Tapicerías Apasionadas 2

Tapicerías Apasionadas: The Second Tapestry

=Chapter One: Finding Their Voice=

by Cyntia

Cyntia and Quin's first order of business was to find clothing to wear. She had brought with her a bag full of gold, enough to last about a month before they needed more. Soon, however, they would need to earn some kind of living and this weighed lightly in the back of her mind. She had her farming experience from home and her physician's training from the Navy. Perhaps she could work as a medic or horse groomer in town. While learning the streets and all the various shops, Cyntia laughed and enjoyed Quin's constant thinking. They talked, sharing thoughts and gently learning of each other's quirks and what made the other smile. They discovered some differences but in both of them was a willingness to consider another view, and it expanded each of their minds to be more accepting. Their discussions were endless, it seemed, and she was grateful for the sensation of no end in sight.

When they came upon a music shop, Cyntia dragged Quin in by the hand with shining eyes. So caught up in looking at the various instruments for sale, she did not notice that Quin had picked up an acoustic guitar. He sat on a stool and laid it carefully across his leg, hands caressing the bending bow of the wood and the neck with the utmost respect. His entire demeanor was absorbed in getting the feel of the curves and learning the instrument with his eyes closed. Cyntia turned and noticed him then, watching his hands learn and enjoy the instrument, slowly and with expertise. Something gripped deep in her gut watching him, imagining his hands on her like that. She observed his closed his eyes; his face wore a rapt and immersed pleasure. Then his finger pads gently pressed the strings between frets, learning the distance, the tension, the placement of chords. He still had not raised his right hand to strum or pluck. He was breathing in deeply and beginning to feel a rhythm build into his pulse. To watch him pause before beginning to make music was like waiting for the first touch of lips in a new kiss.

The sounds emerged, tentative at first, a timid resonance full of uncertainty and question but continuing nonetheless. She could tell he was not new to this, though, for his confidence built with each perfectly pitched note. He began to get a feel for the neck and his fingertips as one, working the chord progressions with ease and memory of a seasoned and talented guitarist. Soon the notes came out clear and even, a plucking style timed to carry you off and forget anything but the harmonies within. Quin's music tugged at her soul, beckoning it to come along, to fly with his fingers as they increased the tension. He toyed with the strings in such a way that made her feel like he was strumming her from within. It touched her dead center where nothing else made sense but wherever he was taking her. Her eyes locked with his, and the moment grew in crescendo. Cyntia was so moved and caught up in the music of Quin that she heard her own voice begin to sing the familiar song, with a sense of elation he was drawing out of her.

Quin looked deeply into her then, seeing her reactions to him, and slowed a tiny bit to accommodate her rhythms. Together they soared into a profound experience that separated them from anything else around them. The only truth was right then, his music and her voice blended together as one creation. The slight tremors and emotions in her earthy contralto voice melted him like butter on a humid day, and he flowed with her voice, accenting it, caressing it, raising it and harmonizing so perfectly that it made her ache to be part of such beauty. They complemented each other so exquisitely that it made them both, together, larger and more significant than either could be alone.

Others stopped and listened, a hush gathering. Quin and Cyntia had no awareness of anything but their own music, though. It was precisely because of this that it was so very powerful. Goosebumps grew on Cyntia's skin as they finally came to an end. Her eyes remained locked with his, their merging so complete, so meaningful. She read his thoughts then, flushing to see his face mirror the satisfaction she felt, as if they lay together in each other's arms, humming with the afterglow of intensity never before felt. "So this," she thought... fully clothed, "...is what love is." As an added bonus, it seemed they had discovered a means with which to earn a living. The applause for their music gave them both large stupid grins.

=Chapter Two: Merging Compositions=

By Oliverio

Quin didn't hear the applause. He was, instead, lost in Cyntia's eyes a brilliant sea green today because her tunic was green. Quin had found himself noticing such details about this woman, ever since the night they'd spent huddled together below decks. Nevertheless, Quin was, like his father, a practical and pragmatic man, and he'd been fairly certain that the connection between Cyntia and himself was the result of circumstance. Thrown together by events, he'd told himself their bond was a result of that. Still, looking at Cyntia now, radiant in the afterglow of the music they had just made, Quin began to doubt his own doubt ... producing both an unsettled feeling and the large grin that he now flashed back at Cyntia.

Later, the newly purchased guitar slung over his back, Quin sat with Cyntia, sharing a loaf of crusty bread and some cheeses from a shop they'd discovered together. They sat close enough side by side that his leg brushed hers occasionally as the two looked out over the canal, the ground down by the water green with tufts of algae. Quin savored the tingle that those light, inadvertent touches sent up his spine, as he broke off another hunk of bread, crumbs falling to the cobbles, and offered it to Cyntia. She smiled as she took it from him, and arched one eyebrow at him - and this made Quin wonder just how inadvertent those touches were. He smiled back, his eyes sparkling.

He cleared his throat, trying to focus on the matter at hand. Neither had spoken of their impromptu performance at the music shop, but it had occurred to him that this might very well be a way to make a bit of money. He spoke, his voice gentle with her, "You know, back at the shop, the way people reacted ..." He paused and, when he looked over, Cyntia was already nodding happily. She broke into a smile, happily blurting, "I was thinking the same thing! We can perform together and get paid. Wouldn't that be amazing?!" Quin almost laughed; Cyntia's happiness and excitement had a way of bursting forth and breaking free that reminded him of how a fish, or dolphin, suddenly leapt out of the sea, in an explosion of droplets followed by a large splash.

It seemed, though, that they both had the same idea. Of course, with Quin being AWOL, there was something to be said for keeping a low profile. Perhaps busking at the tram station or at the flight platforms - that would earn them some coin but keep them relatively anonymous, he figured. People who gave money to buskers rarely asked names. And so they spent the rest of the afternoon there by the canal, teaching each other various songs, laughing and telling stories. It was Cyntia, however, who suggested that perhaps they might do well to write new songs together, to truly make their own music. Quin had, of course, agreed; he was finding any suggestions made by Cyntia very, very difficult to say no to.

With the sun starting to set, Quin stood and offered a hand to Cyntia. As she dusted bread crumbs off her tunic, Quin noticed the nearby flower shop. There had never been many coins in his wallet, on a Marine sergeant's pay, and noticeably fewer since they'd fled Kul'Tiras. Still, there were enough. He went in and picked out a particularly colorful bunch of wildflowers with purple sea lavender and white snowbells. He counted out the coin for the florist, confident that he had at least enough left to get a notebook and writing utensils - enough to get them started writing their songs.

Cyntia, waiting outside, lit up when Quin came back out, flowers in hand. That much Quin had expected. Her running up to him and jumping on him, wrapping her arms and legs around him, and peppering him with kisses - that, he had to admit to himself later, had taken him pleasantly by surprise.

=Chapter Three: Leap Frog=

By Cyntia

Getting up from where they had been sitting, Cyntia smiled as she accepted Quin's hand to help her. When had she ever believed it necessary to ignore the manners and kindness he offered her? Other men who behaved like this had always seemed contrived and calculating intent upon making her feel lesser or weak. Cyntia had learned to shrug that off and fend for herself, feeling pride at being so self-sufficient. Somehow now, it no longer had the same meaning to her. She saw this side of Quin as something tender he was taught, part of his complete respect for her, a way to show her she was special cargo worthy of a fragile stamp. That stamp no longer felt like an insult; instead now it was highest compliment he could give her. Cyntia realized for the first time that being cherished in such a way gave her a certain humility and awe for the power of their connection. It was turning her definitions inside out.

The sun began to dip below the horizon as Cyntia rose to stand, casting that sideways light that turned everything rich orangey-pink. So busy was she looking up into Quin's face that she did not notice her own feet. She found herself stumbling slightly, tripping over his feet. Once upon a time this would have flamed her cheeks in embarrassment for needing to clutch someone's hand just to catch her balance. Instead now, she felt only the instinctive shift of his wrist to correct her self. Oh his face, his eyes, shining as they were now at her - it gripped and seized her heart, making it ache with the inner beauty of this man who cherished her beyond reason, seen so plainly in his face. Her heart opened like a flower to him, allowing that gentle caress of his soul touching hers, intersecting. He made her feel fragrant and exotic, full of the sharpness of hope and the joy of song. She simply could not wait to begin a new song with him.

Glancing at him now she saw his focus shift with a need to drag him away from her for a moment. She followed his glance towards the shops, seeing a sign posted for a public latrine. She let go of his hand, smiling, and gave him a tiny playful shove. To see his reluctance to leave her, even for something so ordinary, made her laugh with an inner glee bubbling up. She turned to watch the remnants of the sun, finding a lamp post to lean her back on with a soft sigh as he left her side. People walking past gave her a smile or a nod, and Cyntia could not help but glow with the sunset. She knew her face was radiant as a young man caught her eye and winked in passing. Last week that might have annoyed her, someone trying to touch her through her self protecting shield. Now, she felt it as acknowledgement of the glow that made her part of this unreal sunset... part of the energy of the very essence of life throbbing through every living creature and beamed back at the man.

A couple of children ran by, a girl with long hair flowing in the wind of her burst of energy. She was pursued by a red-headed freckled boy who looked like he had something in his hand he was going to deposit down the girl's shirt at the nape of her neck. The mischievous gleam in his chasing made Cyntia laugh out loud, feeling a little impish herself. If a frog were to hop by her feet just now, Cyntia would surely catch it and hide it in her palm, waiting for Quin's return just to shock him with surprise. She turned over her shoulder, feeling his presence returning and stopped, stunned.

Quin's arms were carrying a bundle of flowers, purple and white and brilliant in their meaning. It made her breath stop. It slammed into her tummy, making it flip with the fullness of precisely how much they adored each other and how it was expanding her. His surprise for her far surpassed her own frog daydream and made her eyes fill with watery gratitude, feeling like the luckiest woman alive. This sensation was so sudden it overwhelmed her and her body took flight towards his with a mind of its own. Leaping at him with the very force his thoughtfulness had slammed into her, she wrapped every part of herself around him, needing him to take some of the weight of this acute intensity. Almost shocked she had not toppled him, she plastered sweet kisses all over his face, thrilling at the suggested strength of his legs holding them both up while not dropping the flowers.

He pretended to drop her then, her body sliding down against his with their arms around each other, and this moment froze her as they breathed together. "Let's go get a room. I need a bath," she said quietly with dancing eyes.

=Chapter Four: Pen to Paper=

By Oliverio

Quin, a veteran of battle, a former officer in the Marines, a man who had bedded his share of women, simply - and stupidly - blinked. He had placed and entertained plenty of propositions in his life, but this one had him speechless. Maybe it was the mix of subtlety and absolute directness that threw him, maybe it was the thought of this beautiful woman relaxing in a bath, or maybe it was whatever this connection was between them. If he were to be honest with himself, Quin would have had to admit that he didn't feel that their understanding and intimacy were growing, so much as being discovered by each of them - it was as if it was there all the time waiting for them to find it and pull back the covers.

They had found an inn - Quin hadn't wasted anytime after recovering from his surprise - and settled into their room. Despite Quin's best efforts, Cyntia insisted on actually taking a bath, a common room down the hall. This left Quin alone in the room, sitting on the bed a bit at a loss of what to do. He glanced at the sheaf of paper and the pens Cyntia had joyfully purchased on a minor detour to the inn. The thought of writing music, frankly, made Quin sweat a little. Quin was used to listening to others, paying attention to the spoken and unspoken words. He was also, by nature, a private person; the idea of putting his own thoughts or feelings to music was foreign to him. And, it was no small matter that Quin considered himself a man's man (he'd gotten that, not surprisingly, from his father); writing music was damn close to writing poems and, well, poets were ...

Quin sat up, sighing heavily. Regardless of his own disregard for flowery words and his own private nature, he felt the tug of Cyntia's desire to write music together. Despite himself, he smiled. Shaking his head in mock disbelief, he went to the table and prepared the pen, looking at the blank expanse of paper. As if convincing himself wasn't hard enough, the parchment now stared back at him, daring him to try his clumsy hand at putting pen to paper. How in the world did people do this, he thought. He leaned forward, pen poised over paper, a seemingly endless pause.

Then the image of he and Cyntia, slipping out of the harbor in the morning fog in that creaky old boat, the two nestled together in exhaustion, and the feeling of warmth later when the sun broke through the clouds late in the morning ... The pictures and feelings made him smile, and, more relevant immediately, let his hand dip forward, the first droplet of ink touching the paper.

Foghorns blowing under this blanket of fog

Dawn is breaking, but who would know it

Captains cast off and setting sail

The course is plotted, the charts are marked

But were just along for the ride, under this blanket of fog

Arms around you

Going who knows where with you

Here with you

Flotsam and jetsam, the residue on the sea

Slipping past us, unseen in the mist

Gulls call out, somewhere overhead

Do they know where were going?

Or are they just along for the ride, under this blanket of fog

Arms around you

Going who knows where with you Here with you

Out on the open water, a breeze at our backs

Our lives, left in the wake behind us

''My arms wrap around you, holding you close' ' Were we thrown together by chance?

I curl my body alongside yours, under this blanket of fog

Arms around you

Going who knows where with you

Here with you

The morning sun peels down this blanket of fog Serene light warms the side of your face I see you and forget all my questions This is where I want to be, here with you Intertwined, under this blanket of ours.

With that Quin paused, unsure, the pen held above the paper. What followed that? How to say what he had felt?

The sudden splat of a droplet of water, fresh from Cyntia's wet hair, on the middle of the paper startled Quin, and made the last words bleed into a smudge. The smile bursting across Cyntia's still wet face (aided by how lovely she looked wrapped in the towel) made Quin smile himself. She leaned forward, excitedly reading the words and beginning to hum a tune to herself, caught up in the making of music.

Cyntia pressed against Quin as she playfully tapped her chin, seeming to think on the lyrics. She laughed then, her discovery of the right words bursting out of her;

...I see you and forget all my questions This is where I want to be, here with you

Intertwined, beautifully aligned, under this blanket of ours.

Quin smiled, immediately knowing that was right. He pulled her into his lap; the rest of the song could await its discovery, he thought, as he gave Cyntia's towel a determined tug ...