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Post by Deleted on Mar 7, 2017 21:06:42 GMT
It's early in the evening when a man named Elijah wanders into the Three Broomsticks. He holds a guitar case in his hand, not wanting to attract attention by pulling it out of a backpack that seems too small to hold it. A polished stick of wood hangs from his belt in a carved leather "holster"; only he knows it's purely decorative. He moves to the bar with a friendly smile, ordering a mulled mead; taking it to a back corner, he sits and drinks in the mood and feel of the room for a while, enjoying the simple people-watching. When and if conversations happen around him he eavesdrops shamelessly, not from malice but from a genuine curiosity about other people. All the while he nurses his drink, making it last. When it's finally done he heads back to the counter to have a quiet conversation with Madam Rosmerta, full of little flirty smiles on his end. When he heads back to his seat it's with a refill and an empty glass; he sets the latter out in front of him, and drops a few coins into it to give people the right idea. Then, pulling out his guitar, he begins to play a gentle, meandering Scottish air.
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Post by Keeper of Darkness on Mar 7, 2017 22:21:02 GMT
A soft form starts to appear in the corner of the room. At first it is a slight haze that plays with the mind, accompanied by a gentle chill. After a few moments it solidifies into a smartly dressed woman, translucent as water until a slight colour of grey hues fills out her form. She is sitting at a table, her arms folded so her chin rests on her hand; she appears to be very pleased and content with watching Elijah's performance.
Oddly, a few people do nod in the grey ladies direction; none of them appear to be scared at all. A few of the patrons who where sitting around her shiver and pull on their coats. They all continue their quiet conversations around her as they drink and enjoy the music.
The lady just gazes, doesn't blink much if at all. Just smiles at the musician almost in enthralment.
Rosmerta places a butterbeer in front of the ghost and walks back around the bar to tidy up.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 7, 2017 22:24:33 GMT
Five songs into the evening and a few coins later, the door opens to let in a swirl of snow and a short, wiry man who doesn't look at all like a wizard should. No robes; no wand; and laughing, dancing, challenging eyes for anyone who looks at him longer than they ought. He stomps his heavy hiking boots on the mat with easy vigor until the snow shakes off and pulls off a thick blue woolen cap to reveal a shock of close-cut auburn hair with glinting red highlights that catch the light. He clips the cap to his bright-orange Aonijie backpack and wades through the crowd to the counter, ordering "something hot" to drink.
He leans against the counter for a time then, letting the drink warm his fingers and breathing the sweet cinnamon scent of the air. Before too long, his toe taps in a soft rhythm with the song playing and he glances around in mild interest for the musician. When his eyes fall on the Eshu, his lips purse in a wickedly wry grin. He doesn't rush, letting the song finish and happy to tap his foot along in unhurried appreciation of the tune, but when the song comes to a close, he strides over and ostentatiously drops a galleon in the tip glass.
"Here now," he demands loudly, lips twisted in a warm smirk. "Let's have a good song. You gotta be just about the prettiest busker I ever saw, but can you sing, that's the question."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 7, 2017 23:05:52 GMT
"Pfft," the young man says, not looking up. "You doubt me? I'm wounded." Without missing a beat his fingers jump into an upbeat melody; a moment later he begins singing "Whisky In the Jar."
His voice is strong and clear and warm, singing the old lyrics with lusty enthusiasm, his energy infectious. A few times the words he sings vary from any known versions; most notably, the word "brother" in the last verse is replaced by "lover."
As the last strains die away, he looks up at the newcomer with a wide grin, draping his arms over the body of his guitar. "Of all the butterbeer joints in all the world..."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 7, 2017 23:18:20 GMT
He does not sing alone. The requester takes up the song at every chorus, his voice warm and rousing; where the words are altered, he never stumbles, singing along with a lusty fervor suggesting a level of drunkenness he has almost certainly not yet reached. At the end of the song and at the bard's words he grants a dazzling grin without an ounce of shame. "Must be fate," he declares, throwing himself into a chair next to the man and spreading out in his seat to lean back and watch the rest of the room as they talk. One arm drapes easily around the taller man's shoulders and his dancing eyes challenge anyone who looks askance at the display.
Turning just enough to face Elijah, the newcomer leans in then, his voice dropping under the noise of the bar. Hovering almost nose-to-nose with his companion, he winks and grins again. "Miss me?"
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Post by Deleted on Mar 7, 2017 23:36:18 GMT
"Always, but it looks like my aim is improving," he teases. Leaning in, he kisses the other man on the nose, then strums a riff on his guitar. "Been what, four, five years? How've you been?" He strikes another chord, giving a melodramatic feel to the conversation. "Tell me I've not been replaced in your heart."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 7, 2017 23:46:52 GMT
Real affection, ferocious and deep, flares in the other man's eyes at the question but his answer is airy--and ambiguous. "I'm not nearly drunk enough yet to haul out the big lies," he says, his wry grin teasing. Then he shakes his head. "Only five years? Feels like twenty, while you look like it was yesterday. What's your secret, clean living?" He grins and take a long swig of his drink.
"And how about you?" he asks, turning around the question he'd so teasingly dodged. "I figured you'd have a wife, a picket fence, and three squallers by now."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 0:27:51 GMT
"Picket fences require a permanent address," he laughs, picking out a wandering melody as he talks. "I hear tell kids prefer that too. And no, alas," he sighs, taking his melody in a melancholy direction. "Despite many sighs and many tears, I have tragically broken the heart of every young lady who begged for my hand."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 0:39:57 GMT
Miach leans back and stretches in his chair, grinning at the melancholy words and tune. "Scoundrel," he says, happy as a clam and not bothering to hide it. "Did you ever learn to fight?" he teases, flashing another provocative smile. "Someone really ought to teach you if you're going about breaking hearts. Eventually you'll jilt someone who can run faster and farther than those legs of yours can take you."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 0:50:49 GMT
"I," he says in a lofty tone, "am a poet, an artist, and a lover. I do not fight. Why should I," he adds with a grin, "when I have you here to protect me?"
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 1:05:09 GMT
"True, true," Miach agrees, his wry grin reaching new and epic levels of smug pleasure. "Whatever would you do without me? You'd be a sitting duck for all manner of thieves, brigands, and jilted village girls. I shudder to imagine."
While his eyes dance a jig as good as any his feet can when the mood takes him, he leans forward and drops his voice to a low teasing tone that is softly intimate even with the noise of the crowd around them. "Tell me, Elijah Byron," he murmurs, white teeth flashing in the candlelight as his grin widens again, "are you in the market for a guard on your latest travels? I ask purely out of self-interest."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 1:20:09 GMT
He laughs, eyes flashing. "Oh, I suppose it's not off the table. Although you know I won't be able to pay said bodyguard unless I can keep playing my music."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 1:35:33 GMT
Miach's answering smile is shameless. "I'm open to negotiation," he murmurs into his drink, but leans back again and stretches like a cat. "I have missed your music," he admits, giving a passing girl his best pleading puppy eyes such that her step falters in curiosity.
"Miss, spare a penny? My friend here can play a love song that would make the devil himself cry." Raising her eyebrows and laughing in spite of herself, she drops a coin in the glass while Miach surreptitiously gestures to the proprietess his intention to buy the young woman a drink for her kindness.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 1:50:59 GMT
"The devil himself? That's a tall order," he says, sipping his mead. "Got one that'll make me cry, though, and that's not easy to do." Leaning back, he rests his feet up on Miach's lap and begins to strum. The song he chooses is " My Heart, It Belongs to She," a melancholy air about a man who loses his love through his own carelessness. His voice fills the pub, throbbing with sorrow in a passable Irish accent.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 2:27:29 GMT
Miach listens with a sad smile on his face, not singing along with this one but just letting Elijah's silver voice and perfect fingers tell their tale. By the end of the song, his eyes shine with tears. With one hand he cradles his drink and the other hand occasionally strokes the Eshu's legs where his feet are draped in Miach's lap. At the end, and after the girl has left with a soft, satisfied sigh and a distant look in her eye, he shakes his head and wipes slowly at the tears budding in his eyes. "Beautiful," he agrees in a soft whisper, shaking his head with a smile. "A little on the nose."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 2:42:09 GMT
Elijah grins even as he blinks back his own tears. "That so? You have a wife out there who left you with the kiddos because you weren't interested enough in her?"
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 2:46:02 GMT
Miach chuckles at this. "Mate, I've got three," he teases, taking another swig. "And a kid in every port. You ever see an urchin with hazel eyes, you know you're looking at one of my by-blows. Gods know how they'll divvy up my stuff after I'm gone." He grins again, cheeky mood thoroughly restored. "Is that a new one, that song? Don't remember it from last time. Though admittedly I wasn't sober through all of 'em."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 3:17:06 GMT
"Nah," he laughs, shaking his head. "That's an old one. And you have too heard it, you cried the last time and the time before that." Grinning, he adds, "Besides, you're stalling. You know what I want to know."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 4:00:30 GMT
"Did I, then?" Miach says, pretending to look thoughtful. "Well, if I cried the last time and the time before that, can't be the runaway wives and the wee little urchins, now can it? Must be something else."
Setting his mug down, he rests his elbow lightly on the other man's leg and sets his chin against the side of his face, giving his companion the cockiest of smiles as he tilts his head up to look at him. "What is it you want to know, Elijah?" he murmurs, his soft voice suddenly very like warm honey mead on a cold night. "Is it that I've thought of you every day since we last parted? Or that I dream of you at night?"
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 4:13:22 GMT
"Mmm, all of that and more," he says, his own grin splitting his face. "That is, in fact, something I am particularly interested in knowing all about." He leans in, his face not far from Miach's. "But right now, tonight, what I really want to know is..." He strums his guitar, filling the air with the challenge of a flamenco riff. "Can you still dance?"
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 4:30:29 GMT
"That is a good question," Miach says, with the affected intensity of a comedian pretending not to know the answer. "Let me check. Hmm." He straightens one leg off the floor to verify the presence of his left foot, then repeats the gesture to confirm the presence of its sibling on the right. "Still have both my feet. Hang on."
In a quite impressive feat of chugging, he sweeps up his mug and downs the rest of it in a matter of mere seconds, then slams the mug back down and shakes his head like a dog coming out of the bath. Eyes flashing with fresh delight as the drink settles in his stomach, he tosses a wild grin at the handsome troubadour. "Yes."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 5:45:16 GMT
"Oh yeah?" His eyes dance with mischief. Reaching behind him, he rustles in his backpack until he can pull out another case; opening it, he lifts out a fiddle. "Prove it." Swinging his legs down, he stands with a gallant flourish and raises his bow. "Ready?" The music starts out slow and soft, but it doesn't stay that way. Within seconds it blossoms into a w ild Irish reel, exquisitely danceable, with Elijah's foot hitting the ground rhythmically in lieu of a drum.
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Post by Keeper of Darkness on Mar 8, 2017 7:57:26 GMT
The ghost coughs, clearly slightly prudent about public affection. The men flirting seems to have little impact on her, when they touch she makes it clear with a quiet and pert reminder. Her translucent hands pick up the butter beer as if she is actually going to drink it, lifting it up gently to drink it? Without taking a sip she gently sets it back down on her table and folds her hands again, once more quietly observing those coming and going from the pub.
(giving you two moonlight access, just in case.)
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 13:12:04 GMT
Miach notices the ghost's coughing exactly once, raising his glass to her with a cheeky grin and a flirtatious wink. When Elijah swings his legs down to stand, Miach quickly shucks off his hiking boots and replaces them with a pair of beautiful, lovingly-kept, and almost-on-the-side-of-feminine hard dancing shoes from his bag. He rises from his chair, stretches at the soft musical beginning, stands slowly on his toes in a balletic pointe... ...then launches into an Irish treble reel, his hard shoes hitting the wooden floor with wild abandon in a dance so fast, his legs almost look like rubber. The dance is two parts traditional, one part beautifully modern, incorporating the occasional ballet technique and not giving a wet toss about keeping his arms properly straight. And though the dance, like his shoes, is faintly feminine in points, the grinning man dancing to the music with a delighted flush on his face is anything but.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 18:15:37 GMT
Elijah doesn't dance, not precisely - that would be difficult to do while playing - but he circles around the dancing Miach, swaying in time to his own music. He steps close and then back again, twirling and stepping around, always just narrowly avoiding getting hit with an enthusiastic arm or leg. The music swirls around them, wild and precise all at once; Elijah allows his step to quicken and his hips to move as he plays.
The melody slows - an opportunity for dancers and players alike to catch their breath, which Elijah takes full advantage of while sending flirty, fiery looks at Miach - and then segues, Cooley's Reel melting into the familiar strains of Drowsy Maggie, possibly the quintessential Irish melody. At this point Elijah throws off all reserve. He plays with limitless energy, his whole body embracing and embodying the music. As the tempo rises the music becomes wilder and more joyful, skirling around them in a tune that never seems to stop. Elijah maintains just enough control to keep the music coming; otherwise he moves like a shadow with Miach, filling the spaces where his one-time lover is not without ever seeming to think about it.
Instead of slowing for the ending, he builds the music to a fever pitch before ending with a grand flourish; when he stops his face, shining with sweat and flushed with excitement, eyes bright, is directly in front of Miach's.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 18:37:04 GMT
Miach dances with reckless abandon, throwing himself into the reel with the same passion he would bring to a fight to the death. His feet strike the ground in a rhythm of taps that seem strong enough to shake the foundations themselves and he moves around his partner with easy delight, catching and matching each shamelessly flirty glance and gaze. His skill at the dance is undeniable, but his undeniable joy at the endeavor is what makes him such a pleasure to watch.
When the music comes to an end he halts in place, panting from the exertion even as his face glows with vibrant life. He grins at Elijah with unbashed adoration and closes the tiny gap of space between the two men, snaking a possessive arm around the minstrel's back. Gently, keeping the precious fiddle in mind, Miach dips his lover back as he would at the conclusion of a partnered dance. Leaning into the dip, he plants a playfully ostentatious but very real, very warm, kiss full on Elijah's lips.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 18:55:01 GMT
Elijah leans back into the dip as if he were expecting it - and most likely he was. Chuckling, he returns the kiss warmly, then allows himself to be pulled back up. "Well," he says, unabashedly grinning. "It appears you can, in fact, still dance."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 19:25:14 GMT
Miach bursts out laughing at the praise, his voice thick and warm and raw from the exertion of the joyful dance. "I'm honored by your approval, sir," he teases in a loud boast. Signaling for another drink and flicking sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he rights and releases Elijah, he adds in a warm, happy murmur, "Looks like you remember how to kiss."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 19:53:23 GMT
"It's an important skill," he protests, laughing. Nodding in the direction of the drink coming their way, he adds, "I assume this means we're staying a while, then?"
Raising his voice, he addresses not just Miach but the crowd as a whole. "What do you think? Shall we stay Irish and Scottish for the night, or is it time to branch out?"
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Post by Keeper of Darkness on Mar 9, 2017 16:02:57 GMT
The ghostly lady never seems to respond to the door opening and closing beside her. Her gown remains exactly the way it is (not even responding to wind) and for a time she could be mistaken for an odd looking statue. Her posture is proper and she only speaks when spoken to (which she will respond to with a nod, as mostly are simple acknowledgements of her presence). At the end of every song she gently shows praise by a light and completely silent clap of her hands.
"Scottish of course." Her voice is actually rather pleasant to listen to, and quite clearly of Scottish origin. "Something to dance to, Ceilidh perhaps?"
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