Oh!

[alexmegami]

One more thing...


Tathar = Tathar [as in, very similar to the D&D Tathar, 'cept stuck in the year 2044 or so]; 27-year-old half-elf bard... has a small problem with a potty mouth, particularly in this section [= Turret's ;p]
Anton = 'other bard', older man, unknown race at the beginning of this section

---

Tathar liked New Stonehenge. It carried not only the mysticism of the real thing, but also the cleanliness such a place should have. It was pure. Untouched.

Furthermore, less people knew of it, and so, particularly on nights like this, he could be reasonably certain he was alone.

Besides, Security always tried to ruin his fun. What were stones for, if not sitting upon? But here, there was no Security, only a blissfully fake moon, surrounded by incredible facsimiles of stars; and, most importantly, a true-to-life replica of Stonehenge.

[stuff happens here, including a Duelling Banjos moment XD]

"So what do you play?" The other bard asked.

Tathar rocked back on his heels and grinned. "Oh, anything. Flutes... guitar, mandolin, citern – anything with strings."

"Violin too?" Polite curiosity.

He wondered where this was heading. "Yep. Don’t play it much now – punk doesn’t use a lot of ‘em."

"Try this on for size, then." Anton pulled a case out of the large bag and hefted it across the gap to Tathar.

Tathar realized the instrument wasn’t going to make it a split second later. Without thinking he leapt into action, catching the case in its downward arc. He slammed into the stone of the monolith opposite and scrabbled for a hold.
A few heart-stopping seconds later, he found one. He knew it wouldn’t last, and with his left arm cradling the case, he couldn’t pull himself up. He eyed the ten-foot drop and reminded himself that elves didn’t panic. It's not that far. But a broken hand could do endless damage to his career.

"Impressive," he heard the other bard murmur above him. Then, louder: "Why don’t you drop the instrument and lift yourself up?"

He gritted his teeth and ignored the voice. Carefully, he swung his arm up and pushed the case onto the lintel. This caused him to lose his precarious hold.

"Shit!" He flailed, trying to find a secure hold when surprisingly strong hands grasped his wrists and pulled him up.
When he’d lain still for a while and allowed his heartbeat to return to normal, he scowled at Anton. "What the fuck did you do that for?"

"I would have thought you’d be glad not to break any bones," his companion said mildly.

"Fuck you." He sat up, pulling the case next to him. He was aware of Anton’s eyes on the back of his neck. Dusting the case off, he undid the clasps.

"Holy shit good Lord Jesus fucking H. Christ Almighty!" With blind anger he whirled around to face the other bard. His expression of vague amusement barely registered before fist and nose connected. Anton toppled backwards. Tathar leapt on top of him instantly, fists clenched around a blood-stained collar.

"I see you’ve heard of Stradivarius' violins," Anton commented, seemingly unperturbed by the blood dripping from his nose.

"Yes! And have you heard of justifiable fucking homicide?"

"I don’t believe it applies."

"You would have destroyed a master violin! One of the last five in existence! Are you mad?"

"I could have made another."

"What!" He was shaking Anton violently now. As the other man’s ponytail loosened, something in Tathar’s peripheral vision nagged at him.

Elf ears?

The shaking had pulled Anton’s hat free, and now, protruding from the unruly mass of thick grey-black hair, were ears. Long ears. Long, pointy, elf ears.

Fingers were gently prying his fists apart.

"Stradivari." His voice was weak. "The Stradivari. Antonius Stradivarius. Anton?"

"Quick learner, you are," Anton replied. Tathar remembered now why he’d left Old England the first time. True elves had a way of making you feel lower than shit without even being rude. "I’ve been listening to you play for weeks now."

"What?"

"Pubs, nightclubs, here – I’ve listened."

Tathar stared at him numbly.

"Do you know what I heard?"

Music, I expect."

Stradivari sighed. "Are you always this antagonistic? Don't answer that." Tathar pressed his lips together. "I was looking for the one. Now I’ve found him."

"The fuck."

"Don't worry." Anton smiled. "I don't want you for some bizzare mythic quest of utmost importance. No," the smile gained a rueful slant, "it's far more concieted than that, I'm afraid."

"What, then?"

"I merely want to hear a master bard play upon my violin."

Tathar glared at him. "For that I jumped to save a violin? So you could ask me to play it? You're insane!"

"I would not ask without offering recompensation," Stradivari continued. "It would not be just any violin."

"Do tell."

"I wish to make one last violin before I die. And, upon my hearing you play, it would become yours."

---

Comments? Anything? Am I terrible? *weep*