Fiery Debut

Patrons idle, shift, and chat in the periphery, though as the young harpist’s performance suffuses the bar chatter snuffs itself out. The harp leans on Carmen like an old friend. An internal sigh of relief; only one song this set. Half lidded eyes watch deft fingers pluck the well-practiced ditty. Muscle memory has spared Carmen much practice after the caravan travel. However, the ruthless tickle in their throat reminds how recently they’ve arrived.
His gaze drifts over various patrons, unsurprisingly enraptured-- though some by the theatrics more so than the music. A satin kimono in meadow earth tones drinks up the stage light while it seems to refract and shimmer where Carmen painted her body. As different as they might look from the common Mythrite entertainer, however, Carmen knows they sound just as different.
Their arms float to a rest, and then stand for a bow. As the clapping recedes, Carmen offers out her hand to the patrons: “For this next song I ask for a muse.”
Carmen’s gaze caught the uncertainty flashing across various patrons’ faces. This was also the first time they’d heard their voice. Her trained composition did not falter, and landed on an older gentleman approaching the stage. His face further wrinkles in a shy smile.
“Here is wonderful.” Carmen had him seated on the other side of the harp, basking in the stage light, but still able to see Carmen through the harp strings. A bit of lamp light flickers in Carmen’s brown eyes, matching the patrons eyes with a playful raised eyebrow. “What are you waiting for?”
The patron’s eyes widen, and he begins to stammer. “I.. I..”
“Listen to me, my muse. What… are… you… waiting… for…?” Each word drifts from Carmen’s lips like petals to the wind. The patron clears his throat as Carmen resets his poise.
“Spring.”
Carmen, without hesitation, draws her arms back to manipulate the shortest harp strings, emulating songbirds and their warbles. His hands dance, chasing each other from string to string, tumbling into wonderland with the sounds of starfall and rebirth. This is a primeval song composed by nature Herself.
Her playing slows, until it’s just occasional chirps. Their eyes follow the gaunt lines of her muse’s face into scraggly beard hair. Carmen’s eyes narrow with understanding. Daring and elegant with a subtle shift of weight, she gestures with her knee to the muse’s pocket. Warbles and songbirds morph to jingles of coin purses.
“What does Spring bring for you, my muse?”
The muse’s eyes take a second to refocus before meeting Carmen’s. “Business.”
With a wide smile and sweeping gesture, Carmen beams, “Now isn’t that something everyone can understand.” And with that, they launch into an up-tempo piece close to an evergreen classic-- different key and slightly different melody, who’s to notice. Many thump their cups or give their “heys” and “hos,” to a hardly improvised tune with the feeling of a bustling day in town.
No spell of reverie needing to be broken this time, applause is readily offered after a few more minutes of prompting and improvisation. She looked over to Gabrielle Tryssee giving her a thumbs up, content and engaged from behind the bar and a sizable mug. One more song left to solidify that good impression. Carmen takes a healthy sip of water.
Cinn’mon rolls and cobblestone The ever present rain Where genius bides And ships collide And master smiles in feign
Suddenly they’re in Waterdeep, transported to the flood smells textures and sounds. Waterdeep’s business rumbles deeper than Mythrite, in darker, exciting thrills. The harp loops and embellishes on the decided melody as she absently croons her musings.
What’s best about Waterdeep is what you can’t see. Splash amidst merchants, their wiles while at sea…
Carmen croons on top of a dorian scale. Our perspective shifts from looking up at Mythrite’s utter size to hanging out in a back alley. Step inside to breathe the air of legends and lounge smoke; feel velvet and lathander’s red slip between your fingertips; tip your boot in soot at all the flames of ambition you find yourself amidst. This is Waterdeep music, as Carmen tells it: carnivorous and kaleidoscopic.
Carmen bounds to an eventual finish after a marathon of fiery performance. Their chest stings with suppressing the heaving and masking the hoarse breaths. Silence sits perfect in the air, echoes of waterdeep still ringing off the corners. Like skipping a rock on the still lake, a clap breaks the effect. Thundering applause erupts.
Rising from her seat, Carmen’s arms reach out like wings. The kimono is shed to reveal a sleeveless dress in a twilight gradient of blue to purple, flecked with stars. Her arms are decorated with griffins and flames. She bends into a deep bow, and is showered in applause.
The patrons cheer with the volume of three full crowds, calling for encore and encore. He hides wince behind his smile, swallowing through the lump in his ravaged throat. Clear as sun in Carmen's mind:
“Hello, Mythrite. You're mine.”