Solo [Rhaus' Harp] Musical Chairs

[Opal Draer]

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The early afternoon sun shone down, lighting the street in from of Rhaus’ Harp. Twinkling glints of light bounced off the bells cleverly hidden within the landscaping, and Opal smailed, well-pleased with her property. The landscaping was lovely – certainly nothing there to deter potential customers from approaching the entrance. As for the interior - Opal turned in the doorway, surveying her shop critically. It looked presentable; welcoming, even. Clean floors, shelves artfully arranged, plush and inviting armchairs flanking the fireplace, with its grand and dignified mantle. Fire in the hearth, despite the mild weather – though it was nowhere near cold, the crackling flames gave the silent shop a warmer, friendlier atmosphere that Opal was sure her customers would appreciated.

If her customers ever showed their faces. Selling music in Kenash was proving to be quite a hit-or-miss pursuit. Pulling a sour face, the Draer daughter couldn’t help but replay her family’s advice.

”Sell something useful.” “A whole shop for music?” “The only person who’s going to want to shop there is you, Opal.”

And maybe it was true, but Opal was never going to admit that to her family. Instead, she’d gone to every effort to make the shop and its contents appealing to everyone – Dynasty and Freeborn. Though she would prefer more of the former than the latter; Dynasty members would have more money to spend and the free time to perfect a musical hobby.

So, the shop was clean and attractive. The wares were orderly and appealing. Now, how to entice people into the doors? Well, open them, of course! With a brisk pace fueled by sudden inspiration, Opal hurried over to the front door of her shop, flinging it open and slipping a handy rock in front of it to keep it that way. But simply opening her doors would not be enough; she needed to draw the attention of the strollers, the shoppers, the potential patrons who had, so far, been simply passing her by. As she stared out at the street, and idea occurred to her, and Opal crossed back to the hearth purposefully, and the lute she had set on the mantlepiece above.

What she needed was something to grab them, to demonstrate what her shop was, what she sold… Music.

Lifting her lute carefully, she settled herself back into one of the plush armchairs and began plucking out a tune. It was an easy, familiar tune with a simple melody. Opal couldn’t remember where she’d first heard it, but the lilting notes had stuck with her through the years and she had long ago memorized each rise and fall in the music. So it was inevitable that her mind would wander and her thoughts would turn to more interesting subjects. Like that ocarina on the mantle.

Blown glass, and shipped carefully from the mountainous land that was home to the Inartans, the ocarina was a masterwork of musical and artistic accomplishment. It was beautiful, and Opal loved to look at it and daydream. Though she had no skill with the delicate instrument, it was easy to produce a clear tone, strong enough and pleasant enough to intrigue the patrons within earshot, delighting and surprising them.

Absently working her fingers over the lute strings, Opal thought back to the freeborn mother and child who had been browsing the shop a few days ago. The little girl had been quite taken with the beauty of the instrument, though she had been the very picture of polite deference. The mother had known, Opal was sure, that the cost of the ocarina had been far beyond her means, and had attempted to steer the child away from the mantle. In the end, they had settled on a pair of simpler instruments, far less costly and more suited to a budding young musician’s needs. But Opal had seen the longing in the child’s eyes and had been uncharacteristically moved to bring the valuable piece down for inspection.

The lute fell silent as Opal’s hands stilled almost of their own accord and she relived the moment, the pure appreciation as the girl had seen the sparkle of the hearth-flames reflected within and through the body of the ocarina. It was a beautiful instrument.

Consideringly, Opal’s eyes moved from the ocarina to the empty threshold of her door and back again. With a shrug and a grin that was equal parts giddy excitement and amusement at herself, Opal left her chair, laid her lute on the seat and walked over to the mantel.

Why shouldn’t I play it, after all? Its my store, and its my ocarina – at least until someone comes along who realizes what an amazing piece it is. All the rationalizations in the world ran through her mind as she talked herself into picking up the ocarina and inflicting her lack of knowledge on the poor thing.

[Opal Draer]

Feeling much like a kid given free reign in a candy shop, Opal placed her fingers over the holes in the body of the ocarina; the glass was cool, but warmed quickly in her hand, until it seemed a natural extension of her hand as she took turns raising and lowering her fingertips. In her mind, Opal could hear the light and airy notes trilling forth, and she swayed unconsciously in time with the music she imagined. Soon, however, imagining the music was not enough and Opal raised the ocarina to her lips.

Though she knew the reality of her efforts would be far less pleasing than the phantom notes that had swelled through her thoughts, still she could not resist the temptation – after all, how would she ever learn if she never tried? Blowing lightly, her reward was a wavering, quaking mockery of her intent. Far from the strong and compelling noise she knew the little piece was capable of, this first effort was a resounding failure. But Opal was nothing if not persistent in her musical studies and, as there was still no one else in the shop, she took a deep breath and tried again.

Wincing at the volume she produced, Opal immediately lessened the force of her breath. She may not play many wind instruments with great proficiency, but even so she understood that the power of the airflow determined the volume – and in some cases, even the tone of the notes. Finding a middle ground was not intuitive for her, but as the note stretched out, Opal experimented with her own breath, regulating the results until she found a level that didn’t cause her pain.

That hurdle successfully leapt, Opal next played with her fingers, opening and closing the holes in the body of the glass piece, making mental notes of which holes produces which sounds. Though this version of ocarina had only four holes, making it perfect to play one-handed, Opal had seen others with many more holes, and she couldn’t imagine the artistry and skill involved in learning to play more complex versions.

The more she experimented, the more comfortable she became, and the more involved her notes became. Soon she was trilling and happily blowing tuneless, aimless notes into the lonely air of her shop.

”Not too good at that, are ya, now?”

Jumping, hands convulsively clenching around the valuable bit of glass in her hand, Opal whirled around at the unfamiliar and wholly unexpected voice.

[Opal Draer]

Face aflame, Opal struggled to regain her composure – she hated being caught doing anything less than spectacularly, and there was no doubt that her attempts on the ocarina were less than spectacular.

”Oh, hello! I didn’t hear you come in. What can I help you with today?” Rushing into her customary greeting, Opal carefully replaced the ocarina on the mantle. With a ready, and only slightly fake smile, she turned to face the newcomer. Though well-dressed, he didn’t have the air of privilege that Opal associated with most Dynasty members – not to mention he didn’t look at all familiar, and Opal prided herself on at least knowing by sight any Dynasty member worth knowing. Freeborn, then? Possibly. Whichever, he clearly had enough funds at his disposal to afford decent clothing and attentive grooming – no trace of daily grime clung to his clothing, and no unpleasant odors had entered the shop with him.

”I don’t require help, actually. I was walking by and heard the awful things you were doing to that poor ocarina, there,” he nodded toward the fireplace. Beneath a bushy black and silver mustache, his lips formed a wry smirk and Opal could feel the blood rush to her cheeks once more.

”Yes, well. Do you play? Perhaps you’d like to purchase the ‘poor ocarina’ and put it out of its misery?” Her words had a teasing ring to them, despite being rather more clipped than was technically polite. Reaching once more for the ocarina, she offered it to the gentleman, half-hoping that he would be forced to admit to having no knowledge of it. A small voice in her head chided her; this man, however irritating he might be, was a potential customer – the first of the day – and she should be catering to him with a sickeningly sweet politeness.

But Opal was Dynasty, and this man was not, which tipped the scales somewhat in her favor. And despite his insulting comments, his words proved one thing: her ploy had worked. She’d opened the door, made a bit of noise, and people – a person, anyway – had been drawn in to investigate. The realization that she had been at least partially successful softened her tight smile, making it appear more genuine. As a sort of peace offering, Opal found herself speaking again.

”I’m afraid I’m not terribly familiar with this instrument; it was just too beautiful to resist. Of course you heard what my enthusiasm sounded like,” the words were accompanied by a self-deprecating chuckle. ”If you do play, I’d be very interested in a demonstration. Perhaps you have a few pointers you could offer?”

Though the man looked none too eager, he nevertheless reached up and accepted the proffered instrument. ”I do not play. Not anymore, though I am passing familiar with the concept. Believe it or not, Miss Draer, my father used to create these.” The ocarina was held aloft, turned gently this way and that, as the stranger considered it thoughtfully. ”Oh, not glass ones, as the Inarta do – and this one really is quite fine, a lovely piece. Metal, my father worked with. Strong and durable – but no, I don’t play. It wasn’t something that was encouraged.”

Handing the ocarina back to Opal with what she felt was an apologetic smile, the man turned and headed for the door.

”Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you with? Perhaps another instrument? I do have quite a large selection of metal instruments, flutes and the like, if you’d prefer…?” Rushing after the man, Opal tried desperately not to sound too desperate. But with no further words, the man was gone, and Opal was left staring at his retreating back, utterly confused.

”What just happened here?” The ocarina offered no answer, and Opal was mildly surprised to realize that she’d been half-expecting it to. With that realization came a burst of laughter loud enough to draw attention from the woman walking past, and Opal waved cheekily at her before turning on her heel and re-entering her shop. Her lute remained seated in the chair, and the glass ocarina was held fast in her hand. With a shrug, Opal plopped herself down in a vacant chair and held the small instrument to her lips once more, blowing lightly into it.

This time, she was gratified to note, the sound it produced was much less shrill and had an unwavering, even tone. Certainly she was no virtuoso, but there was definite improvement. Remembering that the only reason the odd gentleman had come to her shop was that she had played the ocarina poorly, Opal felt a moment’s pride that at least the instrument no longer sounded like a wounded bird in her hands.

But perhaps, until she was better acquainted with the intricacies of the thing, she should make a point to practice the ocarina where no one else would overhear. With a resigned sigh, Opal stood and replaced the ocarina on the mantle, turning once more to pick up her trusty lute.

[Opal Draer]

It was a lovely wooden instrument, one that Opal was intimately familiar with, having owned it for several seasons. The ribbed bowl was glossy, polished to a high sheen and it made a delightful hollow thumping sound when tapped with an open palm. Though not strictly proper, Opal had occasionally employed the technique during her songs, to add variety and depth when no other instruments were available to accompany her.

But, properly strummed, the strings of the lute produced a sound that moved Opal like no other. It was the reason she had chosen the lute as her primary focus years ago, and she had never really strayed from it since. Despite the driving need to try her hand at every musical avenue she found, ultimately Opal returned to the lute each time, and though the ocarina was staring at her from above the fireplace, Opal found it all too easy to lose herself in the music she played.

The same aimless song she’d been playing, but this time with more focus. The practiced notes came easily to her and she strummed and plucked at the lute strings as she thought over the strange events of moments ago. The man had been rude, no question. Clearly he’d come in only to poke fun at her obvious struggle with the ocarina. He hadn’t even bothered to have a proper conversation, let alone truly consider any of her wares.

But he’d known her name. Well, that wasn’t surprising, she reasoned absently, many people knew her name; people she considered too far beneath her to pay any attention to. Of course he would know her name, just as he would know this was her shop. His father probably hadn’t ever made ocarinas, metal or otherwise, for that matter. He was probably just some uppity freeborn who thought he was her equal just because he wasn’t a slave.

Opal’s mouth tightened into a thin line at this new thought. If he were simply a freeborn, with no musical talent or connections, he had more than his share of nerve. Walking into her shop, criticizing her ability, leaving practically mid-conversation… The more she thought about what had happened, the more incensed she became, and her stormy mood was reflected in her lute.

An emphatic note rang up from the lute and Opal’s temper betrayed itself in her motions. The song, previously a wandering, lighthearted thing had turned aggressive, insistent and determined. She would master the ocarina, and the next time that odious man found himself outside Rhaus’ Harp, he would be compelled to enter because of the beauty of her music.

And he would buy something, petch it.