Thoughts from the Otherworld

Nightingale sat at the edge of the Firewater Circle. For once, he wasn't here to perform. He was here to think. Recently, he had had the feeling that Bastok was simply too small for him.
He'd been here for over a year now, and this had never been meant to be a permanent solution. He looked at the mid-day buzz around the circle. It hadn't all been bad, not even close. He'd come here alone and friendless, but had soon been followed by Endahren. Nightingale smiled at all the memories that thought brought. The two of them had had a good year. It lacked the excitement his life in San d'Oria had had, but it also lacked the pain.

He closed his eyes. The air smelled of city and rain. Maybe it was time for him to move on. See the world a bit. Maybe write a song or two or three. There were bound to be many subjects for songs out there, with the numbers of adventurers he'd been witnessing in Bastok and San d'Oria these past few years. Already rumors of deeds done were reaching Bastok. Rumors of disturbing events, too, rumors of beastmen rising again and the number of monsters in the increase. What kind of a bard would he be, not going out there and finding those stories to make songs from? He'd only come up with melodies for now, never words. There was nothing to write about than his own life, really, and that did not make for good song material. For the kind of song he wanted, anyway.

Endahren had said a while ago that all his loves seemed to be eager to go out there. That was quite possibly true. Nightingale wondered sometimes how he would take it, him leaving too. He seemed to encourage Nightingale to leave if that was what he wanted. He'd encouraged Ellanore too, and he was engaged to her. He seemed to genuinely want for the happiness of the people close to him. Nightingale stood up. He still wasn't sure what to do, but he guessed that was alright. There was time, plenty of it. At least until Endahren finished his business in Bastok.

Nightingale closed his eyes and sang. The sun was setting, he could feel the last warmth on his body. He sang of desperation and hope, of courage to face the death of the night by yourself, and survive. When he opened his eyes, he could not see the arid city of Bastok, but the beautiful scene of desperation and hope that existed only in his mind.
Then the song ended. With the last notes, he closed his eyes again. When he opened them again, all he saw was Bastok. The gritty reality. He bowed to the several people who had stopped to listen to him. It had been the last song for now. No matter how much he might want to immerse himself in the soothing familiarity of the songs, he was still flesh and blood, and he needed to eat. He nodded and smiled friendly to the few congratulating words he received, and gathered the gil thrown into the box he had put out for the purpose. It was enough for now.

"You sounded more sad than before, when singing that song." The quiet voice made him quickly look up from what he was doing. He knew the person.
"Endahren..." So he had come, chasing his hare-brained idea of establishing a branch in Bastok. Nightingale had told him not to. Still he had come. He looked back down and finished gathering his belongings. He hadn't wanted that.
"Ignoring me now?" That Nightingale did. He didn't wish to talk to this person, no matter how good his intentions were.
"You won't get rid of me that easy, Nightingale. We have known each other for three years now. I can't just abandon you like that, even if you tell me to." Nightingale supposed that he couldn't, at that. Sometimes, he felt the two of them were from different worlds entirely. But he kept walking, increasing his pace. Maybe another night, he would have answered. The day had been rough for him. Not enough gil, he needed to work harder. He loved his freedom, but being independent came with its own set of troubles. He didn't want to meet Endahren today.
"I'll keep following you then." The quiet voice sounded sad. It hurt Nightingale to hear that tone in Endahren's voice, but he kept walking. He feared that if he talked with the other right now, he might start crying, and not be able to stop. He couldn't take this, not right now. He silently pleaded Endahren to go away, give him time to gather his composure.

They had last seen each other in San d'Oria, and Nightingale had thought he had made it clear that Endahren's presence wasn't hoped for. Back then, he had thought it a bad mistake to tell Endahren of his plans to go to Bastok. But now, he wasn't so certain anymore. The days were lonely and long. Perhaps it had been a mistake, but a deliberate one. Perhaps, deep inside of him, a voice had called out - let him come. Please track me down.

Nightingale staggered and bit back a sob. At least he had managed to reach a less frequently used road before breaking down. He leaned against the close-by wall and tried to prevent the one sob from becoming many.
"Nightingale..." He shied back from the soft touch on his shoulder. No, no, not now. But he didn't resist when he was drawn away from the wall and to a much warmer embrace. He laid his head against Endahren's shoulder and gripped him tightly.
"It's all right. I'm here. I won't leave you." The voice, so close, made him break down. He cried, holding the other man like he would never let go. He was dimly aware of the soothing voice and arms holding him tightly, but they weren't important. This presence, it was enough. To be able to be this close again, after all those lonely nights, afraid that someone would find him, someone from his past. He had been so afraid in this strange city, always attracting attention where ever he went. Elvaan weren't too common here, he had known that from the beginning, but somehow it hadn't occurred to him just how much attention he would attract like this.

Eventually, he managed to draw in his desperation enough to stop crying. And when he did, Endahren was still there, holding him. The sun had set, leaving them in almost complete darkness. This small street did not have lamps. At the end of this street was where Nightingale lived now.
"I want to go home," he whispered hoarsely. Endahren was silent. There was nothing he could answer to that, both of them knew that he hadn't meant any place in Bastok. After a while, Nightingale withdrew from Endahren's embrace and started walking down the street again. He didn't feel like going to buy food now, not when his face bore the signs of his bout of crying. He walked to the place he lived in, and Endahren followed him. It was a good thing he was so stubborn, Nightingale thought.

The first stars of the evening shone in the sky. The sun had not yet set, but it was getting cold. Even though this was south from Jeuno, the weather felt colder here. In the distance, getting ever closer, were the grey walls of the city of San d'Oria. It was his first time here since he was five. It had been twelve years since had left. Nightingale wasn't certain how he felt about that, or how he felt about returning. Jeuno had been nice enough, he supposed, and he didn't really remember anything about living in this city.

He shifted his attention from the approaching city to the back of Master Peridaut, the man who he had been apprenticed to at age five and who had taken him out of San d'Oria soon after, to the bustling city of Jeuno. Airships hadn't still been in use back then, not that they could have afforded to get on board one if they had. Even now, there was no airhsip route to San d'Oria, so they had traveled all this distance on chocobo-back. Not that they still could have really afforded to pay the airship fare if the route had been established. While they weren't poor anymore, it was much more sensible to just rent chocobos instead of use exorbitant amounts of gil on something as frivolous as a comfortable and quick journey on a warm airship.
Nightingale sighed bitterly. Oh, if only... It wasn't very comfortable traveling on chocobo in the dead of winter. He had developed a nasty cough that he hoped would fade when they arrived in San d'Oria and didn't have to spend all their time out in this cold air, at the mercy of the elements. He had asked Master Peridaut for funds to even search out a healer of some kind, since their livelihood depended on them looking good and performing well, not bogged down by sicknesses. People did not want to be reminded of the ordinary when expecting to be carried to a fictionary world with no troubles except the heroic kinds.

"Boy, still staying in your saddle?" It was Master Peridaut. Nightingale urged his chocobo on to ride alongside him.
"I am well, thank you. Although I cannot pretend I'll be much better when we get somewhere warm." Peridaut nodded in response.
"Try to take it easy. I already have a healer in mind, they'll cure you up no time. Just be sure not to do anything too taxing the first couple days, you understand that, right?" Nightingale smiled politely and nodded. He didn't for a moment fool himself that Master Peridaut cared for his wellbeing. What he cared about was his voice, which was a precious source of income. Nightingale wasn't shy to admit it, he was a very good singer. It brought some responsibilities with it, not being able to do whatever you wished. Your voice always went first.
He had brief flashes of times when he hadn't put his voice first, but pushed them quickly aside. Those had nothing to do with Master Peridaut, and with any luck he would never know of such things.

In a way, he was glad they were coming to San d'Oria. This could mean a new beginning to him, and while he would loose the freedom of being in a familiar place and knowing all the ways you could fool someone, it would be replaced by the freedom of not knowing everything, and having that protect you. Both had their dangers, and Nightingale welcomed the change.

Nightingale giggled at the street performers. It was the day of the Harvest Festival. Technically, he was supposed to be with Master Peridaut, they would perform tonight and Master Peridaut was always adamant about preparations, seeing that every single little detail was in place. But he had opted to sneak out instead, to come out and play with his friends, see the amazing costumes people were wearing, just generally have fun.
It felt like it had been ages since the last festival. He loved these days, when people were cheery and out in the streets in crowds, laughing and shouting and just generally having a good time. He always got to wear nice clothes on festival days, too. In truth they were just for performing, but he thought that was such a waste. If Master Peridaut was going to pay him for a nice costume for the Harvest Festival, why should he only wear it during his performance? He wouldn't get it dirty or anything, he was always careful about things like that.
When the performance ended, Nightingale looked around. He hadn't found his friends yet, none of them had exactly been expecting for him to have any free time today. It would be a surprise, for sure. Looking around, his eyes met those of an elderly lady, sitting on a bench nearby. The woman smiled and gestured him over.
"You have such a nice costume, boy. I felt like giving you a cookie for it." She smiled and dug out a cookie from her basket. "Heading out to for trick-or-treating with your friends?"
Nightingale took the offered cookie and smiled brightly. "Thank you, ma'am. I'm actually out here for a little while only. I will be performing with my Master at the square in front of Neptune's Spire tonight, the clothes are more because of that."
"Ah, a performer, are you? What will you be doing?"
"I am a singer, ma'am." Nightingale turned to leave. He didn't have too much time to spend on stuff like this if he wanted to have time to be with his friends today. But he remembered well all Master Peridaut's teachings of always advertising yourself and your performance, for bigger crowds and more gil. He turned back and looked at the old woman. "Please give us your patronage tonight." He bowed slightly. "And thank you again for the cookie, ma'am."
The old woman chuckled at him. "My, you're a little charmer, aren't you. I'll definitely be there." Nightingale put on his best stage smile and thanked the woman. Then he left, waving to her as he went before disappearing into the crowd. That had taken up too much precious time, but he supposed it couldn't be helped.