Music and Stone (Closed)

[Yvonne]

On the surface, skin-deep, her demure glances and brazen wordplay expressed her desire for a genuine human connection. Figuratively and literally she believed a human connection was the missing link in her life, the solution to a state of depression that had plagued her from childhood. She believed it to be a way to bring about positive change in her own life, and in turn enable her to create positive change in the lives of others; at least for those deserving. Until Yvonne could find this person with whom she could simply be herself with, someone to share her emotions, thoughts - share herself with, it would prove difficult to affect others in a positive way. If she couldn’t help herself who was she to help anyone else?

Deep down, like the stone she had come to know intimately throughout her youth, so too was she as hard as stone. The half-and-halfling willed her racing heart to slow its beat and braced her mind for inevitable rejection. She told herself it was the only possible outcome. She crushed any fleeting hope of acceptance she was holding onto like a fluttering butterfly - colourful and free - beneath a rock. In this way her hope was already squashed when the time came to endure his response. Henry could not devastate a woman who expected the worst when it came to love interests.

Yer being silly. He not be interested in ye tha same way yer interested in him, ye know that. So many telltale signs before yer eyes and still ye put yer heart on tha line for him. Yer a silly fool. Ye should have taken tha hints, listened ta those dismissive snorts when his family pried and enquired about us earlier. It doesn’t matter how many times ye bat yer eyelashes, nothing ye try will sway him ta love ye. Ye have no chance with him stupid girl. He be too good for tha likes of ye and ye know it.

Henry shook his head and laughed gently, dithered from her proposal and talked his way around it to begin with. Yvonne carefully withdrew her caressing fingertips, easily reading into his body language and simply let her mismatched black hand rest next to his tanned white. The hybrid listened to the way he spoke to her, gazed into his earnest, fixed focus on her and every word he spoke was essential in her mind. He was spending breath on these words with her now but they may have been the last she would have the pleasure of hearing, after tonight. Mayhap he would think it better if they went their separate ways, and that would be his right to affect. She was a guest in his home and she had been rather undisguised with her intent.

Yvonne was awaiting the moment when the bard would certainly spurn her - outwardly warm and smiling, inwardly cold and hardened. When the battering ram of rejection never arrived, and in its place was a definitive maybe, let’s wait and see, perhaps time will tell; the diminutive drow was ill-prepared. Henry’s considerate response, an offering of words of wisdom beyond his and her years, mindful to leave her feelings intact was a javelin throw over her carefully constructed barricade. A tear for each of her silver eyes welled and spilled, two teardrops of happiness down her cheeks. She held her smile well, but otherwise didn’t convey what those tears meant, too taken aback by such an unusual outcome.

Wait, he never gave me a no. What does it all mean? A bard who doesn’t believe in tha poetry of love at first sight? Relationships are built? He thinks ours be worth careful, tender nurturing? This be his cue ta say ‘not even if ye were tha last woman alive mixed breed,’ or ‘nothing about ye be attractive ta me black-skin,’ but … ever tha gentleman he didn’t say anything mean. That must have been difficult for him, never having been together with another, and yet refraining from taking advantage of me.

Henry had neither denied nor accepted her and she admired him all the more for it. Yvonne was learning that humans could be highly unpredictable creatures. They comprised such a wide-ranging span of ideals and principles, there was no pattern to the emotions she felt for them, no order to the thoughts which clouded her head for them. With every meeting of a new human, everything she’d established from earlier encounters with their race was upturned. It seemed nothing was certain - when compared with their kin - which inspired both fear and curiosity. She wiped one of her cheeks clear of its tear-trail and paid the other no mind.

“Yer words humble me dear,” Yvonne managed at last. She was obviously having trouble saying the things she needed to say, normally charismatic and never skipping a beat with a witty remark. Henry’s beliefs on relationships were the wisest words she’d heard him speak, and his was a compelling perspective on how to form bonds with others. Yvonne’s own experience was altogether different. She’d made her way through the world swinging her personality about like a charisma-mallet, and in doing so discovered people either loved or hated her. She was more than willing to try something different in this case, especially a suggestion from Henry.

“Truth be, I’ve not shared a romantic relationship with another,” Yvonne persisted, but she recognized she needed to let the topic subside. He concealed it skillfully yet the trace of sorrow hiding behind his smile was a waving warning flag which she would do well to heed. It was a conversation which he could raise if he ever felt comfortable doing so. For all of her passion and personality she reined herself in, finally letting her silver eyes fall to the table. She changed the subject to the one he loved the most.

“Ye know, where I came from … the odd one out be me too. Tha little ones might have different aspirations, but they say music be tha language of us all,” she articulated with a brand new grin, looking up to him again.

“Everyone be in bed, but mayhap we could find a secluded place. Ye could give me a lesson in playing yer fiddle?” She looked into his eyes to convey her honesty, nibbling her lower lip with anticipation of his answer.