1.05 Time of the Season

[Madeline Merri]

The breath of the room was sucked out in a simultaneous gasp. Madeline had knelt down in front of the small vocalist, who stood just under four feet tall. Extending her hand out in greetings, the gesture wasn't returned, worse yet, the expression on the Mootlander's face was that of shock and appall. Charlotte Hedgerow had a reputation among her kinsmen for having one of the worst tempers, garnered from many diva-like tantrums in the Moot's musical and cultural scene. To have this tall outsider approach her in such a manner took the very words from her mouth, replacing the air in the room with a tense vibe.

"Stand up-stand up-stand up!" Anton hissed into Madeline's ear, practically lifting her back up to a standing position. She looked to Anton unknowingly. To her view of it, she had merely introduced herself and made concessions to deal with Ms. Hedgerow on a more accessible. Anton whispered to her that it was a grand insult to anyone from the Moot to act in such a condescending manner. From behind Charlotte came the tavern owner, Morton Goldcone, a halfling of considerable girth and depth, built strong like a pitbull. Even with his imposing appearance of clean-shaven head and chiseled stone body, he fell under the glare of Charlotte's indignation, reducing him to a stuttering mess as he tried to sort out the misunderstanding.

"Charlotte, she is from the east, she knows nothing of manners at all, please, forgive this unpleasantness!"
Madeline couldn't help but give a click of the tongue, exclaiming, "Nothing of manners!?" Once again, Anton kept the girl quiet short of covering her mouth with his hand. All at once, Charlotte rushed into a whirling frenzy as her tongue curled around viperous words.
"So my regular musician is nowhere to be found, so you replace him with a cow-eyed bumpkin from the sticks!? Morton, you have far outdone your previous mistakes. I have half a mind to tell my sister about this!"
"No-no, please, we only have a precious hour or two before the crowds will gather, they come to hear you! Let's just put it behind us."
Charlotte gave him a glare as she passed him by, flinging wide the swinging doors to the singer's personal room, closing it with a slam as she proclaimed, "Just make sure she can play the songs I will be singing, if not, it's your head, Morton!"

The staff of the tavern barely held back the snickering as Morton wiped away the sweat from his brow with a cloth. He regarded the pair of travelling companions with an apologetic look, turning to swat the workers back to their tasks with the same towel. The tavern was already starting to buzz with the sound of the growing evening. After the harvest was through, and the snows began to close the roads down one-by-one, the tavern crowd became evermore demanding. Morton already seemed at the end of his rope as he explained.

"She is my sister-in-law, and my wife will never let me hear the end of it if her sister goes to her, telling of how I ruined her career. So please, take these sheets of music, and please, please do your best to carry her."
"I thought she was an accomplished singer?"
"Not.. particularly, but when your sister is the head of town council, you can believe whatever you wish." Morton reached into a pocket, taking out a few sheets of simple melodies, unfolding them and handing them to Madeline. "They are the only tunes that we can stand to have her sing. Few high notes, just.. keep it simple, for everyone's sake, yes? Your room to change is down the hall, last door on the left."

The little man turned and went back to his business, mumbling something to himself as he disappeared into the commons, stroking his bald head, leaving Anton and Madeline to look at each other with a strange expression, a mixture of amusement, shock, and plain silence. The hallway was tall enough for humans to walk without having to crane a neck, but the room was small, barely enough to fit a cot and a small nightstand in. With no lanterns or candles in the room, Madeline gave a bit of a growl at the situation, telling Anton to stand back to the door, letting enough light in from the hall, yet not enough to catch a look as she began to slip out of her traveling clothes, kicking her boots against the wall.

"I know this is not ideal, Madalina, but you cannot argue with the timing. Finding a job this quickly, even for a single night will help keep our pockets full. I am sorry for it, though."
"I am not upset at you, Anton. It is Charlotte. I have seen many performers like her, they are inflated by some air blown from some deep swamp. I have little patience for it, even if the city around her does."
"The songs, you know them then?"
"Better than I know the sound of my own voice. Excuse me, Anton."

She slid past him, the soft, crushed velvet dress felt soft on the back of his hand as she moved into the hall. It was always one of his favorite colours on her, the rich royal blue, contrasted with a simply understated white blouse looked very well composed and dignified, yet the girl could never resist the urge to roll the sleeves up to her elbows in comfortable little folds. He caught himself staring for a while before handing her the small bag that held her bow and violin. Madeline took a moment to tie a blue ribbon in her dark hair, quickly whirling and whipping the loose ends into a sturdy bun at the back of her head. She set her bag back into the room as she gestured for him to follow towards the commons where the sounds of a crowd were already swelling and humming in the very wooden rafters of the building.

They towered over the crowds, a good five or six dozen patrons all moving to their favorite tables and corners in the warm building, some of them stepping a foot onto a rail at the bar, which was closer to human-sized than one might consider in an establishment such as this. Taking a pair of coins from her pouch, Madeline stepped to the bar to pay for a pair of pints, the coppers a part of her nightly payment up front. "We always drink one before a performance, quickly as you can." Madeline handed Anton a glass before tipping hers back without so much as a salute. Anton caught on quickly as their cheeks bulged and worked through the entire pint with a soft little gasp after. Setting the glasses back on the bar, Mr. Goldcone whispered to Madeline that the stage would be hers while Charlotte spent another half hour turning her golden hair to ringlets for her five-song performance. Confidently, she unpacked her violin, and tapped the bow to the strings, turning the knobs to tune by ear. In a short few moments, the strings were already singing with soft and cheerful twitters and jumps, kicking into an old song about the folly of a farmer's laziness. The crowd responded in a synchronous 'Eyyyyy!' as the night was officially begun.

Anton could do nothing but sit back with a pleasant smile on his face. He ordered another drink which his hand cradled comfortably as he watched the Sylvanian swirl between the tables, weaving to draw eyes to her as each turn on her heel lifted her dress up in a small pirouette to catch the eye. Soon the crowd caught the beat of the song, dozens of pairs of hands all clapping, their boots also stomping the weathered wood happily. With a few wide strides, she was able to leap up to the small stage with a bit of gusto, the corners of her mouth curling up like a ruby-tinted longbow in a teasing little grin. She tossed her raven curls back with a movement of her head to let green eyes gleam. Anton enjoyed seeing her like this, for a short while every night the girl could forget about the lightness of her coin purse, the emptiness in her stomach, as well as her heart. The spark returned for a while, and he had the privilege to watch her nightly. The song began to wind down, the last few notes drawn out with a subtle wiggle of her hand to channel the vibrato through the very bones of her audience. Rowdy voices began to shout requests, hands cupped over their mouths between swigs and sips.

For a diminutive people, one might imagine them wanting nothing but cheer or bouncy tunes, songs sung about the richness of food and field. In all reality, they continued to shout suggestions of the fleshier aspects of happiness and joy. If there was one thing that a musician knows in the taverns, it's a good repertoire of raunchy and racy songs of lust and pleasure. Her fiddle played a few small little whimsical, thoughtful sequences as her fingers flexed to warm up for the vigorous tune she'd built in her head, raising her voice up, "This is a song written by every young man who ever dangled a day in his life!" The crowd laughed and applauded their approval as she began, heel scuffing the stage to start the beat quickly.

I was a little too tall,
Could've used a few pounds,
Tight pants, points hardly reknown.
She was a black haired beauty with big dark eyes,
And points all her own sitting way up high.
Way up firm and high.

Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy.
Out behind the bushes beside the hidden levee.
Workin' on mysteries without any clues,
Workin' on our night moves.
Trying' to make some watering-hole news,
Workin' on our night moves in the summertime,
In the sweet summertime.

We weren't in love oh no far from it,
We weren't searching for some pie in the sky summit.
We were just young and restless and bored,
Living by the sword.
And we'd steal away every chance we could,
To the backroom, the alley, the trusty woods.
I used her she used me,
But neither one cared,
We were getting our share.

Workin' on our night moves,
Trying to lose the awkward teenage blues.
Workin' on out night moves,
In the summertime,
And oh the wonder,
Felt the lightning,
And we waited on the thunder,
Waited on the thunder.

I woke last night to the sound of thunder,
'How far off' I sat and wondered.
Started humming a song from 2462,
Ain't it funny how the night moves.
When you just don't seem to have as much to lose,
Strange how the night moves,
With autumn closing in.

The applause and cheers howled as Madeline swirled the bow of her violin, dipping into a purposeful, cleavage-exposing bow. The patrons all raised mugs to the newest performer, downing the foamy beverages with healthy mouthfuls in salute. Then all at once, a single, screeching voice came from the back of the commons near the staff entrances. Door blown wide from the ferocity of the kick, it swung hard on the hinges to reveal Charlotte Hedgerow, standing with fists clenched as tight as her body could muster, half of her head up in ringlets, the other half wildly uncombed. The crowd began to hush it's buzz as the little diva strode through the menagerie of people, bumping and knocking mugs off of one of the server's trays with a flip of her arm. Causing as much commotion as she could on the way to the stage, she stomped up the few steps. The entire way, Madeline could see that she was eyeing the violin that she held by the neck. Charlotte screeched as she mounted the last one, taking an aggressive pose.

"How dare you think you can come into my tavern and take my fans away! Do you think they'll follow you back to the pig sty that you call a home? I'll give you a reason to pack your dirty rags you call a dress, and never come back, you vapid little wench!?"

Charlotte reached her small hands towards the violin, grabbing at it with both hands as it slipped from Madeline's hands. Raising it up above her head, the halfling reared back as if to smash it over her knee. Her eyes went wide as she only caught a glimmering flash of a rolled up sleeve being pushed further up the arm. The punch landed square in the middle of her pristine little face, without a hand free to even hope to stop the lash of a well-practiced cross. The violin hung in midair as Charlotte toppled and tumbled backwards off the stage, deftly caught, Madeline cradled the violin like a baby in her arms before wrapping her hand around the neck, raising it up to the ceilings in a pose of triumph. As if chains and a pall had been lifted from the tavern, the patrons all laughed and cheered at the scene as it played out. Unceremoniously, two of the servers picked up Charlotte, who was limp in their arms, nose bloomed in a red gout from the punch, carrying her to her dressing room.

A patron reached up to the stage, offering a finely-oiled wooden stein to Madeline, the foam rolling and waving over the brim as she lifted it up to accept the drink, drawing another loud cheer as the crowd began to chant for more songs. Near the bar, Morton's forehead was covered in beads of sweat forming on his brow, considering in his mind all the problems that single swing of a fist just caused him. Anton could only laugh; to him, there was no better pleasure than to watch this woman move and live. Though she needed no protecting, he would be more than content to play his part, mouth curled in a grin that spent the night dancing between amusement and intrigue.

[Si'anelle of Avelorn]

I was there in the room hearing the music.