Yes, it's Thursday again...

[ravencallscrows]

Which means it's time for another bit of serialization of Melpomene's Daughter. I'd really appreciate some feedback if anyone's interested in seeing more of this, otherwise i'll assume general apathy and stop posting it here, which means you're all going to get hit with it when it's more complete. Anyway, ranting aside, here's the third section:

“Never expected it to be an easy seduction, did you? Just thought you'd take advantage of the gorgeous redhead, if you ever got together the nerve to talk to her, didn't you? Not that simple, eh? I wasn't born yesterday, you know.”

“I. . . well. I didn't mean to. . . that is, I don't even know why I stopped to wait for you. You're beautiful, and interesting and. . . ,” he floundered.

“How easily they crumble,” she said, half aloud. “I'm sorry. That really wasn't fair of me. First I enchant you, then I capture your fancies, then I tease you. I'm really not a nice person- it's the dark side within me. Give me another chance?”

With that she reached back out toward him, offering her hand again. Alexei hesitated for a moment, suddenly self-conscious, and then took it.

“Twenty-seven? I'd have guessed younger. You don't have much of an accent for being Irish and all. Any particular type of music? All sorts around here. Did I mention that you're beautiful? I'm babbling again, aren't I?”

“Ah, the accent. Always it comes back to that. I've been told for as long as I can remember that I've a lyrical ear. See, it's this one,” she grinned, flipping her hair back over her left shoulder. “The other one not so much, but apparently one's enough. Funny, they don't look all that different, other than being on both sides of my head and all.”

“Hmm. Both look rather similar. Almost elven, even. You're not an elf, are you? You seem to have the delicate bone structure that's usually associated with elves in the fantasy drawings.”

“Absolutely not. I'd be taller then. It's so hard to find elves less than, oh, five feet eight inches or so. At five-three I'm far too short to be an elf. I'm neither a brownie nor a sprite.” This was said rather matter-of-factly, as if it were an absolutely ordinary thing to discuss.

“Where are we going?”

“You'd ask a music lover? Shouldn't it be obvious- we're on Pike, heading toward the Market. It's far too early to catch anything at the Showbox, although it's across the street from where we're headed.”

“Sorry. Doesn't help me in the least. Guess I'm just not much to a tourist this close to home. I've heard of a bunch of things around, but haven't actually been to most of them.”

That shouldn't be a problem. I know of quite a few interesting spots. After we go look at the harps at Lark in the Morning, if you'd like, we can go see a few of them.”

“Harps? As in angels and puffy clouds?”

“Well, not quite. I'm actually looking for a clarsach, which is an Irish style lap harp. Besides, angels don't really exist. I don't know if they'll have one which calls to me, but I haven't looked in quite a while.”

“A non-existent angel? You're hoping a non-existent angel calls to you?”

“No, silly. A harp. Anyone can go out and buy a harp, but finding one which really has the right spirit to become part of the person who'll play it is a rather rare thing.”

“They require that much? I would have thought it was just a matter of buying one. Why is it so involved, Nimuë? Obviously there's more to it than I realize.”

“It's rather difficult to explain- it's almost something you have to experience for yourself- the concept of touching the spirit of an instrument. Unless you've grown up learning about it, it's nearly impossible to grasp.”

“Here,” she continued. “Let's just go there, and I'll show you. I think you'll understand a bit better that way than if I just try to explain it. Most men just aren't sensitive enough to quite get it, but I think you're one of the rare exceptions. After all, you did hear me calling to you before I even got out of my little chariot.”

With that, they continued down the street, past flower vendors who provided precious splashes of colour on that otherwise grey day, past the bronze pig, which now seemed to be snuffling rather contentedly in a pile of pumice, almost as if looking for volcanic truffles. The Market was, however, significantly quieter than usual- only about a quarter of the standard throng of shoppers were bustling about, and with ash flurries still drifting about here and there, the salmon and halibut which generally flew from the hands of the fishmongers now wrapped and handed across counters lest airborne contamination foul them.

In a few minutes, they were at Lark in the Morning, an incredibly densely packed cornucopia of things musical. The harps were displayed rather prominently. Nimuë turned to Alexei “See! There they are. Aren't they beautiful? Now to see if any of them have spirit which works with mine. Do you like traditional Gaelic songs?”

Stay tuned next week for what happened at Lark In The Morning.