People Watching [D2, LE, Market Ward / Masty's Tavern] Open
Posted: Thu Aug 03, 2023 2:59 pm
Mysti sat slightly reclined in a chair in front of Masty's Tavern. One leg was hitched over the back of a bench in a supremely nonchalant pose. She absently twirled her silver flute between her fingers, her thoughts far away at the moment.
It was usually the same every night. Finding herself with little to do, she often sat there in front of Masty's and played flute music. Masty enjoyed it when she played; he said it drew in more customers. She would've liked to think it did. But she didn't think much of her own finger work. But who knew? Maybe she was better than she had thought?
However, whatever her intentions may have been, there was one thing about tonight that was a little different. For the first time in a very long time, she began to feel the pin pricks of an emotion she had thought to be immune to -- more or less: Loneliness.
Except - no. No. It wasn't loneliness. It was aloneness. That horrible, paralytic feeling when one suddenly realizes how vulnerable and isolated one truly was. Despite her particular skillset and her affiliation with the Harmonium, she possessed no true friends. Business acquaintences, certainly. Colleagues within the Harmonium, sure. Even the occasional person she knew from having a lot of contact -- like the doorman at the Golden Baurier. But - no true friends.
Her highly analytical mind, however, started to wonder -- Mysti had been living in Sigil for some twenty years. She had done just fine on her own. In fact, in many cases, she perferred it that way. So what had changed?
Mysti knew the answer to that question even before her mind had finished asking it. Her unexpected encounter with Cyprian. That's what was different. She couldn't even remember the last time she had "been" with someone romantically. Well ... she had to admit, there hadn't been a lot of romance. Fun though it was, it was most likely just a romp in the hay. In fact, she half-doubted she would ever see the bard again. He got what he wanted. Now she somewhat regretted making it so easy for him. Then again, why bother making it hard? He didn't seem the type to stay with anyone for very long -- thus -- she kept her emotional distance.
She watched as so many people strolled by her spot in the shadows where she was most comfortable. Young couples so passionately in love that it almost hurt. Families strolled slowly past, from toddler to gread grandfather, some times there would be four generations all together. Of course, there were groups of friends, most of them drunk, singing songs, making jokes, clapping each other on the back -- all in good spirits. And there she sat -- like she always sat -- watching the people, the city, the world -- her life -- pass by.
The rogue, a surprisingly decent flute player, put her instrument to her lips and began to play, though it wasn't a jaunty, cheerful song one would have expected in front of a tavern. Rather the music wordlessly conveyed a longing so keen that no sword had ever been as sharp -- a horrible sense of loss and regret. Normally she stayed away from the more melancholy songs she knew. But right now, for some strange reason, it seemed appropriate.
It was usually the same every night. Finding herself with little to do, she often sat there in front of Masty's and played flute music. Masty enjoyed it when she played; he said it drew in more customers. She would've liked to think it did. But she didn't think much of her own finger work. But who knew? Maybe she was better than she had thought?
However, whatever her intentions may have been, there was one thing about tonight that was a little different. For the first time in a very long time, she began to feel the pin pricks of an emotion she had thought to be immune to -- more or less: Loneliness.
Except - no. No. It wasn't loneliness. It was aloneness. That horrible, paralytic feeling when one suddenly realizes how vulnerable and isolated one truly was. Despite her particular skillset and her affiliation with the Harmonium, she possessed no true friends. Business acquaintences, certainly. Colleagues within the Harmonium, sure. Even the occasional person she knew from having a lot of contact -- like the doorman at the Golden Baurier. But - no true friends.
Her highly analytical mind, however, started to wonder -- Mysti had been living in Sigil for some twenty years. She had done just fine on her own. In fact, in many cases, she perferred it that way. So what had changed?
Mysti knew the answer to that question even before her mind had finished asking it. Her unexpected encounter with Cyprian. That's what was different. She couldn't even remember the last time she had "been" with someone romantically. Well ... she had to admit, there hadn't been a lot of romance. Fun though it was, it was most likely just a romp in the hay. In fact, she half-doubted she would ever see the bard again. He got what he wanted. Now she somewhat regretted making it so easy for him. Then again, why bother making it hard? He didn't seem the type to stay with anyone for very long -- thus -- she kept her emotional distance.
She watched as so many people strolled by her spot in the shadows where she was most comfortable. Young couples so passionately in love that it almost hurt. Families strolled slowly past, from toddler to gread grandfather, some times there would be four generations all together. Of course, there were groups of friends, most of them drunk, singing songs, making jokes, clapping each other on the back -- all in good spirits. And there she sat -- like she always sat -- watching the people, the city, the world -- her life -- pass by.
The rogue, a surprisingly decent flute player, put her instrument to her lips and began to play, though it wasn't a jaunty, cheerful song one would have expected in front of a tavern. Rather the music wordlessly conveyed a longing so keen that no sword had ever been as sharp -- a horrible sense of loss and regret. Normally she stayed away from the more melancholy songs she knew. But right now, for some strange reason, it seemed appropriate.