More of Livetta's youth. The green haired bard belongs to a friend, used with her permission. All other characters, save the harpist and the lutenist are property of Obsidian.
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After pinning up her green hair, she was ready. Livetta smiled at the harpist and glanced quickly at the lutenist. At their nods, she took her pose. Tap, tap, tap, the time-- and the first chords were struck. Then she was a blur of motion, all smiles and sidelong looks at the audience. A wink, a flutter of lashes. She hit every step in rhythm, played the crowd with her gaze, the swish of her skirts, the hard decisive foot-falls that made her bell-laced anklets sing, and when the tune was finished, the crowd called out for another.
Highcliff! She was really in Highcliff! All those years of yearning, all those nights of practice, and finally she had left West Harbor behind-- it still didn't quite feel real. They were going to stay here overnight at the inn, and then they were taking a ship south to Waterdeep in the morning. After that, who knew? She almost wished she had left a seperate note for Bevil and Amie to come find her, because she could finally show them what performing really meant to her... but then she firmly decided to tuck those thoughts away. No, she couldn't think that way if she were going to go on. She had to be studiously indifferent to those thoughts. Maybe one day, she'd come back and perform at the Harvest Fair, in a few years. Maybe one day, she'd seek them out, but until then, those thoughts had to be boxed up and set aside.
She was still surprised at how easy it had been to run away. The whole of Faerûn looked different, smelled different, hells, even tasted different now that the Mere was behind her. The note carefully penned, and a few simple signs for her foster father-- a bow taken, a few days' rations and water, some items for snare setting. She'd hid them, of course, after leaving. Her musician friends had had all they needed for a swift trip straight to Highcliff. She smiled as she wondered how long her fellow Harbormen would be searching the Mere for her.
The harpist grinned once Livetta had caught her breath. "Whither Went My Lass?" he asked over her head.
The lutenist shrugged.
"But I don't know that one!" Livetta hissed at her companions.
"Improvise!" laughed the harpist. "You're good enough."
The timing was thumped out before the surprise melted from her face. It was a simple beat, but the melodies complex. She dove into the song, drawing out her fans with a flourish to conceal the shaking of her hands. When she realized that the audience either hadn't noticed or didn't care, she loosened a bit, and let the music guide her movements. It didn't take long to recognize where the bawdy punchline to each verse would go, and Livetta timed the swing of her hips and her lascivious smirks to match them, and each chorus gave ample opportunity to open her mouth in amused feigned shock, coyly half-covering her expression with her fan, building the crowd's laughter to a crescendo.
"Oh whither went my lass?
Our time together's passed...
So sweet and pure,
Of this I'm sure,
Oh whither went my lass?"
The last chorus was met with roaring applause. Flushed, Livetta beamed and bowed. When the clapping and whistles subsided, she seated herself between the two other musicians, and took up her recorder. Pressing the flute to her lips, she looked to the harpist for her cue.
"And now for something nice and slow, to soothe yourselves for sleep," the harpist purred. "Unless, of course, the booze continues to flow." The audience cheered his last remark.
One, two, three... and their lullaby was sweet and slow, as promised. Livetta's eyes beamed even though her lips could not, pursed over the fipple as she played. Her gaze darted back and forth over the tavern patrons, taking in each face as they in turn took in the music. Taking in each pair of eyes, each one's posture as some leaned in to listen, or smile dreamily, or stare intently with cold green eyes.
Daeghun's green eyes. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. The sound of the recorder dropped from the trio for a moment, and a few bars went by without it. Recovering herself, Livetta slipped the flute song back in, hoping the lapse had sounded intentional. She couldn't tell how it was received, though, having glued her eyes to the floor. They finished the piece, cutting a section after the harpist's frowning nod. The applause was lighter, but Livetta didn't look up to massage the response. Her gaze flicked to the lutenist, who met it with a furrowing of the brow, and then to the harpist.
"Poise, kiddo. Practice it, if you're going to travel with us. I watched him walk in. We can wait, if you need to go talk to him," he slipped his small harp into its case.
She nodded numbly.
Daeghun's gaze hadn't shifted. She felt the full weight of her foster father's stare from across the room as she approached.
"You dance well, and your flute playing has improved, " he observed.
What was she supposed to say to that? "Well... I've been practicing."
"Yes."
The pause stretched on, becoming a ravine, a canyon. It was Daeghun who threw the line across.
"Do you have your things ready to go?"
"Go... home?"
"Yes."
"I don't want to go home!"
Daeghun's look did not soften. "I've let your adventure go on because I thought it would be good for you to leave West Harbor for a short while. You know as well as I do that you were not made for such a small place in the swamps. The trip seems to have done you well, but the time has come for it to be over. You're not yet of age, and the world is far wider and darker than your optimism yet grants. You need to give yourself a few more years until you are ready to travel so far afield. Come, we should be on our way."
The length of two heartbeats doubled to four, and then doubled again before her voice came unstuck. "So you knew from the start?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"When the musicians first came into the village."
"And you just let me leave?"
"Yes."
She fought the tightening in her throat and the burning at her eyes with all the force of thought she had. Poise. Remember poise. A few hot tears managed to escape anyway, to mark a path down her face.
But by the gods, she kept the quaver from her voice. "So it wasn't a secret. And everything I did to throw you off was..."
"No. It wasn't a secret. And your signs were too obvious."
Her shoulders slumped. It wasn't hers anymore. The sweetness of her victory, the thrill of her nighttime escape, gone. Like fireflies winking out. Smoke dissipating in Tarmas's lab.
"Hey, you coming upstairs, greenie?" the harpist called after her.
Daeghun was silent, expectancy written over the set of his jaw and the angle of his brow.
It took a few breaths. "No, I'm not," Livetta's voice finally cracked.
"Wait, what? I thought you were married to the notion of high-tailing it out of the Mere?"
"Something came up," she replied. "A friend is sick."
"Well, that does make things difficult. Is it the orphan girl?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry to hear it. But the show's got to go on... you certain?"
"I'm certain."
"Too bad. All you needed was a little more polish. You've got some raw talent, kiddo."
"Thanks."
Slowly, Livetta began to collect up her things. Daeghun's eyes finally shifted away from her, though his attention had not. The patrons slowed her even further; a few wanted to talk as she gathered her belongings. She gave them the same story she had the harpist: sick friend, that's why Daeghun had come, so sorry she couldn't talk, and pardon her tears.
"Do you think it was wise to lie in order to save face?" Daeghun asked, as they stepped out into the night.
Livetta didn't answer aloud, though she knew the wisdom of it didn't matter. Even if her journey wasn't hers anymore, at least... at least this still was.
The road was quiet, and the air was filled with the sound of the autumn's last cricket choir.
"Did anyone else know?" she managed, after they'd left Highcliff an hour behind.
"No. Everyone else believed your note and the signs you'd left."
It was a very small smile that crossed her lips, and a single firefly blinked on even though their season had long since passed.