sentiti alla grande! || open & one part closed!

[bunko]

WHO: YOU and Scipio... or maybe Boncompagni of Genilla, loyal manservant to Duca Pecatti Pelagatti di Quinto Bellagamba.
WHAT: one closed thing, two open things, some of it for a little baby scam. also, a sonnet.
WHEN: Cloudreach, various dates.
WHERE: VARIOUS.
NOTES: I wrote in prose but I'll switch to small text + brackets for anyone. also the sonnet has the word "ass" in it. watch out.

[ I. POETRY - THE TAVERN + EVERYWHERE. ]
There's a new poem sweeping the streets, flushing the bosoms of women and men alike. The style of this poem? An Antivan sonnet, in truest form. The subject of this poem? A lover, and certain parts of her anatomy... and a horse.

"When I think on my lover's thighs,
Her leg, her hip, her buttocks fair,
To her good health this toast I share:
Such moods in me she makes to rise!
The rippling'st flank of steady steed--
Lo! How keen my admiration.
I confess now truer oblation:
My devotion to a sweeter breed.
A horse at trot may look in flight,
How quick he runs! His use is speed.
But many uses has my lover.
A warm abode in face of blight,
This lover's cleft is all I need,
And me in kisses doth she cover.

So to her flank I sing this praise:
My lover's ass doth ardor raise!"

The romance! The lust! The love! To say nothing of the passions inspired by such talk of tender lower extremities. To hear the sonnet read aloud is to understand the lustiness that runs beneath its simple phrases. And have you ever heard so fine a verse?

The author of this sonnet has achieved some small notoriety. If you ask of him, in the tavern, some flushed and smiling maid or blushing lad will point him out to you: Scipio the Marvel, of Antiva City! He receives both praise and criticism without flinching, with only a smile. If you ask him, he will read his poem to you, and accept more praise, or criticism, should your heart be so moved. By the end of Cloudreach, the song has been set to music, a tune of Scipio's crafting. It has been printed, too, written out by hand and passed around. This, Scipio did not do, but a poet is pleased, he will say, when his words grow little legs and walk about to inspire passion in others.

If he sees someone (you, perhaps!) reading his words, he will ask you, directly, interrupting your meal or your conversation to inquire: "Does it excite you, or offend you, that a woman would be compared to a horse?"

How could you be offended? But you might be. If asked, who is the true subject of these words--on this, Scipio will not comment, with a smile only more mysterious.




[ II. A SERVANT'S WORK IS NEVER DONE - EVERYWHERE. ]
Boncompagni of Genilla looks nothing like Scipio.

For one, he has a beard: dark short, neatly trimmed, and a moustache on his lip. There is nothing of these that suggests falseness. If you pulled this beard, it would not come off. It would only hurt.

So: a beard and a moustache. Dark, to match his dark hair. His eyes are small, set back in his lined and weathered face, but these eyes, this skin: they give him the appearance of a tired old hound dog, trustworthy, dogged in his duties. Just the sort of man you would want for a servant, but not a handsome man! A key difference. Scipio is very handsome. And so on: Boncompagni's shoulders are stooped under the weight of his responsibilities, yet he bears them cheerfully enough. His gait, slow, aided by a fine mahogany cane--yet there is a swagger to his step, the swagger of a man who has seen the tops of the world. He does not dress as well as Scipio does: a dark rich purple, cut far more simply. No magic boots. A gold brooch pinned to his chest is his only jewelry, cast in shape of a manticore. He is paunchier than Scipio, too, and he does not have Scipio's accent, or tone. Still Antivan, but of a different part of Antiva, with a curl on his r's, a clearer direction to his words, fewer flourishes, gruffer tone.

All of these difference are because Boncompagni of Genilla is not Scipio. That is obvious. Boncompagni of Genilla is a manservant to Duca Pecatti Pelagatti di Quinto Bellagamba, and his visits to the merchants of Skyhold are to outfit his lord's accommodations during his stay in Skyhold.

Boncompagni is often seen about, carefully considering wares and spending coin. He is gaining a reputation among the merchants for shrewd bargaining, but he is always fair, and when Duca Pecatti himself requests something--a jeweled necklace once, a fine pair of gloves another time--then there is no expense spared. Perhaps this is where you meet him, while shopping.

Or perhaps you are at the stables when he is instructing the stablehands on how to prepare the stall for his lord's horse. New hay, walls washed. Extra coin for agreeing to wash and replace the blankets when the faithful beast arrives--wash by hand, for these horse blankets are finest angora wool from a long-haired breed of sheep from Antiva, and will shrink if washed any old way.

Or perhaps you only see Boncompagni, in passing--peering into the halls and rooms of Skyhold to find empty quarters suitable for his lord, or asking the kitchen staff if they can do a kind of etouffee with shellfish, if Bellagamba supplies the shellfish.

The other difference between Scipio and Boncompagni is, Scipio doesn't have a dog. Boncompagni has a dog, a fine little mutt with a wise face and a bejeweled collar. The dog does not go about on a leash but goes wherever he pleases, and loves to jump up and slap his muddy paws against the legs and gowns of strangers. Bomcompagni is always quick behind the dog, to pull him off again, with apologies: "Your pardon, your pardon! Naughty, Vito, naughty, naughty-- oh, I am so sorry, ser, your pardon--"

Once, Vito the dog eats some chickens. Hopefully they were not your chickens. Please don't hurt him. He's only a little dog.



[ III. LUTE LESSONS (CLOSED TO ELLANA). ]
Even though he is now a semi-famous poet, and a busy, busy man, Scipio seeks out Ellana all the same this month. She is a friend to Sabriel, so she must be a friend to him too. What's more, he has heard that she plays the lute. How lucky for her, that the lute is a special skill of his!

So he seeks Ellana out. It is not so difficult as all that. She is no hermit! She is a lovely girl, and so she will not be hidden away. What's more, Scipio is persistent, and charming, and when he asks after a girl while carrying his lute strapped to his back, most people are only too happy to help him find her, answer if they've seen her recently, assume that he is on his way to serenade her.

Not so. (Well, maybe a little so.) When Scipio steps around the corner, he has his lute in his hands already, fingers poised over the strings and curled over the frets in perfect place. In lieu of a greeting, Scipio strums a long chord to catch Ellana's attention.

Comments

[serannas]

Ellana is out in the sunshine, reading while seated on the ground. She has many hobbies and interests, and a few of them can be observed by what she's brought with her outside. Her satchel has books spilling from it, and a few clearly say on the front that they are songbooks for the lute. Her lute is set down next to the satchel, though for the moment her focus is on a book describing a variety of wildlife native to Orlais. With the strum of the chord, her head jerks up and she smiles at Scipio, immediately closing her book. Anyone Sabriel likes is someone to whom Ellana will give a fair chance.

"Hello! How have you been?"

SORRY for my delay on my own log ugh

[bunko]

"Very, very well!" He strums, again, another chord. The notes have a cheerful tint to them. "You have my thanks, for the asking. And you? You look quite comforted here. Books, songbooks..."

Songbooks are the more interesting of the two. Scipio has little use for books that must be read. In truth, he has only slightly more use for songbooks. His way of music is the playing by the ear. But music is a thing that he appreciates, so he regards her songbooks with a fondness. Hello, books.

"You play, I am told." He nods, to her lute. "Is this true?"

[serannas]

"It's a nice day to read outside. The library is so dim and stuffy." And the chairs are uncomfortable, save that plush one that Dorian seems to have claimed for himself. The ground feels better than those wooden chairs. So here she sits.

His question has her shutting her book and looking towards her lute.

"Oh! Only a little. Did Sabriel tell you I did?" It wouldn't surprise her if that's the case, since offhand, she isn't sure what other mutual friends she and Scipio have.

[bunko]

Dim, stuffy... and mildly terrifying. Scipio's feelings on the library may have eased slightly in their intensity--but mostly, these feelings have not changed. The act of asking Sabriel to the soiree had been one of extreme bravery, given her location. It had helped to be astride a fast horse who could make a run for it at first sign of danger.

Lutes are a far safer topic, and also one that he clearly knows more of. "Yes, it is from her that I learned this of you," he confesses to Ellana. "But even had she not--there, beside you, is a lute. I could guess it of you. And you strike me to be very musical, I think, on impression. Tell me, now--what is your favorite tune to play? And have you," he adds, quickly, for this is the point that he truly wants to make, "have you heard of the great bard, Paul di Simone? You must have. Tell me that you have."

Another chord, this one tinged with a note of drama. Expectant. Tell.

[serannas]

"Ah," she answers, because having a lute beside you is a good indicator, isn't it? She takes the instrument into her lap, strumming the strings in return.

"Hmm, Paul di Simone?" She thinks a moment, trying to recall if she's seen that name in one of her songbooks. But finally she shakes her head no. "I don't think so." Sorry, Scipio. What she does do is play the start of a tune that definitely sounds Antivan.

"This is my favorite."

[bunko]

More sad than scandalized, Scipio shakes his head. The world is so cruel a place, when the fine tunes of Paul di Simone go unknown by so many. One at a time! He must conquer the hearts of those who love music one at a time, aided by the sublime melodies.

But what is this? The notes that Ellana plays brighten him considerably, and immediately! No longer distraught, he looks around at her, surprised.

"I know that tune! Where did you learn that?"

It does not take a knowing, to strum a chord that compliments what she plays, to follow the line of the music and play a short snip of accompaniment. And so Scipio does, expertly.

[serannas]

At least with Ellana, he'll find himself with an attentive pupil, willing to hear all about this musical legend.

She giggles at his reaction as she continues playing. It's one of the first tunes she learned, and is therefore the easiest to play. She doesn't have to think too hard about it; the chords come naturally.

"Zevran taught it to me. I love how happy it sounds."

[bunko]

"Yes! I agree. A happy tune." He keeps up with her easily, nimbly adding flourishes to his chords and accompaniment. If only this were life, always. Playing good Antivan tunes in good company! Company he does not know very well, yes--but company who Sabriel enjoys! She obviously has good taste. What's more, Scipio has so often been about company he does not know very well. It is his natural state of being.

"When words are set to this happy tune," he tells her, without missing a note of it, though he is speaking and playing all at once, "they are without varying such happy words. It is as if the melody encourages it of them. Do you know other Antivan songs? You must, if it is Zevran who has taught you! He is your teacher, then, of music?"

[serannas]

Ellana enjoys getting to know people, and Scipio will be no exception. So to her, people don't have to remain strangers for long. Having similar interests is a great starting point too.

"I took lessons with him for awhile, but now I've struck out on my own." She looks down at the strings and readjusts her fingers, pausing a moment in thought before she starts the next Antivan song in her repertoire.

"This one I tend to make mistakes in the middle," she says haltingly, trying not to let her attention be drawn away.