Siora had been in the Hanged Man for a while, long enough now to grow accustomed to its peculiar rhythm. Earlier, the barkeep had insisted she take a room upstairs to rest for a bit. You look like you need it, he'd said, gesturing to the faint lines under her eyes. She hadn’t argued, grateful for the reprieve since she’d been tavern hopping to test how her music went down. By the time she came back to the main area, refreshed but still a little weary, the bar was even rowdier than before.
Sharp eyes swept the room, instinctively picking out familiar faces from her usual haunts, but one figure near the back caught her attention. Danny sat alone, his coat frayed at the edges and his posture radiating a mix of impatience and danger. She didn’t need to see the subtle drumming of his fingers to know he was growing more frustrated. Siora debated approaching him, but it was clear from his watchful gaze that he was expecting someone specific. Best not to interfere, not yet.
Instead, she let her lute slide into her hands, the familiar weight of it soothing. Making her way to the fireplace, she settled onto a stool and began to play, fingers moving instinctively over the strings. The first song was light, something to match the chaotic energy of the room, and the patrons responded with cheers and laughter.
But during her playing her voice faltered—just for a fraction of a second—when the door creaked open. Siora’s eyes flicked to the figure entering, and her stomach twisted. Him. The man who’d just walked in wasn’t a stranger. She remembered his face from a conversation she’d overheard in another tavern a few nights ago. He’d been speaking in hushed tones about a deal, something that had sounded shady even by Kirkwall’s standards. Now, here he was, striding toward Danny’s table with a confidence that set her on edge.
Her song shifted. Without missing a beat, she transitioned into one of her favorite ballads, a haunting tune about trust misplaced and deals gone awry. The melody hung in the air like a warning, subtle but deliberate. She didn’t know if Danny would catch on, but she had to warn him.
Sliding off the stool, Siora began to meander through the crowd, her lute still cradled against her. She kept singing, her voice light but firm, her words weaving the tale of betrayal and woe. With each step, she moved closer to Danny’s table, careful not to draw attention. She stopped occasionally to strum a flourish or share a smile with a patron, every motion calculated to keep her approach casual.
As she neared their table, her heart quickened. She tilted her head slightly, letting her long hair hide part of her face as her gaze flicked between Danny and the man across from him. The tension between them was palpable, and Siora knew she was walking a fine line. Still, if what she’d overheard before was true, Danny might be stepping into something dangerous.
She played on pausing to lean against a beam across from the table, her voice soft but laced with warning.
@Danny
Sharp eyes swept the room, instinctively picking out familiar faces from her usual haunts, but one figure near the back caught her attention. Danny sat alone, his coat frayed at the edges and his posture radiating a mix of impatience and danger. She didn’t need to see the subtle drumming of his fingers to know he was growing more frustrated. Siora debated approaching him, but it was clear from his watchful gaze that he was expecting someone specific. Best not to interfere, not yet.
Instead, she let her lute slide into her hands, the familiar weight of it soothing. Making her way to the fireplace, she settled onto a stool and began to play, fingers moving instinctively over the strings. The first song was light, something to match the chaotic energy of the room, and the patrons responded with cheers and laughter.
But during her playing her voice faltered—just for a fraction of a second—when the door creaked open. Siora’s eyes flicked to the figure entering, and her stomach twisted. Him. The man who’d just walked in wasn’t a stranger. She remembered his face from a conversation she’d overheard in another tavern a few nights ago. He’d been speaking in hushed tones about a deal, something that had sounded shady even by Kirkwall’s standards. Now, here he was, striding toward Danny’s table with a confidence that set her on edge.
Her song shifted. Without missing a beat, she transitioned into one of her favorite ballads, a haunting tune about trust misplaced and deals gone awry. The melody hung in the air like a warning, subtle but deliberate. She didn’t know if Danny would catch on, but she had to warn him.
Sliding off the stool, Siora began to meander through the crowd, her lute still cradled against her. She kept singing, her voice light but firm, her words weaving the tale of betrayal and woe. With each step, she moved closer to Danny’s table, careful not to draw attention. She stopped occasionally to strum a flourish or share a smile with a patron, every motion calculated to keep her approach casual.
As she neared their table, her heart quickened. She tilted her head slightly, letting her long hair hide part of her face as her gaze flicked between Danny and the man across from him. The tension between them was palpable, and Siora knew she was walking a fine line. Still, if what she’d overheard before was true, Danny might be stepping into something dangerous.
She played on pausing to lean against a beam across from the table, her voice soft but laced with warning.
Beware the smile that cuts like glass, the silver tongue that hides the snare. Trust is fragile, and shadows grow, where secrets whispered linger there.
@Danny
11-19-2024, 01:57 PM
