|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Feb 15, 2015 8:21 pm
((As Erahn is currently an NPC, he does not get credit in his apprentice stage for this rp. As of this rp, he is about 4-6 years old))
Erahn liked to practice by the fountain in the center of the little canton of the Celestial city by his music hall. The acoustics weren't as good, to be sure – it was open-air, after all - but the background noise of the fountain and the people was a welcome accompaniment. He took a violin out of the case and began to tune it. It wasn't his, exactly, but he had permission to use it from his master teacher – instruments were made to be used, after all, and his master did not play this particular instrument.
Finally, tuning complete, the little boy set himself up, shifting his light cream-and-spring-green cloak and, briefly brushing his dark hair behind his horns. Finally, he lifted the warm-colored wooden violin to his neck, and began to play. He didn't care if the other people at the fountain liked his playing. He hadn't cared when that stupid country girl had complained, and he certainly didn't care if people whispered or moaned about it. They were, after all, in the minority... Because he was good at his music, at any instrument he had learned so far. All the masters said so. They might not call him a genius, but he knew what he was, and if they couldn't see that, well... little Erahn would show them.
No, he played at the fountain for himself, because if he closed his eyes and let his mind flow with the music from the violin and the burble of the fountain and the murmur of the crowd, he could pretend that all the frustrations in his life didn't exist – that his mother hadn't left, that his father wasn't sick, that his 'uncle' wasn't slightly shifty, that his grandmother was forgetting things, and that he was unappreciated. He could pretend that he was pure music on the wind... that he had a voice, a beautiful one, singing and twisting from the strings...
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Feb 15, 2015 10:18 pm
It's not the first time that Jessa's been in Astral City, but it is the first time she's been here by herself. Her mother used to take her here when she was still alive. Her father helped her move into her dorm in Klefstad Academy. Her classmates had even been taken on a tour around the city just to find what places they might need to go to when they had to purchase supplies. But today? It's different.
It's easier to slip through crowds of people when she's alone, at least, and it's not the human contact with their brushing skirts or the slight bump of their legs that jostles her. It's just the words. It's just being looked at and having a verbal response demanded of her even though they can't know for sure that she can give one, though she looks perfectly capable of it as well. She can deal with everything else.
Still. Just being outside in the bright daylight makes her squint, and she shields her eyes against it, feeling the tickle of her hair against the back of her hand. It's not so bad, she tells herself, just...a little overwhelming, but that's okay, that's just...that's life.
Wish you were here, Mother.
Jessa's not all that sure of where she's going until she hears distant violin playing over the steady churn of voices, and she blinks, curiously following it as best as she can. It takes a little doing, and she even encounters a dead end, but by the time she sees the fountain shooting into midair she knows she's found it, and somehow she knows exactly where she'll be coming to during any long hours she has off.
There's just something...lovely about it all. She drifts into the small area, looking all around, absorbing everything she can, before her gaze falls on the child playing the violin near the fountain, eyes shut, generally overcome by whatever he's playing. She hesitates only a moment before she comes closer, tucking her hands behind her back, and hesitates longer still before she sinks down onto her knees a few inches from where he's playing, tilting her head to the side. She's never heard much music in her life. And this, she thinks, is beautiful.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 16, 2015 9:42 am
((Likely an hour or so later)) Some days, Erahn practiced music that had already been written, music his masters insisted on him learning. This was fine with him – some days at the fountain he would play with the notes propped on his knees, his eyes open, then, to take in the notes. Today, though, he was simply playing. This was music that flowed over his hands and, though there were a few glitches in its structure, he enjoyed it none the less as it rose and fell, a soft wordless windy song. As such, he didn't notice the girl that sat near him. He likely would have ignored her anyway, if he had, but as it was, it was simply a matter of distraction. He was playing, and the world was music. Eventually, though, the world intruded. He let the last strains of his music fade away and slowly looked down at his grumbling stomach. Stupid stomach. It was then that he noticed the girl. He met her eyes for a moment, a little startled that someone had been so close and listening, and for how long? It was gratifying to know, though, that he had been appreciated. He carefully packed away the violin, intending to find a place to buy himself some lunch, when he found his gaze drawn back to the girl. He took out his slate and wrote on it with his omnipresent chalk before turning it to her. It's neat, precise writing showed up well against the black, well cleaned board. /Did you like my music?/ he asked, staring at her questioningly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 16, 2015 1:33 pm
The minutes melt away while Jessa kneels there. She's vaguely aware of time passing - her knees start hurting, so she curls to sit to the side, then eventually crosses her legs over each other - but she doesn't have any more lessons today nor need to work in the kitchen if she doesn't want to, so she simply sits and listens, eyes never leaving the child. He's clearly a couple of years younger than her, but the fact that he has this...talent is incredible to her.
She doesn't have anything like this, she thinks as she watches. She can...what? Breathe? Exist? Peel a perfect potato? That's about it. And sure, she's young, but so is he, even younger than she is, and he already has this, already has something to give him some sense of an identity. It's both mystifying and profoundly disappointing.
Eventually, he stops. When he opens his eyes her own eyes widen a little in surprise, being forcibly dragged back into the world far before she's ready.
At first, she's ignored, and she lingers for a moment, fingers tugging restlessly at the long pieces of fabric dangling from her belt. Maybe she should just...go back to the academy before she bothers anyone, before he maybe even asks her to speak, but then...he pulls out a slate.
She sits a little straighter, craning her neck to try to see what he's writing, and then he turns it to her anyway. Words. He's written words rather than asking her them. A brilliant smile crosses her face - she can't help it, not when she feels a crushing sense of relief that makes her melt a little. She nods quickly, opens her mouth on instinct, then pauses, looking down at the ground for a moment.
It takes a moment, her visibly taking a deep breath and squaring herself a bit, but then she sits tall, meets his eyes, gestures to her throat and shakes her head, and then points to the chalkboard, quirking an eyebrow. Can I use it?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 16, 2015 1:51 pm
At first, Erahn was annoyed at her lack of a response. What, could she not read? That should not be possible in the city – in fact it seemed absurd. Yet he had seen her eyes following the letters, and he knew when someone was reading, as certainly as he knew when someone was about to speak. At her wide grin, he intially thought that maybe she wasn't very smart, one of those people like his grandmother's gardener – the Ysali with the dull eyes and the pleasantly foolish smile that reminded him of livestock. But no, her eyes, he could see, were bright and intent... not that that meant anything, at all, and her gestures... His eyes widened in some measure of understanding as he touched his own throat briefly. Taking the board, he wrote neatly on it before handing it to her, just below his previous question. He passed her the chalk as she read, watching her intently from his perch. ”You could have just nodded”Honestly, though... he was glad she hadn't...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 16, 2015 3:25 pm
When he touches his own throat she nods again, both relieved and pleased that he not only understood, but that he was the same as she was. She sighs softly, scooting a little bit closer to reach the chalkboard as he hands it to her from where he sits, and when she reads the response right under his previous one she snorts, ducks her head in a degree of shyness before looking at him with another bright smile. She shrugs, then begins to write, a bit fascinated with the feel of the chalk between her fingers. She's never written with it, though she's seen her instructors do so at the academy, and the dust it leaves on her fingers as she writes is more than a little interesting.
"I thought you'd be confused about why I didn't speak." She's slow to write, taking care with each letter as she shapes it. She isn't new to writing or reading, of course, not at her age, but now that she suddenly didn't have a voice to correct people with it was of tantamount importance that every word she wrote was exactly as it should be, that it wasn't messy enough that someone couldn't understand it. "Besides I've heard it's rude."
She should hand the chalkboard back right away, she thinks, but she writes just a little more, feeling the words pour out of her now that she doesn't have to be afraid of being judged for how she writes. "You play incredibly. I envy your talent." There. She shouldn't keep the board captive anymore. She hands it back, then studies the chalk dust on her fingers a little closer, rubbing the pads of her fingers together to study the texture of it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 16, 2015 5:02 pm
She wrote almost painfully slowly for Erahn's taste, and he swung his legs back and forth against the fountain in his impatience. Without his board or an appropriate writing substitute, he was relegated to miming and gesture and the occasional indignant huff. Finally, she handed it back to him, and he accepted it almost hurriedly. His eyes quickly devoured what she had so carefully written. There had been other times when, in some sort of twisted view of politeness, others had stopped using their voices in front of him and simply wrote as he did. It annoyed him to no end. He could hear them fine. This was different, however, intriguingly so... he had never met this girl, and so she hadn't known about his lack of a voice. That meant she was like him. He had never met another like himself before. And... his face brightened into a smug yet delighted smirk... she liked his music. He took his chalk back and wrote on the chalkboard with a much more elegant scrawl. ”Why, thank you!”He turned the board back to him and erased it before writing further, his careful scratchings of his chalk stark and pale even amidst the haze of the chalk dust. His stomach rumbled and he made a face just as he was finishing, adding more to his writing almost reluctantly. ”I wouldn't have felt it particularly rude.” in fact, he would have put it off to simple awe at his talent. Though, he would have wondered. Probably rudely. ”Would you like to get something to eat?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 17, 2015 10:44 am
She notices his fidgeting. It's difficult not to, since he doesn't seem keen to hide it. She glances up at him a few times, noting it, but doesn't frown or become annoyed by it, just continues as best as she can.
He's definitely pleased by her words, however, and she sits even straighter, feeling the odd desire to hop a little in happiness. It's been a while since she's been able to compliment someone, to show them that what they're doing has brought something good into the world, and honestly? It almost makes her feel a little more worthwhile. She rests her hands patiently in her lap, beaming in response to his words and nodding.
He writes so nicely for someone his age. She absently wonders what sort of money his family must have if they could train him this well so young. He no doubt had a far different upbringing than a little country girl like herself, tucked off near the edge of the plane. He writes a bit more, though his stomach growls and makes her dip her head to hide her smile a bit shyly.
When he offers the chalkboard again she's sure he's simply waiting for a nod in response, but she bites her bottom lip, takes it from him, and writes with a very regretful expression.
"I'd love to but I don't have any money."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 17, 2015 4:20 pm
No money?! What a concept! Erahn always carried coin on him in case he wanted to buy something – it wasn't quite as ubiquitous as his chalk and board, but still... He took the board back and contemplated her response for a moment, frowning slightly. His stomach reminded him again, however, that its needs were urgent and that he had better figure out what he was doing soon. Finally he scribbled onto the board, paused, and scribbled again, showing her the board with not a little amount of irritation. ”Fine. I will pay.” it said. He jingled his coinpurse at his belt meaningfully as she read it., ”Just this once.”As if in afterthought, he took the board back and scribbled once again, this time handing it to her. ”But you will owe me.”He slid off of his perch and picked up his other things. There were street vendors in the next square over, a lively square that had a statue instead of a fountain and boasted an actual restaurant, which one day Erahn would be able to afford. He liked the idea of being served fine food by a waiter – it seemed decadent and delightful. But the street vendor would have to do. He gestured impatiently for his new aquaintence to hurry up and come with him as he set out for the stalls...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Feb 18, 2015 6:06 pm
She's certainly ashamed of her lack of money. She eats her meals for free at the academy, had all of her supplies bought on scholarship, brought nothing but the clothes on her back from home...Jessa tries to tell herself that her shame doesn't make sense - if her father had given her any of the little money they had left over after her mother's care and funeral expenses, she's completely sure he would've starved - but it's still there, heavy in her stomach. She dips her head at his hesitation, biting her bottom lip, hands itching for the board back so she can apologize.
But then it's offered back to her, and she hesitates before looking at it. Her eyes widen. Really? He's offering to pay? She's familiar with her parents doing that back when they had money to spare, how her father always said that they should be generous to others, but she didn't expect such a little child to show her the same courtesy. She beams at him, standing up and nodding.
She wants the board back, wants to tell him that she'll pay him back someday, maybe will pay for the next treat if they ever see each other again, but he keeps it, so she simply tucks her hands against the small of her back as she takes a few steps toward the vendors, then turns to look over her shoulder at him with bright, expectant eyes, hair flopping gracelessly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2015 11:20 am
Seeing that she was following, Erahn trots over to the vendors. He looks at them slightly petulantly, and perhaps a little coldly, as if they were beneath him. And they were. He was a student of one of the top music schools on the plane and what were they? Salespeople. Of course, he was a little boy of less than three feet in height, so he somehow manages to look down at them... while actually looking up. He pauses by a cake stall. Now, of course, his grandmother would have told him not to eat the cake, of course. One did, after all, not have cake as one's whole meal. Erahn knew this, and in his defense, he did not always have cake when he ate here – sometimes he had other things. He liked lots of different things, not just sweets. He even liked his vegetables, which – in his opinion – makes him better than any other child... not that he wasn't better than them before, of course. But today, he wants cake. Making his decision, he strides up to the stall and points to one of the options – a sizable slice of white-frosted cake with little sugar flowers on it. The counter towers over his head, and he can't see the proprietor clearly through the angled glass. “What's that?” the proprietor, a young kiandri dovaa, peers down at him, “What do you want?” Obviously not minding that a kid was buying himself a lunch of cake – customers were customers, and for all the vendor knows, Erahn could simply be buying dessert. He points again. The white cake. With the flowers. He wants it. “Which one?” the lady peers down at him, squinting, “You'll have to tell me. Do you want the flower cake, the sugar cookies, or one of the filled pastries?” Erahn nods and points again. His arms are just full enough with the violin, the board, and his other things to make writing more trouble than its worth, and he thinks it should be obvious. He wants the white cake. That one. He wiggles his fingers at her. How much?“Speak up, hun. Which do you want?” He scowls up at her in exasperation, on the verge of one of his silent tantrums. People were so frustrating!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2015 10:13 pm
Jessamine certainly doesn't miss the dismissive way that he looks at the vendors, especially since she tries to stay by his side instead of falling too far behind. She blinks, looks between them and him as she wonders if maybe they've done something rude to him in the past to deserve that sort of treatment.
It also occurs to her that she doesn't even know what his name is. It's not really relevant, she guesses, since he can't exactly call him by it, but still, it'd be nice to know what to think of him as besides just 'the boy.' She's tempted to lean over and touch his shoulder and gesture to the board so she can ask, but just as she's about to he gets this incredibly firm look on his face, stops right in front of a pastry stall, and jabs his fingers straight at what he wants. It's an extremely pretty piece of cake, and her eyes light up at the sight of it. Goodness, she'd love something like that.
She doesn't pay much attention to the proprietor at first, just making herself try to pick something else that looks nice and also not terribly expensive so that the boy doesn't have to be upset about how much he's paying. But the second statement makes her glance up, eyes wide, and then she looks between the boy and the lady, feeling her heart beat a little faster.
The woman's being rude, really, she thinks, acting in that condescending way that adults do where they demand the child they're talking to speak even if they're not comfortable with it. They assume that they're completely capable of it, that they just don't feel like speaking at the time, and she hates that, she really does, especially because this is just a little boy that wants a piece of cake and legitimately can't speak, and he can't even use the chalkboard because of how many things he's carrying, and while he's getting angry Jessa is busy getting more and more tense and uncomfortable until something bubbles up in her throat and-
"The cake!"
The words croak from her lips like she hasn't spoken in months - and she hasn't, really, not more than two words to say goodbye to her best friend before she left town, not more than three more whispered against her mother's coffin lid. It's a switch she doesn't know how to flip, and it flipped here, all right, so fast and sudden that she feels sick.
As with the other two times this happened she tries to speak again, tries to force the words out, but she can't, she just can't. So with her stomach churning and her breath catching she shakes her head, moves away from the cart with a hand to her stomach and the other on her temple.
She's not very hungry anymore.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 20, 2015 6:14 am
dovelybird Oh damn. I had hoped he wouldn't find out until later. “Well why didn't you say so?!” the woman says, giving Era's hair a light pat and the girl a wide, friendly grin, patronizing. She names the price and brings out two rich looking slices of cake. Erahn hands her the coin, and he also takes his slice of cake, but he does so absently. He is staring at Jessamine the whole time, very intently, very rudely. His expression is a pained mixture of shock and confusion, and he stares at her for a moment too long. Finally, he looks down at the wrapped slice of cake – he does have a fork or two for just-in-case in his purse – but he wasn't sure he wanted it now. But, he was – as his stomach reminded him – still hungry and he would give her, very magnanimously, a chance to explain herself. One. It was more than he would have given anybody else, and only because he had gotten his cake. Finally, he breaks the stare and stalks off to a nearby wall around the perimeter of the square, sitting on it tensely. He offloads his stuff to make room for the cake... and for his board. His movements, as he writes, are jagged, angry. Finally, he is done, and he waits for her to sit – glares at her until she does... or until she leaves. The board is turned outward, visible. ”You Spoke.” it accuses, ”Why didn't you speak before?” it interrogates, ”You are not like me, Are you?” it moans.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 26, 2015 6:51 pm
DraconicFeline Clearly I ruin everything. xD
Jessamine's not expecting him to come stomping over toward her, nor to loop around where she can see him, but he does, and he's clearly angry. Even though he's younger than she is she can still feel it rolling off of her, and she looks away, feels the weight of her shame settle on her. Of course she's ashamed. She did something to trigger this, didn't she, and surely she should be able to untrigger it, but she can't, no matter what she tries.
The board's turned to her, and she looks up, reads the words, and closes her eyes tightly for a moment before she sucks in a sharp breath and comes over, taking the board from him whether he likes it or not. She presses it into the wall to support it and erases his words before writing quickly, jaggedly, her earlier slowness forgotten. She doesn't even bother trying to hide the words until she's done because the words just keep pouring out and she's afraid he might just walk away otherwise.
"My mom died a few months ago and I can't remember how to speak it just happens sometimes I wish I could make it happen all the time but I can't I promise I really wish I could"
She aggressively underlines a few words with a sharply inhaled breath, pressing a hand against her forehead, then lets all the air out shakily. She writes just a few more words, hand shaking a little less.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. But I wasn't hiding anything from you or just trying to make you feel better."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Mar 06, 2015 10:38 pm
Erahn's purple eyes are intense as he stares first at her, and then the movements of her writing. He grits his teeth – he couldn't not be furious. As far as the little boy was concerned, she had lied to him. It was a new lie, sure, but she had lied and it hurt. It hurt a lot. He reaches out to take his board back, and then pauses irritably as she adds her next thing. He takes up his chalk and begins writing, the brittle substance nearly crumbling beneath his lithe little fingers with his anger. ”You don't make any sense” he scrawls. Its not as neat as before, definitely, but still legible. ”Its not fair.” he continues, speeding up in his fury. ”Thats impossible.”How could someone stop talking? How could someone with a voice that clearly worked stop?! He had a problem inside him that stopped his breath from making the sounds of speech and song. She didn't. What was stopping her? ”Its nonsense.” At this point, his board was becoming a list of anger, of sputtering indignation. ”Your lying.”Finally, he just shoves the now dusty board at her, disgusted. The remainder of the chalk follows soon after, and, along with it, a glare that spoke volumes: of a little brat, angry, upset, lonely, and betrayed. Liar his eyes seem to say, I hate you.And then he takes his slice of cake and his instrument, and walks away. Apparently, she could keep the board.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
