Musical musings

[Tebrin]

It was a modest abode that the wandering minstrel called home. A one-bedroom flat, a small kitchen area, a cozy living room with throw rugs and stuffed chairs and a comfortable couch. Dias Coyne was not a man of wealth or decadence, but one of comfort and functionality. Various paintings, some his own, some not, lined the walls - mostly of landscapes, though a few of Dias's own are portraits of lovely women and noble men unseen within these parts of the world. Though he had painted for friends within Myrken, it felt... ODD to display such works in his home. Quincy and long-missing Pyra did not need to watch him sleep. Instruments of all different persuasions were placed decoratively throughout the room - next to the couch, next to his bed back down the hall... a harp, a lute, a mandolin, a flute... a rather ecclectic collection, really.

Within his bedroom, doubtless, Miss Raegan Darkblayde had set up temporary camp - at Dias's insisting. He would not have a guest sleep on the couch or the floor while he rested comfortably within his bed! No, Raegan would simply have to deal with the comfort forced upon her by this selfish bard, and eat his home-cooked meals with him (the cad!)

She could come and go as she pleased, and she mostly went - the flat remained empty most hours of the day. But now it saw the minstrel, in all of his boyish looks and simple linens, peering intently at a series of papers. Dark chocolate eyes pored over the writings again and again, weighing options, considering benefits, drawbacks... and, in general, shuffling randomly through the pile with the terse movements of a man frustrated.

He was expecting company this evening, if Quincy Randall had a mind to show. This was something he intended to discuss with the woman who had once made her home within the Dagger's attic -- the troubadour smiled at the memories of visiting her within the dark, relatively unfurnished interior, with Quincy's collection of windchimes dangling and jingling from the ceiling. He missed those days.

Of course, it had been his own choice to wander, as it always was - to disappear without a firm date of return, to leave poor Quincy wondering when she might see dear Dias again. He always came back... after a few months. And the two, three, four week-long stints at Myrken were as transient as the minstrel's temper. It was rather unfair to Quincy, really, though she had always been understanding, and happy to see him upon his return.

Young Miss Carnath-Emory, on the other hand, had quite a different interpretation of Dias's meanderings. He could not remember her exact words, but he was certain they involved physical harm to him if he continued to leave Quincy alone for indeterminate periods. He couldn't help but chuckle softly, reaching with one hand to brush chestnut curls back behind his ears and away from his vision.

He hated these papers, he decided, and tossed them onto the couch with a frustrated sigh. This was why he never stayed in one place too long. Far too much hassle.

And he doubted Quincy or Raegan would be able to offer much help.