There's something very comforting about it, really. There's an oddly almost familiar cycle to the fact that they'd met in the darkness in a moment of theft and were coming together now, their blood wiped clean from each other's hands, in the darkness in a moment of brokering a deal. True, the ultimate deal will likely be more than the exchange of two coppers for a tune, but it's got the sort of poetic justice that people write into long, winding poems.
It's not quite dramatic enough for a ballad, but it's closer than a lot of the humdrum life most people live to keep themselves fed.
There's a rather obvious pause in the bard's entire being. He doesn't hold many languages actively in his mind, it's clear from the slight furrow in his brow as he matches the sounds which have just been presented in his ears to sounds he half understands stored in his brain. Animation comes back after a moment or two, pulling his features back into their usual angular sharpness as he flashes a toothy grin.
"You know my instinct is to head for the lowest denominator, meine Herrn."
It's a borrowed phrase, but it trips well over his tongue. His fingers lead first, and when his low tenor follows the opening trill with the words of the rather ribald song he's landed on, his own accent comes very much with the clips of a native of the mountains which he's managed to smooth out of his Common speech. It's matched well by the few intoxicated voices which join in the response to the call and laugh along the chorus.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-01-06 05:55 pm (UTC)It's not quite dramatic enough for a ballad, but it's closer than a lot of the humdrum life most people live to keep themselves fed.
There's a rather obvious pause in the bard's entire being. He doesn't hold many languages actively in his mind, it's clear from the slight furrow in his brow as he matches the sounds which have just been presented in his ears to sounds he half understands stored in his brain. Animation comes back after a moment or two, pulling his features back into their usual angular sharpness as he flashes a toothy grin.
"You know my instinct is to head for the lowest denominator, meine Herrn."
It's a borrowed phrase, but it trips well over his tongue. His fingers lead first, and when his low tenor follows the opening trill with the words of the rather ribald song he's landed on, his own accent comes very much with the clips of a native of the mountains which he's managed to smooth out of his Common speech. It's matched well by the few intoxicated voices which join in the response to the call and laugh along the chorus.
How can a person not sing along?