The Streets are Alive with the Sound of...

[fae]

Faeren

With summer soon ending and the colder seasons beginning, Faeren made her return from the mainland of Europe to Turas Lans. Not exactly her 'home,' but where she preferred to be in the less agreeable weather with her celtic heart sisters and good Scottish whisky to warm her.

Having returned just a few days ago with no caravan or half of the things she left with; really just trying to keep it simple. Not even her beloved Fell pony, Tuck, who may have been the only equine that did not try to bite or throw her off once. It was only her and My Sweet Romance. As it was and should always be.

Now, midday in the center of the capital city she claimed her place of preformance on a cobblestone street corner. Always her favorite place whether in Skye, France, Italy, or where ever in Europe. Normally she prefered a box or a crate to make her tiny five and three foot frame visible, but beggars can't be choosers.

So she stood beneath the cooling Scottish sun that set her red mane ablaze. Her violin case sat open at her feet, welcoming any generous tender in appreciation of her fine music and song. She stood as tall as she could with her beloved violin set on her shoulder and the bow poised above the strings held in her long and lithe fingers. Blue-green eyes searched amongst the crowd for a moment, a few slowing past her-but not yet stopping. Her eyes sparkled and tricked the corner of her mouth into a delicious smile; oh, they will stop.

She struck the strings abruptly and violently almost, sending a shrill note crying through the streets that demanded the people look her way. She waisted no time in pusuit of a lively and upbeat jig well known to the Gaelic peoples. First you most play by their taste, then throw something exotic in their face. That was the Celtic Gypsy's game plan. She hadn't played tunes like these in awhile, so she took as much delight as the listeners in letting her fingers move sporadically over the neck between dips and bobs and slurs of notes, her bow but a teetering and sliding stick of wood with horse hair that enchanted the slender instrument into the most betwitching and entrancing vibration of sound.

[Lady Liliana Campbell]

To be asked to attend a Masquerade by a handsome man made joy dance within Liliana's veins. Her heart had been filled with excitement and now she moved along the streets in search of goods to finish her outfit. An outfit to match the gifts given her by Kendrew and to keep his eye upon her throughout the night.

Moving down the street, basket on arm, her body swayed in the rhythym of the tune she hummed. Liliana could not help the smile upon her lips or the shine in her chocolate eyes- Kendrew had put it there the night in the garden and it refused to leave. It was as she was buying a lovely cloth from a vendor that the sound of music came to her ears.

Slim brow arching, Liliana finished her conversation with the vendor and coin passed to his hands as cloth passed to hers. Tucking it into her basket she moved down the street to see a lovely woman with hair the color of flame playing a violin. The sound coming from it made smiles curve lips and bodies sway. Children danced and giggled at their own antics.

Coin would leave Liliana's hand to fall into the violin case with a clink. Yet, she did not leave. Instead she could not help the way hips began to sway, the beige skirt she wore with white top swaying about her feet.

[fae]

A number of people had accumulated in the area the musician occupied, and that pleased Faeren as always. Her heart and pride swelled seeing her music spreading and infected her audience to move their feet, hips, or hands. And she could only respond with that charming smile of hers and play faster, stomping her booted foot on the crate she stood upon that made the small gold bells decorated in her outlandish attire chime in time to the tune.

It was when the tall, dark featured woman approached and began to dance as well that a different kind of smile pinched the corner of her mouth; she took a wild guess. Faeren was many things, and one of those was deceiving. She was a comfort to the Gaelic people as she had their pale features and that beloved, rare red locks. She catered to them by playing songs of the Celtic history and land, ones that were sung at their bedside, at their weddings, at war; their songs. Though she stuck out like a sore thumb in her colorful cut and designed garb, they generally trusted her. Whereas if she had the physical appearance like that of her familia they might initially be distrustful. She worked this to her advantage, though, in a most stealthy way.

She finished the Scott's jig and left it on a flat note. Raising the bow from the strings, she let her hand hang at her side, the tip of the bow pointing downwards. Relaxing her arm with the violin it, she pressed her lips together. Those green eyes ensconced in an azure sphere narrowed slightly, passing over the crowd gathered there; young and old, shoppers and street vendors, and even some nobles. But predominantly; they were Scottish. Or some sort of Celt. Skye was an intercepting Island of Celtic peoples it seemed. And now, apparently, of all heritages and peoples.

There was a small appraisal from the crowd when they saw she had finished the song, and she smiled politely and dipped her head in appreciation. Then raising her hand with the bow a moment to silence them before speaking, "A thousand thanks, good people o' Skye. Tha summar months 'ave bean long since I 'ave gone, but they 'ave been well. Vera well. I traveled tah many places, ye see, saw a many grand o'things an' met a many grand o'people. Now, if I may an' ye bea willin', sample a wee bit o'somethin' I learned on the way." She glanced to the dark featured woman who had approached and gave a wink.

Though it was broad day light in the market square, Faeren would quickly turn it into night. With all the dramatics of protocol, she brought her bow to meet the violin's strings and kissed a long, deep note from My Sweet Romance and followed into slow melody that enchanted as well as haunted. Velvet licked and trembling beneath her nimble fingertips it was undoubtedly a song that came from the belly of the Romani. It may sound like a tragedy on strings to those who knew no better, but really it was one of the most beautiful sounds in all of this small world. And those unfamiliar to it could only stand and stare and be mesmerized, but those who were knew how to move to the cryptic entrances of the Bardess and her violin.

[Lady Liliana Campbell]

The pause in music brought one as well to Liliana's steps. Standing still, chocolate eyes appraising the woman with the violin quietly, she listened with head canted to the side. Her words were meant to pull the audience into what was to come, to lure them to stay and listen, which brought the slight lift of one side of her mouth. Small hand would lift in a graceful movement to tuck a loose strand of ebony hair behind a delicate ear as the woman began to play once again.

Though Liliana had not been raised by her Gypsy mother or father, not even experienced much of the Romani nor learned much of them, something about it called to her. It seemed to sing to the blood that flowed through her veins. Sweetly tempting hips to sway and lids to flutter down against cheeks the color of copper. The hand that had earlier lifted to tuck hair behind an ear now did so to free ebony locks from the ribbon that restrained them.

It did not cause quick movements, but slow ones brought on by the haunting melody. Actions seemed drawn from the soul as the music brought about poignant childhood memories as Liliana danced and the violinist played.