19 Chirreb 4385: Sun Light, Sun Out
Jul. 7th, 2011 09:21 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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delight_in_wtMy Dear There's-No-Delight-in-Boredom:
I am sorry to learn that you are not enjoying your return trip to Vheshrame, although I will confess some pleasure in the absence of such dangers as might keep you occupied, if not precisely entertained. I shall endeavor to provide you with some distraction (albeit no hazards) in the form of this letter, and in such fashion keep you company on the long road home.
As I admitted in my last missive, I have not led the most interesting of lives myself in recent days. Two nights ago, I was to rehearse with my fellows of Don't Go in It's a Tarp! a final time before our performance, but the Rassimel alas had a last-minute crisis at the press where they both labor for their monthly rent. Song-of-Songs and I carried on without them for an hour, but Song-of-Songs was most frustrated by the absence of the tandem nadaswaram. Not only is our sound wholly different with only singer and drums, but Song-of-Songs had just finished some revisions on the tandem nadaswaram parts of two songs. Naturally, what she most wanted was to hear said parts played. Especially since we'd not have another practice to try them in before Pinsitter's engagement.
Thus, in the midst of one song, she turned to me and siezed the head of one of my drumsticks. "That's it," she said. "We're done."
The years have taught me not to argue with Song-of-Songs. "In truth?" said I. "Well, it would be nice to get some extra sleep instead of shorting it, for variety."
"No!" Song-of-Songs retorted.
" ... no, it would not be nice? Or no, we are not done? Or ... you did not mean 'we're done' in the 'you quit' sense, did you?" I did not add 'again', though I fear I thought it.
"None of the above," she answered. "I mean 'you're not going home right after practice'. AGAIN. We're going out."
As I said, I have learnt not to argue. "Out where?"
"Somewhere! Anywhere! All you do these months is work and sleep and practice. When was the last time you went to a pub?"
"A week and a half ago?"
"BESIDES when we performed at Two Tent Tango."
I considered the subject for some moments.
Song grabbed my tentacle and tugged me away from my drum set. "If it takes you that long to remember, it's been too long," she contended. "We're getting a drink." Helpless before such logic, I floated after her like a large and unwieldy balloon.
We went to Song's favorite establishment, Juniper in Oix, where the bouncer and barkeep looked at me askance but did not outright say 'no Khtsoyis allowed', most likely because I was with a regular. Song took a seat at a table in a corner whilst I floated opposite her, and we listened to someone else perform for a change. In this case, a busking minstrel on panpipes. He wasn't bad, in fact. And I promise you, we did not spend more than a ninth of an hour critiquing his timing in whispered conversation.
"Maybe we should recruit him for the group," Song-of-Songs said while he was taking a break outside. "I could adapt the sheets from tandem nadaswaram to panpipes. It wouldn't be too different."
"..." I tried to imagine replacing the deep, sonorous nadaswaram with the light, breathy notes of the pipes.
"They're both wind instruments!" Song protested.
"What will Ioste and Orziman do, if not play the tandem nadaswaram's part?"
"Work at their press and stop complaining about the audiences we get," Song grumbled. "Are they even still in this group?"
"... they've only missed the one practice, Song-of-Songs."
"SO FAR. Sevendrums," she said to me. "What are we doing with our lives? Why are we wasting our sunlit hours on pointless jobs serving ungrateful masters?"
"Because we enjoy the consumption of food and drink?"
"Let us drink water and eat cley!" she declared. "We should be free primes as the gods intended, pursuing our dreams! Not shackled to the bonds of menial labor like some single-tusked mherobump with no god-connection worthy of the name!"
"So ... you seek to be a mage now?"
"I am saying, Sevendrums, that we don't need our sunlit jobs. I don't have to be a mage to conjure food. Creoc Corpador!" She snapped her fingers, and a glitter of fish-shaped sparks lit the tips. Song frowned at them, and snapped her fingers again. "Creoc Corpador!" Nothing happened. A third time, and a dead eel flopped onto the table. She slapped the wood beside it with her palm. "See?"
The eel rolled to one side, exposing a belly of sickly yellow. It stank a bit. "Were you merely making a point, Song-of-Songs, or is it your intention to consume that?"
"Why not? A bit of gutting and cooking, and it'll be fine."
Something whitish oozed from the dead eel's eye onto the table.
"I was curious if you planned to use cley for that as well. If not, you shall need a place to cook it, shan't you?"
Song waved a hand airily. "The open road is free!"
"Yes. And something less than wholly safe because of that."
"Safety is overrated!"
"Did I ever tell you how my aunt died adventuring?"
Song sighed, slumping forward against the table to eye me. "I'm not saying we should be adventurers, Sevendrums. I'm saying we should be musicians. All of the time, not just the few hours a week we can scrape from our lords and masters. We're GOOD, you know? YOU are good. We could make it as traveling minstrels, or even regular performers in a big city like Oorah Thrassen. And, fine, maybe we'll fail miserably and no on will hire us or even toss a terch into your hat. But even if that happens, we won't DIE. We can always slink back to dockwork or nannying. You won't forget how to haul boxes, Sevendrums."
"And a reputation for instability never hurt anyone's résumé." I lifted a tentacle to forestall her. "Primes may make allowances for Orren, but no one will rush to make them for a Khtsoyis. Besides, I like my life. Moreso when the docks are less frantic, true, but I do not know that I would still love drumming if I were banging on them eighteen hours a day."
"You'll never know if you won't try."
"When we're more practiced, my dear, and have a few more gigs under our collective instruments ... "
"And you have a few more lozen saved, and you've let a few more years slip by? And then maybe you've got a spouse and a few squirmers you don't want to subject to the rigors of the road, so you want to wait until they're just a little older. And then you need to pay for their tutors, so you wait a little longer. And a little longer. You know, Sevendrums, sometimes when you chase your dreams, you end up dead trying to catch them. But if you wait a lifetime for them to come to you, you end up just as dead."
I opened my speaking mouth to reply, and she put her hand over it. "Just think about it, will you?"
So I am thinking about it.
It is a strange thing, coz, that I cannot refute her arguments in words. And yet, I know in my heart that I will not yield to it. I went to the docks today, as I always have and always will, and earned my share of lozens for the landlord and the baker. I caught and steadied a stack of crates that some sloppy shiphand had mis-tied, and the foreman showered praise and even a bonus upon me for it.
It's a good life, in truth. Even if it's not exactly the one I have been dreaming of.
But I am thinking about what Song-of-Songs said.
Your loving coz,
Boomstarter Sevendrums
I am sorry to learn that you are not enjoying your return trip to Vheshrame, although I will confess some pleasure in the absence of such dangers as might keep you occupied, if not precisely entertained. I shall endeavor to provide you with some distraction (albeit no hazards) in the form of this letter, and in such fashion keep you company on the long road home.
As I admitted in my last missive, I have not led the most interesting of lives myself in recent days. Two nights ago, I was to rehearse with my fellows of Don't Go in It's a Tarp! a final time before our performance, but the Rassimel alas had a last-minute crisis at the press where they both labor for their monthly rent. Song-of-Songs and I carried on without them for an hour, but Song-of-Songs was most frustrated by the absence of the tandem nadaswaram. Not only is our sound wholly different with only singer and drums, but Song-of-Songs had just finished some revisions on the tandem nadaswaram parts of two songs. Naturally, what she most wanted was to hear said parts played. Especially since we'd not have another practice to try them in before Pinsitter's engagement.
Thus, in the midst of one song, she turned to me and siezed the head of one of my drumsticks. "That's it," she said. "We're done."
The years have taught me not to argue with Song-of-Songs. "In truth?" said I. "Well, it would be nice to get some extra sleep instead of shorting it, for variety."
"No!" Song-of-Songs retorted.
" ... no, it would not be nice? Or no, we are not done? Or ... you did not mean 'we're done' in the 'you quit' sense, did you?" I did not add 'again', though I fear I thought it.
"None of the above," she answered. "I mean 'you're not going home right after practice'. AGAIN. We're going out."
As I said, I have learnt not to argue. "Out where?"
"Somewhere! Anywhere! All you do these months is work and sleep and practice. When was the last time you went to a pub?"
"A week and a half ago?"
"BESIDES when we performed at Two Tent Tango."
I considered the subject for some moments.
Song grabbed my tentacle and tugged me away from my drum set. "If it takes you that long to remember, it's been too long," she contended. "We're getting a drink." Helpless before such logic, I floated after her like a large and unwieldy balloon.
We went to Song's favorite establishment, Juniper in Oix, where the bouncer and barkeep looked at me askance but did not outright say 'no Khtsoyis allowed', most likely because I was with a regular. Song took a seat at a table in a corner whilst I floated opposite her, and we listened to someone else perform for a change. In this case, a busking minstrel on panpipes. He wasn't bad, in fact. And I promise you, we did not spend more than a ninth of an hour critiquing his timing in whispered conversation.
"Maybe we should recruit him for the group," Song-of-Songs said while he was taking a break outside. "I could adapt the sheets from tandem nadaswaram to panpipes. It wouldn't be too different."
"..." I tried to imagine replacing the deep, sonorous nadaswaram with the light, breathy notes of the pipes.
"They're both wind instruments!" Song protested.
"What will Ioste and Orziman do, if not play the tandem nadaswaram's part?"
"Work at their press and stop complaining about the audiences we get," Song grumbled. "Are they even still in this group?"
"... they've only missed the one practice, Song-of-Songs."
"SO FAR. Sevendrums," she said to me. "What are we doing with our lives? Why are we wasting our sunlit hours on pointless jobs serving ungrateful masters?"
"Because we enjoy the consumption of food and drink?"
"Let us drink water and eat cley!" she declared. "We should be free primes as the gods intended, pursuing our dreams! Not shackled to the bonds of menial labor like some single-tusked mherobump with no god-connection worthy of the name!"
"So ... you seek to be a mage now?"
"I am saying, Sevendrums, that we don't need our sunlit jobs. I don't have to be a mage to conjure food. Creoc Corpador!" She snapped her fingers, and a glitter of fish-shaped sparks lit the tips. Song frowned at them, and snapped her fingers again. "Creoc Corpador!" Nothing happened. A third time, and a dead eel flopped onto the table. She slapped the wood beside it with her palm. "See?"
The eel rolled to one side, exposing a belly of sickly yellow. It stank a bit. "Were you merely making a point, Song-of-Songs, or is it your intention to consume that?"
"Why not? A bit of gutting and cooking, and it'll be fine."
Something whitish oozed from the dead eel's eye onto the table.
"I was curious if you planned to use cley for that as well. If not, you shall need a place to cook it, shan't you?"
Song waved a hand airily. "The open road is free!"
"Yes. And something less than wholly safe because of that."
"Safety is overrated!"
"Did I ever tell you how my aunt died adventuring?"
Song sighed, slumping forward against the table to eye me. "I'm not saying we should be adventurers, Sevendrums. I'm saying we should be musicians. All of the time, not just the few hours a week we can scrape from our lords and masters. We're GOOD, you know? YOU are good. We could make it as traveling minstrels, or even regular performers in a big city like Oorah Thrassen. And, fine, maybe we'll fail miserably and no on will hire us or even toss a terch into your hat. But even if that happens, we won't DIE. We can always slink back to dockwork or nannying. You won't forget how to haul boxes, Sevendrums."
"And a reputation for instability never hurt anyone's résumé." I lifted a tentacle to forestall her. "Primes may make allowances for Orren, but no one will rush to make them for a Khtsoyis. Besides, I like my life. Moreso when the docks are less frantic, true, but I do not know that I would still love drumming if I were banging on them eighteen hours a day."
"You'll never know if you won't try."
"When we're more practiced, my dear, and have a few more gigs under our collective instruments ... "
"And you have a few more lozen saved, and you've let a few more years slip by? And then maybe you've got a spouse and a few squirmers you don't want to subject to the rigors of the road, so you want to wait until they're just a little older. And then you need to pay for their tutors, so you wait a little longer. And a little longer. You know, Sevendrums, sometimes when you chase your dreams, you end up dead trying to catch them. But if you wait a lifetime for them to come to you, you end up just as dead."
I opened my speaking mouth to reply, and she put her hand over it. "Just think about it, will you?"
So I am thinking about it.
It is a strange thing, coz, that I cannot refute her arguments in words. And yet, I know in my heart that I will not yield to it. I went to the docks today, as I always have and always will, and earned my share of lozens for the landlord and the baker. I caught and steadied a stack of crates that some sloppy shiphand had mis-tied, and the foreman showered praise and even a bonus upon me for it.
It's a good life, in truth. Even if it's not exactly the one I have been dreaming of.
But I am thinking about what Song-of-Songs said.
Your loving coz,
Boomstarter Sevendrums
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Date: 2011-07-07 05:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-07 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-07 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-07 05:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-07 05:26 pm (UTC)No Boomsy Sythyrs isn't settling a colony, zie's gonna make a floating city! Out of Locador! It'll be awesome and zie's going to make it an entertainment mecca you'd be perfect for it!
And you know you can always come to Vheshrame if you want we're bigger than Daukrhame and have more theaters and stuff you could even stay with me! It'd be just like when we were growing up but with not so many other relations in the house.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-07 05:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-11 07:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-07 05:50 pm (UTC)I'm not sure how it works, but there's all kinds of stories about it!
no subject
Date: 2011-07-07 05:52 pm (UTC)Although, upon reflection, I do not wish my performances to be regarded as *punishment*.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-07 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-08 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-08 03:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-08 04:00 pm (UTC)