[Baroque Bay] Basket Case [Kelski]

[Azcan]

12th of Autumn, 518. Early Afternoon.

There was a lot to look forward to tonight. The drummer found himself waking up far earlier than, perhaps, was healthy for him. The life of a musician was one with long nights and far, far shorter days. At least, that's the way it'd been for him. Be it the Bolt Hole or the Wayward Tabernacle, Azcan's life was one lived under the life of Leth. For him to be up and kicking so early only meant one thing for the drummer: Thoughts. A pensive mind in the young man's experience, was one rife with strife. Thought didn't mix well with the narcotics the drummer loved to inhale, it wasn't often his priority to sort through the tapestry of his mind. He feared he might find cobwebs when he filtered through the ideas of the past he held. The crew of the Wayward Tabernacle and life aboard the sloop was well behind him, and he found himself constantly thinking of how he'd simply... abandoned them. The crew was sorely missed, the life he'd led aboard that sloop missed when he realized that this... was the real world.

Sunberth wasn't like Zeltiva. There was no structure or safety to hide behind. And the world was both brighter and darker for it. Often enough, Azcan was lost in his intoxication and, indeed, he could be in the moment if he chose to. The sack he'd picked up sometime before was growing smaller, but by all rights, it should've been gone altogether. Bless the Bolt Hole and the doses he picked up there. He'd be sure to pluck a few before getting on stage, too. The drummer mused as he set forth from the Drunken Fish. He wore his breeches, the fabric rolled up from his calves and set just below his knees. His shirt was left behind, and water from the day's rainfall coated his drums and indeed, his flesh. The drummer was unfettered by the dismal weather that seemed to pour onto Sunberth, the rains often cooling his warm flesh, heated from his abuse of narcotics. His chest and shoulders were bared to the world, showing the plane of flesh neatly rolled into musculature that was surely born from his life aboard the Wayward Tabernacle.

I wonder... how am I going to maintain all of this? Living on the sea with a diet of fish and stew was all well and good... but now? I might need to go on a run or two or ten, he mused as his fingers traced the flesh of his abdomen, his pace quickening before at last, he broke into an earnest run. There were groupings of people, but in truth, they weren't hard to avoid. The cobblestone of Baroque Bay was left behind, surrendering to the sands of the beach, where he found himself coming when there was too much to think about and not quite enough drugs to avoid that fate. He found his thoughts going next to Ionu and the daunting task that was doing their faith in Azcan the service it deserved. The idea of failing a deity was one he wished to brush aside, but there it was. It loomed over him, and Azcan wouldn't pretend otherwise. Rather than push into that line of thought and find his mind consumed by it, he instead decided to pull the drum from his back, turning it so that one wooden side rested on his abdomen, the fabric surface sopping but it wasn't the first time the drummer played on an awkward surface.

Azcan's toes curled into the wet sands of Baroque Bay, the pitter patter of raining kissing his flesh as he began to beat on the surface of the drum. Water flecked in all directions as the force of his hands purged it from his drum. The music was staggered at first, disturbed by the movement before at last the drum worked properly. The sound emitted in earnest, the rumbling beat of Azcan's preferred tone beginning the collective. One hand worked at the thumping beat as the other moved to the pocket of his breeches. The sack he'd picked up was clenched in his fist as he threw himself to the floor, watching the movement of Laviku's domain ahead of him. Waves crashed and rippled on the shore, the sound of which was accented by Azcan's play. The squaking of seagulls and the wildlife that Laviku ruled over was heard next and Azcan as a result was taken back to another time. Easily he was pulled away from the thoughts that threatened to ruin his disposition, his lips curved into a soft smile before they broke apart entirely.

The drummer's emotive features tore into a true grin, his hand opening as he let the sack fall to the floor between his legs. His hands beat on the drums, his head moving back and forth, his legs twitching beneath him, shoulders rising and falling with his breath as he began his session in earnest. The bongo drum that was his most precious possession was different than the drums he'd play at the Bolt Hole, and it was part of their constant allure. Using his hands to play... had an allure to it that he didn't quite understand, nor did he want to. To question such a thing was to ruin the significance of it, after all.

[Kelski]

Kelski was out running. It was a new habit of hers that sometimes garnered her some company in the form of a Night Lion or Ocelot. However, today in the drizzle, she was all alone. She liked to joke that her fair-weather friends were too finicky for their own good, but none of them would admit it. Even in her human skin the fact that she was a Sea Eagle rarely deterred her. To her rain rolled off oiled feathers or human skin equally. And besides, when she was alone she could work on her running technique.

The Kelvic was careful to keep her eyes forward, looking ahead as far as she could, while at the same time scanning the ground continuously ten to twenty feet ahead of herself. Kelski found that by doing that she could see obstacles and still avoid them and be on the lookout for danger as well. The Kelvic didn’t like falling, especially not because she tripped, and that made all the difference in the world watching ahead.

She didn’t jog around things like giant logs washed up. Instead, she timed it, saw them coming, and would jump up, scramble across them, and balance her way to their ends before leaping off and continuing her run. One such big log approached, and she tried adjusting her stride, timing her approach, and putting her feet together and jumping so she had to scramble less to ascend the log. Running across it constituted balance, precision, and in the end, leaping off it, she tried to land as she’d been taught at the Proving grounds, with her arms forward, so she could roll into a dive roll, tucking her body up and coming neatly to her feet still running. It was awkward at first, but by the third big piece of driftwood, she was getting into the habit, especially of learning the dive-rolls. So she added more fun to her techniques.

Kelski always ran armed. And though she was trying to improve her dagger, one hard thing was drawing, throwing, and hitting a target while running. Jogging up and down the beach provided her lots of targets if the driftwood wasn’t big enough to jump onto and dive-roll off of. So she’d approach smaller pieces, pull a dagger into both hands, and rapid fire throw one after another trying to see if she could hit a stationary target while moving fast. Kelski was getting good at the quick draw and aim, but the actually landing of targets was still hit or miss. She approached one such piece, drew both daggers, and let them fly. The one from her right hand lodged deep in the driftwood. The one from her left flew wide, skidded across the sand, and came to a rest near a pile of seaweed. The kelvic cursed lightly, tried not to break stride as she ran by the driftwood piece, and retrieved first one dagger then the other, circling around the piece of wood to try again.

The second attempt was worse than the first attempt and she ended up making a third loop to retrieve the steel blades. It was about timing her stride, her movement, and doing complex math in her head to get the spin of the blades correct enough to lodge point deep. The second missed dagger had bounced off the driftwood, while the third and fourth missed dagger had sailed so wide they wouldn’t have even served as a distraction to allow her time to launch more. Kelski wiped the blades on her running shorts as she paced, resheathed them, and tried another dive-roll mid run, getting sand in her hair and flailing about before coming to her feet.

She was getting tired… so tired… she probably should walk a while. Even her heartbeat was louder than normal. The Sea Eagle could hear the beat above her chest without putting her hand on her torso. Weird…. Until she looked around and spotted the drummer and saw that it wasn’t indeed her heartbeat but his small twin drums that were causing the thumping. She slowed to a walk then, glad she’d sheathed her daggers, and walked up to him open handed.

“Hello. You play beautifully. Have I seen you before? Maybe at the Bolt Hole?” She asked, drawing to a halt though still walking in place. She was afraid her muscles would freeze up if she grew abruptly still.

[Azcan]

Azcan didn't expect a visitor in the middle of the afternoon rain. While Kelski was running about and practicing her usage of the daggers, the musician spilled forth his heart. His hands beat on the drums, the heels of his hands and the fleshy pads of his fingertips pouring a strange melody that the Svefra taught him. The tone was very low, sporadic contact with the drum pulling the rhythm to like that of a heartbeat. The drums were an instrument that resonated with the soul in his eyes. It pulled at the familiar thudding of the heart, even mistaken for it in the heat of the moment. Azcan had no idea that the experience was one Kelski would encounter immediately, but that visceral connection to a beat was the reason that Azcan played at all. The drummer lifted his head once he heard a woman's voice in front of him, the rich sound of her voice reverberating pleasantly in his ears. Perhaps, if this woman was inclined, she'd make a fine singer. Her presence, however, pulled Azcan away from his thoughts well enough, his lips curved into an easy smile. The expression, even when false, flowed effortlessly across his countenance, much like the music flowed from his hands and out into the world.

The beat didn't stop when she complimented it. No, his hands continued to play at the surface of his drums, droplets that settled anew on the surface not long for their attachment as they scattered along. Some seeped into the sand, others poured down Azcan's chest after they made contact. The musician seemed totally at ease in the rain, his damp clothes doing very little to affect the bright disposition he adopted. No one could see the other side to Azcan, the somber, the homesick and the pensive. If no one saw it, it didn't exist, right? That's how things worked in the world. Perhaps, with the Kelvic so close to him, she'd see the vibrant, shifting surface of his palm. Cerulean cast along the edges of the triangle, with a beautiful golden hue flowing through the middle. The gnosis shrank, easily fitting within his palm as the Illusionist rose to his feet to join the Kelvic. His legs twitched with the sudden exertion, one hand pushing into the sand to support his weight until he drew to his full height in front of Kelski. Being recognized, even if only vaguely, seemed to fill the drummer with elation. He figured the more people knew his face, the less often he'd get it beaten in. There were very faint, purple splotches along his neck, fading bruises that were indicative of how well that plan was working thus far.

"Ahhh, I wouldn't go that far! But, I certainly appreciate the compliment," he mused. The drummer seemed to inflate with the compliment, for so he relished being showered in praise and affection. The music had pulled the darkness from his soul, but it was Kelski's presence that seemed to flood it with the light of intrigue. Light brown eyes twinkled in the faint light of the day, his back propped up and straight as his hands continued to caress the surface of his drum. The musician rapped the surface of his drums, their beat slowed to the infectious ambiance that one might find in a lounge. Azcan's drum, if he kept using it, might bloat with the rain and so, with new company to distract his attentions, he set it down, carefully placing the leather of the strap over the leather of the drum head. It was a poor fix, and surely, Azcan would need to investigate where he could replace the leather. But, he'd needed to do that anyway. The bongo drum had already been through years of use and sea exposure in Azcan's time with the Svefra.

"If you think you've seen me there, you probably have. I go by the moniker 'Boy Wonder' when playing in the place, though my name's Azcan," he informed her. The drummer saw no issue in sharing who he was with much of anyone. He reveled in the attention that his given profession brought, particularly from lovely, if strange looking ladies with a penchant for running. He saw it in her twitchy, stationary walk. Clearly, this woman was working out.

"And who, may I ask, are you? It's not every day you see a pretty girl runnin' alone in the rain," he mused. There was quite a while before he was due at the Bolt Hole. A bit of flirting never hurt anyone.

[Kelski]

The man was playing leather drums in the drizzle. It didn’t strike her as a wise thing to do. The leather was getting soaked, the tone growing off as the drumheads became flexible again, and the purposely tightened strings loosened. Kelski didn’t know anything about music or drums, but she was smart enough to make sure she wasn’t wearing her leather armor out in the heavy rain because the material grew to the consistency of chewed dried meat and it had to be oiled and soaped and carefully dried for sometimes a ten day before it was wearable and soft again. She didn’t imagine the drums were cheap, but he was showing no care at all for them.

The Sea Eagle wearing her human guise frowned. He did play beautifully but the instruments wouldn’t be much good much longer in the rain. Surely, he knew that? Kelski said nothing though. It wasn’t her place to be critical of a stranger. So she stood panting in the rain, wiping it off her forehead and ringing out her braid. She shifted from one foot to the other, steam coming off her body due to its heat in the chilled rain.

“Boy Wonder? Why would you let people call you a child? You are far to big for that. I’m not good at judging human age, but you look like a man grown. I’ve never seen children playing at The Bolt Hole. Only adults… and some of the singing is amazing. I go there sometimes, later at night, to burn off excess energy when I cannot sleep.” She said, not really understanding what the word moniker meant. Kelski settled her hands on her hips, and pawed at the ground as she shifted, huffing a bit to get her breath back. Running was good for her and something she enjoyed, but she needed to learn to stop talking to strangers, especially weird ones.

The Kelvic studied the newcomer, not sure about him at all. She assessed him for weapons, a level of threat, and if he was going to be a problem to her. She even slightly wondered if he had a head injury for playing those pretty drums in the rain and talking to strangers in what was considered one of the most vicious cities in Mizahar. Kelski could handle herself, which was why she was out running. But just because he looked vulnerable didn’t mean he actually was. He could be a mage. He could be a vicious fighter. She just wasn’t sure…

Pretty girl? Gods above and below did he think she was a street walker? “I’m a jeweler, just out stretching my legs. I find beach runs refreshing and it clears my mind so I can get back to work, especially when I’m working on something more difficult.” She added, wondering if she should give him her name or not. What could it hurt?

“I’m Kelski. I live up the dunes at The Midnight Gem. It’s my shop. I don’t mind the rain as much as some do. It means the beach is usually completely empty.” Kelski said, studying him. She still hadn’t decided if he was a threat or not. He certainly seemed friendly, friendlier than Sunberth merited. People would slit your throat just for smiling at them here. The Kelvic knew humans could be deceptive though and she watched him with enough caution, leaving room to draw weapons if she needed to.

“It’s nice to meet you Azcan. So you are a drummer at The Bolt Hole, but what is your story? Have you lived here always or are you like the Inarta that run the place… recently arrived?” She said curiously, looking thoughtfully at him and still looking for something to pick apart about him that merited her to be wary and consider him dangerous.

[Azcan]

To the onlooker, Azcan wasn't very dangerous at all. The reason he carried his drum with him all the time was that of the hollow compartment hidden within the base. The drum itself was too small to be of much use to the drummer, whose line of work provided the instruments he used to make his living. He reveled in its use, however, even with the rain damping the sound and ruining his drum he played because it was what he wanted to do. There was nostalgia in it. The action of playing, of funneling the music of his soul into his hands... the very motion of it was enough to appease his sensibilities. The instrument very quickly went out of tune and he set it down, loosing the strap from his shoulders but keeping the instrument very close to him out of habit.

Azcan didn't like carrying knives, always afraid he'd stick himself with the end if he sheathed one. Swords eluded his attention, too. Instead, the drummer used his environment - and his drumsticks - to form whatever half-baked, flimsy defense he could muster. More than his fists, or his drumsticks, Azcan relied on his personality to win over the violence of the city. The idea of it seemed ludricous, and granted, he'd taken his share of beatings in his time, but he wasn't dead yet. That much he was thankful for.

To the drummer's eye, it seemed like Kelski was sizing him up, her strange eyes and somber countenance showing the drummer a sort of dangerous caution in her stare. Azcan rose to his feet, letting the pads of his feet cart him a step away from the woman. Steam rose off from her body, the sight of which made the drummer doubt his sobriety even though he'd had no chance to use so soon after waking up. Was he still fucked up from the night before? He had no real way of knowing, so the use and times blurred together on occasion. Rather than be consumed by the idea of an ongoing high, he found his attention shifting to her questions.

Clearly, Kelski had never heard of a stage name. Though Azcan was a man full grown, his features presented a youthfulness to them that in it of themselves deserved the nickname. It didn't hurt, either, that the name stuck long before his job at the Bolt Hole and his tattoo simply brought it back everywhere he went. Azcan never dressed to hide his ink, and the moniker bore, like his drums, a nostalgia that he didn't quite want to let go of.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked her, confusing rising in his features as laughter filled the air. His laughter wasn't meant to be condescending, but it was clear that this woman spent far too much time musing on the literal and not enough time enjoying herself. The fact that she knew the Bolt Hole, at least, showed him that she knew how to let loose occasionally.

"You're never too big for a stage name. It's been my name for years, since I was a boy. There aren't children going anywhere near the Bolt Hole, you're right about that much. But, regardless of who's there or why, I'm the 'Boy Wonder'. Always have been, always will be," he told her, careful to not allow the barest flicker of irritation pour into his words. Azcan didn't mind questions, but she followed them up with some crazy analysis of what he was saying. For a moment, the drummer wondered who this woman's friends were, because a set of loonies like her might just be the crowd Azcan needed to breach into. If only to loosen them up a bit.

The drummer let his caution fall by the wayside, and he slung his drum over his shoulder. She mentioned the Midnight Gem? Was that a store he hadn't been to yet? Clearly it was. Azcan was curious about this girl, who seemed both willing to share and intent on keeping her guard up. Eventually, she'd need to make a decision on that, but Azcan didn't care to push her in any which direction. He enjoyed the moment, and was willing to extend them if only to look at her for a little while longer.

"I haven't asked Dee and Den about their pasts too much. We connected for... different reasons. But, we can chat more out of the rain? You're steaming up for whatever reason and I can't help but think that's not good," he mused.

[Kelski]

Kelski looked intently at Azcan as he laughed abruptly at her. She studied his pretty visage and the fact that he was fearlessly out here ruining instruments and it made her angry suddenly. Human. He was yet another condescending human. It caused her to take a few steps back, though it might not be noticeable since she was still moving in place not willing to let her muscles tighten when she’d loosened them up during the run.

Stage names? So, it was a lie? A fake? Kelski read the irritation clearly across his face and it almost mirrored her own. He was entitled and from what she could see he didn’t have a scratch on him. She looked closer, for gang signs, and saw none though that didn’t mean they weren’t there. At least he clued her in on his age, which was past boyhood according to him, though Kelski wasn’t so sure. True he was tall, but she’d met tall children before… and that was always a possibility. But he stressed the word ‘was’ and that it had been ‘years’ so she assumed he was aged, maybe past prime, though she couldn’t see any grey hairs. Were those wrinkles? Or laugh lines? Kelski furrowed her brow and took another step back.

She watched him sling his drum over his shoulder and looked concerned. He talked about the owners of The Bolt Hole as if he were on first name bases with them. Maybe he was. “I’m steaming up because my muscles are warm and I’m hot from running. I run a lot. I like it. “Like I said, I was out clearing my head so I can get back to work.” She reiterated in case he missed that point. Then, she added for good measure… “Why would I want to go somewhere with you? You are a stranger. I don’t even know you.” Frankly he was… weird. He looked like a bum out here playing in the rain ruining his instruments like he didn’t have a care in the world. He didn’t even look armed, which reminded her of the reimancer who’d lost his wife that was running around following people.

Sunberth addled minds too easily. Could this guy be one of those? Kelski turned, and gave him a little wave before she started jogging back up the beach. She could go another mile or so before she turned around and returned the The Gem. There was no way she was taking a stranger home with her and there was no way she was dumb enough to go anywhere alone with a stranger, especially in Sunberth.

So running it was.

[Kelski]

Grading

Azcan:

XP: Observation +3, Socialization +3, Teaching +1
Lores: Kelski: Jeweler, Runs, Throws Daggers, Kelski: Midnight Gem Is Her Shop, Teaching: Instructing Someone About Stage Names

Notes: I’d have liked to have given you drumming XP, but you aren’t using any technique to reflect your level of competence.


Kelski:

XP: Running +3, Acrobatics +1, Dagger +1, Dual Wield +1
Lores: Azcan: Also Known as Boy Wonder, Azcan: Drummer At Bolt Hole, Entertainment: Stage Names