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It was around noontime, the Sun being at its peak in the cloudy sky above. The smell of various food and chattering of Greeks around filled the air. Koko was currently in the middle of the marketplace, making sure that he wasn't in the way of anyone. He often came here to play tunes, in hopes of catching the attention of at least a few people. He had yet to been kicked out which meant he must've been good at playing music! Strumming his fingers along the three strings of his crescent-shaped Phorminx which let out a warm, elegant sound. He then began to sing, raising his voice so that it would be audible over all the chattering.
"Speak of all the cities he saw, the minds he grasped,
The suffering deep in his heart at sea
As he struggled to survive and bring his men home
But could not save them, hard as he tried—
The fools—destroyed by their own recklessness
When they ate the oxen of Hyperion the Sun,
And that god snuffed out their day of return."
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At the edges of the market stood two men. One a massive, seven foot tall giant, whose brawny, meaty body was partially compacted in on itself with his arms across his barrel chest, and the other, the Captain, a dark haired man who was tall in his own right but dwarfed next to his first mate. Lukos's eyes were settled on the young man belting out a tune. He smirked and glanced at Arktos, who was nodding his head in time with the music.
"Like that, do you?" Lukos asked.
"It's catchy," Arktos uncurled his arms and thrummed his hands against his thighs.
"Go pay the man, then," Lukos sneered.
"Ah, no, captain. I ain't spending my own money on that when I can listen for free."
"Arktos," Lukos chided in a sneer. "That's rude." He paused and then settled his gaze back on the bard. "I don't like this song." And with that, he strode forward. Arktos sighed and stumped along after him. The crowd parted for the two of them until there was a clear line for Lukos to walk straight up to Konstantina.
"You." He pointed and gave an ugly sneer. "Play something else. I dislike what you're doing at the moment."
Arktos loomed huge behind him, his beady eyes narrowed and also settled on the young musician. It wasn't really the song that Lukos disliked. Or the lyrics. He just really couldn't leave things alone. He liked to see people squirm. Around them, people looked askance. Neither of these men were dressed as reputable citizens. They appeared to be what they were; sailors.
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As the soft melody wound it's way through the street, it caught the attention of a quiet man who'd been going somewhere not in any particular rush, and he wandered closer to the musician. In deference to the summer heat, he was wearing a white tunic rather than even the slightly warmer full length chiton, though unlike most on the street he hadn't pinned it to fall sleeveless from his shoulders. His expression was curious, listening attentively, though he fiddled absently with something in his hands as he stood carefully out of the way of passersby. A small smile played on his lips, he wasn't quite enchanted, but he was very consciously letting himself be distracted from the cares of the rest of his day.
By his clothes this was not a rich man, clearly, not by a long shot; though not terribly poor, either. Practical, no money wasted on simply looking better, but willing to spend on comfort and durability. Soft brown eyes, short black hair, calloused hands with faint scars on his knuckles, and the broad shoulders of a labourer or soldier - but he didn't, quite, have the look of a soldier about him.
Music was always a blessing, a reprieve, something purely pleasant, without any hidden motives or undertones of something darker. Even when the guards at the arena had been particularly grouchy, they'd never complained about Iolanda singing... Hush. Don't think, just listen. Easier said than done. On the other hand, the memories were old enough to be bittersweet rather than painful, and it wouldn't do to forget the dead entirely. Perhaps remembering was a good thing. As long as it didn't turn to fretting later.
He turned the flat pebble over and over again in his fingers, and found that simply acknowledging the memory and not fighting it allowed those thoughts to leave again as quietly as they had come, and he could simply just listen.
Until the song was interrupted, and his eyes snapped back into sharp focus. Abruptly, the relaxed, casually posture was gone, replaced by alert readiness. Still relaxed, mostly, but in the way a good fighter waits for a fight to start, balanced and patient yet ready to move in any direction as quick as blinking.
"I liked it." He spoke to the musician, not directly to the rude fellow, sizing him and his companion up out of the corner of his eye, but not directly confronting them. He'd fought recently enough that he didn't have that pressure in the back of his head, and the friend he'd been remembering would have scolded him if he jumped straight into making things worse, so instead he pointedly ignored the sailors - though without letting them out of his peripheral vision - and tossed the rhapsodist a coin. "Thank you. I haven't heard that song in too long."
It wasn't that he was opposed to trouble, really. But Lesley wanted every witness on the street to be able to honestly tell any guard who showed up that it hadn't been him starting it.
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