RP:A Lesson in a Great Many Things

Large Inn

Raphaline had stumbled her way to this Inn after her drinking and friend making at the bar down the road. Yes, she had a room upstairs to claim as her own, free of charge, but, at this hour of the night she was more enthralled to relieve herself of a bit of her magic. The mix of liquor (and she had a few too many) and the emotional stimulus that came with delving into her magic and not releasing it, had caused her palms to itch and her skin to crawl. So in the quite hours of the night, she had settled herself at the piano, another glass set on the top edge of the piano as she indulged in her hedonism and love of music. The tune that came to light was quick pace at first, adventurous. The notes rushed by with the sounds of swords clashing, but then the notes slowed down to an enchanting waltz. Two people, dancing across time. She closed her eyes and began to sway as her hands moved over each key. Quietly, she hummed to herself before halting her song and reaching for her glass. The vodka burned a path down her throat and as it settled in her stomach, she shivered. "Getcha act together Raph." She muttered to herself as she eyed a few of the finely dressed ladies who had returned. A few threw her an inviting glance, but she was not much for returning it--at least not yet. Instead, she ran her fingers over the keys again, and began to play once more.

Samwell entered the inn with an easier gait than the previous patron, a nonchalant skip in his step as he greeted the kindly inn keeper with a slight incline of his head. Sam slowed to remove his scarf from around his neck, it was much too warm for such attire at this time as he searched his way to the bar, placing a few coins before the large manager of the inn. Items were exchanged and Sam walked his way over to Raphaline with a glass of scotch set comfortably in his palm. Dragging a chair with him he placed it before him, the back of the chair facing her, using it's wooden frame to place his elbows on, leaning closer to the piano and its sole occupant. A tentative sip, a slight burn as the alcohol sidled it's way down his throat, then words. "My Lady, Raphaline. It appears as if you have had quite a lot to drink this night. Pursuing you to this inn wasn't hard, your uneasy tottering steps were not hastened by any means." A smile plays gently on his lips, tugging at the corner of his mouth as he returns to sip his drink. "A lovely piece," He murmurs, gesturing towards the piano with his free hand, "What do you call it?"

Raphaline chuckles half heartedly under her breath, before she tilts her head to the side and rests those emerald eyes on the boyo. "Ah Sam, always with the formalities. I am no lady." The very thought of her wearing dresses, let alone behaving in a most civilized and demure behavior, renders her into a smirk and a small fit of giggles. "It is Raph love, plain and simple." She tries to brush the strands that had gotten free, unruly and curled by the moisture that enriched this city's air. "Ah, I do love my liquor and music. Makes a beautiful couple for the mind." She lifts the half empty glass before glancing down at the keys, a half smile tugging at the corner of her lips. What answer would she provide, a straight lie to cover her own feelings or the truth and a spark of something more than the devious bard. "Fairytales can't last." Was her response--the truth. She draws her hand away from the instrument with some reluctance before turning her gaze once more to the poet, "And you, have you been venturing the cityscape? Finding pretty ladies fawning over your turn of phrase, love?"

Samwell tilts his head to one side, shrugging at the mention of his formalities, "You clearly do not see yourself in the same light I do." He left the statement as it was, drawing long from the remaining liquor at the bottom of his glass, setting it down decidedly beside him. A sharp inhale of breath was taken as a particularly sharp heat stabbed at his throat, Sam brings a hand to his chest, stifling a cough. "I have yet to develop a particular disposition to this liquor of yours, it has terrible repercussions on me should I imbibe too much." Already flushed at the cheeks, Samwell made the wise decision to hold off from any more, should he end up in the same state as his friend. Though from his satchel he produced his obsidian pipe, placing the tobacco in it carefully, lighting it as he drew in short inhales, then exhales as the match caught to the tobacco. Satisfied that it was finely light, he drew long from it's stem, before letting a billow of smoke crawl from behind his lips. "Fairytales can't last - peculiar name. Why can't they, though, Raph?" It was evident he struggled to refrain from "m'lady" and "ma'ams" as he spoke to her in a gentle tone. "Should imagination and creative muse be present, then any sort of dream or Fairytale manifestation of the mind ought to be feasible. Then again, titles are cryptic and mean little to the observer. I suppose you have reason enough." The young man chuckles at her last comment, shutting azure eyes as he pressed fingers into them as if to press away the incessant hand of alcohol and sleep deprivation from them. "The pretty ladies must have been shut up in their homes by their stern fathers this night, for none found their way to fine Samwell, m'lady." Shoot, a slip of the tongue, perhaps she will not notice, no matter. He continued, shaking away his thoughts that so frequently interrupted his dialogue, "My turn of phrase has found a hiatus it seems. I've been trying to familiarize myself with the composition of music lately, integrate it with my writings."

Raphaline cants her head, "And what light is that, pray tell love?" She was always curious to learn what people did think of her, she kept her distance, but in such a way, you had a hard telling the difference between her charming conversation and her tendency to keep -her- life details to herself. She couldn't help the soft chuckle, nor the shake of her head as her constant companion seemed a bit unnerved by the drink. "Takes some getting used to, but it does tend to play tricks on the mind. Makes you believe the impossible and dare to the most troublesome, no?" She wouldn't elaborate, but it was true, most bar brawls tended to start with a drink. She took a deep breath, enjoying the earthy, deep smell of the tobacco but made no move to ask for any. And then there was his question. For a moment her body froze, and she felt herself caught between the truth and a lie once more. But she shook that feeling away and shrugged, "I was talking to a lady in the tavern the other night, we made a jest about men tending to leave a lady with memories of honeyed words and a round belly." Ah yes, Trouble. And Muse, well, it seemed she kept meeting interesting, new people. "Well it seems you will have to just settle with lady than, no?" Her only indication that she had caught his slip of tongue. His next response though caught her attention, "Come then, and sit up here with me. I will show you a few things on the piano." It may have been a request, or a suggestion, but it sure came out more commanding as she slid down the bench, giving up a bit of room next to her. "Come on Sam, I don't bite too hard." She snickers and wink.

Samwell smiles, as if the answer was so very simple, "Well, my Lady, like respect, all women are wonderfully crafted ladies until proven otherwise." At the mention of "wonderfully crafted" Sam decided to throw in a wink, though was quickly diffused by a sudden rush of red to his face to accompany the color of his hair, he would work on his attempts at being coy for the future. "So, Raph, you are a lady until for some reason it becomes apparent you are not. Though I doubt that is even possible." There, honesty just worked much better, easy, gentle comments like that were much easier for Samwell, the tobacco worked on calming his nerves, as he drew his mouth into an "O" cheeks drawing taught to his face as he inhaled, smoke easing it's way out of his mouth as he opened it slowly. Tendrils of smoke snaking their way around them, to rise slowly to the roof. "Precisely why I try to keep from it, I do not like to be out of sound mind. Clouded judgment leads to poor judgment, for me, as far as liquor goes." Elevating his shoulders quickly in another shrug he continues talking, "Perhaps I may not be a great poet for it, but I shall not relinquish my ability to have self-control where I have that choice. And besides, I'm not much of a fighter, my tongue will always be more potent and I aim to use it as I can. No sense in training with that which will soon dull when I have a sharp wit that will carry with me all my days." Samwell sucks on his pipe more, letting the smoke lilt and float around him, pondering her comment. "Honeyed words and round bellies" certainly the most indecent of men. Her comment brought him from his pondering, his face grew crimson once more, "Yes - Yes, I suppose I ought to settle with that, m'Lady." A smile appears momentarily, as he sidles his way onto the bench with her. He winces in jest at her statement, "I doubt that very much." He places his hands hesitantly upon the ivory keys, letting them gently caress the notes, black and white, sharps and flats. That was the extent of his knowledge here. "What do I do, Raphaline? I suppose if I were to try I would create an infernal noise that would be much too potent in ridding this inn of patrons, I daresay that would soil my reputation for quite some time and the magics have yet to manifest to the point where I can play upon instinct alone." He glances at her uneasily, hoping she could teach him of what he ought to do.

Raphaline accepts the compliments, but says nothing of them. She enjoyed flattery just as much as any woman, but she was no fool to it. The strange thing was, she found his words honest, unconditioned and with no intents other than to be kind. So as she glances up, eyes locked on him and his fluster of nerves, she can't help but smile. "Here," she says as she reaches over with her right and takes a gentle hold of his left. "Place your hand here, almost to the center, now this key." As she set his hand down, she presses two middle fingers down just enough to cause the key to sound. "And now with your right hand, put it three keys from the end press the one just below your thumb." She places her own hands further down the keyboard, "Now when I play this note," She presses a couple fingers down, "You will play that one in a quick sucession of three notes and then," she shifts his left hand over two keys. "Hit this one here," She taps the black key above his ring finger, "And then this one." The white just to the right, "While I play this little bit." She begins to dabble across all sorts of keys and notes for a moment. "Think you can do that?" She didn't wait, her mind still foggy from the liquor in her bloodstream, she went ahead and began to play, swaying with each note. She caught her breath and began to hum, no certain words coming to mind, but a voice, making a melody of its own to add to the piano. As she fell into the music, she closed her eyes, allowing only her fingers and her ears to sense anything that was going on. But with any dabble in emotion, her magic found its way out, and with the beauty of the love song she had willingly begun to play, she allowed the beautiful, innocent emotion of first love to twine itself in with the notes.

Samwell lets her take control of his hands watching her direct his fingers as if she was composing some great piece of music. His eyes lingered on her face as she placed his fingers to their rightful positions. Nodding at her instruction, shaking himself from his watchful vigil of her face as she began suddenly to play. Samwell attempted to recreate that which she had instructed with limited proficiency. After slipping between keys to create a horrid sound more than once, Sam stopped to regard his companion. Veridian optics had long since closed, the music taking over now. He waited for her music to reach a point where he could attempt to enter once more, for he was not entirely useless in the instrumental arena. Letting his fingers tap quietly at first, then louder with confidence he repeated Raphaline's notes, smiling to her, though she would not see. Though his role in the song was trivial, her magic took him, quickly. He configured separate patterns with the notes provided, finding alternate ways to communicate his portion of the song. As her gentle voice hummed with her music, Samwell found harmonies to place, delicately placing tenor notes amongst her wordless song. The Poet felt words coming to mind, he opened his mouth and choked on his throat, croaking momentarily before clearing his throat to try again. "Come and see, the Xalious Tree/We were found there, found on our knees/We were invincible, perpetual, simply brave/Adventure from deep within our hearts, within a cave/Souls laid bare, the magicks found her first/It took me in the summer Sun, it drove me to thirst/I cannot resist its touch, I yearn for its call/Come and kneel by the Xalious Tree." Words sprang to mind as he sang, trying to piece together some part of their adventure. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he lay his hands carefully on ivory planes. Letting her portion of the song carry on, on its own. Samwell returned to regard her face, slightly flushed due to alcohol. More words came to mind. Though he would save those, they were special. The young man closed his weary eyes and swayed to the song, stirring in his anxious heart.

Raphaline did hear each change he made, but she did not correct him, or push him to return to what she had shown. Music was meant to change, morph from the basics and transform into the musician, and no musician was ever the same if they stayed true to themselves. So, as she played and his words reverberated through her entire being, she could not help it. Later, she would blame it on too much alcohol or getting caught up in the emotions that she was projecting on others through her music, but whatever reason or excuse she would come up with, she allowed her clear voice to add its own flare. She was no poet, no silver tongue who could compose words together in such a way that it could bring another to their knees, but she was honest and to her that was the most important with music. Come kneel with me until the sun sets and all that lights the way is the light in our hearts/You came along when so many turn away/ so many get caught up in the storm/ of life and the way they want it to be/ but I cannot be that way/ I am the storm/ and I kneel for few/but on that day there was only the raw magic of a life I hardly knew/ so I am caught here questioning, wondering and waiting/ can some be true? She allowed those last few syllables to ring in her clear alto voice. It was opening a cage and the wildness was released for the first time in so long. Had it been such a long time since she sang for herself? It was too personal, that is what she would tell herself when she felt the desire to do so. Too personal, too easy to get wrapped up in the moment. So, her voice began to silence itself and her fingers came to a still on the piano. When all notes had died, she ran her left hand through her hair as she sighed, frustrated with herself. Her right curled into itself until she felt gathered and laughed it all off. Humor, the easiest way to turn away from things. "Sorry about that, let myself get a little out of hand." She opens those emerald eyes and settles them on the poet, "I know it was horrendous."

Samwell did not wear the same nonchalant grin he once had, the one she now wore so gaily. His face wore a different response, eyes saddened as they flitted back and forth between the green eyes set upon him, now. "Why did you stop? That was beautiful..." The Poet for what seemed the first time had lost his words. So he returned to his pipe, puffing on it with a puzzled expression, his demeanor unchanged. An exhale, a ring of smoke, a sigh uttered slowly and shuttering, sapphire eyes returning to their tender observer. "It was beautiful. You need not stop, if you are uncomfortable, then you know you are doing something right. For only you can adequately speak so accurately from your own soul to depict in words and in song the sort of truths that would make you feel uncomfortable. Please - please don't stop." As if in effort to reiterate his statement he plucked a measure of his portion of the song out. "It troubles me that you so incessantly return to self-depreciation, you do not see yourself in the same light that I do." He stills his gaze upon her with the last statement, running his hands uncomfortably over rows of ebony and ivory.

Raphaline was more than caught off guard. His response had placed her between begging forgiveness and wanting to show him she could do it again. Defiant and yet cautious at the same time, she wasn't quite sure which role she wanted to play. So she bit down on her bottom lip, while her hand ran haphazardly over the keys, trying to distract herself from that gaze. When she finally could not look him in the eye anymore, she directed that unsure gaze back towards the beautiful piano. "I am sorry." She murmurs as she stops her fiddling. "It's just," she huffs, "Difficult to share my words. Too personal." Returning to biting at her bottom lip she finally lifts her gaze back to him, but this time as one gaze finds the other, she knows she cannot turn away. "You see me, dear Sam, in a light I hardly see myself. It is just my nature to self-depreciate when things get too personal." She tries to grin, but instead it comes out as a clumsy smile. "Just, something I am not used to doing. So, you will have to be patience with me, alright?" This time, she is able to get out a smile, an honest one.

Samwell studies her eyes carefully, noting the sincerity pouring from them. His empathetic soul would not allow him to carry on in his frustrated state. It was his gaze this time that was broken, as he ducked his head, blinking swiftly as if he had been startled by some great light, his head shaking slightly from side to side. He wipes the gathering moisture from his eyes, cursing his so overwhelming sense of feeling. Elevating glassy optics to meet hers he fumbles over gently expressed words, a careful tone set behind his phrases, tentative, as one's footsteps are when sneaking around some awesome beast, "My Lady, Raphaline. My patience is yours, and I - I request your forgiveness. I demanded of you, a person who not but weeks ago was but a stranger to me, to depict to me your heart, to feel no - no reservations in revealing your soul in your art. I was wrong to request such a vulnerable task. I'd like to call you my friend, and the only one I can name that in these lands, I could not bear to lose that token." Samwell's flat-lined mouth comes to bear a different mark, a goofy grin that better sits upon his face than the former frown. "I often say too much, dearest Raphaline. But just promise me one thing, that you will not refrain from such elegant music in my presence."

Raphaline reaches out to the poet and with her thumb, brushes away a stray tear. She smiles, once more. Goodness, she never smiled like this! "There is no forgiveness needed Sam. I am just so used to living one way and playing a certain role that when I do become someone else, myself, it is difficult to just let it happen. You are the first to inquire in such a long time, and it warms my heart to know that there are good people still left in this world." She wasn't too tall of a woman, so it was easy enough for her to lean in to the poet and lay her head on his shoulder. "You will have to do a hella lot more than that to get rid of me as your friend. So get used to it poet, you are stuck with me through the good, bad, trouble and fun." She lets herself laugh. The back of her hand placed against her lips as she tries to keep the laugh from shaking her entire form, but the thought that she had a friend and how good things seemed to be, only fueled that laughter. When she got a hold of herself, she reached for the keys once more. "Let's give this another go around hm? I liked the new notes you added, this can be our little project together, our song." With that, she begins to play the song once more, humming along, allowing him to add notes and words as he saw fit.

Samwell accepts the gesture graciously, letting her dry his tears, blinking away the remaining ones, stubbornly prohibiting any others from falling. His words would again leave him, as he inhaled to talk, but nothing came. So instead he nodded his affirmation, stirring ever so slightly as she placed her delicate head upon his shoulder. This was a tender part to his friend he wasn't certain he would see often, so he cherished the intimacy she demonstrated in the moment. "Then stuck with you I shall be, and you with me. Me and my tendency to cry and fall over. You really are raising an overgrown babe." He chuckles as he jests, following her movements towards the piano once more, placing his hands this time familiarly upon its smooth surfaces. He smiles and hums, singing his line about the Xalious tree at first to get started before humming as he thought of other things to say. "Porcelain and frail, crimson, pale/Sweet nothings whispered, tears kissed tenderly/Music flowing wild and free, a smile, a gentle smile/Gracing 'tween them a tentative moment, a careful while." He repeated lines where he could not think of other words and hummed others as he saw fit. Letting the music have its way with his warmed soul.

Raphaline allowed her hands to explore the piano with vigor. She was not tentative about which key, she flew across the instrument until she felt herself consumed by the music once more. There were the words, his words, and her own voice that rested on the tip of her tongue. It was, until now, humming but as she heard his words, she could not help but respond with her own. Grown strong, always trying to fight on/ until tentative moments come along/questions echoing across the room/ and the silence no longer careful with silent embraces. She returned to humming until she heard the sound of footsteps and voices echoing in the hall way. The music comes to an abrupt end as she turns the once jovial gaze, into a sharper more observant one, towards the ladies in fancy dresses. They were all a titter with gossip and a few, who looked Raph's way, made silent beckoning motions for her to join their little gathering. Times before, she would have accepted readily, but right now, she was content to be left alone. "Go on ladies, I am not interested in blue blood and more liquor." When the tittering and footsteps faded away, she felt herself yawning once more. "Ignore them, they were a group I had the luxury of spending the other night entertaining." She snickers, it was quite a night. "But I think I am becoming quite tired, the liquor and music has surely worn me out." She turns to Sam, "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

Samwell allows her to roam across the keys, her song permeating into the atmosphere, consuming the inn with its song. His own fingers finding some sort of pattern within her chaotic storm of notes. Samwell's notes "plink" on pathetically until he realizes his companion has ceased playing. He abruptly stops to place his hands quickly into his lap, a pink rose creeping into his face. His brow raises curiously in regards to Raph's company, regarding from the distance. Hard-pressed to believe they were any sort of companion for his very interesting friend. He was not surprised though, when Raph revealed her exhaustion, "Ah, so, at last the liquor has taken its toll." He grins, "I was planning on staying here I supposed. My travels have yet to find me an estate to stay, I stay where I am accepted and where my coin goes long enough until morn should come and shove me out into the road once more."

Raphaline is quick to respond. "Keep your coin Sam, I've patronage in these parts." Some of them those ladies who passed by, "And they give me my own room." She catches herself and hurriedly adds, "There are two beds in the room, so keep your money for something more important." And she leaves it at that, and any sort of argument would be quickly shot down. "Besides, I would worry some of the frisky ladies might try to wisk you away and whatever will I do without my favorite poet to drag away on more adventures?" Speaking of adventures, she reaches into her satchel and pulls out a map, "Got a ride on a ship for an island with dragons, if you are interested in some dangerous fields to tread." She winks before offering the map to him and scooping up her own things and tossing them onto her shoulder. "Think about it. My room is 201 if you want to take me up on my offer."

Samwell tries to muster some sort of response as the talk of coin is refuted, a map is placed in his hands and talk of adventure is placed in his mind. What words were there to say when a simple nod would suffice? So, he nods. A fearful look entering his eye at the talk of "frisky ladies." The Poet certainly hoped not! He at last mustered some sort of comprehensible statement, "Well I certainly will not idly stay here by myself where the frisky ladies prowl. Whisk me away fair Lady!" To emphasize his readiness to leave he stood immediately, pipe in hand, pack slung over his shoulders.

Raphaline glances over her shoulder, amused for sure. "Fair lady again?" She shakes her head before turning back to the west, and the comfortable room that was now under her name. "Oh yes, the frisky ladies who whisper in your ear and hope that if you come up, that their husbands don't get too curious." And crosses the hall to her door. A key is brought out from one of her many pockets and as she pushes the door open, she steps out of the way. "After you."

Samwell shakes his head as he enters the room ahead of her, a chuckle escaping his lips as he searched for the nearest location to unwind. Truth be told, the occupation of traveling was more exhausting than he had anticipated. He moves to start the fire, kneeling in front of the unlit wood, starting the process of getting the room warmed.

Raphaline happily relieves herself of her satchel, heavy boots and her vest duster. It leaves her green corset and soft, doe skin pants. If relaxing was the name of the night, she pulled the braids from her hair and began to draw her fingers through the now wavy strands that brushed their way down her back. With her hair finished, she leans back with a content sigh. "Last couple of days wore me out. Met a handful of interesting folks." The warrior elf woman and then there was the tattooed woman with a knife, both so different to her. "And that map," She rolls so she is laying on her stomach and can watch him, "Tomorrow, I am heading out on a ship. Aren't sea sick are you?"

Samwell laughs as he struggles with the fire, stubborn logs refused to light, so Sam retrieved his pack from his side, placing some precious pieces of parchment as fuel at the base. Taking a match and striking it quickly, watching the heat eat away at the paper, it's flimsy form wasting away as the fire bit into its soft, dry material. Thankfully it then took to the wood, eating at the much more substantial portion of the wood, letting a low glow emit from the hearth. Satisfied, Sam removed his own boots and satchel, placing them neatly in a corner, sprawling himself out before the hearth, letting the heat soak into his skin. "My last couple of days have consisted of you. It seems you keep me from the finer adventures of life. You leave me in a sorry state, m'Lady." He retrieves the map from his breast pocket, where it had been protruding in an odd fashion until now. "I have never set foot on a boat, though I'm certain I will have tales to tell once I am off of it. If my legs are not accustomed to the sea and likewise my stomach, then I will look forward to the legends that lay at the end of the journey and focus on those to pass the time." He nods with some finality. Intent on spending his waking hours on a ship, with Raphaline, having no fear in obstacles.

Raphaline pillows her head onto her arms as she listens to him. And as her eyes drift close for a moment she smiles, nuzzling into the curve of her arm. "I know a few tricks for unsettled stomachs and ships, but the herbs might make you a bit sleepy." She loved the smell of the open sea and the crisp winds that would fill the giant, white sails. "I leave you in a sorry state, pray tell, do I over work you too much love?" She chuckles, opening one emerald eye to catch his reaction before allowing herself to drift off once more. "If so," she yawns, "Might as well get some sleep." She gestures in the direction of the other bed, "I tend to rise with the sun."

Samwell watches the half-elf struggle to keep her eyes open, then relent to sleep's call. A half-smile gripped upon his face, seared into his visage as the heat of the fire danced upon his form. "I'm sure I'll manage." He presses his eyes shut tight momentarily, attempting to press out the sting of exhaustion from them. Opening them to see her waning gaze over him. "Over-worked, is quite the understatement. I never quite thought I was capable of such adventure. You bring me to new boundaries of myself and push them until they break. It is a trying experience, but one I am keen on repeating." With that he rises, moving in the direction of his assigned bed. He pauses at first, before turning to her bed, retrieving a blanket to place gently about her slender form. Slipping quickly back to his own place of resting. Allowing himself to quickly slip into the realm of dreams.