Branon listened to the music that filtered in from outside.
The tavern next door was especially lively tonight, but for once, he didn't
mind the noise.
Someone was
playing their harp, the instrument producing a lighthearted tune that reminded
Branon of Summer days and festivals back home. Someone was singing, too. The
singer sounded young, with a high clear tenor that cut above the cacophony filtering
out of the open windows of the bar. Branon paused a moment, letting his hand
fall away from where he had been unstrapping his armor. He leaned back in the
chair he was sitting in and let his head roll back on his shoulders, relaxing
for what seemed like the first time in weeks.
He allowed
his mind to wander. It climbed up onto the back of the melody of the song next
door and flowed and bumped along, through the narrow alleys and dank buildings
of the city and out into the open plains where his people made their home;
where men and women sand and danced and where the food was good and the wine
flowed freely. Where the only roots one put down were the ones that secured
your tent until you decided it was time to move on.
Branon
scrunched his eyebrows. He supposed that was probably the part that he didn't
like. The complete lack of consistency, how everyone seemed to shuck
responsibility as soon as they possibly could- he supposed that was why he
left.
Well that,
and the fact that he hated to dance.
The Odome
were a people comprised entirely of entertainers. They were nomads who traveled
from place to place, bringing music, theatre, art, and- their specialty- dance,
to the people of the Shard. They were accepted wherever they went; a flash of
the clan tattoo, and they were granted access to any city or town they came
across. It was probably because people knew that they wouldn't stay long.
Branon had
always been different. Where everyone else had been seeds, blowing in the wind
and unconcerned with where they landed, Branon was a tree. A great big oak
tree, that needed roots and a home to survive, to be happy.
That was
why Branon had come to this city. If there were a better place than the Capitol
for an ex-performer with no real work experience to put down roots, Branon
didn't know where it was. The city was vast, and it was as easy to lose one's
past in the hustle and bustle as it was to lose one's way in the twisting
alleyways and dank underground. Coming here had been an easy decision. Staying…
that had been a decision that had been a bit more difficult to make. It would
have been easier, had Branon come alone.
The man
finally sat up and finished removing his armor. He placed it in neat piles on
the wooden table in the main room of his small house; he had the day off
tomorrow, and would polish it then. He then made his way over to one of the two
doors leading out of the kitchen-slash-main room. He gently opened the door and
peeked inside, careful not to make a sound. There inside, buried under a
mountain of blankets and out like a light, was the reason staying had been such
a hard decision.
Branon
could tell that while Harjay was happy here, with her guttershite friends and
her brother… she would be happier back home. She was an Odome through and
through, free spirit and wanderlust included. Staying in one place for so long
was hard on her, and more than once, Branon had offered to escort her back
home, to be with their family and travel and perform. His efforts were always
met with that look, that one that was one of the few traits that they shared; the
look of stubbornness and refusal and absolutely
not.
Branon shut the door with a sigh and
made his way to his own bedroom. Slowly and deliberately, he got into bed and
drew the blankets up to his chin. He scowled as the music from the tavern next
door picked up even louder than before.[Weird ending is weird.]
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