Fae Melodies, Fell Deeds {pafp}

[align=center][size=9pt][font=andale mono]A young man sat outside in the summer twilight, leaning against a tree in the back garden of a rather large house. A small lap harp sat in front of him, and from its strings his nimble fingers drew an unearthly melody. The house did not belong to him—he had appeared there several days previous, and had begun to work as a servant there. The curious thing was that everyone treated him as though he had always been there, despite the fact that he knew he had not. But then, he supposed that was the way things went. He should not have expected anything different, considering the manner of his arrival and where he had come from previously.

Yet there was one person who seemed to notice that he had not always been there—one of the daughters of the master of the house, a young woman rising in society who he had only glimpsed once or twice. When her gaze fell on him, though, a shiver went down his spine—something about her eyes made him feel as though she could see his very soul. So he fled from her, tried to avoid her, all the while trying to not appear unnatural while doing this. It was in this manner that he found himself outside with his harp that evening; a midsummer's eve party was planned for the next night, and the other servants, busy with their work, had told him to simply stay out of the way. He was inexperienced—even if they didn't know when he had arrived, his lack of experience was easy to see—and they wished to be finished with preparations as quickly as possible.

So he sat outside, softly playing his harp. His clothes were simple and plain, his long red hair bound in a thick braid behind him, his grey eyes half-closed. He remained unaware of the balcony to be found in back of the house, the windows opening onto the garden, the small path that ran nearby. There was only music, and for a little while he could stay where he was and not worry.

(As a note for any interested, the time frame I had in mind for this was the late 1800s, although that can certainly be subject to change.)

Absolutely!

[align=center][size=9pt][font=andale mono]At the sound of a voice, he flinched, and his gaze flew upward. In moments, the young man was on his feet and bowing slightly, the harp sitting in the grass where he had been. "My apologies, Miss," he murmured, not quite daring to meet her gaze. "I- I did not know you were there. What is it that you need?" It was unlikely—as far as he knew, at least—that members of the family would be talking to the servants if they didn't need something. After all, why associate with someone of a lower class—especially when the servants were supposed to be nigh-invisible? Thus, the obvious assumption to make was that she needed something, and had come to ask him for it.

Rather nervously, he played with the end of his braid, twisting the thick red hair in his fingers. She had said that his playing was lovely, but did she really mean that? And if so, what would come of it? He'd been trying conceal his ability with the harp from others—both his fellow servants and the family—and it could be that she would not take kindly to this sort of thing. Alternatively, of course, she might take to it a little too well, which in turn might force him into situations he would rather not be involved in. All in all, a rather tricky situation—and there was nothing he could do but wait and see what she would say.

[align=center][size=9pt][font=andale mono]In his mind, all sorts of warning flags were going up, but outside the young man showed no emotion at all. As she stepped forward, he took a step back, carefully maintaining a respectable distance between them—it would not do at all for a servant be getting too close to a member of the family. "I- I'm sorry," was his response to her first comment. "I- I hadn't intended for anyone to hear it except myself. I offer my sincerest apologies for being a distraction and a bother, and if you'll excuse me, Miss, I- I'll go put the instrument away and return to my work." He was about to pick up the harp and start off when her second comment hit him.

He froze. What to do? To tell her the truth meant running the risk that he would expose everything. To lie would be to potentially bring down punishment upon himself. Keeping his gaze firmly on the ground, he cautiously answered, "If you've not seen me, Miss, then I've been doing my job well. We're supposed to be a bit invisible, you know...fly into a room when there's no one important in it and do everything that needs to be done, then leave before anyone sees us. That sort of thing." It was neither truth nor lie—just deflection, the young man carefully sidestepping a question that he would rather not answer.

[align=center][size=9pt][font=andale mono]He flinched hard as she reached out, but froze the moment her fingertips touched his chin, letting her raise his head. The young man's eyes met hers and stayed there, his grey gaze steady and calm. It was the calm of a man certain than he was doomed, but he was trying not to let that part show. "My name is Alistair, Miss," he murmured, doing his best to ignore the chill that went through him when he said the name. Where he had come from, names had power, and although he had spent much time reassuring himself that it was not quite the same here, there was a little bit of residual terror left over.

He needed an escape route, he decided. If he could get out of this situation without revealing anything more about himself, he could consider himself lucky. "If- if you'll excuse me, Miss," he began, "we really shouldn't be here like this. Together, I mean. Alone, together. Since you're a young lady and I'm a young man and also a servant and if people saw there could be rumors and the whole thing could turn into such a mess and I- I'm just going to leave now, alright?" He had grown slowly more flustered through the whole thing, his face reddening with embarrassment. Alistair knelt to pick up the harp, carefully keeping his gaze away from Sky's once again.

[align=center][size=9pt][font=andale mono]Alistair did not react as she spoke. He just stood there, listening, watching her expression change without ever quite meeting her gaze. The faint reprimand in her tone struck him rather hard, but he said nothing—just stood and watched and listened until at last she turned away. Alistair picked up his harp and fled, moving swiftly and silently into the deeper recesses of the garden. Once he was well away from the house, he stopped and sat on the ground again, hidden from view by flowering bushes. It would be difficult to see him unless one was almost right there—which was what he wanted.

For a little while, he simply sat in silence, shaking a little, terrified of what could have happened and what might already be too late to prevent. She knew that he was new—that wasn't good, not at all. Worse still, she had heard him play—accidentally, sure, but they didn't always care about that. It was difficult for those who could influence chance and luck to have sympathy for those who couldn't. I'm so stupid. So stupid. I don't know what I'm doing or how to deal with this or what I'm supposed to do now, and everything I do could just be making things worse, and I'm just messing this whole thing up.

[align=center][size=9pt][font=andale mono]After a long while, when he as sure that there was no one around, Alistair returned to the house. He slipped in through the servants' entrance, making his way up the back stairways to the little upstairs room he called his own. It was tiny and stuffy, crammed beneath the eaves, and contained little more than a tiny cot, a cracked mirror, and his one pair of nicer clothes. Hunched beneath the sloping roof—there was no space to stand straight—he changed into this spare set, then sat down on the floor to finish preparing. He was helping to serve dinner this night, he knew, and he was supposed to look presentable for the occasion. The clothes were a little worn, although still nice—but there was nothing he could do about that. What he could do was his hair. With nimble hands, he undid the long red braid, running his fingers through the thick locks to try and smooth them out a little.

Then it was simply a matter of construction, of twisting the hair into complex braids, tucking and folding until at last it was bound behind him, beautiful in its complexity. Alistair took a deep breath, then made his way back downstairs, back into the chaos of the rest of the house. It wasn't quite time to start serving yet, but there wouldn't be time to prepare later—he would just have to stay as neat as he could.

[align=center][size=9pt][font=andale mono]Guests were arriving, chatting with one another as they made their way into the house. Alistair caught a glimpse of them down a hallway as he slipped out of the kitchen for a moment, preparing to enter the room where they had begun to mingle. Before they were all seated and dinner itself was served, it was generally polite for them to stand and talk, and for a servant or two to make their way around the room with trays of drinks or light snacks, should the guests choose to take anything. The young man had been sent out to see how many had arrived, and whether they should start sending these trays out or wait for a while longer. Really, the job wasn't bad—scout the room, make an estimate, and return. However, no sooner had he slipped into the room with the guests than someone brushed by him rather roughly, sending the redhead stumbling. As he regained his balance, he heard the end of a sharp comment about how the servants really ought to stay out of the way of proper folk.

Alistair bit his lip, fighting to ignore the comment. Take a look around, make an estimate, go back. That's all. That's not too hard. He left the room as quickly as he could, having made his estimate and his decision, and made his way back toward the kitchen, where he made his report. A few of the other servants were sent out to tend to the guests, and he was allowed to go free for a moment, until he was needed for dinner. Alistair left, crossing to a small drawing room on the west side of the house. It was empty, and the light from the setting sun poured in through the windows. For a few moments, he could be alone here. The red-haired harpist moved to the window, staring out of it at the sunset. Unbeknownst to him, the evening sunlight seemed to set his hair aflame and give him a beautiful, unearthly glow. All he knew was that it was a moment of calm, a moment of peace, before he had to go back and deal with people again.

[align=center][size=9pt][font=andale mono]Alistair had almost managed to relax when he heard a voice behind him. Immediately, he whirled around, eyes widening as he realized just who it was who had found him. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and the young man gave a little bow. "Miss! I- I'm sorry; I didn't see you there." A slight pause, then quickly, "I- I do work, I swear that I do. I'm not always out in the gardens or in empty rooms by myself...you've just caught me both times I had a moment to rest today, I think." He did not dare to look up. A lazy servant did not last long, after all, and this was now twice in the same day that she had found him not doing work.

Trying to offer some justification, Alistair added, "They- they didn't need me in the kitchen for the moment, since they have the preparation under control and there were others already out with the guests and they weren't starting to serve dinner yet, and they needed me to get out of the way, and I- I thought I would just come out here for a while, until they needed me." He hesitated a moment, rocking back on his heels as he realized that she was between him and the door. "I- I should probably return soon."

[align=center][size=9pt][font=andale mono]"That's not the only reason that I am nervous around you, Miss," he pointed out gently, still not quite daring to raise his eyes. "I- I mean, it was one of the reasons, but you've said a couple times now, I think, something about not getting me into trouble, and I- I do believe you about that." The difficulty was, of course, that he did not want to tell her the other reasons why she made him nervous. He ran too much of a risk of saying more than he should, which would get him in far deeper trouble than he cared to get into.

Alistair hesitated for a few moments, glancing toward her and nervously playing with his hair. "I- I should probably go," he said at last. "They'll be needing me soon enough in the kitchen." He attempted to make his way around her and toward the door, hoping that she wouldn't stop him.