Nicodemus walks up the road towards the Red Dragon Inn, just as much 'vagabond' and traveler as the day he arrived, if not more: his backpack is completely stuffed, and two more bags rest at his hips. He wears the sturdy brown boots meant for long journeys, a black t-shirt and simple grey cargo pants, the kind meant more for utility than style. He stops ten feet from the porch and turns, whistling to himself while he looks at the front of the great red building.
Nico stares for a solid minute into the face of his watch, conspicuously black, no features at all visible, and lacking the distinct tick but still the whir of gears within, working at some task...."Maybe," he murmurs, as if echoing someone or something else. He shifts his belongings on his back with a grunt and moves inside.
Realizing she was peering in the sudden gloom of the commons inside the inn from up on the balcony, Sorcha reaches out to turn up the gas on the torch hanging on the wall nearby. Her eyes light on a particular line of notes, and she sets to scribbling on the score again, matching up words to music before singing it through, louder than before. "L'oiseau que tu croyais surprendre battit de l'aile et s'envola ..."
Singing" His eyes alight on the landing and the culprit, and he smiles and claps gently. "Bravo." He nods in polite greeting to the pair with the bloodwine talking about sunscreen (vampires" he thinks) and picks out a table close to the middle of the room. For now, this will serve as his 'shop.'
Unexpected applause brings her eyes from the score to look down into the commons, and a blushing smile lights up her face for the man below. "Thank you," she greets him with an incline of her head. Her eyes return to the score, but she finds herself peering over the top of the battered sheaf of paper to watch him as he moves about.
First he erects a ward, a protection against theft, making traces in the air that glow for only a moment, and leave a barely discernible buzz in their place. They are simple, but will have to suffice. Then he removes items from his bags, including a small wooden chest and several pieces wrapped in brown paper. The wrapped pieces are unwrapped, and revealed as a sort of fine glass that holds a similar luster and 'fire' to diamonds, but trading durability for smooth, beautiful precision. A phoenix, a wolf, a dragon, and a bell with working parts and a tiny glass rod to strike it with. The chest is opened, containing numerous vials on little shelves, and it seems he can rotate the shelves by way of a little crank on the side. He spins it around until it comes to stop on little vials of red fluid, and the corks are just porous enough to let out the subtle scent of twenty-six distinct varieties of blood.
When he realizes he's being watched, he raises another, warmer smile to the woman at the top of the stairs, waves her over, and gets back to work unpacking while he waits to see whether or not she'll come.
Watching the apparent trader from above, Sorcha abandons all pretense at reading, leaning out over the balcony railing for a better look at his wares. Unfortunately in the gloom, she cannot see much but the vague glint of light on glass, and curiosity gets the better of her. Responding to that wave with one of her own, she slips her shoes back onto bare feet, and moves to descend the stairs, all long legs and summer dress topped with a friendly, if perhaps shy, smile.
"Good afternon, madam," Nico says kindly to Sorcha. "Has....something caught your eye?" He seems to hesitate while speaking in order to articulate, spreading out a wide array of words before him on a blanket, then picking the one that best suits his whims or needs. As a collector, it pays for him to be particular.
"Good afternoon," there, the gentle lilt she has brought with her from the valleys of her homeland, gently accenting her soft speaking voice. She steps a little closer, casting him a curious smile before her eyes return to his wares. "I've never seen anything like these ....what is it you sell" Are they for sale?"
Already he has unpacked several more items - a miniature copper music-box, and if it had a twin, both could rest easily in the palm of a child's hand; a little jade Buddha whose face looks a little more Hellenistic than Oriental; a flask of liquor with a faded brown paper label marked all over with faint orange ink. "Oh, everything I own is for sale, short of what I wear," he answers her with a nod. "And, if none of them suit your fancy....I could procure other items, too, given some notice. Is there anything in particular?" His hand moves close to the glass bell, subtly but significantly.
Fascinated, she moves closer, hands carefully wrapped about the old score to prevent herself from rudely reaching out to touch what isn't hers. "It all seems so beautiful," she murmurs. "But they must be very expensive." A soft laugh then, a deprecating nod to her lack of funds at present.
His smile at that is best described as voluminous - it spreads very wide, and there is a great deal to be read in it. He spreads his hands, too, as his smile grows, completing the effect. "Well, madam....that may not be too great of an issue. I am a traveler, going from world to world, land to land looking for the finest treasures the infinitely wonderful Multiverse has to offer, and there are few currencies that work between worlds, at least to the worlds where I have been. I am more than willing to..." He purses his lips, considering the next word. "Make a trade. But," waving a hand, "don't concern yourself with any of that, just yet." Carefully, he cradles the bell and rod, and then offers it to her. "At least have a look....see how you like it. Even if you find you cannot have it, it is worth the experience."
The bell, like many diamonds, catches sunlight very well, showing blues and yellows, reds and whites in its otherwise crystal clear surface, bending like miniature aurorae. More than that, though, it has unique acoustic properties, and every time it chimes, it sounds almost tinny, but beautiful like the sound a jewel might make if it were an instrument, and louder and richer, more complex, the closer one put their ear to it. "Ring it, if you like..." He smiles. "...but get close to it. That is the real trick."
"A trade?" Innocently curious as those brown eyes may seem, she is not quite as naive as she might appear. Slowly, with a tentative shyness that stemmed from good manners more than anything, she reaches out to touch the beautiful bell with her fingertips. "I should be afraid of breaking it if I held that," is her next murmured comment. "It would be a shame, the workmanship is superb." Her eyes lift to him, and she smiles. "Please, I am no ma'am ....just Sorcha." She smiles at the sound the bell made, automatically seeking to match the gentle chime in a soft counterpoint with her own voice, entranced. "It is remarkable ..."
"Sorcha....you may call me Nicodemus. And if I may be so bold, with a voice so strong but gentle as yours....I would not be afraid at all to place the bell in your custody." He smiles, reaching out his hand to get the bell back. "To sing as you sing....now that, Sorcha, is a real treasure."
Her cheeks flush as she smiles at the compliment, drawing her hand back from the bell. Her eyes linger on it for a long moment before rising to meet his. "It is a talent every being has," she shrugs lightly. "Anyone may sing and find pleasure in it ....even you, I fancy, Nicodemus."
"Perhaps someday," he replies with a coy smile, replacing the bell on the paper as if he were cradling a small, fragile child. Then he pauses, drawing back from his collection to tap at his jaw. "...You know, Sorcha....it occurs to me that this bell may have something to teach you, and you may have something to teach others.
"Its song to teach you, and your song to teach others, perhaps even myself." He opens his hands.
Her brow furrows just barely, lighting her smile with faint confusion as she looks up at him. "What could a bell teach me?" she asks curiously, laughing a little in a lilting chuckle. "And what could I have to teach you? You seem more worldly wise than I could ever hope to be."
"Imagine a child who lives too far out in the country on her family's farm, who possesses the ability but is yet to hear the proper voice....She is someone I could help, perhaps, with your voice. And the bell" When you take it with you, other places, by the sea, in the desert, in the gardens or the forest or a faerie meadow, it will respond differently....sing a different song, give voice to those elements that composers have struggled for countless ages to capture. You see, it has been crafted by the faeries, used by choirs the fae royalty brought with them as they traveled. Truly a beautiful, and in fact very useful, tool."
"And in being created by the fae, full of tricks, no doubt," she adds with a playful grin. "I know my folklore, Nicodemus. You would trade the bell for my voice, yes" But where then would that leave me, with no means by which to earn my keep" I enjoy music too much to willingly give up the only part of it that is truly mine, no matter how beautiful, or enticing, the gift offered in return." Molten brown eyes tease him impishly above that smile, daring him to contradict her supposition.
He puts up a hand, though his whole face lights up at her impish teasing. He chuckles warmly and shakes his head. "No, no, I would not presume to separate you from the whole of your voice....But, you see, one can capture such a strong essence from even the smallest part. A particular range you might surrender use of, though of course I see how that might be troubling unless your voice is very high or very low..." He considers. "...Or perhaps a certain song, or a theme."
The hand he's holding up stays there while he turns his head a moment to watch the newest entrant; then he turns his eyes back to her, and puts up just one finger. "Just one song, that you would sing and then be sworn never to sing again....but with so many songs out there, not so tragic a loss."
"Even if the song or theme is not of my own writing?" she asks, enjoying the light, yet surprisingly informative, banter. "To sing it once, and never again ....I agree, perhaps not so tragic a loss, but there is no saying what I may find in years to come to which that lost song would prove highly appropriate." Apparently not one to take an unconsidered risk, Sorcha pauses, glancing to the new arrival at the doorway. Again she looks back to Nicodemus with that playful smile lingering on her lips. "And how would you procure this essence of a song from me" By magical themes?"
"Another man's song from your lips, in exchange for the many you will be inspired to create, as you perceive the world subtly but distinctly through a different, more musical lens than even the most crazed genius composer." He produces a leather pouch from one of the bags at his hip, and it has the simple Latin label, VOCI. It looks and sounds (from its clinking noise) very full, and he removes a single marble, presently crystal clear. "All you have to do, is to sing into this.
"Any song you like, as easy as you like....If you aren't very religious, for example, you could sing Ave Maria, and that would suit my tastes....very well, actually."
"Crazed genius?" She laughs again, having a mental picture of herself slumped over a piano bemoaning the lack of an upper scale with which to play. Her head tilts thoughtfully. "What would you do with my voice trapped within such a thing?" she asks softly - it is no small thing, even a single song, to give up a part of herself.
"Perhaps bind it to another object....say, a miniature porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary, and if you put your ear to her lips, you could hear her namesake song....enough to give the most doubting Christian faith, that. Things of that nature." He leans forward on the back of a chair, his hands on the top of it, content now to let her weigh her options, the pro's and con's.
Perhaps it is not such an awful thing to do, at that, though she would rather know for certain what he wishes to use her voice for. Her eyes linger on his, molten still in sharp study, trying to sense any deceit about him, though mortal, human senses are unlikely to draw anything but what he wants. "Suppose I were to make this song a gift to you, what would you do then?" she asks shrewdly. The bell is beautiful, truly, and a definite temptation, but her upbringing with the tales of the Fae is not so easily dismissed.
"Then I would find a use for the song, such as the one I described, all depending on the song and what other wares I possess, but....aside from your inability to sing that song again, it would affect you in no other way." He taps the bell, and it chimes again, working its strange, subtle magic, just the hint of a song that could be about any great beer hall...."And this would be yours."
"And the notes within that song" The words" If I were to try and sing them as a part of another song, would I be able to?" Mortal she might be, but she isn't foolish. She waves a hand, trying to resist the lure of the bell. "I am not asking about a trade. Lovely though it is, I have no real use for it. I sing, I do not compose. And ..." The playful smile is back, molten eyes dancing with thoughtful slyness. "....perhaps I like the thought of you owing me a favor."
"If they were a part of another song, enough that the....shall we say, spirit of the song, would be unique, then you would face no impediment whatsoever. But if you wish to indebt me to yourself?" He raises his eyebrows, hiding the smile in them very well. "You would have to give me something I want....and so far, you seem reluctant to give." He steeples his fingers before his lips, watching her.
"If one song is all you want, then I would be happy to oblige you." The smile turns dazzling in an instant, bright and pleasant and infinitely obliging. She raises her hand to him, her palm open and upwards. "What do you need me to do?"
"Sing into this," Nicodemus replies, again containing a smile that wishes to burst forth, and producing the clear marble for her with a trick of his hands, "and....sing with sincerity, shall we say. Else it will show, and I will know." He surrenders the trinket, and again opens his hands. "Any song you like."
Lifting the trinket in her fingertips to hover before her lips, she takes in the low, soft breath she is accustomed to calm herself before another, deeper one to signal the filling of lungs ready to support a melody. Her voice lifts, strong and as sincere as she could be, in the tune he suggested, for in actuality she has little use for it herself. Each note clear and strong, the emotion beneath the words throbbing as she gives herself over to the melody. The last note dies away slowly, fading into the stillness, and her eyes lift to his again, fingers holding out the trinket to him with a faint smile.
It works a subtle magick, and the very one he said - 'Ave Maria' may not pass her lips again as long as the enchantment exists. It begins as a spark inside the little orb, then two sparks, one blue, one gold, beautiful colors evocative of heaven and choirs of angels as it grows into a wonderful, luminous fire, achingly beautiful like a newborn child....Nicodemus closes his fingers around the song and places it in the pouch with the others. Voci. Then carefully, tenderly, he re-wraps the fine fae bell and gives it to her. "It has indeed been a great pleasure doing business with you, Sorcha."
She shakes her head, laying her hand against the fae bell, refusing to take it. Her throat works for a moment, growing accustomed to the subtle touch of magic on her most precious commodity. "It was a gift," she tells him softly. "Save the bell for one who can make more use of it."
Nico pauses on that....and nods, and puts the item away, along with all the rest. "Well....if you see something you like, that you do truly want..." He smiles at her. "Thank you, Sorcha, for that beautiful gift."
"See it isn't misused, or I may find a way to take it back," she threatens with a cheeky grin, watching as he put his wares out of sight.
"I assure you, it will be put to excellent use," he answers with a smile. Rent will be difficult to make this month, but he still views today as a personal victory. "Ah....forgive my boldness, but out of curiosity, do you sing at an opera here?"
Slightly surprised by the question, Sorcha blinks, her smile fading just a little. "Uh, no, not as such," she admits. "There doesn't seem to be an opera company here, let alone an opera house in which to stage anything." She shrugs lightly, shaking her head. "I was hoping to organize something myself."
Nico too shakes his head, sighing. "That is a terrible shame....a terrible waste of a voice. As a traveler, I see and hear many things....I will be sure to let you know, Sorcha, if I find any leads that might help you."
"Thank you, Nicodemus, that is very kind of you." She smiles gently.
"Should I manage to begin something before I hear from you, I will send word. You strike me as one who might enjoy something lighter than high opera."
"You may find that I have very broad tastes, though that does not lessen my enjoyment of any one masterpiece." He holds out his hand to take hers.
Small fingers slide across his palm to squeeze his hand in a friendly manner. "I would rather people enjoyed themselves than found themselves yawning and bored," she grins. "And as much as I enjoy the higher operas, I do realize most do not."
Nico bows his head, stopping short of kissing her fingers. "I think I will enjoy hearing you either way....Until we meet again, Sorcha." He releases her hand and, almost all in one motion, gathers his backpack and other bags.
"I hope your travels are safe, Nicodemus." Sorcha steps back, out of his way, and bites her lip with a smile. "Good afternoon to you."
"Good afternoon." He winks once over his shoulder at the door, and then steps out.
Shaking her head at his wink in her direction with a smile of her own, Sorcha laughs, and moved to skip back up the stairs, one hand massaging her throat thoughtfully. Just what has she just given up?
((Adapted from a live scene in the Red Dragon Inn with Sorcha - thank you!))
Nico stares for a solid minute into the face of his watch, conspicuously black, no features at all visible, and lacking the distinct tick but still the whir of gears within, working at some task...."Maybe," he murmurs, as if echoing someone or something else. He shifts his belongings on his back with a grunt and moves inside.
Realizing she was peering in the sudden gloom of the commons inside the inn from up on the balcony, Sorcha reaches out to turn up the gas on the torch hanging on the wall nearby. Her eyes light on a particular line of notes, and she sets to scribbling on the score again, matching up words to music before singing it through, louder than before. "L'oiseau que tu croyais surprendre battit de l'aile et s'envola ..."
Singing" His eyes alight on the landing and the culprit, and he smiles and claps gently. "Bravo." He nods in polite greeting to the pair with the bloodwine talking about sunscreen (vampires" he thinks) and picks out a table close to the middle of the room. For now, this will serve as his 'shop.'
Unexpected applause brings her eyes from the score to look down into the commons, and a blushing smile lights up her face for the man below. "Thank you," she greets him with an incline of her head. Her eyes return to the score, but she finds herself peering over the top of the battered sheaf of paper to watch him as he moves about.
First he erects a ward, a protection against theft, making traces in the air that glow for only a moment, and leave a barely discernible buzz in their place. They are simple, but will have to suffice. Then he removes items from his bags, including a small wooden chest and several pieces wrapped in brown paper. The wrapped pieces are unwrapped, and revealed as a sort of fine glass that holds a similar luster and 'fire' to diamonds, but trading durability for smooth, beautiful precision. A phoenix, a wolf, a dragon, and a bell with working parts and a tiny glass rod to strike it with. The chest is opened, containing numerous vials on little shelves, and it seems he can rotate the shelves by way of a little crank on the side. He spins it around until it comes to stop on little vials of red fluid, and the corks are just porous enough to let out the subtle scent of twenty-six distinct varieties of blood.
When he realizes he's being watched, he raises another, warmer smile to the woman at the top of the stairs, waves her over, and gets back to work unpacking while he waits to see whether or not she'll come.
Watching the apparent trader from above, Sorcha abandons all pretense at reading, leaning out over the balcony railing for a better look at his wares. Unfortunately in the gloom, she cannot see much but the vague glint of light on glass, and curiosity gets the better of her. Responding to that wave with one of her own, she slips her shoes back onto bare feet, and moves to descend the stairs, all long legs and summer dress topped with a friendly, if perhaps shy, smile.
"Good afternon, madam," Nico says kindly to Sorcha. "Has....something caught your eye?" He seems to hesitate while speaking in order to articulate, spreading out a wide array of words before him on a blanket, then picking the one that best suits his whims or needs. As a collector, it pays for him to be particular.
"Good afternoon," there, the gentle lilt she has brought with her from the valleys of her homeland, gently accenting her soft speaking voice. She steps a little closer, casting him a curious smile before her eyes return to his wares. "I've never seen anything like these ....what is it you sell" Are they for sale?"
Already he has unpacked several more items - a miniature copper music-box, and if it had a twin, both could rest easily in the palm of a child's hand; a little jade Buddha whose face looks a little more Hellenistic than Oriental; a flask of liquor with a faded brown paper label marked all over with faint orange ink. "Oh, everything I own is for sale, short of what I wear," he answers her with a nod. "And, if none of them suit your fancy....I could procure other items, too, given some notice. Is there anything in particular?" His hand moves close to the glass bell, subtly but significantly.
Fascinated, she moves closer, hands carefully wrapped about the old score to prevent herself from rudely reaching out to touch what isn't hers. "It all seems so beautiful," she murmurs. "But they must be very expensive." A soft laugh then, a deprecating nod to her lack of funds at present.
His smile at that is best described as voluminous - it spreads very wide, and there is a great deal to be read in it. He spreads his hands, too, as his smile grows, completing the effect. "Well, madam....that may not be too great of an issue. I am a traveler, going from world to world, land to land looking for the finest treasures the infinitely wonderful Multiverse has to offer, and there are few currencies that work between worlds, at least to the worlds where I have been. I am more than willing to..." He purses his lips, considering the next word. "Make a trade. But," waving a hand, "don't concern yourself with any of that, just yet." Carefully, he cradles the bell and rod, and then offers it to her. "At least have a look....see how you like it. Even if you find you cannot have it, it is worth the experience."
The bell, like many diamonds, catches sunlight very well, showing blues and yellows, reds and whites in its otherwise crystal clear surface, bending like miniature aurorae. More than that, though, it has unique acoustic properties, and every time it chimes, it sounds almost tinny, but beautiful like the sound a jewel might make if it were an instrument, and louder and richer, more complex, the closer one put their ear to it. "Ring it, if you like..." He smiles. "...but get close to it. That is the real trick."
"A trade?" Innocently curious as those brown eyes may seem, she is not quite as naive as she might appear. Slowly, with a tentative shyness that stemmed from good manners more than anything, she reaches out to touch the beautiful bell with her fingertips. "I should be afraid of breaking it if I held that," is her next murmured comment. "It would be a shame, the workmanship is superb." Her eyes lift to him, and she smiles. "Please, I am no ma'am ....just Sorcha." She smiles at the sound the bell made, automatically seeking to match the gentle chime in a soft counterpoint with her own voice, entranced. "It is remarkable ..."
"Sorcha....you may call me Nicodemus. And if I may be so bold, with a voice so strong but gentle as yours....I would not be afraid at all to place the bell in your custody." He smiles, reaching out his hand to get the bell back. "To sing as you sing....now that, Sorcha, is a real treasure."
Her cheeks flush as she smiles at the compliment, drawing her hand back from the bell. Her eyes linger on it for a long moment before rising to meet his. "It is a talent every being has," she shrugs lightly. "Anyone may sing and find pleasure in it ....even you, I fancy, Nicodemus."
"Perhaps someday," he replies with a coy smile, replacing the bell on the paper as if he were cradling a small, fragile child. Then he pauses, drawing back from his collection to tap at his jaw. "...You know, Sorcha....it occurs to me that this bell may have something to teach you, and you may have something to teach others.
"Its song to teach you, and your song to teach others, perhaps even myself." He opens his hands.
Her brow furrows just barely, lighting her smile with faint confusion as she looks up at him. "What could a bell teach me?" she asks curiously, laughing a little in a lilting chuckle. "And what could I have to teach you? You seem more worldly wise than I could ever hope to be."
"Imagine a child who lives too far out in the country on her family's farm, who possesses the ability but is yet to hear the proper voice....She is someone I could help, perhaps, with your voice. And the bell" When you take it with you, other places, by the sea, in the desert, in the gardens or the forest or a faerie meadow, it will respond differently....sing a different song, give voice to those elements that composers have struggled for countless ages to capture. You see, it has been crafted by the faeries, used by choirs the fae royalty brought with them as they traveled. Truly a beautiful, and in fact very useful, tool."
"And in being created by the fae, full of tricks, no doubt," she adds with a playful grin. "I know my folklore, Nicodemus. You would trade the bell for my voice, yes" But where then would that leave me, with no means by which to earn my keep" I enjoy music too much to willingly give up the only part of it that is truly mine, no matter how beautiful, or enticing, the gift offered in return." Molten brown eyes tease him impishly above that smile, daring him to contradict her supposition.
He puts up a hand, though his whole face lights up at her impish teasing. He chuckles warmly and shakes his head. "No, no, I would not presume to separate you from the whole of your voice....But, you see, one can capture such a strong essence from even the smallest part. A particular range you might surrender use of, though of course I see how that might be troubling unless your voice is very high or very low..." He considers. "...Or perhaps a certain song, or a theme."
The hand he's holding up stays there while he turns his head a moment to watch the newest entrant; then he turns his eyes back to her, and puts up just one finger. "Just one song, that you would sing and then be sworn never to sing again....but with so many songs out there, not so tragic a loss."
"Even if the song or theme is not of my own writing?" she asks, enjoying the light, yet surprisingly informative, banter. "To sing it once, and never again ....I agree, perhaps not so tragic a loss, but there is no saying what I may find in years to come to which that lost song would prove highly appropriate." Apparently not one to take an unconsidered risk, Sorcha pauses, glancing to the new arrival at the doorway. Again she looks back to Nicodemus with that playful smile lingering on her lips. "And how would you procure this essence of a song from me" By magical themes?"
"Another man's song from your lips, in exchange for the many you will be inspired to create, as you perceive the world subtly but distinctly through a different, more musical lens than even the most crazed genius composer." He produces a leather pouch from one of the bags at his hip, and it has the simple Latin label, VOCI. It looks and sounds (from its clinking noise) very full, and he removes a single marble, presently crystal clear. "All you have to do, is to sing into this.
"Any song you like, as easy as you like....If you aren't very religious, for example, you could sing Ave Maria, and that would suit my tastes....very well, actually."
"Crazed genius?" She laughs again, having a mental picture of herself slumped over a piano bemoaning the lack of an upper scale with which to play. Her head tilts thoughtfully. "What would you do with my voice trapped within such a thing?" she asks softly - it is no small thing, even a single song, to give up a part of herself.
"Perhaps bind it to another object....say, a miniature porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary, and if you put your ear to her lips, you could hear her namesake song....enough to give the most doubting Christian faith, that. Things of that nature." He leans forward on the back of a chair, his hands on the top of it, content now to let her weigh her options, the pro's and con's.
Perhaps it is not such an awful thing to do, at that, though she would rather know for certain what he wishes to use her voice for. Her eyes linger on his, molten still in sharp study, trying to sense any deceit about him, though mortal, human senses are unlikely to draw anything but what he wants. "Suppose I were to make this song a gift to you, what would you do then?" she asks shrewdly. The bell is beautiful, truly, and a definite temptation, but her upbringing with the tales of the Fae is not so easily dismissed.
"Then I would find a use for the song, such as the one I described, all depending on the song and what other wares I possess, but....aside from your inability to sing that song again, it would affect you in no other way." He taps the bell, and it chimes again, working its strange, subtle magic, just the hint of a song that could be about any great beer hall...."And this would be yours."
"And the notes within that song" The words" If I were to try and sing them as a part of another song, would I be able to?" Mortal she might be, but she isn't foolish. She waves a hand, trying to resist the lure of the bell. "I am not asking about a trade. Lovely though it is, I have no real use for it. I sing, I do not compose. And ..." The playful smile is back, molten eyes dancing with thoughtful slyness. "....perhaps I like the thought of you owing me a favor."
"If they were a part of another song, enough that the....shall we say, spirit of the song, would be unique, then you would face no impediment whatsoever. But if you wish to indebt me to yourself?" He raises his eyebrows, hiding the smile in them very well. "You would have to give me something I want....and so far, you seem reluctant to give." He steeples his fingers before his lips, watching her.
"If one song is all you want, then I would be happy to oblige you." The smile turns dazzling in an instant, bright and pleasant and infinitely obliging. She raises her hand to him, her palm open and upwards. "What do you need me to do?"
"Sing into this," Nicodemus replies, again containing a smile that wishes to burst forth, and producing the clear marble for her with a trick of his hands, "and....sing with sincerity, shall we say. Else it will show, and I will know." He surrenders the trinket, and again opens his hands. "Any song you like."
Lifting the trinket in her fingertips to hover before her lips, she takes in the low, soft breath she is accustomed to calm herself before another, deeper one to signal the filling of lungs ready to support a melody. Her voice lifts, strong and as sincere as she could be, in the tune he suggested, for in actuality she has little use for it herself. Each note clear and strong, the emotion beneath the words throbbing as she gives herself over to the melody. The last note dies away slowly, fading into the stillness, and her eyes lift to his again, fingers holding out the trinket to him with a faint smile.
It works a subtle magick, and the very one he said - 'Ave Maria' may not pass her lips again as long as the enchantment exists. It begins as a spark inside the little orb, then two sparks, one blue, one gold, beautiful colors evocative of heaven and choirs of angels as it grows into a wonderful, luminous fire, achingly beautiful like a newborn child....Nicodemus closes his fingers around the song and places it in the pouch with the others. Voci. Then carefully, tenderly, he re-wraps the fine fae bell and gives it to her. "It has indeed been a great pleasure doing business with you, Sorcha."
She shakes her head, laying her hand against the fae bell, refusing to take it. Her throat works for a moment, growing accustomed to the subtle touch of magic on her most precious commodity. "It was a gift," she tells him softly. "Save the bell for one who can make more use of it."
Nico pauses on that....and nods, and puts the item away, along with all the rest. "Well....if you see something you like, that you do truly want..." He smiles at her. "Thank you, Sorcha, for that beautiful gift."
"See it isn't misused, or I may find a way to take it back," she threatens with a cheeky grin, watching as he put his wares out of sight.
"I assure you, it will be put to excellent use," he answers with a smile. Rent will be difficult to make this month, but he still views today as a personal victory. "Ah....forgive my boldness, but out of curiosity, do you sing at an opera here?"
Slightly surprised by the question, Sorcha blinks, her smile fading just a little. "Uh, no, not as such," she admits. "There doesn't seem to be an opera company here, let alone an opera house in which to stage anything." She shrugs lightly, shaking her head. "I was hoping to organize something myself."
Nico too shakes his head, sighing. "That is a terrible shame....a terrible waste of a voice. As a traveler, I see and hear many things....I will be sure to let you know, Sorcha, if I find any leads that might help you."
"Thank you, Nicodemus, that is very kind of you." She smiles gently.
"Should I manage to begin something before I hear from you, I will send word. You strike me as one who might enjoy something lighter than high opera."
"You may find that I have very broad tastes, though that does not lessen my enjoyment of any one masterpiece." He holds out his hand to take hers.
Small fingers slide across his palm to squeeze his hand in a friendly manner. "I would rather people enjoyed themselves than found themselves yawning and bored," she grins. "And as much as I enjoy the higher operas, I do realize most do not."
Nico bows his head, stopping short of kissing her fingers. "I think I will enjoy hearing you either way....Until we meet again, Sorcha." He releases her hand and, almost all in one motion, gathers his backpack and other bags.
"I hope your travels are safe, Nicodemus." Sorcha steps back, out of his way, and bites her lip with a smile. "Good afternoon to you."
"Good afternoon." He winks once over his shoulder at the door, and then steps out.
Shaking her head at his wink in her direction with a smile of her own, Sorcha laughs, and moved to skip back up the stairs, one hand massaging her throat thoughtfully. Just what has she just given up?
((Adapted from a live scene in the Red Dragon Inn with Sorcha - thank you!))