Music Is Magic
For Mike
Music is Magic
He didn't belong to a sorcerer's guild nor did he parade around town with a wooden staff with engraved stars, robes of twilight hours, a long beard (just a six o'clock shadow some days), or any other sorcerous objects; but he did have magic, quite potent magic actually. Still, half the time you could not pick him out of a crowd. The other half you may notice the large carrying case at his feet or slung across him back, or the way he always has a faraway look in his eye, as if he's only partially aware of reality.
At the moment, he seemed more interested in the mug in his hand than whatever was going on his head. Other patrons formed clusters around the pub or slumped under the weight of their loneliness on a bar stool; but he was sitting at a table for two, back to the wall, as he keenly watches the foam veer from one side of his mug with a sharp movement of his wrist. People in the bar ignore him for the most part, though if they were asked why they would have no explanation.
He did not actually hear the door to the pub open, but he felt something that made him look up. The woman who entered would have stood out as much as he did if she wore something more stylish, but the comfortable-looking clothes were too mannish to go unnoticed. She does not seem to notice the stares as she walks over to his table, her boots barely making a noise against the floor despite their sturdiness. "I thought we were meeting tomorrow," she said, sitting down and dropped her shoulder-bag to the floor. "I pushed things along on my way or I would've been late." She rolled her shoulder, listening to small cracks with a smile. "You wanna start now?"
"Sure." He nodded, opening the guitar case. Long callused fingers plucked at a few strings, listening to the barely audible sound in the hubbub of the pub. A couple people noticed the guitar and sneered, gesturing to the bartender. Musical instruments were prohibited in public places without an approval from his Lordship... and the two travelers were hardly the type to get that kind of paperwork through to Manor House. The bartender nodded, and called the pair of bouncers to him. "You're up Steph."
"I know hun." She smirked for a moment before turning to the three approaching men, an innocent look on her face. Mike's magic was only evident through music, but her's was a little more direct. "Hello boys," she rose to her feet, leaning against the stiff back of her wooden chair, "my friend Mike would like to play a song for your enjoyment."
"Do you have Lord Verani's permission?" The bartender asked courteously, just in case.
"Music needs no lord's permission." She declared, placing a hand over the bartender's heart. "Music is part of your soul... you listen to a beat every moment of your life after all." Her words, though they went against everything the men in the bar were ever taught, rang true. Her power filled the bar, weaving doubt in their minds and threads of concealment around the pub itself (just enough to cause disinterest to any future patrons). The men in the bar were confused, but the woman's magic kept them in their seats and open to suggestion. "Why don't you let my friend play you a song, and then you can decide if the ban on music is acceptable. If you choose against it, there are others who feel the same."
The bartender opened his mouth but then a soft melody snuck through the air and into his consciousness, something so sweet that he couldn't help but allow it to continue. The woman smiled, taking her seat once again as her friend's music became louder and more powerful. It wasn't just his skill at the guitar, or the care given to the instrument, it was the man's magic that pulled them all in... reminding them of nights below the moon where the only thing worth living for was music. The beat became sharper and more violent, fighting the repression around it with the raw emotion of the subconscious. Finally, it trailed off a little, gentle acceptance and pride merging into a powerful force. Some of the patrons were crying, she noted with amusement.
As the last note trailed off, she wove a spell of unremarkability (a more effective invisibility in her eyes). They left before the men in the pub recovered their wits enough to ask questions. They had all the knowledge they needed after all.
Music is Magic
He didn't belong to a sorcerer's guild nor did he parade around town with a wooden staff with engraved stars, robes of twilight hours, a long beard (just a six o'clock shadow some days), or any other sorcerous objects; but he did have magic, quite potent magic actually. Still, half the time you could not pick him out of a crowd. The other half you may notice the large carrying case at his feet or slung across him back, or the way he always has a faraway look in his eye, as if he's only partially aware of reality.
At the moment, he seemed more interested in the mug in his hand than whatever was going on his head. Other patrons formed clusters around the pub or slumped under the weight of their loneliness on a bar stool; but he was sitting at a table for two, back to the wall, as he keenly watches the foam veer from one side of his mug with a sharp movement of his wrist. People in the bar ignore him for the most part, though if they were asked why they would have no explanation.
He did not actually hear the door to the pub open, but he felt something that made him look up. The woman who entered would have stood out as much as he did if she wore something more stylish, but the comfortable-looking clothes were too mannish to go unnoticed. She does not seem to notice the stares as she walks over to his table, her boots barely making a noise against the floor despite their sturdiness. "I thought we were meeting tomorrow," she said, sitting down and dropped her shoulder-bag to the floor. "I pushed things along on my way or I would've been late." She rolled her shoulder, listening to small cracks with a smile. "You wanna start now?"
"Sure." He nodded, opening the guitar case. Long callused fingers plucked at a few strings, listening to the barely audible sound in the hubbub of the pub. A couple people noticed the guitar and sneered, gesturing to the bartender. Musical instruments were prohibited in public places without an approval from his Lordship... and the two travelers were hardly the type to get that kind of paperwork through to Manor House. The bartender nodded, and called the pair of bouncers to him. "You're up Steph."
"I know hun." She smirked for a moment before turning to the three approaching men, an innocent look on her face. Mike's magic was only evident through music, but her's was a little more direct. "Hello boys," she rose to her feet, leaning against the stiff back of her wooden chair, "my friend Mike would like to play a song for your enjoyment."
"Do you have Lord Verani's permission?" The bartender asked courteously, just in case.
"Music needs no lord's permission." She declared, placing a hand over the bartender's heart. "Music is part of your soul... you listen to a beat every moment of your life after all." Her words, though they went against everything the men in the bar were ever taught, rang true. Her power filled the bar, weaving doubt in their minds and threads of concealment around the pub itself (just enough to cause disinterest to any future patrons). The men in the bar were confused, but the woman's magic kept them in their seats and open to suggestion. "Why don't you let my friend play you a song, and then you can decide if the ban on music is acceptable. If you choose against it, there are others who feel the same."
The bartender opened his mouth but then a soft melody snuck through the air and into his consciousness, something so sweet that he couldn't help but allow it to continue. The woman smiled, taking her seat once again as her friend's music became louder and more powerful. It wasn't just his skill at the guitar, or the care given to the instrument, it was the man's magic that pulled them all in... reminding them of nights below the moon where the only thing worth living for was music. The beat became sharper and more violent, fighting the repression around it with the raw emotion of the subconscious. Finally, it trailed off a little, gentle acceptance and pride merging into a powerful force. Some of the patrons were crying, she noted with amusement.
As the last note trailed off, she wove a spell of unremarkability (a more effective invisibility in her eyes). They left before the men in the pub recovered their wits enough to ask questions. They had all the knowledge they needed after all.