Poetry and friends and poetry (Meville)

[Jason Goldbrine]

70th of Summer, 513 AV

He didn’t want to get up. There was a reason he’d picked the room with the tinted windows, with dark curtains that blocked out the sun. He hated this whole ‘early bird’ concept; the inn would always shove people out of bed when it got late enough, purely out of concern, or whatever. It only applied to the working man or a man with obligations. Jason was at a moment in his life where he wasn’t one and he didn’t have the other, so it was just a pain. He looked over his small, makeshift calendar that sat atop the desk, mostly untouched since the time he bought it until recently, when he actually had something to look forward to. And, as he’d assumed, today was the date of the event. It wasn’t much, really; just a library’s poetry competition. You’d meet a random stranger, pair up, and make something work.

A fun little opportunity to make a friend. There was no real prize other than clapping and an honorary sheet of paper… but that was a good thing. People didn’t go for the vain reason of the grand prize. They went for like-minded people. Anyway… as was the daily routine, Jason stood up from his bed, and climbed into the inn’s bathtub. After cleansing himself, he slipped on a pair of underwear, and combed his messy locks. His pants came on, then a button-up shirt, and the obligatory coat, since Avanthal was an icy shithole. After fitting his feet into some boots, he was out the door, just like that. Riveting stuff, right?

The run over to the library was really typical. He waved at a few of his old friends, went to visit the grocery store next to the Warrens – hoping to find some sort of discount, if anything. When Jason finally actually got to the library, it actually turned out to be a lot livelier than he thought it’d be. A ‘contest for aspiring poets’ wasn’t something that’d catch much attention usually, but he supposed people were feeling literate this year, or something. After looking around at much of the participants, he stepped into the main area of the library, where all of the square tables were situated. A lot of the people here were family members, teaching their kids about the wonders of literature. Or, they just somehow thought it’d be a healthy experience. Whatever. Like his typical self, he just spotted around for a desk with another person who came without a friend. If that was the case, then they were either really hardcore poets, or they liked to meet new people, like himself.

He was unsatisfied with most of the… hardcore poets he’d noticed. They seemed pretty cold to the idea of families and newbies coming here, as if they were smearing their elite practice with their light spirit. He’d just avoid them, and instead, dive in for a seat in front of another guy who’d been scribbling onto his paper some pretty eccentric poetry. He could already tell that he was an interesting character, and that was great. That’s really what he came here for. The Goldbrine unbuttoned some of his coat, and very noticeably slipped a seat onto the same table as this blonde-haired stranger. A smile covered his face, and he waved to the target. “Hey! Room for one?”

[Meville Brightshade]

Today was a different kind of day. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly special about this specific day, but rather there was something plain, mundane, planned. Meville’s life was a series of patchwork experiences that were often done on whimsy. Occasionally, he participated in the very mundane scheduled activities many others enjoyed on a daily basis. It was a bit refreshing, really, to actually know what he was going to be doing for once. Of course, because he was on a schedule it meant he had to do things in a timely manner. Time management was never Meville’s strongest suit, so when it came down to planning out where he needed to be and when, he often fell a little short. Such was the case this day. He’d arrived at the library four bells too early, just as they were unlocking the heavy, oaken doors.

He’d sat there in the library alone for a solid three and a half bells, scribbling away in quickly growing stack of papers. Meville wasn’t what one would consider a poet. He liked seeing his handwriting on paper, especially when it rhymed, but his actual poetry tended to just be strings of nonsense. He liked the way the words played off of each other so much, he found it too bothersome to pay attention to their meaning. Thus, he often could write hundreds of little mini-poems within a short amount of time. The man who spoke for quality over quantity certainly had no place in Meville's mental maxims. He valued prolific nonsense over poignant storytelling.

Eventually, people started to fill up the area that had been designated for what Meville happily referred to as "Poetry Day", though the actual term was something a bit more tasteful as were most proper nouns in the city of Avanthal. Surprisingly enough, there were a large number of families coming in. Meville had been to several events akin to this, but it normally drew in actual poets (mostly Snowsongs) and a handful of curious bystanders. So, the giddy laughter of the children as they clung to their respective parent's hand was an alien sound to Meville while in the muted walls of the library. Looking around, Meville found it best that he remove himself from his current position in the middle of the room. Instead, he wobbled over to a table near the back, out of the way, so he could continue scribbling away in his elegant scrawl. One of the very few things his father left him that Meville appreciated was his handwriting. He'd spent many a snowy day inside the Warrens cabin, practicing his penmanship. The long hours and disdainful looks gave birth to the loopy, curvy script Meville found to be so interesting. Often, he'd misspell words on purpose just to see what they'd look like. In fact, that was the majority of what he'd been doing for the last bell: writing out the words "Smelly Stinger Jelly" by mixing the letters in as many ways as he could.

For the most part, the others ignored him. A few of the more avid poets gave Meville a friendly nod, to which they received a happy grin in return. Poetry Day was one of the few days Meville didn't cause trouble for the sake of making a mess of things. He actually liked listening to all the creative and not-so-creative writing people had to offer, especially because he had ten glorious chimes to share his own. Among the poets, Meville was regarded as an eccentricity. He wasn't good by any means, but he was certainly refreshing. Refreshing in the sense that nothing he ever wrote made a hint of sense, and he lacked the all to persistent ego that many of the better writers had developed. None of them considered him a friend (for neither did Meville mistakenly claim them as his either), but they certainly approved of the man's presence, which was more than they could give to the families that had chosen today of all days to show up at the library.

As the time for the contest was drawing nearer, Meville had once more become engrossed in his writing and was quite taken aback when he heard the sound of another man's voice. His bright blue eyes sparked with surprise when he realized he'd been joined by a young man around the same age as Meville. He didn't seem to be the poetry type, to be perfectly honest from the looks of his sculpted figure and strong-lined face. Still, Meville was never one to refuse company, so he dropped his quill with a happy flick of his fingers and clapped his hand together with a grin. "Of course! Of course!" He scrambled about to move the papers into a slightly less unruly pile before turning back to face his new companion. He tilted his head slightly to the side, giving the other man a thoughtful squint. "Would you like to exchange names or remain anonymous?" Meville offered a little shrug to express his indifference either way. "Some people here are very secretive, you see. I find it polite to always inquire whether they'd like to share or not." He gave a happy chuckle. "Not to pressure you into doing anything you're not comfortable with, that is!"

He stopped for a moment and bit his lower lip. It'd been several bells since he'd spoken about anything to anyone, so the words were just flowing out like an avalanche. Meville figured he should at least give the other man time to respond before going on any more. To show he was finished, Meville laced his fingers together in front of him. His elbows rested on the table as he leaned slightly forward to emphasize that he was, indeed, both interested and willing to listen to whatever the other man had to say. He nodded expectantly while his personable grin maintained his friendly demeanor.

Common | Vani