Post by Mr. Moshypocrite McSlowbro on Feb 11, 2013 19:35:09 GMT -5
There was something hypnotic about watching the rise and fall of the tall-masted ships sitting in the harbor, white-crested waves lapping at their oaken hulls in a measured cadence. The wind whistled a tune of its own, carrying with it the sharp scent of saltwater mixed in with wildflowers. High above their heads, clouds like cotton drifted aimlessly across a lofty sky, offering a blanket of shade for those fortunate enough to standing beneath them. The tropic heat did little to inspire the island’s occupants to engage in any particularly laborious efforts, or at least while the Sun sat so high in the sky. Instead they opted to remain under thatched rooftops and air-conditioned verandas, eyes half-lidded. Even the tradesmen seemed to have retired their work for the moment, stall-shops alongside the road sitting vacant. As a result, the usually bustling streets tenantless save a few pairs of pattering feet whose business could not be delayed. For a time, the island of Toroa enjoyed a rare afternoon’s repose.
The stillness of the daylight hours suited Jude just fine. Seated languidly outside a small café called King’s Folly, he seemed wholly content. Yes, with his feet propped up on a flocculent cushion, a worn wooden instrument held tenderly in his lap and an cold drink sitting close beside, there were few places on the Blue Sea he would consider more comfortable. Thin fingers strummed lazily across rosin-laced strings, pausing at uneven intervals to adjust the tension of individual cords before continuing his placid lullaby.
A sudden, piercing scream broke the musician from his reverie. From his perch he could see children clustered around the water’s edge, staring out into the depths watchfully. It seemed that the town’s youth had been spared from the lethargic mood, and they had wisely chosen to spend this freedom cooling off in the ocean’s shallows. But that was not what had inspired the shrill wailing that had drawn his attention. A shadow of monstrous proportion was cast upon the surface of the water, long as most vessels and half as thick. It wriggled towards the kids, its body slithering back and forth as if it were the largest serpent to have ever drawn breath. However, as it drew close, it quickly became evident that the looming figure was not quite as threatening as its ominous countenance suggested. The shadow bumped headfirst into one of the poles supporting the pier, an act which sent a tremor through the wooden structure. Shaking its head in bewilderment, it took a few moments to collect itself before setting off in the opposite direction, only to impact itself against a waiting anchor. It quickly became evident that the vocalization they children had made was one of joy instead of fear, as they seemed to both simultaneously wince and chuckle every time the addled beast would crash into a stationary object.
When Murray finally did break the surface and deposit himself at the feet of the youngsters, his tongue lolling out like some form of oversized dog, they all squealed with delight. His whale-eel companion had been playing ‘fetch’ with the gang for almost an hour now: They would fling a stick as far as they could into the water, and he would attempt to retrieve it. However, in the span of time it took for him to dive after his target, the daft beast would promptly forget what he was supposed to be getting. So instead, he would simply grab the first interesting object he saw, and bring it back to his human friends. Pretty coral, old boots, bits of rusted metal, and even a box of lost cargo had so far been unearthed from the ocean floor. However in this instance, he had actually managed to bring back the very same stick that had been thrown. The children were almost disappointed at his success. Without wasting any time, one of the boys pried the branch from his mouth and tossed it back into the sea, prompting his slimy friend to leap off in pursuit. He could not help but chuckle at the fish’s enthusiasm.
Turning back to his own pursuits, he resumed his rehearsal. Being the establishment’s lone patron, he was not performing for the pleasure of others. In fact he hardly considered himself to be playing at all. The instrument in hand was an old lute, one he had acquired very near to the beginning of his so-called career. He had come to Toroa for the express purpose of retrieving it, among other things. Though his intense wanderlust prevented him from staying in one place for any true length of time, he had found that carrying everything one owned was particularly burdensome. To that end, Jude maintained a small property on this island, where he would store excess tools of his trade, along with his notes, photos, and other miscellaneous knick-knacks which struck his fancy. His usual fare when visiting was after exchanging items out of his pack and tidying up the place a bit, was to spend the rest of the afternoon sitting at this very restaurant, in this very chair. He enjoyed the view. And the company.
“Well don’t you look comfortable.” The owner commented, her voice filled with no small amount of amusement at seeing a full-grown man reclining on a sea of cushions. Mistress Veron was a handsome woman, trailing somewhere in her 60’s. Age had come to her gracefully, her dark braids streaked with lines of grey. A twice-widowed woman, she was a virtual font of life experience, and more than happy to share her brand of acerbic wisdom with the wool-headed townsfolk. In a world of tumultuous change, she seemed an ever-present facet of this community. “Thirsty, too. You’re going to make me go all the way down to the cellar to get more, aren’t you?”
Jude, as he did in most situations, attempted to smooth over her complaints with a bit of charm. He was well aware she was not the type to be so easily be manipulated, but then again, he never met a woman who objected to being complimented. So, he offered her a shrug and a simper. “What can I say? When one makes a drink of such exquisite taste, they should not be surprised to find that their loyal customers so thoroughly enjoy it. Were your spiced wine the centerpiece of every diplomatic congress, there would never be another war for as long as you lived.”
“Hmph. Honeyed words from the one who does not have to lift any barrels.” Despite what Veron had said, she was grinning just as readily as he was as she moved back into the café to fetch his brew, which left the elfish man back to his own devices. Tightening a string that crooned slightly off-key, he continued to play his absent-minded song. Yes, this was to be an excellent day indeed.