Matvi Iramene

Matvi Iramene

Bastard Medicant
Character Profile
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They could hear it well before they could see it. The sweet sound of string's mournful whines. Skip and spring as the wind that carried gulls above the cut of waves.

The shrill screech so tight it pulled you right through a fresh hole in the heart. The warm lungs of accordion's squeeze and stretch, hummed and hollered an amber warmth there along the soft stomp, stomp beat that rattled over the stones.

1750490521416.webp"If there ain't a sound sweeter," Matvi said with dreamy air that bouyed him forward, just the lighter as they stepped through the streets.

Mariel there ahead of them, ruffled skirts the color of pale pine needle, shift with her happy step. Hiked and tied to thigh, so that none of the street's dirt could touch them. "Oh, they have the harpist today!" she said, bright with excitement. She motioned them to move the faster.

"Even a guitar," Matvi said, eyes turned to glitter toward Jens. A bounce of brow, almost a promise, and a little smirk.

All along the Wendway docks sat the sleepy stacks. Houses and storage spaces that bowed and leaned. As if tired after a long day. The smell of cold mud, and river air crisp on the night. The glow of the Fiddler burned a warm mix of orange, gold, and mauve.
 
They were on about the instruments and the music. Despite the immediate though that he did, indeed, know a myriad of sweeter sounds, he kept it to himself.

We’ll speak of that, later.

At his arm, Delilah was snickering at the enthusiasm, all gleefully bared fangs and a pleasant bounce to her step. He felt it as they strolled down, her side pressed against his for what he’d figured was both for warmth and support. Against the slip of the street and the chill of the air, the drink and how it made her stare perch on Mariel, more frequent and more daring. Openly admiring.

A fool’s spark in her eye. Stifling the widest edge off his own smirk, Jens pulled her closer, mouth at her temple as he spoke betwixt them.

“ Careful with her. The knot of those skirts bodes danger. “
“ Bait, you say? I should damn well hope so. “ She responded, syllables hissing in the whisper. A great amount of effort willed the fiendish lilt out of her look, hand tapping him on the arm sympathetically. “ My mouth is already open, wide. “

A little click of her teeth, biting air. Her stare bounced to the man at the helm in turn, a ghost of that glance he’d aligned their way fresh in her mind. The music grew louder as a door was wrenched open ahead, letting out a pane of the warmest light. And a pleasant bustle.

“ I’ll pray for you. “ Matter of fact, a quirk in her brow. If that man doesn’t destroy you—
“ Direct it to Old Verna’s ghost. I don’t think anyone else watches over me, these days. “
“ Apart from— “ A clawed index rose, then poked him in the soft of his side. “ Me. “

A fierce patroness. He wouldn’t dispute it, letting her go as they neared the brief stair leading up to the Fiddler’s open front door. To his amusement, Delilah kicked her heels together and skipped all the steps in one catlike pounce, tail whipped into a curl. A tigress hot on the heel of what she coveted.

“ She likes to show off. “ He said on his way, sidelong to Syr Iramene, more measured in gait and advance for his compromised sight and the large shadows on the walls.

“ Think it’ll work? “
 
Matvi's lips curled up at the question. An alley cat, all too pleased by what his whiskers had picked up. "With Mariel?" He looked to the tigress and the dancing green bird, already fanning her feathers, with a kick of her skirts and playful shifts of her tail, lips spread in wide and happy smile. Matvi gave a roll of the shoulder. "Who can really say?" His eyes dart back to Jen's lonely red. That tender moon he found himself liking too well. "A persons heart is their own dark secret," he waited for the large man, curios gleam to his honey brown eyes.

Craned his neck in toward the door as the music thumped and yowled its way out the walls so set to shake. "For theirs to give or keep," he looked toward the green bird, Mariel, could see her dark waves of hair set to wisp and trail as she span and clapped in rhythm with the music. "Mari does love herself a good dance though," he laughed looked to Delilah. "So, not a bad start, hmm?" his eyes flit back to the big man. "How about you, Jens," he probed the man who seemed almost sullen of a sudden. "You fancy yourself a bit of dancing first?" he offered out a hand. "Or are you the sort who likes to get lost in quiet places? Know a heart through the words it gives, before you trust the rhythm in your feet?" No shame there in the curl of his lips, nor the lustrous gloam gathered in his eye.
 
“ I do love a good word. “ He responded outright, stare flitting off to where the rest of the party had took up a dance. Delilah was doing one of the lively jigs she’d practiced in many a deck and brig before, tails of her wintercoat snapping with every kick. It was easy to smile at the sight of them.

Ought let her spread the net a little bit in peace, but— That offered hand was looking awfully tempting.

“ Why not both. A knight works his breath well enough, no? “ He keeled his head, brow quirking.

“ In the books — and doesn’t matter what the duel is— “ Took him by the hand and went. “ They’ll always talk and talk right through it. “

No matter the genre.
 
A good word, was as good a place to start as any.

Why not both...

A bounce of surprise, smile turned just the wider as the sailor keeled just the lower, and there a little backstep and curtsey from the Knight. A small laugh rippled across the span of his shoulders. Hand still raised over him as Jens plied his playful barbs.

Felt the warm clap of hand, and the gentle prick of claws. Knight that he was, he lead toward the dance floor.

"Well," each step a little closer to the wail of strings accompanied by throats set to howl, hands set to clap. "Might I live up to these exemplary models in your stories!" he near shout, as he pulled his hand the more toward the gathered mass. All twist and skip and laugh.

Mariel twirled about Delilah, hop step about, her skirts fanning in the show about the sailor and her jig. Let them fall, a crash of green waves, and raised her hands up high to clap-kick-clap-kick to spur the tigress on.

Matvi laughed, and fell into an easy bounce. "Know the tune?!" he called out, on beat with the stomp.
 
It was warmer in the thick of it. Though the tune yet flowed relatively slow, he had the feeling there’d be a point at which the coat would have to come off. Lest an old man keel over from heatstroke.

He held on, if lightly as one would something fragile, and eyed the man’s movements curiously, then his eyes and mouth as he more yelled than spoke. To the beat, he kicked to front one leg, touching first the toe and then the heel of the boot to the floor, rhythmic.

“ Almost. They play it slower here— “ Bent leg back briskly and begun with another, balance springy upon balls of the feet. “ In the continent. “

While the remark was matter-of-fact, his smile betrayed smug confidence.

“ In the ships and where I’m from, the variants tend to— pick it up. “ He came closer in a practiced pattern, the hand holding the knight’s daintily hovered at the shoulder level. And back, withdrawing as water before another wave. A little heavier on the step for the adjusted pace and the drink in him.

“ Nothing like dancing until you’re drenched. “ Closer again. He landed Matvi’s palm on his shoulder, both guiding and urging, freeing his own to take post on the gentle bend of the man’s waist. The grip was supposed to be symmetrical, but lacking means for it, he merely bent the other arm behind his back.

“ Left breathless like a beached perch. “

Shifting on heel to a direction, he took charge of the gentle spin.
 
​

"The continent," Matvi could not help but purr in playful response. Toes set to tap. Tap. A laugh as he matched the slower step the tune demanded. Saw the look worn there across such haunting colors, that could only belong to the sea.

The confidence that lurked there in the depth of his smile. It suited him too well, like dark waters.

Hands together, they stepped. Matvi, never a slouch, matched the waves in mirror steps. Keen to watch, and keener to listen. Learning, as he so liked to do.

Nothing like dancing until you're drenched... There it was again. The confidence, rolling in like the tide. Brought a rumble of excitement from the smaller man, grinning up at the sailor who took his hand and put it close. Space there, then gone, there, then gone betwixt the tender press of fingers and palms, so set to bounce in a rhythm best shared.

Turn of the heel, the two set to spin, and spin. Matvi felt almost aloft amidst the heat and twirl. Nothing too headless, but the gentle pitch of vertigo.

"You are too daring by half, sailor," he said with no complaint in it.

The strings shift their yaw. The accordion pumped and squeezed the faster. Lungs hungry for breath.

"But we've no love lost for the sea," feet stepped faster. Rocks left, steps right. Waves set to rising winds. Fiddle's play like gull cries overhead. Guitar strings bright in their speeding progression as the winds sang sweet through the flute and horn. He pressed himself close to the man, who had so draped his hand across the span of him. "So far beached upon the continent,"

Still with breath left to lose.

Mariel had snatched up Delilah's hand. And danced ribbons around the tigress. Skirts a shuffle ans legs a show to lead her. Just where she wanted her as the tempo spiked.
 
No love lost. His brow hiked up, sharkteeth bared in a flash smile. Red eye focused on the face that’d grin and speak back at him.

“ You can be plenty daring yourself, barknight. “ He riposted. “ That’s my mother you’re talking about and— “ Paused to pull apart, then back together. Steps fluid.

“ Have you seen the size of me? “ Almost a laugh. Half of it for the sight of Delilah just about keeping up with the green bird of paradise. " Pick up, Lilah! Show these landlubbers what for." He called out, catching the Deva's glare sidelong.

" I'm going to fold— " Was she out of breath? Her eyes sure twinkled more for it, clawed hand reaching for Mariel's. Support, that bit of adoration. " She's too good! "

And he believed it, tossing his head in a laugh.

" You're pretty damn good too. " He admitted to Syr Iramene as another set of steps spun them. The bounce of a gallop. " Dance is a bit like a duel, isn't it? "

Fancy a win?
 
And Mariel gave her hand in kind. A bow, all grace in victory, as she stepped on to her podium. Playful nods in rhythm and bounce of her shuffle step. Hop skip close to the tigress, skirts swayed raised and dips that all but invited her closer to the shift. Held hands raised high as arms bridged and bodies spun apart there beneath.

Matvi, moved with an ease about the big swell of man. Born from the sea. Set to glide and stroke and kick there in the curl of all his torrent and surge.

A proud bow of the head as they came apart, just before the swoop step took them to spin to quarter hop and kick and hop, heels and toes just skimming across the wooden planks of the Fiddler's floor.

Dance is a bit like a duel, isn't it?

"As much as pulling a catch over the rail!" he laughed through the flourish of their feet, and the whirl of the room.

The fiddler's whine called for them join again in the close as they wove about. To the crush, Matvi went. A hand laced fingers with other's as they came within hairs of chest to chest and set to gallop. One hand twined, the other laid against the broad plane of rib and muscle he could get lost in. "Save," the quick away, hop to hop down the line. "A dance has no losers, Big Jens," a boot sweet and skip hop wide and open as fingers traced across shirt and jacket to fan out.
 
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No losers.

“ This dance sure doesn’t. “ He responded, may have winked if on his face it’d not looked like any wanton blink. Small tragedies. “ You keep that step up and the fishing adjacent turns of phrase coming and we’ll be— “ Reeled away, bumped shoulders with an unfortunate fellow patron beyond his field of vision who may as well have been slammed aside by a runaway cart.

“ Piss for brains! “ Came the insult. The prim and proper youngster hadn’t gone entirely arse over backwards, cleverly caught by their own dance partner.
“ Shit— Awful sorry — can’t see! “

At least half of it was true. Betwixt the general look of him and the grin, it was pretty clear which half. And the fiddle played on, riding up to a procession that signified impending end of the tune. Just a little more.

“ Figure there’ll be a tune with singing, later? Do they take requests? " He held on closer, hip to hip and thighs brushing ever so as body read body for the next step. Intuitive. “ Maybe we can both yowl like proper alley cats and trouts. Unless of course— “

Stole a glance at their friends, Delilah’s hands now clasped to both of Mariel’s. Teeth bared in a grin, mouth speaking something he couldn’t hear.

“ Mariel lied about your singing— “ Broke it with a whistle at the sight of Delilah trying to steal a little kiss off the bird at her arm. Proper smitten.
 
A bump and hustle. Insult flung, but little of consequence. Save for the shift in Matvi's steps. The doubled bounce that let him stay, just a tad ahead or behind the big man's right. A gentle pull this way, a tilt of weight that way, made it so the next crash might be more, easy glance.

Hand slipping further sure across shoulder and bicep, whilst left hand held sure that palm and finger held there as they brushed closer. Smooth as a gull about those legs like mizzenmasts. Never minding the odd bump and finding places for the playful grind.

"Oh, they take requests!" he said as he smiled wide and settled against Jens, breath high as the song's last wails bled over the crowds. "If yowling is what you really want to get up to," he said in a soft hush, throaty with a bit of caterwaul there in the inflection of the last note.

If Mariel made any hint of hesitation, it bled away faster than a feather falls. Mouths pressed in the hot smooch of a smile and hungry lips. A quick thing, that broke into giggles all too pleased, and a little pull away.

"Got a tune in mind?" Mariel asked as the crowed cheered and clapped. Some dancers mingled off the dance floor, while others hung about each other in lazy embraces full of steam and pleasant haze.

"You're not too hot?" Matvi asked, a hand already slipped under the lip of a coat, as he ventured up the firm and the soft landscape of the sailor's. "Maybe we can check in your coat?" he nod toward the coat service near to the entrance.

"Thank you! Thank you! Well, look at all you lovely Crown Holders, if only for the night, or cracked out of the bricks in the road themselves!" the fiddler himself called over the din of the tavern goers. Sweat shone and his chest pumped for breath. He waved a hand to the crowd as his horse-hair bow dipped to the side. "I see we've a pair of true blue sea dogs, skipping about our merry planks!" his eyes caught Delilah then Jens with a wink and a nod. "Hope the Selbin Skip, full sail, was to your liking,"

A rouse of more cheers from the crowd. The wind instruments played a little fanfare.

Claps from the old fiddler, who looked every bit a portly old lion, with his long mane of reddish gold, and well trimmed mustache. "Now," he cast his eyes out. "Whose got the next song on the tip of their tongue?"
 
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“ Oh, what sweet promise— “ He answered, looping his arm around the shoulders of his smiling company, just about audible to himself beneath the clapping. “ For that is exactly what I’d like to get up to. “

And then keep at it, any which way. He held on a little tighter, feeling the weight of those hands beneath his coat and rather enjoying it, pretending not to notice. Watched as Delilah sidled along, clawed hand hovered just there next to Mariel’s as she failed to cough up a tune to satisfy the curiousity.

“ Only sad ones. “ A horned head shook, though she yet smiled wider. Jens signaled her with the jerk of a head to where he meant to steer them all. Intermission.
“ We will, in fact, check in my coat. And Lilah’s— “ He locked in and went to turn. “ Got to show off those ropehauling arms of hers. For science. “

The Deva gave a salute to him, then at the Fiddler and his call, appreciative. Jens roused to merely glance past his shoulder, fingers flicking a little acknowledgment by Matvi’s shoulder. Not letting go.

Claimed. Or was that him, caught in a net of charm. Probably.

Lilah was already hassling her coat off, making pretense of being coy. Himself didn’t rush, shrugging one shoulder out sluggishly. Craned his neck to shout at the stage.

“ Chevalier’s Lament! “
“ Dreadful. “ Delilah muttered beneath her breath, fangs flashing.
“ Or— fuck— “ He snapped his fingers, fishing for another.
 
"Well then," Matvi curled in all the more beneath the brace of the stout arm that held him closer. "Aren't we lucky to be so aligned in thought,"

"There is nothing wrong with a bit of ennui," Mariel cooed into their happy bind.

We will, in fact, check in my coat... Got to show off those ropehauling arms...

"Yes, please!" Mariel laughed. Practically hanging off the canon that had come up to salute.

Matvi found himself in the swell of the moment. Carried away to the coat check, too glad to be swept up in the wave of the man at his side. Jaunty as Jen's long legs strode. Matvi wouldn't be shy as to where he let one arm wrap, about the soft width of midsection, the other hand trailing playfully up and down the well of belly's line, there beneath the shirt.

Come the request for the song, Matvi helped pull off the massive coat. Laughed at the request. "Chevalier's Lament?"

Mariel shook her head. "Matvi!" she folded up Delilah's coat and lined up with the attendant. "Don't act like you don't know every verse,"

"Now, I never said that~" He held the longcoat up over his head, just to keep the tails from dragging. Folded one shoulder into the other. Draped the thing over the fold of his arm before he handed it off to the attendant. Small thanks exchanged. Ticket pocketed.

Mariel flagged the Fiddler down. "Chevalier's Lament!"

A laugh that saw the broad framed performer bounce. Nod. A few others in the crowd called it out. "Well, we'll need help singing this one!" he turned round, and stage spoke to the band. Pointed to the harpist and guitarist. Percussion and wind got their notes.

Jakob stepped up, "Chevalier's Lament!" let the guitar find its pace.

Look into the sky
Can you see the moons across the ocean
Coming close to me
I can hear the melody​
The Place I'll Return to Someday: Original Lyrics by Erutan Originally composed by Nobuo Uematsu
 
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The wanton suggestion was catching on to his smug delight, which he made certain to level Delilah’s way in a smirk and a keel of the head.

“ See, the people have taste. “ He informed her, all too pleased to let the barknight help him out of his coat. And check it in too while he watched, adjusting what the coat had revealed. Yanked open the collar of his shirt, coloured glass of necklaces just about visible in the cut at its front, and straightened the fit of his red corduroy waistcoat. He hadn’t been able to button it closed over his bulk for years now, but the shoulders still had that same worn room as ever. So he kept sporting it, mainly out of sentimental value.

And because he felt he looked rather dashing in it.

“ How do I look? “ He muttered at no one and everyone, slutting it up with a tilt of the hip and a haughty incline of his chin. Delilah caught the sight of him sidelong, lips pursing.
“ Consider sticking your arse out more. “ She shot in, gathering up the sleeves of her shirt to bare so much forearm.

And he obeyed in a jostle of weight, clicking his tongue, hand on his waist. His fellow sailor just cackled at the sight of it, already busy taking Mariel by the hand and pulling her along to a dance. Slower, her mouth not singing along to the first words of the song as if she didn’t know them. She’d always hated this tune and he didn’t entirely know why, but at least she appeared happy enough to endure it now, for someone pretty and clever.

“ Coming close to meee~ “ He begun, loud and off-key enough for the both of them. Himself had nothing to endure — it was all a win after win for him and he wore the sentiment clear upon his face as he considered Matvi. In his smile and look that’d grown warm with attraction.

Something about those touches, the careful attentions, to be seen, noticed and considered. Really gets in the blood.

“ Out to you and leads~ “ Morayed his arm over and around him, pulling side flush to side. “ To my long lost memory~ “ Dipped voice a little, mouth hovered over the man’s temple.

“ Carry me home~ “
 
"Taste enough for a classic," Matvi tacked on with a bit of play. Found the big sailor prim and proper. Rusty red of the well worn waistcoat bringing out the touches of rouge in those most delicate frills, fins, and eye of his.

How do I look?

"Like-"

Consider sticking your arse out more.

A play at the suggestion, and all the right places showed the more plump, fabric stretched full. Matvi grinned wide, and gave a clatter of claps, Mariel a whistle, before Delilah swooped in, shark that she was, and pulled her away. Quite. Almost lost in the roil of the instruments, and the breathy climbs of the singer's voices.

Whatever had come upon Deliliah had not gone unmissed by Mariel, a laugh and a nudge to the chancy sailor with arms like main masts.

"Overrated, isn't it?" she gave as much comfort as she took. Wouldn't sing, so long as the sailor kept her stormy mood. There to indulge in the slow rocks and shifts of the rises and swells of the motions they mirrored and matched. Gave and took.

Coming close to meee~

~I can hear the melody​

Matvi capped. Voice a tense shake, as it strained over the din of the crowd.
​
Out to you and leads~ they sang together. Too horrid to harmonize, with all the charm of alley cats set to yowl in unison, set to spin and settle, shoulder to shoulder. To my long lost memory~ Matvi craned his neck, cheeks flush as he let hot breath spill across that burned side of his face. Never a mind to it, save for the warm shiver that went down his spine.

Carry me home~ the sailor's voice stole away.

And for a moment, the barknight let himself be taken away in the swing step stride of the slow and aching rhythm of the song. The high lilt of the singers, casting out their sorrowful spell.

"You look like a damn fine catch, Jens," Matvi would finally say, all smiles, and breathless for the song, and the company he had sang it with.
 
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