Chapter Text
Sparrow Gaudy would be effortlessly described as a stranger in a strange land if the common folk didn't know any better. As if the man were a rare gemstone among carbon stones, he stood out like no other. In spite of his extravagance and an unusual approach to liberal arts, the artist gained a decent crowd of devoted admirers who followed his steps with lovingly staring eyes during every stage show.
Nevertheless, that broadcast of devotion wasn't enough. As desire crept onto him one night, he swore to himself to seek out more—more applause, more money, more influence, and much more approval.
He wouldn’t fathom anything less. After all, is such a strong will to be recognized truly a sign of wrongdoing? One might throw a stone if they dared. To commit an atrocity of that sort could be deemed inadequate, given one's humility and basic human tendencies.
So, on account of both psychology and, more importantly perhaps, sociology, Sparrow felt forgiven. No amount of prayer could have blessed him with that—but it sure brought some pleasant sensations; to talk, to write about any gods—known or unknown.
However, an artist of his nature and expertise knew that it couldn't all just be gifted—no, it had to be earned.
The question still remained: how was one to achieve that?
Obviously, when life gives you lemons, you ought to make lemonade, but what shall one do when there are no opportunities to be taken? Luckily, this was just about to change as Sparrow came to witness one lovely presence in the local tavern…
"What do you mean she's gone?"
"Gone with the wind, ay! Our Lucy disappeared!"
"What do you mean 'gone'?" one of the fellow drunkards repeated in a high note, almost falling onto the poor blonde girl he was talking to. "She ain't singing songs no more?" he hiccupped, his eyes lit as if he were about to swallow a sight completely before him.
"I'm afraid so. Now get off, stop staring!" The girl frowned and turned on her heel in a second, only to come onto a small stage.
"Heard that, y'all!?" Another voice came from afar. "Songbird's dead!"
"Not dead! She's not dead!" Maud apparently couldn't hold it together any longer and cried out from the stage. "She..." The singer hesitated for a moment. "She went away."
"What do you mean, 'away'?" someone's slurred tone in the crowd kept insisting.
"She flew. Like a bird that she was after all."
The people in the Hob fell silent.
"But not to worry, friends!" The little girl's voice grew more confident with each syllable. "We are still able to perform and entertain you well, no matter the storm, any turbulence, or broken hearts!" Her squeaky voice suddenly cracked. "We will sing for you, if you have us, do you not?!" she roared enthusiastically as her colorful dress shone in the light from behind.
And just like that, the performance began. Sparrow couldn't focus on it, however; his thoughts raced in his head. Here it was: a sneak peek of true inspiration for a hungry artist to catch. A history for him to reach out for.
"I can be remembered for generations if I get even a glimpse of this!" he thought.
A lost bard, never to be heard of, probably would make quite the plot—no doubt about that. The trick was to get the whole picture properly and draw a rather convincing image in the end. Enhance the public. Become a legend, gain many things.
Naturally, he had to help Fate slightly.
So the first step was to approach the Covey and create a perfect situation, a scenario to benefit from. Charm his way in, play their hearts’ strings, get the whole testimony, and be done with it! The artist knew it had to be convincing enough for the group to pour every little detail out. A little frown here, a couple of tears decorating a visage there—oh, poor Lucy Gray! What had happened to you?
“It must be horrible, truly,” he admitted to Maud soon after the Covey finished the show. Even though the man kept his distance, as if he didn’t want to scare them all off, he could sense a strong flowery scent coming off her.
Strange. The band didn’t have much money, especially to afford any perfume lasting that long; one could sell their arm and leg for stuff like that around here for sure.
“It truly is, my friend.” Maud tried to hide a sniff and look confident with a watery gaze.
“As a fellow fan, however—” Sparrow leaned in slightly, focusing the look of his dark eyes directly on her. “I may need to ask…” He dropped his tone nearly to a whisper, just like the corners of his cracked lips. “You don’t have to answer if you prefer not to, of course, my friend!” he reassured abruptly—a honeyed lie, he knew that well. “I want to know, how did it happen?”
“Creative differences,” the blonde one answered quickly.
He could spot a lie in a second. And that meant it was time to pretend more.
“How so?” he acted surprised. Let’s see how long the girl is going to keep up with this nonsense.
“There was a dispute among us, just like in every other family, you know,” she added. “And Lucy Gray made a decision to flee to another district for a time. To look for inspiration. Perhaps to bring some of it to us,” the girl babbled.
“I see.” Sparrow obviously didn’t feel convinced at all. “So what are you going to—”
“That’s a lie, and you know it!”
A young willowy woman came up to them from behind, visibly upset. It was obvious at a glance that she was unwell; she resembled a child of Grim, standing resolutely as if she were soaking in the dim glow of a waning lamp, with a scowl on her face. The evident eye bags matched well with her ankle-length dark blue dress and messy hair, giving the whole appearance an apparent contrast to her visage, which was as white as chalk.
“Barb, come on now…” Maud looked distressed.
“T’was the ‘Now guy!” Barb Azure slurred slightly, showing annoyance. “You goddamn know it!”
“Barb, get backstage and drink some water, will you?”
“Ain’t no you…” the dark-haired woman pointed her long finger at Maud Ivory. “‘ellin’ me, mee!” she stressed. “What to do! I am my own person! And so was Lucy Gray! Before that…”
“Barb, please!”
“What are you two talking about?” Sparrow couldn’t contain himself anymore while watching the display before him. “What Now guy?”
“I said ‘Now!’” Barb clenched her jaw, clearly exasperated.
“She means Snow,” Maud sighed quietly. “Coriolanus Snow.”
“Never heard of—” the bard tried to recall the name.
“Lucky!” Barb laughed ironically. “He’s a snake!” She spat on the floor. “He clearly did somethin’ to our girl!”
“Lucy told us she had to leave before the next dawn, and then we never saw her again,” Maud explained in a tired voice.
“So she’s nowhere to be found?”
And there it was—another foolish question, which could easily make matters worse for Gaudy. If only he had learned to shut up at the right time. Evidently, for some, the unique time when they don’t say anything is when they are filling their mouths with food.
Barb resembled a porcelain doll about to shatter into pieces. Her eyes got even more watery, her jaw shook slightly, and a single tear fell down her cheek.
“Nooooo!” she cried desperately.
“I think that’s all for now, fellow art lover!” the blonde girl smiled falsely at him, attempting to get both herself and Barb Azure out of there. “See you at the next show!” She took her friend’s hand and left abruptly, trying to disappear into the remnants of the crowd.
A doubt, however, still lingered in the air: what had happened to Lucy Gray?
***