That voice that did not seem to belong to anyone else present confused Duscan. Sure, his drunken state was slowly sobering up and morphing into realisation he would have to bear with the antics of these two women sober, alas, there was nothing else for him to drink other than the body of water...
Never had Duscan thought that he would be in the shithouse. Of course, he has, but not with a lady he had taken a fancy to. Perhaps it was ill-fated from the start, that he was the muse and she the artist. Was this her gentle way of letting him down softly? That he no longer amused and...
Maybe it was because he was still feeling the effect of deep cups, or that he was decidedly stubborn, but Duscan fought against the yawn.
Before his eyes, the ladies were practically falling asleep mid sentence.
His hand groggily came up to his chest, where the flask of water sloshed over...
He had been kicking himself for a week and a half now, after coming to realisation of his mistake.
The wrong airship. He fucking got on the wrong airship.
He did not know until it was too late, but finding his way back to Anira had been...
Reading that letter, Duscan knew there was an...
His adventure thus far had been made up of bad choices, all to lead up to the moment the helpful woman thought to drown him. Duscan was spluttering, from the first attack before the next came up his nose.
"Oi," he rolled over to push himself half up, grumbling as he grabbed his sleeve and...
He really needed to stop drinking with strangers.
Duscan had hoped by bumbling around, he would be able to piece together where he was... how he got here... and why he was this way. Never one to turn down a free drink or a few rounds of it, he called it adventure. Once, he told a bard he held...
"No, no. Not until you have had dinner."
Duscan gave a wounded expression, about to protest as he made his way to the front door with his bag all packed, but silenced as his sister threw a wooden spoon at him. Where he had evaded the spoon, he however was not spared of the hot droplets of...
Duscan woke up to a slap on his arm, then a slap to his face once he rolled out from his bed and hit the floor.
"OW!"
"Yer fault fer movin' while I'm hitting ya, bastard!" The dulcet tones of Old Bozzy made Duscan open his eyes and stare up at the old man incredulously. "Rewrite this letter."...
Fuck. He had shit handwriting, but Duscan felt so many things opening that letter. Who even sent him letters anymore?
It was only fair he sent word back to the Lady Lark. After all, she was the one to make him feel an overwhelming sense of homesickness.
Anira
You must be a siren, must be...
Duscan was weak to stop his mouth from growing from a wry smile to a smug grin. His brows waggled, liking the fact he just witnessed Anira admit something true and not deflect any of the honesty with her with and charm. She made it infectious, but Duscan ceased from needling her to make her...
Duscan gave her a cheeky grin, nodding his head as he answered her without missing a beat. "You made me into a hopeless romantic..." and just so easily, his tone turned to something more intoxicating and smooth. "... after all, you have ruined all other bards for me."
The cheeky smile returned...
Duscan lifted the bacon from the pan and placed it onto the awaiting slices of cheese on top of the bread, thick cuts he had sliced while the freshly baked loaf was still cooling off. The cheese began to wilt and melt beneath the bacon.
He turned around, quickly setting up to scramble the eggs...
He looked down at himself as he turned towards the greeting of her dulcet tones. Duscan ceased the beating of the eggs to lift his blue eyes up at her. There was a smile on his face, that cheeky crook of his lips as he peered at her intently. "I just thought of warm thoughts, like the thought of...
He probably got no more than an hour's sleep.
Even after Anira drifted to slumber with him humming Rosie's Lullaby until he felt her breathing deepen, sleep escaped him. It was maddening and all the same rewarding. He got to watch the bard sleep some, wondering if she ever suffered the...
“Duscan. I think she must’ve loved it."
He sucked in a breath and pulled her tighter. Pressed a kiss to her shoulder, covered by his shirt she had pulled back on.
“You were a boy when you wrote it, but you understood something most of us spend a lifetime chasing... that music isn’t about...
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