OK. More reviews, advice, etc... I've released two chapters back to back because They, plus another few thousand words, were all going to be one chapter. I realised that would make one ridiculously long chapter. Suitable when published, but not for this website ;) Enjoy! I don't own Zelda... Yet! Oh, and the same thing goes for underlined words, including names.
On the fret board fingers moved slowly. They progressed with precision and grace, changing shape at regular intervals. Their partners danced crazily over the pit, leaping in a magical order that has its roots in the chaos of life. The tune they plucked out was sweet, cheerful and made the audience want to cry. It was the happy face that those with no hope wear. It was one last laugh at the inevitable.
All around the inn the guests fell silent. The young man on stage had already shown his skill. He'd played all the favourites, a few new ones and now this. He was alone up there. He had a guitar and a piece of steel around his neck that made music when blown into. The guitar was, of course, magical. No natural instrument could be heard over the din of a normal inn. To accompany these was a small box that amplified his voice. It was professional, but not uncommon in a slightly up market establishment.
On the final word the music stoped. The audience held its breath. What was less than a second stretched and expanded. No one recognised his nationality, though he was reasonably handsome. He had dark unruly hair that covered his ears and eyes that matched. He lacked the shoulders of a farmer but certainly had too much muscle for someone who played guitar for a living. The fingers began move again. This time he blew into the small metal box as well. It was a small simple piece of repetition, but it worked. It was then time for a return to the second verse
It was to be his final piece. He'd made the announcement and all the patrons had quietened down to show their respects. However, once his fingers had begun to move the whole room had fallen silent. It was captivating. The audience stared at the stage. Matthew's eyes moved slowly across the room, talking to each person in turn. His voice added to the effect. Where many other performers sang and made their voices dance Matthew merely spoke in rhythm and key. Each member of the rapt audience felt as if the song were specifically for them.
Again, the music ended on the final word. But this time there was a subtle difference. It had a finality that made sure the audience understood it really was the end. There was no applause. No one spoke. Matthew waited a few moments whilst he collected his thoughts and returned to the world around him. The audience just stared. Then he stood, still in silence, and began to pack away his instruments. A voice called out.
"You surely aren't planning to leave us with such sad thoughts on our minds are you?"
The words were spoken by a young woman up the back. She had dark skin and red hair that marked her as a Gerudo. If not, the facetious expression on her face certainly did.
"You wouldn't want to be held responsible for the tears of a young, defenceless girl, would you?"
"Of course not," Matthew replied, "had you a broom or bucket to defend yourself with I could have left you in clear conscience. However armed as you are, with two small scimitars I suppose I will be forced to play one last song."
An informal tradition had always existed around the Gerudo race. Whenever one of them sat at a bar the seats either side of them would be left empty. Tonight, however, one was being occupied.
"I must say, you are a brave man for sitting there," the Gerudo didn't even look across.
"Really? Most people say things like: 'You're either very brave or very stupid'."
"Few idiots can understand sarcasm," she gave Matthew a pointed look, "There can always be a first." She had a sip and returned to her glass gazing.
"Ah! But you see Madam. I have the finest protection that money can't buy," that got her attention, "You see, I am far too insignificant to kill."
"I could still rob you," a hint of a smile appeared on her lips.
"Did I mention it was the best protection money can't buy?"
"I believe you did…"
"Well there you have it. I'm blessed with the insignificance that only the truly poor can afford," a hint of a smile appeared on his lips.
She was still trying to act bored but it was obvious to Mathew he'd broken through.
"It's unusual for a Gerudo to travel alone. Might I ask what brings you to Kakariko Village?"
"You can ask. Unfortunately I can not tell you."
"Really? Then can I at least have your name?"
"Nabooru. Nabooru of Adeski."
This time Matthew genuinely smiled, "It's a pleasure to meet you Nabooru of Adeski. I'm Matthew."
"Matthew. Quite an unusual name. Might I ask where it's from?"
"You may. Unfortunately I can not tell you."
Nabooru merely rolled her eyes, "When you sat there I expected you to buy me a drink. Is there still a chance of that?"
Matthew looked her up and down. He would have placed her in her mid to late twenties, maybe four years older than himself. Her ruby red hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that reached to her waist. Her large eyes were amber, although a little of their beauty was knocked out by the sarcastic expression she was wearing. However, that was not what now attracted Matthew's attention. What he now noticed was her garb. Her clothes might, at first glance, be typical travelling clothes. However Matthew recognised costly gear when he saw it.
"Did I mention how I could afford my insignificance?"
A little more sarcasm left and little more smile returned to take its place. Mathew even thought he heard a faint chuckle.
"Yes, I believe you did mention that. And if…"
"Hut!" he quickly cut her off, "However, I'm sure I could afford one drink. What would you like?"
"Hmmm…" Nabooru considered the drinks on the shelf before her. The Tramp had quite the variety. It was one of the first of its kind in Hyrule. Further north, in the desert regions, a new fashion had started up. There were now inns that had class. They were more than places for weary men to get pissed. They offered more than gruel and ale.
"The orange brandy sounds nice," it was the most expensive on the shelf.
Mathew sighed, "Whatever the lady requires."