The Hamlet Streets

[rosallora]

"It's pay I seek for my service rendered: beautiful music by which to pass the time." She looks down on them a bit, mouth twisting into a less pleasant shape before returning to its usual, ruby smile. "I believe that this is an easy arrangement, artist. I will play music unlike any you have ever heard, and this will help the clock's hands move faster. And in addition to this map that you are making, you will draw my likeness. The unusual. Is it not good practice for artists to try their hand at things they have never seen before?"

She puts one leg out, the bass clef patch bright against the black of her shoe. "I have no doubt that I am a more exquisite specimen, then, than the usual. And I will tell you of what I know, as well. What I've learned, living in this wretched place."

[speakeroftruths]

"Well, if a sketch as payment is what you want, then I suppose I can make the time. There's little else to do whilst I'm in this place." They glance up, quickly, as the words escape both their mouth and their grasp. "Not that there's nothing worth doing here! I didn't mean to insult your home. I'm new here." 

Naturally, they completely miss the other insult that could be construed from their words. They hunker down and continue sketching, cheeks flushing a bit in embarrassment.

"I suppose that I'm glad your patron pays you well enough that you can offer your services for a sketch. It must be a rare treat for these folks."

[rosallora]

"Ha! This is not my home. No, no. My home," she says, pushing the keys in quick succession-

"The city of rives, of spires, of spirit and sin,
Come for the gold and you leave on a whim."

"Venice," she continues, letting his singing voice drop. "This sad little nowhere town isn't anything near a home. I don't think it's anyone's. No one but his." She gestures with rolled shoulder towards the statue in the background. "We make our money near all the same way here, but I've yet to be able to charge into it. Shame, that. I had something all lined up and then it fell through. Shame, shame." She turns the handle still, playing out some sordid, minor-key melody.

"You're green; greener than me. Soon you'll understand, artist."

[speakeroftruths]

Well that's odd.

"Is he the local lord then? I would have thought that someone in your profession would be making your way by playing noble courts, the parties of the wealthy. Certainly more appropriate for a Venetian than," They gesture vaguely at the thatch roofs and mud-stained cobbles, lifting their hand from their work as they do. Having stopped sketching for a moment and rummage around in their bags. A few heartbeats later, the eraser is found, and after a few quick scrubs, the pencil finds paper again. "If not by playing, then what is this common trade that all share?

[rosallora]

The woman stands at three-quarters view from them, tilting her chin up. She's going to be the perfect portrait. "Blood. He trades in blood." Her hand stills on the handle, gloved hand drifting over the casing. "All I hear are tales of slaying monsters and men. Driving out some infestation, either of sin or some deepseated something. I am here for something of my own, of course. But in order to break bread, you've got to have the dough to start with."

[speakeroftruths]

"Truer words have rarely been spoken, I suppose. Odd, though, that battle would be such a profitable profession. One would think that, after a while, foes to slay would run dry, infestations find other warrens to crawl out of. Why do you think that is, then, that there is combat enough to go around?"

They pause, regarding first the paper, then their subject, then back to the paper. With a sigh, they rip the page out of its binding, crumple it up into their bag, and then start anew.

[rosallora]

"He wants it taken care of. The man gets what he wants." She backs up a few steps and sits at the foot of the statue, posing herself there. One leg extended, the other half-bent, supporting the hurdy gurdy. "I have no idea how exactly it's such a profitable venture. But who knows. Maybe we're just shortsighted compared to him." She inclines her chin, tilting her head slightly to the side. "What is it, are you having trouble with my visage?"

[speakeroftruths]

"You might say that, yes. I'm more used to detailing symbols, objects. Portraits are beyond my experience, so expect no expert rendering."

They sight down their pencil at the ever-moving subject, and begin the second attempt in earnest. "Of course, what is more concerning to me is not the profitability of the venture, but whether or not there are truly enough dark forces around that a community can support itself on battling them alone. Why would anyone choose to live in such a place, where your life and livelihood depend on the efficacy of wandering mercenaries?"

[rosallora]

"Tales of music driving men mad made its way halfway across the continent. If the tales are anywhere near the truth, I don't have any worries. As for the people... they're crude peasants with stones in their boots, artist. What is it that's said... where the farmer lays down the crop, he'll lay down his head? We can't all be wandering capturers of countryside." Her unseen brow lifts, looking at their figure. "What else are they victim to - the weather, the passing of time, the seasons and their own degrees of harshness. It must fare well enough that they can reap what they sow, if they stay here. If the ground was terrible enough, there'd be no Hamlet to begin with."

She moves the handle to produce a drone, playing a new melody on the keys.

[speakeroftruths]

"Hmph. Though there may be some truth in that old saying, I think it belies a distinct lack of faith in the ability of humans to take great strides to better their own circumstances. I wonder, is it more depressing to think that they lack the ability to leave for greener pastures, or that they have the ability but choose to do nothing?"

They continue to scratch away at the drawing, not bothering to glance up at their subject more than once or twice for reference. The gum eraser dances about just as often as the charcoal makes marks, as though Andy were trying to capture something that continually evaded their grasp.

"Of course, one might also wonder why the lord of this region decided to settle somewhere so inhospitable to begin with. I had a hell of a time even finding the place, seeing as most people in the area knew directions by oral tradition rather than any useful landmark. It couldn't be for ore, for the signs of mining would be distinct. If it were for trade, then the blasted road here would at least have cobbles in disrepair rather than outright ruin. Any further east, and the hamlet would slip into the sea. What, then, could be the reason?"

[rosallora]

"There is a good settling for port here," she admits, glancing out at the distant sea. "But to be honest, kid, I don't know. It's not my job to know. Its my job to eventually get out there and make some money, and along the way, God willing, I'll get something that I want as well. Stop worrying about the intricacies. You'll talk yourself in circles, and drive yourself mad all on your own."

She can't help the smile that plays on her features, her eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Get rid of as much as you make,
Spend all the time that you fake
A purpose or pleasure
It's all in the whether
the path's one your willing to take."

She taps her fingers against the instrument after finishing the bar, playing out the melody again, and then again, altering a few of the notes with consideration. "Do you really need to understand everything? Isn't it fine just to understand enough?"

[speakeroftruths]

If only you knew.

Andy puts a few more lines to the page, and then nods, satisfied. Or at least as close to it as their amateur effort can take them. "Thinking you understand enough means that you don't, really. And that point of uncertainty has lead many to ruin. For example, I don't read music, so I can't really follow what tune your mask dictates, and if there is meaning behind it, it is lost on me. Nor do I really know you, or how truthful your account has been, or even your name for that matter. I know your mask, both the literal before me, and the metaphorical that you choose to put forward for a stranger. As such, I can only judge the mask, and might sorely embarrass myself were I to judge beyond that."

With that, they tear the page from their notebook's bindings, and cross the few paces between them to hand the minstrel a rough sketch of their own "face."

[rosallora]

She snatches the paper from him and examines it, her expression one of intense scrutiny. "It will do, I suppose." It's not as if she could wring some other visage from him. Aurora rolls her shoulders, playing an arpeggio. "The bounty board is where you'll find something to your liking, you know. Or more accurately, something that will earn you some coin. You'd best get to killing, greenhorn, or you'll go as broke as I am." She taps her head, as if she knew she was imparting some grand piece of information, and not what ever dullard in this godforsaken town knew.

"If you find something interesting, tell me. But only if you're reliable with a weapon. If you aren't, tsh... leave me out of it."

[speakeroftruths]

"Well, we all must pay our own ways in this world. I'm a fair shot with a crossbow, so who should I inquire after if I do find something 'interesting?' Or will simply asking after the minstrel in the mask point me in your direction?"

Andy returns to their seat, packing up their gear into the saddlebags and throwing their weapon's strap over their shoulder, giving the hunter's armament a meaningful tap as they look back at Aurora.

[rosallora]

"Aurora di Donato," she answers, regarding the artist, now hunter, with some measure of maybe-respect. "I'm sure if you look about the tavern or the barracks, you'll be able to find me there." She folds the paper with the portrait on it, making sure not to get any of the charcoal on her white gloves.

"Until then."