The Old City

0.29: The Party

For the first time in decades, the Treehouse breathed with life. The party had, of course, been Angelica's idea - an excuse to build connections among the group. While Marcus and Seneca hadn't thought many would show, she knew everyone would.

Marcus had to go and fetch each member individually, for none would have understood the instructions for finding their hideout. He covered their eyes for part of the journey to protect the exact sequence of twists and turns required to find it. He would show them eventually, but for now the secret of its location was their greatest advantage. Each would have to earn it.

Mika and her brother Fagin had been first. The broad fisherwoman stomped in and smiled as soon as she saw Marcus's contribution: a case of Mirrarian wine, ruby-red and sweet with the flavor of wild berries that only grew in the north. It was rare not to see her without her rod and rarer still to see her out of her seafaring clothes. Instead she wore a once-white cotton shirt with long, fitted sleeves and a light yellow skirt that fell down to her ankles. The garments had a way of accentuating her figure such that her wide shoulders looked more like the top of an hourglass rather than those of a stocky man.

Banjo had been next. The young musician strolled in with his lyre strapped loose against his back. His playful smile lit up the room and though he did not imbibe, he played with the joviality of a man who was three drinks in. At once, the atmosphere brightened.

Ever-conscientious of her timing and appearance, Alaria was the last to arrive. Marcus had had to wait at his designated pick up location for twenty minutes before she deigned to show up. She wore a dark cloak to hide her figure and her face, for any man in the city might recognize her. When she approached, she unnerved Marcus with a knowing smile then accepted a blindfold.

His team assembled, Marcus passed out more drinks, and slowly, moment by moment, they began to learn about each other. They talked of their dreams and abilities. Almost everything Angelica hoped for this night would come to pass. 

***

"Gods, Banjo, will you ever stop castin' that spell?" Seneca asked. The grouchy man hadn't moved since he'd arrived, reclining on the middle couch. He barely looked up from his book, which was written in some foreign script Banjo didn't recognize. Despite the annoyance in his question, his voice was surprisingly gentle: he sounded more like his sister, who often chided him for trivial things but never grew irate.

Still, the boy looked quizzically at him. "What do you mean?"

Seneca pointed at his lyre. "You've cast Serenity Magic this whole evening, ever since you started playin'. I appreciate you wantin' to keep the mood light, but I don't like it when people play with my state of mind."

"This is how I always play! Whenever I pick up an instrument, the music just calls out to me as though it wants to be played. I just listen."

"Didn't you realize?" Marcus interjected, joining the conversation from his aside with Mika and Angelica across the room. His eyes brightened as he recognized confusion in Banjo's face. "Or perhaps not...well, I suppose it was a good idea to bring you in. Do you mind?" He held out a hand and looked at the lyre.

Cautiously, Banjo handed it to Marcus and watched as their leader strummed. The notes fell flat. Though he played with a practiced hand, laying his fingers perfectly upon each note, plucking and stopping the vibrations at the exact right moment, Marcus's tune lacked the bouncing joy of Banjo's. He'd never allowed another person to play his precious instrument, so he'd never realized it could sound so different were he not the musician.