it back, swiping hair out of his eyes in a quick, thoughtless gesture. "Whatever entertains best."
Yes, there was a twitch of something awkward, just a breath of a pause before he ploughed on. "My caravan's about ten minutes walk up the way, if you want to come back with me."
And again, a flush this time starting to creep up his cheeks. "I mean. Not come back t'my caravan. I mean to see it, an' to meet Wren maybe, if you're interested. I didn't mean it like..."
A broad gesture, as he trickled off. If he was lucky, she wouldn't even understand the reference -- but then, she was a gypsy and a wanderer, who she might recognize the implications behind coming back to his caravan. Rajani was sultry enough, certainly, that she'd been propositioned by men before.
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Posted: Thu Jul 05, 2012 6:14 pm
A typical wanderer's assortment of skills, but there was nothing wrong with that. Audiences enjoyed it, and that was enough. When he went on, however, Rajani kept a very neutral expression on her face and was careful not to let it waver. As he dug himself a deeper and deeper hole, her brow crept higher and higher.
When at last he found the wisdom to hold his tongue, the gypsy managed to hold out for all of five seconds before a slow smile spread across her lips. Really. He was such an innocent, she wondered how he managed to survive. It was impossible to resist teasing him just a little.
"Of course, Leslie," she said, her eyes laughing. "I will go see your caravan."
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Posted: Mon Jul 09, 2012 4:24 pm
"Warwick, if ye would." The name was slurred in his mouth, as it had been in his mother's, and likely the rest; not War Wick but Warrick, a hiccup of a name. It was less elegant that Leslie, somehow, and also suited him better. More of a jump and a skip. He was still flushing as he took a step back, nodding to the young deer beside her.
"He gunna come with us? Can he? Wren mostly rode in the caravan that little..."
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Posted: Mon Jul 09, 2012 5:21 pm
Ignoring his insistence on being addressed by his last name, Rajani simply smiled at his blush and carried on as though there had never been any innuendo in the first place.
"He is perfectly capable of walking," she replied. "He certainly has the energy to spare."
Of course, she had no intention of taking him any great distance just yet. They would wait for that until he had built up his strength. Beyond that, however, was the simple fact that the gypsy was unwilling to be any considerable distance away from him. Leaving him under the watchful eye of Hawthorn just outside the building was one thing. Taking a trip across and out of town without him was something else.
"Lead the way."
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