[12] Tale of Neshka: Rather good Taste

This is the backstory of my tabletop RPG character. In it, Neshka recounts her tragic past in the world of Pathfinder. Part 12: Rather good Taste [Intro – spoken, dry] Merisiel had been staring at my hands. For quite some time. Then she said two words. "Oh, no." [Pause.] I knew that tone. Bahl, unfortunately, seemed delighted. [Small rustle of feathers.] Traitor. [Music begins – lively medieval folk-rock, bouncing lute, fiddle and hand percussion] [Verse 1] She marched me to a smithy, where the air was thick with heat. The smith looked at my fingers, then retreated half a feet. "Those are claws," he muttered. "Very observant," I replied. Merisiel crossed her arms and said, "Can you make them less… terrifying?" The smith considered this. I considered leaving. Bahl perched on a barrel, looking thoroughly amused. [Spoken, dry.] I was beginning to suspect I was the only sane one here. [Verse 2 – rhythmic, mischievous] The smith brought out his tools. I placed my hands upon the table. He picked up one of my claws and looked as though he might pray. "How long have they been like this?" "Long enough." "Do they grow back?" "Would you like to find out?" [Short instrumental flourish.] Merisiel laughed so hard she nearly knocked over a chair. Bahl gave a single croak. I took that personally. [Bridge – playful percussion] The metal was cut, the edges reshaped, fine silver ornaments curled around each blade. He polished every surface, set tiny stones in place. I watched my claws transform into something with considerably more grace. [Spoken, impressed.] Oh. [Pause.] Oh, that's rather lovely. [Small amused breath.] The smith smiled. Merisiel looked smug. Bahl stole something shiny. [Spoken, sharply.] Bahl! [Brief pause.] Put that back. [Music kicks up.] [Verse 3] My claws became jewelry, elegant, sharp and bright. Pretty enough for dinner, dangerous enough for a fight. The smith had earned my respect. Merisiel declared him a genius. I told her he had good tools. She said I was impossible. [Spoken, dry.] We were getting along wonderfully. [Short instrumental break.] [Verse 4 – playful, bouncing rhythm] Then Merisiel took one look at me and sighed a weary sigh. Apparently, my clothes were disgusting. I asked her why. She called them ragged little rags. I called them practical. She grabbed my arm. Bahl spread his wings. I knew this would be terrible. [Spoken, resigned.] I should have stayed with the smith. [Chorus I – energetic folk-rock] Oh, here we go, another shop, another dress I didn't want. She says I need a proper look. I say I'd rather read a book on how to escape a friend who thinks my clothes are a crime. She says we're only getting started. I begin to lose track of time. [Verse 5] She held up robes of every color. I rejected every one. A green one made me look like moss. A red one? "Far too much fun." One had sleeves that swallowed both my hands. Another dragged along the floor. I tried to leave the changing room. She pushed three outfits through the door. [Spoken, muffled from behind a curtain.] Merisiel, I can't move. "That's because you're wearing it wrong!" How does one wear a robe wrong? [Small pause.] I decided not to ask. Bahl watched from the window, his head tilted to one side. He looked like he was judging me. I wished he'd at least pretend to hide it. [Verse 6 – warmer, melodic] Then she found a robe of dark fine fabric, stitched with silver at the seams. Practical enough for travel, beautiful enough for dreams. I touched the cloth. It felt expensive. I looked at her. She smiled. [Spoken.] "No." "Just try it." "No." "Neshka." [Pause.] I tried it. [Music briefly softens.] It fit. It moved with me. It was warm without being heavy, strong enough for the road. I turned before the mirror. And for a moment, I forgot to make a joke. [Chorus II – warm and uplifting] A little less of what I was, a little more of what could be. A robe that fit the road ahead, a shape I hadn't learned to see. She stood behind me, grinning, as if she'd won a war. [Spoken, amused.] She had. Again. [Final Chorus – bright, triumphant] So here's to the robe, to the silver and steel, to looking like myself and liking what I feel. She changed my clothes. She changed my view. And I hate to admit it… [Small amused breath.] …she had rather good taste, too. [Outro – spoken, reflective] For the first time in years, I looked in a mirror and saw something unfamiliar. Not a monster. Not someone trying to disappear. A woman. An adventurer. Someone who might have a future worth dressing for. [Pause.] Merisiel leaned over my shoulder. "See? I told you." I told her not to ruin the moment. She laughed. Bahl dropped a stolen button into my lap. [Small amused breath.] …he had rather good taste, too