Fate weaver’s convergence

"Kiyomiii, sweetie, hello?"

 

The snap of fingers broke me from my thoughts as Mother accompanied me through the market.

 

"Ah, sorry. Where were we?"

 

I asked, the change in scenery hitting me all at once. I'd apparently spaced out.

 

"Kiyomi-tch."

 

Mother shook her head, frustration barely leaking out.

 

"A moment ago you were ogling the dresses and you can't even remember where you are now…"

 

Mother mumbled a moment before sighing.

 

"We came to get Beryl a gift, didn't we?"

 

She mellowed out her tone.

 

"You spoke about her sixteenth coming up and wanted to get her something."

 

Ah, what the- I did? I did, but I didn't think of it today. Did I space out?

 

"Ah, yeah."

 

I shook my head, trying to clear out a fog that'd just lost its hold.

 

She's still holding on, good.

 

"Though, I'm still trying to figure out where to start. Her being a Lamia, there's not much I can get for her without questioning her directly."

 

I took in the market around us, stall upon stall lining the crowded streets. A Smith selling assorted parts and materials here, a merchant selling foreign textiles there. A great majority though were simply selling food traded from the farms that surrounded the city walls en masse. The smell of spices and the occasional food cart filled the relatively undisturbed and shaded air. The sound of handcarts, the beating of textiles, and manually operated flour mills were drowned out by conversation, haggling, and advertisement by the various merchants.

 

"Well, the best way to start is by browsing. Let's split up and meet back at the plaza. We'll both look for something for her."

 

Mother proposed, waving a finger in the air as she turned to walk the other way. 

 

"Why not, I'd figure if I don't find something then I can backtrack in case you find anything."

 

I felt inside my gambeson, just under my chest. It was still there, a small pouch of gold coins I'd kept on me for emergency purchases.

 

Still at a loss though. I can't ask Beryl what she'd want because she'd blow it off. 'You don't have to get me anything.'

 

I rolled my eyes as I imagined her words.

 

Bullshit I don't. You'll be an adult, girl. As a friend, it's my duty to get you something.

 

I strolled through the market, eyeing the odd trinket. A ring here, a silver inlaid pen there. A cutlery set caught my eye at some point but I doubted she would want it much. Passing another stall, the glint of sunlight on Mother of Pearl caught my attention. 

 

"Huh, I haven't seen one of these in a while."

 

Doubt it would make a good gift, but it's neat. 

 

It was a guitar, though slightly odd compared to the unusual six-string. A rosewood neck with frets so dull that one couldn't tell if they were wrought iron or silver. 

 

Could I even play this thing reliably? 

 

Part of me reached out in curiosity, a hand clasping around the neck and another cradling the body of the guitar. 

 

Would I just snap-

 

I carefully plucked a string.

 

Thmmm~

 

 Hah, it- ah… I can’t remember how.

 

I struggled to bring to mind any series of notes I’d been able to play together. It’d been half a decade now and I couldn't make heads or tails of the instrument anymore. 

 

Sigh  

 

“You know, If you’d like, princess, I could teach you.”

 

 A smooth, masculine voice echoed through the walls of the stall from right behind me.

 

“Six kinds of dragon shit!”

 

For the second time today, I'd been startled by a less-than-obvious presence, nearly dropping the guitar.

 

“Sorry, I should have asked before trying it.”

 

I placed the guitar back down, doing my best to look it over for any dings or scratches.

 

“It’s fine, it is there for advertisement rather than sale. It’s my personal piece, so if you're interested, sorry. I have others for sale here though.”

 

When I turned to see the owner of the voice, I was met with the face of a human who appeared to be roughly twenty or so years old. He was light in complexion, with dark brown hair, and his eyes matching in color. 

 

“Sorry, I wasn't really-”

 

Doing my best to back away, he’d caught my attention with honeyed words that were hard to pass up. 

 

“Not even for a free guitar?”

 

Sorry bro, not interested in being picked up today… especially when I’m fourteen. Granted, he doesn't know that. 

 

“Sorry, but the coin I’ve got is sparse. I can’t play anyways.”

 

I backed away slowly, making my way from underneath his covered stall. 

 

“Lessons are free, you just need strings to continue. They wear.”

 

Okay, I’ll bite out of curiosity. I haven't seen a guitar until now. What makes this different?

 

“By the way, you can calm down. You’re Mother’s well known enough, I’m not trying to make moves on a Revenant daughter.”

 

The young merchant rolled his eyes, uncrossing his arms as he strolled to the wooden table separating us. 

 

“Kiyomi, right?”

 

Nevermind? I guess the guy does know. 

 

“You’re just the first person to pick it up today. If I’m not getting many customers, why not pass the time? Peter.” 

 

He held out a hand, motioning for a handshake. 

 

“Kiyomi.”

 

I nodded back as I took his invitation, ceasing my retreat. 

 

“In all honesty, I’m seeking a gift above all else.”

 

I sighed, exuding my worry for Beryl's gift in my tone. Peter tilted his head. 

 

“If you're of the mind, I could offer advice in some respect.”

 

He shook my hand before turning back around, producing a rather bland-looking acoustic guitar.  

 

 “Granted, that's as long as you take my offer.”

 

Peter held out the wooden instrument, prompting for me to accept the gift. Hesitantly, I took the instrument in hand before eyeing wooden scraps along his counter top. 

 

“No pick?”

 

I asked.

 

“Pick?”

 

Peter raised a single brow, a confused smile creeping onto his face.

 

“Y’know, the small triangle you can pick at the strings with?”

 

Peter chuckled under his breath. 

 

“Hah, no, nothing like that.”

 

Peter took his own guitar in hand, its pearlescent inlay glistening in the light. With a fluid motion, the young man worked through several notes before nodding to me once more. I pointed to a small scrap as if to ask if I could use it, receiving a nod before responding myself. 

 

“I may not be able to coordinate all my fingers, so why not make one?”

 

I pressed the wood scrap against the counter, a small piece just large enough to comfortably wield in hand remaining. 

 

“Hm.”

 

Peter nodded, taking a seat on the counter, prompting me to follow. My tail smacked against the surface, sounding like a dog passing through a narrow hall. That was in part due to my own subconscious excitement, a part of me wanting to jump with excitement at the opportunity. 

 

Having access to music again… The freedom of expression would be nice. And I would not miss the excess silence for hours around the campfire. 

 

“What made you interested?”

 

I shrugged, placing my hands the best I could from memory alone.

 

“Would you believe me if I told you something just drew me to it?”

 

I asked. I couldn't remember a facet beyond hand placement, my awkward picking creating a simple three notes. I visibly grimaced at the poorly placed attempt. 

 

“Are you for real about this?”

I asked tilting my chin up to Peter, eyeing him with suspicion. Instruments costing what they had on earth, I’d find it far-fetched to simply give away an instrument in this world. 

 

“Not just cause I'm an impressionable girl, hmm?”

 

I gave a mocking smile for a moment before shaking my head and attempting another note. I received a slow set of four notes, simple, and resonating from Peters's instrument. As I was picking, It was hard to force myself to continue as Peter played. At first, it was a simple up and down of notes. And before long, his fingers were traveling along the fretboard as his right hand-picked at the strings like a spide manipulating its web. His melody slowed in pace and slowed to a halt. Noticing my staring, he chuckled to himself. 

 

“Actually, exactly because you are one. Free advertising.”

 

Peter motioned to his rather sparse shop.

 

“With all the carvings and simple utensils I can produce, I’m still unable to sell many if at all a single Guitar… It gets quite discouraging after a while. If you learn, with your level of work, I imagine others may come as well.”

Peter looked around before leaning closer. 

 

“Especially when it’s known that you and one of the leading noble families' sole daughter are neck and neck.”

 

“You mean Sabine Moreau?”

 

I asked, cocking my head to the side. 

 

“For real, am I the only one who was lost on some supposed rivalry? I didn't even know her name before today.”

 

“I mean, for this society? I'm just outside of your generation. Be glad you have someone to compete with of your age, unlike me. My father taught me everything I know, and I’ve been supporting my family since he died.”

 

Fingers ran passed string, the reverberations of sound echoing in my ears. 

 

“Though that's something in the past now. At the least, think about it. Take the guitar home, and get your parent's opinion if you must. But if you decide to pick it up, come straight to me.” 

 

I hesitated, wanting to say something like ‘I understand the feeling’  or ‘apologies for the loss’, but all the same it felt unnecessary. As if it didn't need to be said from his mood alone. 

 

“I will, Peter. Thank you.”

 

I looked at the guitar cradled on my lap. At that moment, I shook my head, looking up at him in a quizzical manner.

 

“Wait, how the hell- Sorry. I almost brain-dumped why I was in the markets.”

 

I shook my head, hopping up from the counter with the guitar in hand by its neck. 

 

“Apologies but maybe I could ask for your help in this matter?” 

 

Peter craned his neck with curiosity before answering. 

 

“Should it result in your return, I might.”

 

Is that a matter of fact? I could use whatever advice I can get… okay.

 

“My friend Beryl, She’ll be sixteen soon. I've looked for a gift for her, for some time, though I’m at a loss without going to her.”

 

I rubbed the back of my neck with my free hand, brushing my hair free of the skin it clung to in the heat. 

 

“If I go to her, she’ll anticipate it and be disappointed, or worse end up refusing my gift altogether. I am at a loss, that’s why I'm wandering these gods damned markets alone right now.”

 

I shook my guitar-filled fist at the street, the motion serving to properly hyperbolize my frustration before lowering it hopelessly. I dropped my weight back onto the counter, groaning as I did. 

 

“Im at a god's damned loss. Granted I’ll have my mother's help if I fail to find anything…”

 

I looked on, a pair of adults with a small child in tow by each hand. A family out to buy groceries, or a trinket for the little one. 

 

“Like that, I’d feel like a kid asking her for help.”

 

I tapped my leg impatiently, pulling the gold pouch from my gambeson. 

 

“It's not as if money is the issue either, I’m just… I’m at a loss.”

 

I removed five gold pieces and placed them on the countertop. Knowing the value of it, I’ve given him a tenth of the earth equivalent for such an instrument, at the least. I pointed a stiff finger at Peter after placing the pieces. 

 

“I won't take it back. A free apple or drink is one thing. Something like this-”

 

I held the guitar to the side. 

 

“-Not the same.”

 

Peter raised his hands as if to say ‘Alright, alright, I’ll take it.’

 

“Then would you allow me to impart some aid in your search?”

 

He reminded me of a smart-ass private or two I’d known on earth as he crossed his arms and smiled, seeming to hold on pridefully to a secret. 

 

“Please? Whatever it is?”

 

I earnestly responded, thankful for any idea of where to resume the search. 

 

“Try Finlay’s silverware.”

I looked to Peter for a long, hard moment before slumping my shoulders. 

 

“I was trying to avoid cutlery.”

 

I looked away in a dejected manner, pouting slightly.

 

“Aye, aye, just ask Mr. Finlay about the Anthim’s anchor. When his mask falters, beg the old sod.”

 

Peter smiled as he shrugged.

 

“The old dwarf is a sailor with a penchant for being a braggart to us younger folk. The minute you get his pride involved, he's sure to help a well-off adventurer knowing his work will valued."