Music and Stone (Closed)

[Yvonne]

“Don’t ye go apologizing ta me mister, not unless ye mean it. Yer not sorry that happened one bit, I know it. Ye should be proud of who ye be and what yer able ta express. Nobody can express quite like ye,” Yvonne remarked, scolding and praising the exhilarated bard in quick succession. She laid the piano keys to rest and closed the wooden cover, left everything how she had found it. The piano student still had no idea who the magnificent instrument belonged to - and the same could be said for the harp beside her - but ever since the day her childhood bullies had destroyed her apothecary stall she had made it a rule; respect people’s property.

“Yer very welcome Henry. Thank ye for treating me ta some of yer endearing dance maneuvers,” the sophisticated woman teased, smothering a giggle with her hand before her manner became too mean. “Ye made me feel completely at ease about tha lack of piano talent in tha room.” Yvonne hopped off her seat and, before he could object to her repartee for him or herself, she trump carded the poor man with an adoring, uninhibited hug around his middle. A fond squeeze, never mind the sweat and she let him go again.

The drow-dwarf decided not to answer Henry’s remaining questions, not in so many words. She whirled away, turned with a shy smile from him. Her secrets sought their freedom from her prison-lips. One step, two, out into the wide open space the minstrel had cleared for his own dance. Her mysterious silver eyes closed as she breathed in deeply, filled her lungs. She slowly raised her left arm, hand upturned to guide her melodic singing voice - to moderate the height of her tone.

“Have ye ever heard a wolf cry ta tha blue full moon,
Or asked a grinning bobcat why he grinned?” Her tender voice resonated throughout the room and her right arm mirrored her left, as though one hand gestured toward a full moon far above and the other a predatory cat lounging on a tree branch underneath it.

“Can ye sing with all tha voices of tha mountain?” Yvonne’s voice reverberated the word sing, and both arms arose to an uplifting height in tandem with mountain. Her hips swayed and her feet followed along with their movement. A gradual step to the left, a turn that faced her toward Henry which revealed a hidden blush, and another turn to conceal her embarrassment again.

“Can ye paint with all tha colours of tha wind?” Light of foot she lifted one and pirouetted, spinning twice with her elbows up but her hands held together.
“Can ye paint with all tha colours of tha wiiind?” With a flick of her foot through the air she procured herself another pirouette, stood only on the ball of a single foot and allowed her arms to flow outward freely. She considered three spins to be enough for the slow pace of the song and relaxed the technique.

“Ye think tha only people who be people,” Yvonne continued to sing in a quieter, softer tone, a hand over her own heart.
“Be tha people who look and think like you,” she enunciated the word you correctly, surprisingly capable and gestured out toward Henry with a flourishing hand.
“But if ye walk tha footsteps of a stranger,” she intoned and began to walk away from him, a hand coming to rest on the door frame.
“Ye learn things ye never knew, never knew,” she crooned as she left the room entirely.

Hopefully the song and dance had left him completely dumbfounded. She was far more practiced with her beautiful voice after all, and a tutored dancer to boot. Of course he would be, but she decided to wander off without him and time how long it took, to pick his jaw up off the floor and catch up with her little strides taking her away through the manor house.

[Original song is of course Colors Of The Wind, by Vanessa Williams.]