“LOVELY, ISN’T IT?”
Varisa peered at him from the side. Tossing her silky corkscrew tresses, the courtesan smirked prettily at him. Her red painted lips blazed like blood in the dawn, but her eyes were cold.
“Oh, everything has a certain charm to an artist, Musician” she chimed. “If you’d like to live in a fancy of beauty, be my guest.”
Dieso lifted his eyebrows. Strumming the strings of his vihuela, he chuckled.
“Beauty is as beauty does, I say. It’s a lovely sight, cause it’s beauty. That’s all there is,” he sing-spoke. Grinning, Dieso tilted his head toward the lilac festooned arbor where a spiderweb glistened; dew sparkled like crystal on the arachnid’s gossamer thread. “Now there’s an artist even my sister couldn’t best.”
“Oh?” Varisa laughed, fanning herself with her white lace fan. Dieso wondered why she did. The morning was still fresh and crisp; none of Sareeq’s summer heat had arrived. “Is your sister as talented at weaving as you are with music?”
“She’s a good fair weaver, yeah. Doesn’t like to take account for it, though.” A frown squeezed a crease in his forehead, but he shook it aside. “But yeah, she’s got a skill for delicate work. Likes to be useful, she does.”
“Then you should certainly summon her to Mon Raléquei. The other girls and I would love new clothes,” Varisa chattered gaily. She flicked her wrist; her fan snapped shut.
Dieso bowed his head.
“I’ll see what I can do, lady.”
Written: 29 August 2015,
Inspiration: Dieso (w/ Varisa)