setting the thing down on the wood, or
trying too. Running, Pran grabbed the moist and hot thing with her hand, and
dashed to the other room, to get it dumped and clean. It was rude, but when she
came back she sat down in the wooden chair, and started to play instantly,
doing the instrumentals first.
Clarice didn't do more than watch
her. Blankly. It was unnervingly cold, suddenly. A trickle of fear started into
her gut, as the woman looked at her with something close to... anger . When
she finished her second original piece. Then, because it was her plan, she
sang, and saw the woman cringe several times. It wasn't that she'd gone flat or
anything, Pran didn't think. She might not be the perfect Diva, but she
managed all right, in most people's eyes. It was pretty clear that her new
master had a problem with her however.
Well, that was less than
good. She smiled, and finished all of her songs, the new ones that she'd come
up with herself, only to find the woman shaking her head, sadly. It was a dark
thing, and there was a small hint of glistening in her eyes.
"I'm so sorry Pran.
You simply don't belong here. This is the wrong place, completely."
The words weren't menacing, or
even cold, but they still caused the blood to run from her face, or so the
numbing sensation in her lips said. It was just about the worst reaction
possible, and would make the rest of her duties there harder. Even if she were
awful, the woman was sort of stuck with her. At least until Clark was done with
whatever he needed Pran for.
Then the woman continued, a
gentle smile touching her lips.
"No, you belong on the
main stage in Portsmith, playing for thousands. Not stuck away in a
cubby like this. I think that we're using you wrongly, incredibly so, placing
you here, with a mere functionary like myself. Unfortunately, we must all serve
as best we can. Those were your own work? I'm not familiar with them, and I
would be otherwise. They're all good."
Pran blinked, fighting the tears
away. The woman, clearly enough, was a beast . If a flattering one.
Portsmith... That was the line they were all fed at the art school, wasn't it? Still,
dreaming of it was a thing she'd never bothered with herself. It was the kind
of thing that didn't really happen. Not for real people. Of course the woman in
front of her had sung there, rather famously, but that just showed that her idea
had been correct, didn't it?
Clarice clearly wasn't real .
After all, who wore makeup that early in the day? No, she was a being
that was larger than life.
"I'm better in other areas.
Sculpting for instance. I could make something for you, if you like? I prefer
stone, but wood, or even clay will work. There's a lot in the other
room..."
Looking over her shoulder at the
door, the other woman nodded.
"Use whatever you like.
Please let me know if something is about to run out, however? I can requisition
it, if we know in advance. I should do an inventory some day, but I never
manage to actually get around to it. Now, however, we should have lunch, before
my meeting at one. Here, I'll handle that."
Getting food there wasn't hard,
it seemed. All her new Master did was go into the hall and ring a little hand
sized bell on a tiny black ribbon, next to it. Pran had seen it and thought it
strange to see inside a place, but had noticed that all the doors she'd passed
had them. A half minute later a young man, who looked about fourteen and
reminded her a little of her friend Sollen from school, ran around the corner
at a brisk, but controlled, trot.
"Something for you Bard
Clarice?"
The woman put her hands together
and smiled at the boy.
"Yes. Two lunches, please,
Walden. This is Bard Pran. If she asks anything of you, please try to help
her?"
"Yes'm. I'll run get that
now. Do you have any dishes to go back?"
The Master Bard shook her head,
but Pran rolled her eyes a bit.
"We do . A nice big
stack of them. Here, I'll get those." She'd already dumped the food off of
them, since it was