The Tavern

[hopper]

She was silent for a moment, and her breath returned to her in a rush as she hand't realized it but she'd held her breath almost since the song started. With a heavy sigh, she returned to her seat, albeit scooting away from the man some.
"What was 'at?"
She asked, as if the man had just pulled out a venomous snake and demanded she give it a kiss. She was no longer quite so sure she wanted this man after all, he was too...mercurial, literally seeming to be of two minds in a way that Wynne couldn't accept. She wasn't used to such stark inconsistency, even the circus had a certain circadian rhythm to it, that even though it was chaotic it was consistently so. And more importantly, it was more routine in its moods. Admittedly the feeling of wonder and cheer was almost painfully forced but it was what she knew, that people always smiled or at least didn't frown, rarely had she ever seen anyone cry, at least outside of an act, and those she did see were almost always children. She hadn't even cried when the circus burned away, she wasn't entirely certain she knew how anymore...All of these thoughts brushed oddly through her brain and she swallowed hard, trying to bury the ideas before they could spread like vermin.

[Kidney]

He looked up at her, eyes puffy, staining the mask. He grabbed it, turning it to the half mask. His burned face unveiled for a second time, and now he sat near her again. "A man's past is dangerous to his fragile future. All I have is the song, the ode to my past, the one I barely remember." 
He reached beneath his chestpiece, pulling forth a letter, sealed with wax once, now looking as if it had been opened many times. He held it for a moment, setting it on the wood. "You're good at singing, don't sing my songs. Sing happiness, not my life."

[hopper]

"R-Right. I didn't plan to."
She admitted more bluntly then was perhaps appropriate. Half of her wanted to flee, to burst out the door to the tavern and find somewhere else to be, wandering among the stoops in the residential area or gambling in the back alleys or somewhere tucked deep back in the woods where the field mice and squirrels would be her audience and the crickets her chorus as she played merry tunes that would lift her spirit rather than trampling it as this man had. But she'd seen his eyes, his face, she'd seen the whole of it now sooner than she was expecting or necessarily wanted to, but she found it beautiful anyways. Beautiful like a dead deer or the last leaves clinging to a branch or a smoldering circus tent. Something tragic that stuck her as sharp and desperately real. She wanted to make it smile though, to see the eyes twinkle with liveliness at a quip or shine with brilliance at the height of a song. She didn't know what to do so she did nothing, squirming uncomfortably in her chair.
"My name's Winifred, by the way. In case you wanted to know."

[Kidney]

His face softened a bit, the porcelain shining in the torchlight. "H-Hugo. Hugo Smonk." He raised his hand to his face, rubbing it for a second before raising his chin, "The last of the Smonk family line." He looked at her again, reaching and grabbing the letter, "The last of the smoke giants." 
He held it out to her, "Read this, only once." His hands were shaking, and he set it before her, "I think, it's what Hugo wrote before he picked up his wife's lute, and learned to play."
His mind was cluttered, and now he covered his face, he felt like crying, he felt like playing a song. He felt like bringing the hammer to his head, but now, it was up to her and her mind. 

[hopper]

She squinted at the words, mind churning as she struggled through the text. She could read music, happy, dancing music. Music, that which made her world bright and gave her God pleasure, that which made men smile and clap their hands. She could barely read this, this confession? This memorandum? This...thing. She dropped it back to the bar mostly unread and shook her head slowly.
"I-I can't read it. Not all of it."
She admitted a little shamefully, for the first time in her life she felt bad for who she was. With a shaky breath she waved her hand to the letter, a dismissive motion or maybe one to continue, she herself could hardly tell. Words weren't meant for this though, she was certain, this twisted them, distorted them. Music. Music was what words were for and all the rest was filler, it was an idea she'd held since she could play, and it was one she now clung to. Around her the tavern continued its normal busy hum and it was a thing she took solace in, that this man's desitution of spirit had not cluttered the rest of this place, that should she want she could bring it stomping and clapping once more. Part of her urged that course, that she forget this strange, sad little man and do what she was made to, but Winifred fought it back fiercely, reasoning that the man was a challenge from Jack, to bring the clown into the Smiling God's light.

[Kidney]

Hugo brought himself to take the letter back, he placed it back in the envelope and back to above his heart. "I had forgotten that story, I haven't read it since Hugo wrote it." He brought his lute to his lap, plucking some high strings, "I'm sorry I pressured you into attempting to read it, it's heavy from what I remember."  He plucked more, bringing a melodious sound to the area. "His name was Robin." He brought the strings low, "I remember him. He had my nose, my hands, and my hair. But he had her eyes, blue as the spring sky."
"My son, he was so beautiful. He was my own, the only thing I remember. He was my son. My only son."
"I loved him, I loved him more than any god, any luxury I could find."
He fished his pick from his glove, bringing it across the strings, a chord from low to high. "My boy."

[hopper]

How could she possibly respond to that? She'd never loved anything that much, she could hear it in his voice. She loved her god, she loved her instrument and she loved good drink and good humour, but it wasn't the same thing. Like trying to describe colour to the blind. She swallowed again, flexing her fingers and letting what remained of the roll drop to the bar.
"O-Oh. I'm...sorry?"
She didn't even know what to say, she wasn't built for this, nothing she'd ever done had prepared her for this. Face her with a screaming audience, even with an angry one, give her rings of fire or a tightrope to cross, those were obstacles she could clear, but this sort of emotional dialogue was all but beyond her.
"He sounds, nice."
She mumbled a little awkwardly, more uncomfortable than she could remember being in a very long time. She'd stumbled face first into a thing which seemed to her disquiet and unnatural, like some foreign beast, oen no man had a name for but all men knew. All save her, swaddled in her tents and her sword-swallowers and her clowns and her lion tamers with their whips.

[Kidney]

The tears came again, and slowly, Hugo's shaking hand pulled the mask of tragedy over his face. The twine string held the lute to his body as he let it go, sliding to his side as he let his head crane back. His shoulders heaved once, and he bent forward and put his hands on the porcelain. He heaved again, and his eyes were wide under his hands, "Where's Robin, Winifred? Where did he go?"
He brought his head up, tears streaming down, and sniffed. "I hope he is peaceful now. He deserved it for dealing with me so long."

[hopper]

She stared at the man, a look of utter consternation on her face as she watched him lose his cool. Another old scene came unbidden to her mind, the day the strongman's wife had died of consumption. He'd cried for hours, kneeling by the spot in the field where they'd buried her, they all came out to the rather slapdash funeral, a procession of clowns and acrobats and outcasts in whatever 'regular' clothing was on hand, some had none and so marched in their parti-coloured tights and their ruffled shirts. Long wavy lines of strangers weaving through the hillocks and fields of the island, a sight that could almost be funny were the occasion not so grim. She could remember the ring leader holding her hand tight as they walked, his furry face downcast, a few tears leaking from his eyes and running down his ruddy face. He wore a plain suit with a dark tie, he looked so...different from his normal jovial self. He'd dressed her in a plain dress with buckled shoes and woolen grey socks, when she inspected herself in the lone mirror in the ring leader's office she looked as if she'd been reborn in muted tones, it was a sight she prayed she'd never seen again. The body was interred slowly and with care, as if handling precious china, and when it was done a few people prayed but Winifred had never known any holy words and so stood silent, trying to process the glum scene. In the present her mouth gaped soundlessly for a few seconds before shutting.

[Kidney]

Hugo wiped his eyes, shifting the mask back to the halfmask, his voice returning to normal now. "I'm sorry to have troubled you with my emotions for so long. Perhaps, I should go to bed. It is late, and my body is as tired as my emotions."
He looked now, a smirk developing on his face, "Perhaps you should captivate them for me, I have brought only sadness at this point in the night." He reached over, but pulled his hand back. "You're good, a good dancer too." 
If I can someday, perhaps I will read that letter to you.
He realized he didn't say it, and now he looked down, a little confused at himself. He looked up again, quickly slipping his pick into his glove and fluffing his collar. He got up, slinging his lute across his shoulders and walking towards the door. "I will be just over the bridge over the stream, I prefer to sleep under the stars."
He wasn't gone yet, but he had taken a few steps towards the door.

[hopper]

She was pulled from her reverie, snapping back to the current moment so quickly that it left her vaguely disoriented. She sped her mind through processing what the man had said and blurted out a response without taking a second to parse it.
"Wait! Wait, could I, maybe I could come with you? I never really slept indoors either..."
For the moment after she spoke, she could hardly believe she'd even said what she had. What was she doing? She'd never turned down an opportunity to perform, certainly not just so she could pine after some degraded stranger. But she couldn't exactly take it back now...
"I'm a little run-down from the traveling here."
She explained a little lamely, hoping that it sounded more convincing to the man than it did to her. She'd normally opt to claim a spot in front of the fireplace which crackled near the other end of the room but suddenly she wasn't quite as attracted to the idea as she usually would. Her brain ticked through a list of justification, if not for herself than what was almost certainly a confused Jack, but each one sounded hollowed than the last.

[Kidney]

Hugo's face admittedly grew red immediately. She doesn't want to fuck you you pig. He cringed at his own self-criticism,  and nodded quickly. He turned back toward her, "That sounds agreeable, but I didn't bring two bedrolls." He seemed distressed by this fact, and his hands were already shaking. "I uh, didn't have a place to sleep for a while. After uh, the letter." He seemed anxious now, and the shaking caused his footbells to ring quietly. "You just have to help me put leaves under ya, it's a great cushion and makes you warm" 
He smiled now, his shaking ceasing, "Unless, you know, you want me to do by myself, which I can do, by the by."

[hopper]

"It's fine, I'm comfortable anywhere really."
She responded quickly, anxious to soothe the man's mood lest he begin weeping once more. Standing from her seat, she glanced back at the heap of crumbs that was once a half-eaten bread roll and scooped them up quickly, pushing the mess into her mouth before following after the man. If one lesson in practicality had stuck with her from her times traveling, it's that food was an exceeding valuable and pleasing commodity and one she'd never refuse. Better to horde now and eat later than scrabble and scurry after discarded scraps like a dog as she'd had in her youth. Sibling love abruptly ended where starvation began in her house and thievery and force were the law when it came to food, and more than a few nights were spent picking at crumbs stuck in the floorboards.

[black379]

Courcy lay in silence for some time. She felt oddly solitary, though another girl rested beside her. The room seemed oddly quiet, though muted music and chatter pervaded the halls from down the stairs. It was her first moment, in a long time, to really think on her 'glimmer', as Tilly called it.
The point-nosed rogue was her closest friend, urging her toward some unattainable contentedness. Blood seemed to care for her, if only as much as he cared for any woman. Yet they had both gone, she didn't know where. She hugged her arms tightly to herself, as if to never lose her memories of comfort. But Lavinia hated her. And Fenrik was killed.
To anyone else, she was a wretch to be avoided. Or perhaps even a stunt to try on - to dare survive the devil's doxy.

Her thoughts dulled and she fell unconscious. Still Courcy rolled without ever quite settling in the bed.

[Kidney]

Hugo pulled his mask to the side, to the mask of comedy as he laughed a little, watching this woman scoop crumbs. "You know, I should probably split my ration with you. You seem to be pulling everything you can." He smirked behind the mask, the mood brightening as he realized he would be sleeping beneath the stars comfortably with someone he trusted. He wanted to, at least. He turned and opened the door, walking out and towards the spot he chose. 

Hugo to the Hamlet Streets