Writing Assignment #something or other not 2

Mon, 14 Aug 2006 19:08:01 GMT

Okay, this was written as an attempt to try to get a handle on this character. Get a better feeling of how he talks and thinks. I don't think I succeeded /too/ well, I'll have to try a few small scenes to better get a handle on his voice, but it establishes his trauma, at least. And his arrogance.

The frolicking lasted until early in the morning. Some retired early, claiming duties early the next morning. Few of those were telling the truth. Khavn and his latest paramour were among them and they continued the revels in their own way until long after the last drunken party-goer slumped under the table. Pleasantly exhausted by his labors, he rolls over to his side of the bed (no cuddling for him) and promptly falls into a deep, but not dreamless slumber.

It is Gathering time at Harperhall, a mid-year festival with dignitaries from all over Pern having arrived to participate. Khavn is dressed resplendently in an elaborately ruffled shirt and spills of lace.

"Master Khavn, sir." His attention is drawn by a surpassingly sweet voice, a young Harper Journeyman; a newly minted one, judging from the freshness of her expression and the nervous adjusting of her unfrayed knot.

"I--I..." The young woman stutters, a charming blush coming to her cheeks as she casts her eyes downwards.

"What is it, dear?" A warm, sympathetic smile crooks Khavn's mouth as he reaches out with one hand to gently lift her chin, looking down into her eyes.

The flush in the young girl's cheeks grows deeper, as her breathing seems to stop for a moment, her fluttering pulse apparent in the throbbing of her delicately arched neck. "I--I--" She seems frozen for a moment more before the words come rushing out. "I just wanted to say, Khavn--that is, Master Khavn, sir--I've...I've modeled myself after your own career. You've been an inspiration to me and everyone I know, and I'm overwhelmed to have the opportunity to meet you, and hear you perform."

Khavn's smile grows. "I'm glad to have such an appreciative audience. The presence of promising young women such as yourself, listening so attentively, inspires my arts to even higher eloquence."

The young woman remains frozen, unable to look away, rehearsed speech given and completely at a loss for words, barely able to breathe except for a small squeak.

"Khavn! Khavn! Where are you, my boy?" A more deep-voiced tone rings out through the crowd, belonging to Masterharper Kazimir.
"I'll find you after the performance. Later. Tonight." His voice imbues the last word especially with all sorts of promises--the girl nods mutely and flees to the safety of her girlfriends, who flutter and chatter in mixed excitement and envy. Khavn watches the girl go with a slight smile on his face before he turns to the Masterharper. "Kazimir, you old rascal, you. You're scaring the young ones." He says familiarly, wagging a finger in mock sternness.

"Let them be scared. They deserve it, the young pups. Maybe it'll make them pay more attention to their lessons."

"It never worked with me, and look how I turned out." Khavn grins boyishly.

"Haha! That's true, that's very true, my boy. But I doubt there are any of your caliber in this pack of magpies. But enough of that. Khavn, my boy, I have a proposition for you, which I doubt comes as a major surprise. You know that I rely heavily on your advice, and have for Turns."

Khavn makes a neutral throwaway sort of gesture, acknowledging the truth of Kazimir's words.

"In point of fact, boy, you've been practically running the Hall. And I propose to make that permanent. Should you pull this performance off with you usual flair--which I have no doubt of--I plan to retire and appoint you the Masterharper. I've spoken with the other Masters, and they all concur."

Khavn affects a surprised expression, letting his brows rise. "That's an unexpected honor, Kaz. Are you sure you don't want to keep going? I think you've probably get a few Turns left in you."

"Nonsense." Kazimir brushes the idea aside. "I'm getting old. And it's time that youth and energy had their turn. Did you know that you're going to be the youngest Masterharper on record? It's a well deserved honor, and I plan on announcing it after your performance. Now if you'll excuse me, a doddering old bore like myself needs to go have something to drink and have a bit of a sit."

Khavn graciously inclines his head, bidding the Masterharper farewell, allowing his exultation to display merely in a cool, self-possessed smile, accepting the honor as his due.

Shift.

It's performance time, and Khavn is standing atop the stage, all eyes fixated on him. It's a crowd of thousands; all the notables of Pern in this one spot, all to hear him perform. There's an electric energy of anticipation that fills the crowd as he scans the faces--approving smiles on the older, eagerness on the younger ones. He seeks out and finds the girl that spoke to him earlier, seeing her near the front and looking up with her heart in her eyes, clutching her best friend: A striking brunette with pouty lips and eyes as equally star-struck, lips parted in excitement.

"Well now." Khavn says to himself, stroking his goatee and allowing an understated smile to curve his lips as he meets the eyes of the two women, giving them a wink. They, of course, squeak in excitement and clutch each other the harder.

"And it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you the greatest performer on Pern. I daresay possibly the greatest who has ever lived, a man blessed with everything a man could desire. I give to you, the singing virtuoso, Master Khavn!" Deafening applause and cheers immediately roar out from the crowd.

Cheers that are not heard by Khavn. "Singing?" he mouths, a sick feeling spreading from his stomach. "What do you mean, singing? I didn't agree to sing!" His words are drowned out by the roar of the crowd as he's pushed to center stage by fellow Masters and left there. Beads of sweat pop out on his forehead.

The crowd instantly quiets, hushed silence falling like a curtain upon those assembled, not even the occasional cough or squeaking chair to disturb their attention. Khavn stares at them in blind panic, feeling sweat flowing down his face and making unsightly stains around his collar and under his armpits. He starts hyperventilating, feeling his pulse pound in his ears and the room starting to spin.
'Get a grip, Khavn', he thinks to himself, clenching a fist to steady himself. Nervously, he tries to moisten dry and cracked lips, but his mouth is entirely devoid of saliva. Deep breath. One. Two. Another deep breath. One. Two. He opens his mouth abortively, shutting it and gritting his teeth. The crowd doesn't seem to notice.

Deep breath. "Once upon--" His voice cracks on the second note, a shrill screech.

A titter runs through the crowd.

Khavn clears his throat exaggeratedly, pasting a smile on his face to assure them all that it was done on purpose. Taking another deep breath, he starts again. "Once upon a time, there was a man..." His voice is the same as it always has been, ever since puberty. Scratchy, somewhere in between a tenor and a baritone but not encompassing the range of either. Plain, and even slightly nasal. Unexceptional. A vein begins to throb in his forehead as he continues with the song, forging onwards hoarsely.

Another titter runs through the crowd, this one of nervous disbelief. When Khavn's voice cracks again, it breaks into outright laughter. Laughter that builds and grows and swells into hysterical, gut-splitting laughter. Khavn continues singing grimly, waiting for the laughter to stop. Which, in point of fact, it does not. He scans the crowd once again, picking out familiar faces--old flames giggling at him and whispering to each other with sly smiles; the apprentice who shaved off half of Khavn's newly grown beard when he was seventeen; the girl who he had that disastrously premature first experience with; a whole parade of those who had embarrassed or shamed him over the course of his life. The Harper Journeywomen who had lately been so admiring of him are pointing, eyes formerly filled with admiration are now filled with scorn and contempt. And in front of it all, Masterharper Kazimir, a gleefully demonic expression on his withered visage as he cackles in laughter. "I knew it, boy, I knew it! You're unfit to be a Harper! You can't even sing properly! I knew you'd fail, I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to think you'd succeed!"

Khavn staggers on his feet, light-headed, feeling his blood boil with shame and anger as the crowd begins to chant. "Khavvy. Khavvy-cakes, darling? Are you okay? Khavvy!"

He opens his eyes, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around his body and a concerned young woman leaning over him. "Khavvy! You must have been having a terrible dream. You were flailing and growling horribly." She smiles, twining her legs around his and insinuating herself against him while her voice goes low and husky. "Want me to make it all better?"

Khavn tries to get his breathing under control, staring up at the ceiling wide-eyed. After a moment, he fends off her advances, rolling catlike out of bed and shrugging on a robe, not bothering to belt it. "Get out." he commands brusquely, trying to conceal the shaking in his limbs.

"What?" Her voice sounds amused. "Khavvy-cakes, whatever do you mean? I'm nice and cozy here. Come back to bed."
"I mean, get out." Khavn responds flatly, picking up her discarded dress and tossing it onto the bed. Arms are folded over his sparsely-furred chest.

She stares incredulously at him for a moment more, mouth compressing into a thin line. She scoots out of bed, standing with offended, ominous silence as she slips the gown back on, motions quick and jerky as she turns her back to him.

Khavn stares blindly at the wall for a moment more before his eyes fix on the woman, a grimace crossing his face. Twirling one side of his mustache, he crosses the room to press up behind her, deliberately pushing one strap of her gown off her shoulder. "I'm sorry, cupcake. I have...moods, from time to time. I can't help myself, they just come over me. It has nothing to do with you." he says soothingly into her ear as he slips an arm around her waist. "Don't be mad, please? Come back to me?" This is done in his best little-boy manner, while he does things with his hands that are definitely not very little-boy.

A sullen pout on the woman's face slowly melts into a reluctant smile. "I can understand that, I suppose. Just don't do it again." She turns around, waving a finger warningly in his face. "Or, or...I'll slap you." She threatens defiantly.

Khavn does his best to look duly impressed by the threat, nodding seriously. "I promise. I'll behave. Mostly." He sweeps her up in his arms as she shrieks, clutching at him while laughing, and carries her back to his bed.

Khavn's Logs

Writing Assignment #something or other not 2