Peace descended upon the vampire. Celeste had been found, and was well taken care of by her wife. Lirin had already unknowingly met her sister-in-law, and trusts the woman to take care of her sister as she readjusts to the world from her harrowing experience. Yet, what was Lirin to do now? No longer was the need to scour the lands for rumors of an elf, which could have been just about anyone, present.

Finally, she could do things for herself. Lirin had no desire to head home across the seas. Larka was going to stay here, Celeste with her, and thus this is where Lirin was going to be. So, to occupy her time, the vampire has taken to traveling and actually enjoying life. She decided to return to Sihajja, the city that had sprouted from the back of a giant whale. The sight of buildings seemingly haphazardly built with great inspiration of corals was still just as breath taking as the first time.

No flying airships brought her this time, no leaps of faith with near disastrous success. Apparently, there were scheduled times for emerging to make essential trades for supplies. Using this opportune time, Lirin entered the city. The vampire walked the dazzling streets, watching the sun sparkle off the walls. No matter which city she entered, she always found herself migrating toward a tavern.

Sihajja was no different. While the people here were leary of outsiders, Lirin stood toward the center of the bar, her flute in hand. It was ivory, with intricate ivy etched in a curling pattern, producing the clearest of sound. Beautiful melodies wove around each patron. A row of drinks were lined up at the bar behind her, all of them purchased for her, none of them touched. There was a buzz beginning to go around the entirety of the city about a foreign woman clad in a black dress, lace roses covering her torso, entertaining all who enter the tavern. An enchantress, one had called her.

A long, deep pull of air through flared nostrils forced his chest to expand. Long lashes rested against one another. Slack muscles left the age of his face ambiguous. A long, slow exhale caused his shoulders to fall back and away from his neck. The lagotto rhythm of the Seer’s Whale Song dictated the tempo of his breathing.Jean’s eyes drifted open as the melody fell silent. Something tense had left his body and the remaining silence was a warm reminder. He sat cross legged atop a small bench at the end of a narrow street. Lazy eyes that matched the ocean’s depths turned to appreciate the eccentric color and design of the architecture around him. At first it had been the outlandish claim that a city rested upon the back of an unfathomably large leviathan that had peaked his interest. It was the music that had convinced him to stay.

He took a moment to stretch his long legs after standing. The whale swam just shallow enough so that the failing light of the surface still penetrated the deep. It wasn’t quite the same, but it felt that dusk was fast approaching. While the songs had made him want to stay, it was an emergency repair of his lute that demanded it. He left the instrument in the care of a carpenter. How or why a city that spent most of its time underwater managed to have one was beyond him. But, he was grateful nevertheless.

”Some kid came barreling around a corner and smashed right into me,” that was what he had told the carpenter when asked how he managed to snap the lute’s neck clean in two. What had actually happened, that he had been rubbernecking so hard that stumbled and fell off a curb with the lute strapped to his back: he’d take that to the grave.

“Mr. Kenidai,” the carpenter said, with a smile. The door gently swung shut behind Jean. “Your lute is finished,” he turned to retrieve it before handing it to the half elf. “The craftsmanship… it’s simple - if not elegant - and was pretty easy to replicate.” Jean took the instrument with a polite bob of the head. Each string beckoned twangy notes that undulated drastically in pitch as the Audiomancer took a moment to tune her up. The sunless warmth of a major chord finally announced that all was in working order.

“Thank you,” silver and casual pleasantries were exchanged before Jean turned to go. His right hand swung the lute over his back. His left hand reached for the door, and as his head turned he caught his reflection in a mirror with an elaborate frame. Short-cropped hair the color of a young oak and blue eyes sat above a matching traveling cloak. Tall leather boots with their tops turned down reached blue trousers build for travel and labor. A collared shirt with buttons descending the length of its middle - the top three undone - held his torso with long sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

His eyes clicked against against a broad jaw that hadn’t seen a razor in nearly a week. A free hand rose to run its palm against its even growth of stubble. It reminded him of his father. Despite the gentle point of his ears that had been gifted by his mother: he inherited far more of the rougher qualities known for distinguish man from elf.

“Jean, one more thing before you go,” the half elf turned to look back at the carpenter. “You’re a musician? Ha, obviously.” Jean nodded his response. “My friend… he said there is a woman he’d never seen before playing at the tavern a couple streets to the West. Enchantress, is the word he used. Now, I might be too old to be going around, chasing mermaids and siren, but,” he let a knowing look and an exaggerated lift of his eye brows finish the sentence.

“I’d have bartered the repairs for the experience if I knew you were going to try to live vicariously through me, carpenter.” The line was delivered with a subtle grin that earned a bark of a laugh from the older man. “Thanks again,” Jean called, and the door swung shut behind him once more.

Twilight just beneath the ocean’s surface was a sight he had dedicated to memory. It was odd to him, that the image caused songs and stories from the vast desert to the North to claw their way to the surface of his memory. Those songs fought for dominance in his mind’s ear until something else drowned them out completely. His feet stopped without asking for permission.

Audible silk wrapped itself in loose coils around his body. The impossibly soft texture lit his skin aflame with goose bumps. Something warm crept up his spine. He could almost feel the invisible silk tie delicate knots around his joints. The sound began to puppet him like a marionette.

Before he completely understood how - or even why - he stood in the entrance to a small tavern. He gave a small shake of his head to free himself from the fog. Maybe I… his inner monologue trailed off as he spotted a woman standing in the center of the common room with an ivory flute in hand. He listened as she played.

I must need to eat… or, something He struggled, but finally he pried his eyes from the lace-clad woman. Lace-clad elf, he gave pause at why he felt the need to internally correct his own observation. Something wasn’t right: something was off. He took an empty stool at the bar. He couldn’t help the way he was overly aware of her posture in the extremities of his peripheral.

Silver was laid out in exchange for a mug of something strong and an order of something hot. Perhaps what bothered him the most was that he didn’t recognize her song. He thought about buying her a drink in exchange for the name - maybe even a lesson - but, the sight of untouched tankards lined up behind her dismissed the idea.

He removed the lute from his back and let it nestle against the bar beneath him. The half elf turned in his seat so he could lean back against the bar himself. She was good, he admitted.. There was no sense in not enjoying the show.

For once, she was not in a lament, a sad song to express her feelings about a lost sister. Each note immersed her deeper into simpler times. Every so often, when they were allowed a day from their chores and lessons, Lirin would pull out her flute and play for Celeste. Her sister loved to dance, and was never alone for long. Others would join in with Lirin, the music joyous, infecting all who heard it with an irresistible urge to join in the fun. Lirin would watch her sister twirl and move between partners until Celeste dragged Lirin into the throng of bodies, still blowing into her flute as she was encouraged to dance with everyone else.

The adults would place the evening's meal out as dusk approached, food and mead supplied in abundance. Enchanted lanterns were hung, each glowing as bright as a hundred fireflies, softly illuminating all in their circle. And they joined in with them, the rest of the night spent in gay merriment. Lirin's heart ached for such simple times, the easy smiles. If Celeste was here, there was no doubt that the entire tavern would be on their feet dancing. As it was, Lirin stood still, only her upper body moving slightly with the song of her past.

Whenever a new scent signifying another patron's entrance coming through the door, Lirin would open her eyes briefly, taking in every detail in the smallest moments of time. Oaken hair, vivid ocean blue eyes, the rugged face of man, yet the pointed ears of an elf greeted her upon his entrance. Behind her eyelids, the faces of her past spun round and round, Celeste's young smile beamed at her. In the midst of blurred faces, it was the stranger staring at her, as if he was unwavering in the flow of time, beckoning out to her. His eyes pierced through her, even in her imagination.

The final note wavered in the air for a long moment. Not even breathless, Lirin remembered the gasping breaths in between laughter with friends. Her own illusion crashed around her as she opened her green flecked blue orbs, taking in the sea of strangers around her lulled into the beauty of her music. With a slight curtsy, Lirin turned and froze. Those ocean blue eyes were watching her much as they had in her mind. The whole thing was unsettling. Trying to regain her composure, Lirin smiled at him, finally noticing the lute at his feet. Another bard then?

Lirin seemed to glide over to the bar, a single long finger circled the rim of one of the glasses as she eyed the deep red liquid it contained. Apparently the bartender remembered her from the last time, and remembered to give her mead. "Elgara vallas. Mir melava somniar'an." She sat on one of the stools, peering at him from under her long lashes without turning toward him. "Tell me, lethalin, did the whale call to you in your dreams as well?" Her voice sounded somewhat amused as she wrapped her slender fingers around the wine glass and took a tentative sip. No where near as good as from home, but no one was able to replicate it. Still, this was nearly as delectable.

Nimble fingertips danced their pads left-calloused-by-metallic-strings against the top of Jean’s knee. Every motion caused his left hand to flex and hold imaginary chords. He played silent backup to her song. The her upper body was the only part to move with her music caused something charmed to tug his mouth into a crooked grin. His imagination danced along to her melody in lieu of patrons too star struck to move.

Why is nobody dancing?The question silently etched itself along her final phrase. The note lingered in a way that slid past the ears of the other patrons. It wasn’t wrong: the pitch was right, yet his mind counted beats to measure something that wasn’t played out as he had expected. Or, maybe he was imagining things. The way he dissected her performance caused his eyes to remain forward while to losing focus on what he was actually watching.

She turned and a hitch caught her movement. His eyes realigned themselves with reality while failing to move. He made to attempt to hide the way they had traced the neckline of her lacey bodice before gently narrowing beneath the weight of her vibrant own. Her smile was returned in kind.

He took note of how she noticed the lute as his feet. As she approached the bar, so too did his torso twist his bar stool’s seat so that he was facing the barkeep. He studied his own drink as she took the time to do the same. The sound of the elvish language being formed by a properly delicate tongue caused the tiny muscles behind his ears to tense.

“Lethalin,” he repeated. The smile on his face clearly held the word in its embrace as he paused to take a drink. “Elgara vallas, mir melava somniar'an?" His eyes never left his glass. The way she followed up her cryptic statement about dreams with a question of her own tugged at something inside his chest. ”Elgara vallas, da'len.” His human jaw spoke the words with sturdy poise over grace. The slight - almost deliberate - tone of being recited from a piece of literature roiled beneath them.

Another drink was followed by the back of his hand pressed firmly against his lips. Something apologetic in his eyes spoke he wouldn’t apologize for teasing her for being younger. “You play beautifully,” he finally said. His gaze lowered to touch her lute before wandering up along the back of her arm. “To be honest, no: the whale did not call to me in my dreams. I think those angelic sounds only reach those with ears like your own in their sleep.” He grinned as his head turned to fully address her for the first time. There was no mistaking that she was carved from the unadulterated beauty of the fairer race. He let a moment tug by as he appreciated the way her thick, dark locks graced her shoulders and the lithe form that rested in a spider’s web of lace.“

Jean, Jean Kenidei.” He finally said. His own hand gently extended to offer itself along with his name. He wanted to ask the name of her song. He wanted to ask the name someone like her answered to. There were many things he wanted to know, and suddenly he became aware of the fact that his mind was racing down a track it didn’t necessarily call its own. He shook the notion as his thoughts revisited what she had said.

"Does…” his blues eyes slid along the bar until lifting to touch her own. “Does the whale call you in your dreams?” She had managed to nudge the notion that maybe she was more than what she appeared to be. It was all music and elvish heritage: the scholar hadn’t dreamed something darker might waltz beneath her porcelain exterior.

Lirin was no stranger to the way most anyone looked at her, drinking her vision in. Whether it be lust, jealous, or a healthy appreciation, it was the affect she preyed upon. Yet she had no intention of using her wily ways to seduce anyone into becoming her next meal tonight. Instead, she hung on the way he repeated her native language, how it formed off his lips, his voice quite pleasing to the ear. Jean made it seem like he had been a scholar from home, writing their histories and literature, preserving song and culter, reciting a line from Mother's lullaby.

Still, if Jean wasn't trying to recite, he was deliberately calling her a child. The realization of this dawned on her, visibly by the rosy tinge to the tips of her ears, which darkened even further at his compliment. "Thank you." Lirin could feel his eyes travel up her arm, trying hard not to fall into living habits of elevated breathing. What was wrong with her that she was actually being hypersensitive to this one man? He extended his hand and introduced himself. She took it, a smug little smile pulling at her lips as she reciprocated. "Lirin Vendethiel."

The bard took her hand and pulled it to her lips, her eyes widening in pleasant surprise. His question came, the vampire taking a moment to ponder her response. "Sometimes. It is haunting." Lirin couldn't understand why she was blushing at everything Jean did or said, the way his eyes moved appreciatively over curves and lace. This wasn't anything she was unaccustomed to, as it was something she manufactured near daily.

Blue eyes widened again, in stark terror as she realized what she had done. Slowly, she turned and looked at the entire room again, saw that everyone's attention was still upon her. "Fenehdis!" came a whispered curse as she looked back at Jean apologetically. Consciously, she ceased the charm spell, which was running much higher than she had originally intended, a result of falling too deep into her own music. "I am so very sorry, Jean. The charm wasn't meant… These people…" She ducked her head and pointedly stared into her mead. "Most don't like strangers…" 'Or creatures like me…' Suddenly, she felt alienated by her own hand.

The sound of her name wove his senses together as he watched the color rise in her ears. The feel of her soft skin as it brushed his lips failed to keep his eyes from calmly clasping her own. Yet, behind his own eyes: every way he had been allowed to empirically embrace her toed the invisible line of appreciation and intoxication. Her answer to his question was a pebble in a lake whose ripples finally became a wave.

Her answer caught him off guard. The heat in her cheeks pushed him off balance. “You do?” His brow furrowed as he struggled to discern living art from the testimony of someone who seemed too beautiful to be living. “You hear the whale in your dreams?” Ever the scholar, no matter how much she reminded him he was only half human. His left hand released her own, while his right hand debated the proper angle to lower itself upon her knee…

Her wide eyes took his world by its shoulders and gave it a gentle shake.

He listened to the abrupt curse roll off her tongue in elvish. Her apology caused something in his chest to ache. And, as she announced the presence of a charm, he could feel the promise of her lips tasting like blush wine waiver. Jean couldn’t help the way his own eyes slowly swung wide to the left, as to reestablish his social balance. The absence charm pulled something away from his core.

Legends and myths about sirens, succubi and other mistresses of the night raced along his memory. He tried to categorize her features with the monsters that best reflected her appearance. No longer was she the supple youth, but now-

Something else tugged his attention from the common room’s tables. Everyone’s attention still was on her. But, these were not sober men. These were men who had been held in a trance with the promise of something more. At least, that may have been the sentiment he had projected. It caused something weary to command the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

“Bar keep,” he tossed a gratuitous amount of silver on the counter before undoing his cloak. “Do not apologize, miss.” Clarity brought something a touch more primal, now that he could see that he was sitting next to a songbird perched outside a den of predators. There was no way for him to discern that she was the actual hunter.

Jean offered his cloak to the younger woman in his company. “Don’t apologize, but I think it might be time we take our leave.” His eyes were shaped with the knowledge of what she had said. Yet, he could not help but look at her like the child he had teased her for being. "I wasn't sure at first, but I could tell there was something more about you than just those eyes," he lied. It wasn't calculated, it wasn't meaningful, but he couldn't live the thought down of another bard bewitching him like a wild animal. "Maybe we can find a more suitable place to discuss whales and dreams?"

Why shouldn't she apologize? Her charm hadn't meant to go as deep as it did, Lirin had zoned pretty hard into the memories the music pulled to light. The vampire was pouting into her mead, staring at the shine reflecting the dim light of the room at her. It was a mistake she should not have made. Never before had she been so careless with her magic, and the whole thing was quite frustrating.

Then the unexpected thing happened. Jean was offering her his cloak, and suggested they leave. Her expression was incredulous as she drank in his vision, the genuine concern. His wheels were turning behind those dreamy eyes. A second glance at the closest table with starving, and angry eyes made her mind up. "Thank you." Lirin said as she donned his cloak, feeling his residual warmth permeate her skin, his scent surrounding her, filling her nostrils. While her charm spell only affected others, she idly wondered if she was falling under some charm herself, as he was more intoxicating than any other creature she had met.

Abandoning the drinks, Lirin grabbed her flute and left the tavern with Jean. Together, they walked down the streets. For a moment, Lirin allowed herself to listen to the sounds echoing around them, underlying the cacophony of every day life. They reminded her of a group of people praying and singing in singular worship. "This song, do you hear it? An ode to the beast of burden. In the dream, I was dancing with fish, the song our tempo." What she didn't say was that she was atop the ocean, her sister dancing with her, the fish in stream-lets of water weaving around them. It was the deciding factor to return, to experience this place to its fullest so she may entrance Celeste with fresh tales. So much has happened, and Celeste had a lot to look forward to.

"Below me, I could see the reef, coral reaching up, a myriad of schools weaving intricate designs. Have you ever had dreams as that?" It was a genuine question, asked of simple curiosity. "It was a special dream, as the last decade and a half has been spent dreaming of something lost." Even with people  around, Lirin felt in a daze. The pair of them were the only two in the world, walking down the street with towering reef-like buildings that shone with mother-of-peral. She had no justification for this, and couldn't help but slide her eyes off to the side to peer up at him from under those long lashes of hers. Lirin was well aware that she appeared a mere twenty of years, and she began to wonder if he saw her as a child rather than the full grown woman that she was. Of course, the direction of her thoughts caused her ears to turn rosy again.

Jean slung his lute over his back before opening the door so Lirin could exit first. The door swung shut. The night was still alive and its white noise birthed a smile. His eyes swam and pivoted between the faces still lining the city’s streets. The Audiomancer listened to the Minstrel as she let The Song’s presence segue into the details of her dream.

The long notes tied to one another caused his heart to march in time to their lucid pace. His gaze slid down in order to embrace the younger woman’s face as she described her dream in greater detail. He felt the fingers of his right hand pluck imaginary strings in response to the images of her dream. “I can hear it,” he said, as his ears never strained to pick the whale’s song from the rabble.

“Have I?” He came close to missing a step as she asked about his dreams. It wasn’t a fumble of embarrassment. It wasn’t that she’d breached some social barrier. It was that his brain had turned hard to port in order it focus on a life time of recollection.

“…Once.” He finally answered.

Jean let silence dominate the field as they continued to walk side-by-side. He hadn’t realized how close they strode next to one another. Maybe it was that she was little more than a babe in his eyes. Maybe it was the residual effect of her charm. Maybe it was neither.

“More than once,” he finally admitted. The notion that she had been dreaming of something lost caused him to give in and look down at her. The color in her ears caused something dull to ache in his chest. He wondered if she’d began to weave her charm again. Memory and skepticism danced as lovers do before he decided that she was simply beautiful.

“You’re more than intricate in your articulation of dreams and ability with the flute… for your age.” He looked away as he spoke, before looking back with a reserved grin. The streets slowly became less crowded. His words served as the punctuation to the end of their journey. A short span of a hundred yards was all that lay between themselves and the edge of the protective barrier on the whale’s back. It was there the song had no competition.

“I know it’s the Seers who sing the whale’s song,” he said, as he removed his lute from his back. “But, water is a strange thing…” the song continued on as normal. “So is magic, so is longing and the things that make us appreciate either…” He situated his instrument across his chest. His fingers slowly twitched as they each ghosted their strings in turn. “…It’s louder here.” 

Jean looked back at Lirin, “Louder is the wrong word.” His eyes closed before giving a simple shake of his head. His fingers finally brushed their backs against his lute as one measure gave birth to another. The chord wrapped itself in the warmth of the solid tone of the whale’s song. Another chord followed the next whole note. The melody began to carry on long, deep notes, each accentuated by the slow waltz of Jean’s fingers forging a new rhythm.

The hybrid looked towards the pure blood with eyes that simply said: play with me.

Her ears burned, Lirin had to resist reaching up to feel them. They were quite flushed, and his compliments only made it worse. Jean's smile was intoxicating. How she wanted to ask him how old he thought she was, knowing full well how young she appeared. The blush was reaching out to kiss her cheeks now as she slid her eyes off to the side, returning soon after with a shy grin.

”As an artist, you should know how appearances can be deceiving.” It was going to be her one and only hint to him. Let him decipher it. Would he accurately discern the topic of her age, or would he assume she meant something else? ”But I thank you.” While Jean was surely a gem to marvel at, the scene on the other side of the barrier was also something to behold. It looked very similar to her dream, the way the fish swam. They weren't dancing yet, but individual fish would break from their schools to swim around the whole gathering of them before flowing back into rank. Everything about them was fluid and beautiful, and worth noting for any dreamer or story teller.

Lirin looked back at Jean, listening to him. Magic, water, longing… While she didn't know his connection between the three, it was as if she was falling for some form of audio trap. Images of how she could long for and appreciate him easily clouded her fore-thoughts. She appreciated, however, how the lute complimented the whale song of the seers. For a moment, she marveled at how he turned the seers into his own, new song. Jean looked down at her, and Lirin's soul leapt into her throat, demanding to drown into his eyes.

Mischievously smiling, Lirin pulled out her flute, fingers trailing along a single ivy vine before finding themselves upon their proper holes. Lifting the instrument to her lips, eyes locked on his, she easily fell in line with his rhythm. As his fingers gracefully plucked, hers elegantly danced across the holes. Together, their harmony pulled upon her, dragging her into a new plane of existence.

Here, the musicians were not burdened with instruments. His hand was placed just inside the small of her back, the space between them nonexistent. One hand in his, another on his shoulder, their feet in unison as they waltzed around this space. Grand sweeping turns, graceful footwork as he twirled her about. Jets of water wove around them, little fish swimming in circles all around. It was so vivid, so real, Lirin felt like she was quite literally drowning in his scent, Jean's closeness. He was leaning down now, their feet stationary, his sensual lips pressing against her own.

The vampire wrenched herself from the vision, her music halting. Embarrassed by being caught up in her own imagination, Lirin quickly turned to face the ocean beyond, well aware of how from her cleavage on up to her cheeks were turning the same bright crimson as the tips of her ears. She clutched her flute to her heart. ”Ir abelas… That's… never happened before,” was her excuse, soft and apologetic. Would he leave it at that, or press for details as to what exactly happened and make her relive the kiss that never happened? Lirin wished she knew why she was so easily affected by this man's mere presence, his smile, his eyes… his lips…