thewidewideworld | (no subject)

{from here}

Sinric opens the door to his room, letting the wrap slip from his shoulder as he moves to fold it up. There's a little catch in his breathing and a happy sigh as he sets it down on his bed. "I go away for years and yet, I come back and nothing has changed. Even the scent."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

athelstanthescribe

"The place is good like that at times", he agrees, "though I could imagine it working the other way as well, for some."

From:

thewidewideworld

"To be gone a short time only to find everything has changed? Yes, I think that would be harder still." He runs his fingers over the silk bedspread, the spines of the books he left on his night stand. "I'm glad to be back. I feel... more real somehow, just for being here."

From:

athelstanthescribe

"Perhaps because here, people really know you", he suggests. "Your musician friends can hardly know you at all."

From:

thewidewideworld

"They know parts of me. The parts that show when I play. In music we often lay bare our souls. They know there is darkness in my past. And hope in my future but little more than that. They are good people who respect each other's secrets and have never pressed to know more of me than I'm willing to share. And that has been precious little. I don't think I would have stayed with them otherwise."

From:

athelstanthescribe

Athelstan nods.

"Nobody should ever be forced to tell more than they're willing to."

From:

thewidewideworld

"And they are not the types to ask." He runs his fingers over the harpsichord's polished surface, smiling with a touch of his old shine. "For them, truth is in the music. I could be a mute and I think they still would have embraced me for my song. It's rare to find people so... accepting."

From:

athelstanthescribe

"Is it rare in their country as well? Or is that just how they are there?"

From:

thewidewideworld

"It seems more common amongst the lower classes. They are none of them wealthy men, or of high stature but it does seem good musicians are respected all the same."

He starts to shed his accoutrement - an enameled comb from his hair, a gold bangle from one wrist, a jade ring. All stowed carefully in his little chest of treasures.

The pouch he takes of with care and deliberation, accustomed to being protective of it. After all, it is magic and hides his secret Milliways things. Feeling safe to set it aside, he tucks it protectively under his pillow.

From:

athelstanthescribe

Athelstan watches him.

"As it was in England. A good musician - or a good craftsman or doctor for that matter, but especially musicians - will find a welcome at any hearth."

From:

thewidewideworld

"So it is there. And these men are happy in their lot. They grumble like any for a few coins more but they find joy in their work."

He loosens the ties that hold his eastern style tunic closed around his waist. "Shall we retire to the bath?"

From:

athelstanthescribe

Athelstan leans against the desk to begin unfastening his own clothes.

"Good idea."

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric opens the door to the common space, pleased to find it just as it was before passing through to the bathroom.

"I have missed this." He confesses, slipping off his tunic and trousers before kneeling to run the water.

Old scars have faded but new ones have taken their places. There are a series of short, sharp lines in his shoulder that might be recognisable as writing of Japan but even those have begun to fade.

From:

athelstanthescribe

Athelstan follows him in and stops, eyes caught by the angular lines - clearly they mean something, even if he doesn't recognise them as writing.

"Is that like a tattoo? On your shoulder?"

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric reaches back to touch the angled scars. "It was meant as a mark of ownership of sorts. But the one who put it there realised the cruelty of what he had done and had a master of the art add more lines to change the meaning of the word. It reads as sun borne now."

From:

athelstanthescribe

"The man who wanted to keep you?" he guesses, because who else could it have been?

From:

thewidewideworld

"Yes." Sinric looks back down at the water, not meeting Athelstan's eye. "In the end we agreed on a year and a day but he wanted to make a point that I was his to do with as he pleased until that time ended."

From:

athelstanthescribe

"But he came to care for you?" he asks gently.

From:

thewidewideworld

"He did. He came to understand that pleasure shared was far more powerful than pleasure taken. He was... young when he took me but matured greatly in that year."

From:

athelstanthescribe

Athelstan nods.

"And you would know very well how to teach him his error."

From:

thewidewideworld

"To coax out the better qualities in him, yes. I can't say it was a pleasant experience but he will be a better leader to his people for it."

He adds a drop or two of scented oil and slips into the bath, letting the water swirl around him.

From:

athelstanthescribe

"At least you have the better memories from later in the year, as well."

He slides into the water in turn.

From:

thewidewideworld

"I can't say I ever grew to love him. Not truly. But his company became more welcome." Even if there were things Sinric could never forgive. Carving his name into Sinric's flesh being one of them.

From:

athelstanthescribe

"Better than nothing." He reaches to brush fingers over Sinric's shoulder. "And now you are sun-borne."

From:

thewidewideworld

The memory of pain is still disquieting but Athelstan's touch doesn't cause his skin to crawl as others might. He leans into the touch a little, glad to feel Athelstan's hands on him again.

"It was remade under the light of the dawn, on the closest most point man may come to the sun's birth. The first scar might have been terrible but the remaking was... a transcendent experience."