From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
Beatrix had obtained a fiddle. She'd had to trade a few trinkets for it, but... she had a fiddle and she showed up at the Kraai, a bit nervous. Every time she had been trained in anything (from what she can recall of her childhood) it was bad to fail, or to struggle, or to show weakness. And an instrument was a whole new level of... training. She didn't even know how to hold a fiddle, much less what to do with it. Sure, she'd seen how Hester handled hers, but she was a bit afraid of ruining the instrument, so she hadn't tried to imitate her soon-to-be teacher.
It'd taken her a while to find the fiddle, really. She was nervous that Hester might have forgotten their agreement, though she was not worried that the other woman might think Beatrix had simply chosen to not learn from her and was a bitch for that choice. That didn't cross her mind at all; a lot of people thought she was a jerk.
Being a bitch was... basically part of life, right? But also, she'd helped with a few things around the Academy and the newly rebuilt part of the Citadel, so it wasn't like Hester and Beatrix hadn't been in the same places a few times. Not that Beatrix had ever been friendly in public. Well, nobody ever said Beatrix Launceleyn wasn't rude.
She skimmed the patrons inside the Kraai, biting her lip. For a second she was worried that Hester would not be there, and she'd look a bit stupid, carrying a fiddle case (with the fiddle inside, of course). Finally spotting Hester, she headed in the other woman's direction, shoving a hand through her unruly curls once she'd reached her.
"Will this do?" She held the case out, briefly panicking over the idea that she may have gotten the wrong instrument. That, would certainly, suck. At least she controlled her emotions and was only internally panicked, outwardly she looked as composed and confident as ever, save for small tells, such as biting her lip.
To say Hester had forgotten about the deal made with the Launceleyn girl wouldn't quite be right. She'd tried to put it out of her mind, assuming the other would simply think it beneath her, or would lose interest in the face of other, more pressing tasks. Something deep in her doesn't quite believe that excuse, keeps her from accepting it completely, from forgetting.
Apparently for the best. The Kraai has been quiet lately, Korbin distant, though Hester isn't sure if he's simply isolating himself, or something else. She hasn't spoken to the new bartender, has simply come in during the evenings like normal, played her songs, and left again, with no complaint. Today though, was a touch different. She'd finally settled back into a routine, finally felt good lingering for a touch longer after her performance, chatting and catching up with people she'd missed.
When the door opens, Hester's eye is drawn over to it immediately, and she sees Beatrix, a very familiar case in hand. She cannot hide her surprise, though it takes the other woman a moment to find her, a moment that Hester uses to school her face into something less rude. A smile, warm and bright and aimed towards Bea as she comes closer, offers out the case.
"Hello to you too." Hester laughs, reaching out to open the case and look over the instrument. It's older than the musician expects, something Bea either traded too much or too little for, depending on who she got it from. With an easy motion, Hester lifts the fiddle and tucks it under her chin, checking the strings and frets, ensuring the tuning pegs are all present and tight. "This should do nicely." She beams, before handing the fiddle back and standing, her own instrument case hanging at her hip. "There's a back room I set up in we can use for a while, come on."
Beatrix gave a sigh of relief, as Hester greeted her, and briefly wondering if she'd even greeted the other woman. As she realized she had not, that she had basically walked up to Hester and shoved her fiddle case out, she flushed slightly and averted her gaze as the instrument was examined.
Another sigh of relief, as the other woman, confirmed that the instrument was, indeed, the correct one. "Oh, um, hello." She murmured, much too late of course, but she couldn't help but think about it.
That would haunt her for a few days. Oops.
"A room in the..." She nodded slowly, as she replaced the instrument in its case, carefully placing it and ensuring it was secure before she moved to follow Hester.
"...So uhm, how does one learn the fiddle? In magic it's... really simple, you just try to do it until you can, and then you perfect it off of that." She was trying to compose herself, and she thought she was doing a pretty good job. She doesn't dive into explanations that in magic training, sometimes if your family was Launceleyn, things might be thrown or tossed at you until you responded with magic of your own. The training was very hands-on, while also being hands-off emotionally.
After all, she's pretty sure Hester won't toss things at her or tell her to just 'start playing'.
But that's what makes it even more nerve-wracking.
Let me break you into pieces, shatter your heart, and show you what living really is.
"It's nothing fancy, but it's a little more private than in the bar." Hester laughed over her shoulder, leading the other woman into the room and setting down her case again. It really wasn't much, a backroom with some kegs stored in it, as well as a couple of stools and Hester's coat, stored here while she was inside.
Instead of answering right away, the attuned opened her instrument case and pulled it out, holding it with a kind of reverence. "I don't think this is going to be like you learning magic." Hester tries to keep her voice even, though the practice Bea describes is... unconventional, at best. It's not her business, not her place to comment on that though, especially not right now. If only she knew the things left unsaid, perhaps it would loosen her tongue a little more, turn her lips into a deeper frown. "Anyone can learn an instrument, but it takes dedication. You probably won't be very good, when we start playing." Something in the way she says it implies they won't be starting with music, won't be diving into notes and techniques.
No, Hester is very firmly of the mind that if you are going to use a tool, you are going to understand and respect that tool. It's how her father taught her, how he learned before her. The fiddle in her hand is turned, held out. "Take out your instrument, please." Assuming Beatrix does as she asks, as per their deal, Hester begins to go through the various anatomy of the fiddle, adding a brief word about what purpose the various pieces did, what their importance was to the whole.
At the end of it, Hester smiles brightly, head tipping to the side when she does. "Everything making sense so far?"
10-04-2020, 05:49 PM (This post was last modified: 10-04-2020, 05:49 PM by Beatrix.)
Beatrix
Beatrix nodded slowly, quietly thankful that she didn't have to practice in front of all of those people. She had walked in expecting that... and knowing her family, who wouldn't take that chance to humiliate her?
"It's... already different, than how I learn magic," she admitted quietly. "With magic... the goal is humiliation, at least, that's how I remember it." It was often shame, more than humiliation--needing to be good at magic to make someone love you; for them to be proud of you.
She shifted to take out her instrument, and she listens, intently. She's good with memorization, save for remembering her past. She mimicked how Hester held her own, fingers brushing each part of the fiddle, hoping that touching each piece as its talked about will seal the information in her mind.
And at the end, when she isn't ordered to try playing the instrument, but asked a question... she flushed. "Can... you tell me what this was called, again?" She tapped just under the strings on the neck of the instrument, clearly embarrassed to have to ask a question.
Let me break you into pieces, shatter your heart, and show you what living really is.
"Wh-why would..." Hester's voice is hard, almost angry, before she draws back, tempers herself. "If you're humiliated, why would you want to get better?" It doesn't make any sense to her. "I love the fiddle. I want to get better at it because I love it, and because it's fun. Not because I'm afraid to do badly at it." The idea of doing something out of fear is so strange, but at the same time, it explains more than she wants to understand about the other woman, about the Launceleyn's as a whole.
But at the same time, this was a chance to do things differently. It feels as if there is suddenly a great weight on Hester's shoulders, a load she can choose to bear, or one she can shrug off, leave behind. "I learned the fiddle for my father, at first. He's played since before I can remember." A distant smile crosses Hester's face, these memories happy. "And when I first played, I played for him. I wanted to make him happy, but it never felt right. I thought I was doing something wrong. And I told him, crying, that I thought I was doing something wrong. Do you know what he told me?" She cocks her head, giving the other a chance to offer.
"The whole piece is the neck, but directly under the strings is the fingerboard." Hester isn't sure which piece specifically is being asked about, and overcompensates, as usual. "It's where the notes are formed." Hester brings her instrument up, then arranges her fingers in the shape of a note on the neck, not drawing the bow across it yet. "See?"
Beatrix shrugged. She knew why she wanted to get better with her magic; to make her dead mother proud. Perhaps both dead mothers and her deceased father. A Launceleyn was a Launceleyn after all. She imagined that her biological parents had been just like Zariah. Maybe she could weasel some information about her father out of Loren...
She listened intently as Hester described when she learned, how she knew, who she learned from. It's a cute little story, and she tilted her head slightly when the other woman mentioned her father telling her something.
Well, Beatrix has never had a father. She isn't sure what father's say. She is quite certain that her father was probably a terrible one since the story goes that her mother died having her, and he unceremoniously dumped her on Zariah.
"Uhm... I don't know what father's say when their kid's cry," Did she ever cry? Did she ever cry in front of her mother? She's briefly lost in thought, trying to think back far enough to remember, but she can't.
"I never had a father, uhm, well I did... obviously but," She shuffled awkwardly because the Launceleyn's were not encouraged to talk about their feelings, they were encouraged to use those feelings to better their magic. Relief flooded her features when Hester offered an answer to her question.
"Oh. The fingerboard is for notes." The ability to drop a topic and move on is probably not healthy, but there is very little point in trying to remember things that just don't exist anymore. She has the present, some brief memory of Jace as a child, and... Loren. She remembered him the clearest. Neron too, but Beatrix pretends Neron doesn't exist.
Let me break you into pieces, shatter your heart, and show you what living really is.
All Hester does when Beatrix says she doesn't know what fathers say when their children cry is blink, her smile faltering for a moment, before it comes back rejuvinated. This is beyond anything she's really had to deal with before, and the attuned feels a touch lost, out of step. "He said that I need to find reasons to play for myself, instead of trying to make other people happy." It feels a bit cheap to say now, and Hester hates that, hates that her words feel so hollow.
There is just as much of an swkward shuffle in Hester as Beatrix's next statement comes out, the bard not really sure what to say, how to respond. Would the Launceleyn girl accept comfort? Did she even feel qualified to offer comfort?
It's easier to focus on the instrument, on something that the attuned knows inside and out, something she doesn't have to agonize over.
Perhaps its the same kind of unhealthy coping, the ability to step away from uncomfortable situations, only borne from a different source. "Each strong has a different set of sounds it can produce, based on where you apply pressure, but the skill comes from weaving these notes together into chords, and the chords into songs." Hester's bow rises to play an example, a fast fluttering line of music, before her fingers slow and she holds a single note in place. "Try this one. Just with your fingers, don't worry about the bow yet."
Beatrix is curious about the girl's father. She's pretty sure that's strange advice, but maybe it was solid advice? She didn't know and didn't want to revisit.
Instead, she's pleased when they turn back to the instrument at hand. Learning is something she understands, at least. "So... each string makes a different noise?" She furrowed her brow as Hester played an example, nodding slowly. "That makes sense." After all, music was a gathering of sounds played together in a way that sounded pleasing to the ear.
Beatrix studied where Hester was pressing her finger and adjusted her instrument to be held more comfortably, at least, comfortable to her. The technique was all wrong. She pressed her fingertip to the string, drawing it across quickly, almost as if she's afraid of breaking the string.
Let me break you into pieces, shatter your heart, and show you what living really is.
