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Ashton sat on the hard, wooden chair, back to the wall, looking out at the tavern's center. Their legs were splayed and they had thrown an arm over the low back support. They felt a bit like a liquid as they slumped, the only thing keeping them in place was the rickety confines of the tavern seat.
Staring straight ahead, Ashton took in the tall, blue figure across the table. Dorian, unnaturally clean as always, stood intently tuning his lute. His black fading to white hair was falling about his shoulders like silk. Ashton was sure that their hair, even if it wasn't stuck in its perpetual, crystalline state, could never look so clean or orderly.
"Are you sure this is the appropriate place for an impromptu concert? I mean, there are other people around and . . ."
Dorian looked around the room as he spoke. Aston could see the nervousness in his eyes. A small smile started playing on their lips. This was going to be fucking great.
-
Fearne had been the instigator, as usual. She kept kindly badgering Dorian until he gave in with a sigh. Ashton could tell that the attention embarrassed Dorian a bit. Odd for a bard. Also odd because, from what little Ashton had heard, Dorian was quite good. If you liked that sort of thing . . . which Ashton totally fucking did. Not that they would admit that to anyone. But they got the sense that Dorian was not comfortable in the spotlight. Ashton couldn't blame him really. The idea of the whole crew staring at them in anticipation made their skin fucking crawl.
-
Suddenly, Ashton's mind was transported back to the streets of Bassuras. Before they had made their way to Jrusar, before the Nobodies, they had tried to survive by begging for scraps and copper. Neither were offered easily in Bassuras. They had known a few who had survived on their talents. Singing, dancing, divining fortunes, all required people to focus on the practitioner. This was not something Ashton always felt comfortable with. All eyes, all the attention, on them. They were lucky they found a crew, a fucking purpose, before it came to that.
-
Ashton shook their head to bring them back to the present. Dorian was just finishing tuning the lute and still looking around nervously. He grimaced.
"Oh, um . . . I still don’t think this is the best idea . . ."
A small hand reached up and patted Dorian's forearm. Orym smiled a little half-smile up at him.
"You'll do great."
"Oh . . . you really think so?"
Ashton could just make out Dorian's whispered question over the tavern's din.
Orym's face got serious again.
"I know so."
"Um, oh . . . okay. Here goes."
The music began and, as they remembered, it was good. A jaunty little tune. But, at the moment, it was not the music Ashton was focused on. It was Orym. The halfling was sitting back, staring up at Dorian with a look of content happiness. Ashton couldn’t think of another time they had seen Orym look this relaxed. Usually, he was pulled tighter than a fucking bow string. But now, with the melody floating around the table, Orym seemed at ease, smiling up at his friend.
-
Ashton's eyes scanned the rest of the table. Fresh Cut Grass was staring at Dorian with their head cocked to the side. Ashton wondered how their interpretations of music differed. Did FCG have an emotional response to the melody or were they appreciating the complex note patterns? Both?
Laudna had pulled out Pate and was having him dance on the table. She was in full concentration mode, her eyes locked on her little, deceased rat friend as she manipulated his arcane strings in time to the music. She was also giving voice to the creature from the side of her mouth.
"Oy - get it blue man!" was shouted at top volume in Pate's ruff, low voice.
Imogen, sitting next to Laudna, giggled a little at the dead rat's antics while tapping her fingers on the table to the beat. She looked back at Laudna and Ashton saw the same look they had seen from Orym. Relaxed contentment. Like everything would be alright as long as the other person was there, right beside them. Ashton wondered if they had ever looked at anyone like that. Not that they could fucking remember.
Chetney, the newest member of the crew, was looking back and forth between Laudna and Pate with a scowl. Ashton could tell the ancient gnome was confused as to why a dead rat with a bird skull head was cutting a rug on the table in front of him. Ashton fucking reveled in the revulsion and bewilderment on the old face.
Fearne was pressed into Orym's back, intermittently shouting words of encouragement and delight in Dorian's general direction. Her arms were up and her whole body was swaying back and forth, taking Orym's lithe form with her. Orym's smile widened at the manhandling, his body yielding to hers.
What a bunch of fucking weirdos . . . could be worse, I guess.
Ashton smiled to themself and looked out to the other tavern patrons. The tables closest to theirs were listening to the music, folks smiling or swaying to the rhythm. The rest of the place seemed indifferent to the sound. Conversations continued as though there was not a large, blue air genasi bard randomly playing a song in the tavern.
As fucking weird as this group was, it felt good to be a part of something again. To have a purpose, a ridiculous purpose, but a purpose none the less.
Ashton continued their scanning, eyes taking in everything around them. Their body relaxed, just a little, awaiting what came next.