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away, I'd rather sail away || OTA
WHO: SCIPIO + VARIOUS
WHAT: Paule di Simone is the best bard in all of Thedas and you can fight me on that. and this is ANOTHER CATCH-ALL, this one with a lute. Scipio has 1) stuff to get for people, 2) stuff to bring to people, 3) something that he's stolen, 4) a lute to play, 5) a song in his heart, 6) four loose gold teeth. I had some vague preplanned stuff with people but please feel free to be here. especially as an accomplice to petty theft.
WHEN: midway through the Fallow Mire plot + onward!
WHERE: SKYHOLD (battlements + tavern + on the run + wherever!!)
NOTES: prepare to be charmed. be an accomplice. you know you want to.
The people of Skyhold--the Inquisition, the pseudo-refugees, the fellow wardens, the mages, the Templars, the elves, the volunteers and the barmaids and the kitchen drudges and the stableboys and everything in between--have, to a man, never heard of the great bard and balladeer, Paule di Simone.
Unthinkable. Scipio has learned this unthinkable only after arriving in Skyhold. His frozen feet thawing out by a tavern fire, he had called for one of Simone's fine tunes, and had received... nothing. And while it would be too much to say that he would have avoided Skyhold, had only he known of this great gap of knowledge (which he might carelessly pronounce gap-e, in quick conversation), he still finds himself disappointed.
But disappointment, in Scipio the Marvel, is not a thing that lasts. Paule di Simone cannot bring his ballads from beyond the cold grave, and so Scipio will do the work for him, in his memory. In humming, in singing, in whistling, in playing. His quest, it is tireless, and of far greater worth than any task the Inquisition might set. All will know the ballads before the season's end.
[ diamante soles - Skyhold and its battlements, in the morning]
[ la moglie del figlio di Robin - around Skyhold, in the afternoon]
[ il suno del silenzio - a tavern, at night ]
- OR - just write me something and I'll tag it.
WHAT: Paule di Simone is the best bard in all of Thedas and you can fight me on that. and this is ANOTHER CATCH-ALL, this one with a lute. Scipio has 1) stuff to get for people, 2) stuff to bring to people, 3) something that he's stolen, 4) a lute to play, 5) a song in his heart, 6) four loose gold teeth. I had some vague preplanned stuff with people but please feel free to be here. especially as an accomplice to petty theft.
WHEN: midway through the Fallow Mire plot + onward!
WHERE: SKYHOLD (battlements + tavern + on the run + wherever!!)
NOTES: prepare to be charmed. be an accomplice. you know you want to.
The people of Skyhold--the Inquisition, the pseudo-refugees, the fellow wardens, the mages, the Templars, the elves, the volunteers and the barmaids and the kitchen drudges and the stableboys and everything in between--have, to a man, never heard of the great bard and balladeer, Paule di Simone.
Unthinkable. Scipio has learned this unthinkable only after arriving in Skyhold. His frozen feet thawing out by a tavern fire, he had called for one of Simone's fine tunes, and had received... nothing. And while it would be too much to say that he would have avoided Skyhold, had only he known of this great gap of knowledge (which he might carelessly pronounce gap-e, in quick conversation), he still finds himself disappointed.
But disappointment, in Scipio the Marvel, is not a thing that lasts. Paule di Simone cannot bring his ballads from beyond the cold grave, and so Scipio will do the work for him, in his memory. In humming, in singing, in whistling, in playing. His quest, it is tireless, and of far greater worth than any task the Inquisition might set. All will know the ballads before the season's end.
[ diamante soles - Skyhold and its battlements, in the morning]
The morning is for humming.
Gone are the days when Scipio might sleep past the sunrise. Now he is awake long before that, plagued by nightmares whose theme he now well knows. Restlessly, he wanders, with his lute slung over his back and his six pairs of socks on his feet. In kitchens and beside bread ovens, he has made friends. No surprise there. He makes friends very easily, and his friends like to give him things: and so each morning, Scipio leaves with a little loaf of bread all his own. Sometimes there's raisins baked into it. Sometimes, there's cheese. Sometimes there's wine--it is never too early for wine--but each morning finds him on the walltop.
Above it all, he sits on the stone of the battlement and rests his back against the stone. The wall protects him from the worst of the wind, lets him peacefully eat whatever he's won by his charm. And as the sun rises, he takes up his lute and coaxes the tune back into her strings, so he might play a few snatches of some tune and hum to himself. The breaks in the music are so he can blow on his fingertips, trying to warm them.
"Gloves," he remarks, aloud, to no one in particular, "gloves without fingers. That would help."
[ la moglie del figlio di Robin - around Skyhold, in the afternoon]
The afternoon is for whistling.
Most of the company he keeps is the company of Rafael. Inseparable, they wander the keep together, fulfilling the tasks that have been requested of them. Unlocking chests, retrieving books, collecting valuables, bartering for socks--delivering the goods, waiting for their payment. Some of their work is innocent, and some of it is a little more treacherous, prying open shuttered windows so they can crawl over the sill--but all of it, Scipio does cheerfully, whistling as he works. The needs of the people are few and simple so far, like the games of children to two experienced thieves and brigands such as Scipio and Rafael.
Although...
Late afternoon sees him running, full tilt, head bent and some object wrapped in rough sackcloth under his arm. He is alone, he is desperate, he is being pursued, and he is still smiling, and as he careens around a corner, he finds some hapless soul and presses upon them the sackclothed object, with a gasped, "Here! Hold this--" And that hapless soul's only choice is to take the object, heavy, square, under the wrappings, take it and follow, as Scipio slaps them on the arm. "And hurry! Follow me, quickly!"
A shout from around the corner should do the rest, to spur his new partner in crime to action. Pursuit.
[ il suno del silenzio - a tavern, at night ]
A tavern is for playing.
Scipio's skill at the lute is legendary. Not here, in Skyhold. Not yet, anyways. In Antiva City, he knows only praise. Dita d'oro, and not just for his skill at the lute. The tavern at Skyhold is usually noisy, full of people, and warmth--and drink, most important of all, that which attracts people the most.
Scipio, installed at a corner table, plays. Not for anyone, and not for coin, but people stop to listen anyways. He can talk as he plays, and carries on a conversation without missing a note. He strums harder or softer by turns, when the topic requires punctuation or emphasis, plucks out light little melodies like lace at the edge of a shirtsleeve when the conversation turns sad.
When he sings, he sings under his breath. The words are all in Antivan, but the tune is wistful. A man who would rather be un gorrión, un basque--nonsense, even if you understand it, but pretty nonsense.
As the night goes on, as the crowd thins out and he is more assured of being alone, Scipio sets his lute aside and gets out some little treasure out of the pouch at his belt. The songs were to be shared. This is not, whatever it is. A secret. He should not look at it here, but he can't help himself, as he lays out four gold teeth on the scarred tabletop. One, two, three, and the fourth he keeps in his palm, to admire more closely.
Que bella. For teeth, anyways.
- OR - just write me something and I'll tag it.
no subject
He lets the tune cool back into her song instead, drifting the line of the melody into improvisation. "A man who plays is only so good as she who he accompanies." The way that he says it, it sounds a little like a quote. "But I thank you all the same--as does my lute."
no subject
She's plain spoken, that Katniss, as she hums along to the song again, her steps slowing as she dances in a slow twirl. "I would say you must have accompanied some very fine artists, then."