Sep 21, 2023
Could you blend Nyaako (the older sister cat; i might be mixing up their names) from cat soup?
Nyaako from Cat Soup is being blended!!
seen from Portugal
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from Portugal
seen from Portugal
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
seen from Portugal
seen from Portugal
seen from Portugal
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
seen from Portugal
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
Could you blend Nyaako (the older sister cat; i might be mixing up their names) from cat soup?
Nyaako from Cat Soup is being blended!!
Nyaka
The Hanged Man {Part 2}
.:+:.
Part 1 (previous)
.:+:.
Free Marches. Kirkwall, Lowtown-
The Hanged Man
Varric’s quill came to a halt, his head tilting to the side and toward the door of his room. The candle flickered dimly on the table near to him, its shadow dancing in tune with the one cast over the table by hand and feather alike.
The tavern was awash in noise from the people down the hall and in the main confines as always, chairs scraping against the floors, mugs hitting against the table and each other. Laughing and arguing and cursing all mixed in with what dim, low rumble of instruments played in the background on repeat- always the same tune, always the same rhythm and beat of drums and strum of strings. Having been in residence at the Hanged Man for some time now, Varric had become quite atuned to muting the noises and the sounds, and the music entirely-
But there was a sudden change in what had been the same for oh so long, and that got his ear in seconds.
The upbeat, repetitive tune of drums and lute mellowed out to near nothing for a moment, before the soft, slow sound of a guitar started up.
The rabble and low rumble of voices in the main hall seemed to die out as the strum of a guitar sounded, slow, soft….. it was pleasant, in an odd way. It was entirely out of place in what had usually been dull and upbeat sounds to grace the Hanged Man from what Varric would loosely call a ‘band’. But this, even odd as it was- the sound of it just called for attention and he was willing to give it so very easily.
Varric hummed under his breath, his hand shifting to place the quill down as hell pushed his chair backwards a little.
Maker, he hadn’t heard the Hanged Man so quiet… Ever. He couldn’t hear anything but the strings, not one voice.
He was on his feet and moving toward the door before he even realized he was doing so, pushing through the entryway and turning down toward the main hall with little a word. He could see people standing from the small entryway and see that near all of them- they had their eyes turned in the same direction, almost enraptured.
The guitar was strung a few more times as the tempo picked up for half a second- Varric drew to a half-halt in the entryway as a new sound began… This time a voice.
“….Aneth ara, Lethalin….”
Varric’s eyes widened in slight surprise, his feet drawing to a halt as his arms hooked themselves about his chest. His gaze landed in the owner of that voice as everyone else’s did- that soft, admittedly beautiful voice. And whome did he see?
“…Mi da'vehn sulahn melana….”
She was swaying slightly, the guitar in her hands as her fingers moved lightly across the strings naturally. Fluidly even,
“… Vir ar melana….”
Her eyes watched her fingers trace along the strings, her expression soft and calm as her voice kept on clear and melodic. There wasn’t a person in the building who wasn’t listening to her, not a single person dared to say anything- the sound of her song was like nothing that had ever graced the Hang Man ever before. It was something new, something out of place…. And something soothing too.
Varric leaned against the frame of the entryway with his shoulder, his eyes daring only to pass over the crowd to see the rivalry attention for a few seconds- before he let his gaze snatch back toward her.
Well, well…. A rogue and a minstrel then…?
He hummed under his breath, his lips twitching at the edges.
“Dareth se era'en….”
…. And she speaks elvhen too. Maker, what a mystery this one’s turning out to be, eh….?
“Vir ar melana,
Dareth se era'en….
…Aneth ara, Lethallin.”
The band that had stayed quiet suddenly started to life, quite and undertoned compared to her, but it matched nicely.
“Mi da'vehn sulahn melana….
Vir ar melana,
Dareth se era'en…..”
It didn’t matter no one knew the words or what they meant, no one seemed to care. Her voice caught their eyes and their minds and they couldn’t help but just drink it in, the soft, slow sound of strings strung carelessly- yet it with so much rhythm, purpose.
“Vir ar melana,
Dareth se era'en…. ”
What had started slow was growing faster, louder- the tempo turning, the emotion still the same and yet the somberness had turned to something else… Something more passionate. More vivid.
“Lethallin…”
She hardly looked up at the crowd, hardly seemed to notice all the eyes and the silence only filled with those words, so smooth and gentle- spoken with so much ease for a moment one could forget who sang them was human, and not elf. She seemed just as lost in her words as everyone else did, and her voice nor her skillful playing of the strings never faltered even a second.
“Mi da'vehn sulahn melana…
Vir ar melana,
Dareth se era'en….
Vir ar melana,
Dareth se era'en.”
Her voice trailed off as the drums beat harder and her playing on the strings took over, her fingers picking across the instrument as music and rhythm rang around the hall louder than before. They could feel their spirits and energy rising, feel the motion and the virility woven into the chords. She was moving more, taking small steps back and left in tune with the beat, spinning slightly as her eyes dared for a minute to trail away from her work and toward the band-
In her expression that had seldom changed from neutrality and sheer calm sparked something else, something kinder… Some small, ghost of a content smile.
“Vir ar melana,
Dareth se……”
The band halted slowly, her quick strumming of the instrument and her movement about the floor slowing with it as the beat dropped, slowly, carefully… Until the only sound awarded in the room was the soft, gentle stroke of the strings and what utterly pleasant sound was made from them. What energy and vigor suddenly lowered back to the near somberness it had had in the beginning, her voice going with it as she simply strung them a few more times.
“… Aneth ara, Lethallin…”
Her voice faded off as the strings came to a still, for a few breif moments it was simple silence, stillness- as if no one dared to breathe.
Varric smiled softly as he watched her straighten up, holding the instrument lightly in her hands as she turned her eyes to the crowd for what had to have been the first time. And there wasn’t a single person who didn’t have their eyes on her.
There erupted noise again, cheers and whistles as Nyaka dipped her head lightly to the room, before turning slightly to hand the guitar back to the band- and they started up again in their same drone of noise that seemed unworthy of sounding after what she’d done. Nyaka did not seem to care though, she thanked the man for use of the guitar and stepped away- her smile fading again to calm as she started toward the bar, entirely intent on going back to work, and stepping into the role again so easily.
Varric watched her move across the floor, saw her head tilt in direction of the comments and words of approval that sounded long after she was done, saw her feign indifference and polite thanks to the words and yet she listened in ever so keenly.
He saw her eyes fall on him for the briefest of seconds as she drew nearer the bar, saw the slight surprise in those blue eyes.
“Perceptive, and charming.” He smiled as she drew close in order to pass him by toward the bar. Her steps slowed slightly, her head tilting as she gave him a faint, cool smile. “A rogue who can sing, and in elvhen no less… You are quite the bundle of surprises.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She replied evenly, “But you seem the sort to be full of surprises yourself, Master Thethras.” He smirked,
“Oh, me?” He chuckled, “What surprises could a simple surface dwarf from the Merchant’s Guild possibly have that compared to that performance you just put on?” She smiled slightly in amusement, for a moment she was about to respond- but stopped herself. Varric didn’t notice though, “Beautiful song though, elvhen isn’t too common around here. Makes me wonder where you learned…. And what the song was about..?”
“Telling you the words takes away some of the allure, Master Thethras.” She replied, smiling a bit more, almost cheekily. “As for where I learned, suffice it to say I spent many of my younger years as quite the avid student- on many things.” His brow quirked in intrigue at that, but she was moving again.
“However the title of that particular song is 'Rogue Heart’, since you seem so interested.” She told him, smirking slightly as she headed away again. He was tempted to call her back again, but his mind wandered toward what she meant by 'many things’ and he hadn’t time to. So he let her go, for now-
“Hehe.. Fair enough. Though, I do intend to catch you longer than a few moments one of these days.” He called after her, she waved a hand over her shoulder at him.
“And I’m sure you will, Master Tethras.” She replied easily, her smile over her shoulder toward him in that instant though… It was cunning, in a way.
“Don’t you have a Deep Roads expedition to be planning in the meantime?” She asked lightly, Varric blinked in surprise.
She was off and away before he garnered a reply, leaving him watching her in sheer silence as she moved and melded between tables and people, a tray in one hand and cups in the other- his eyes lingered on the dull gleam of the blade she still kept close.
She looked less like a barmaid each minute he saw her.
.:+:.
Part 3 (next)
.:+:.
Masterlist/Directory
Mermaid by Nyaka
The Hanged Man {Part 1}
The first time I met Varric Tethras was long before he became the famous (or maybe infamous, is more accurate) author, occasional Spymaster- and more notably, friend to the famed “Champion of Kirkwall”.
We met when he was nothing more than a merchant looking to gather to gather an expedition into the Deep Roads. An adventure that he and many others regret.
Nothing good comes from places so deep and dark. Not from the Darkspawn, not from the Demons, and most assuredly- not from Red Lyrium.
Varric and I know that all too well.
…. We were younger, then. Naive too. Sometimes I find myself missing those days, before the Deep Roads, before the Qunari, before Red Lyrium. Back to the days when he had yet to take a step into the deep dark earth, and I had yet to plunge myself into their troubles. When Varric was simply Varric- wily, charming dwarf with a permanent room at the Hanged Man, who in his free time got into trouble with a young, nearly equally as charming human rogue by the name of Biron Hawke.
When I was just a minstrel, a waitress. When I found refuge and work at the Hanged Man, served drinks, food, shrugged off the drunks- and occasionally dabbled in song and instrument. When I was just a normal, ordinary girl running from Fereldan like so many others.
Nyaka the Tavern Girl, and Varric the dwarf with the crooked smile and the crossbow.
.:+:.
Free Marches. Kirkwall, Lowtown-
The Hanged Man
It was loud and bustling, feet shuffling along floors worn down to the splinters and stained across by ale, sweat, blood, vomit… You name it. Busy bodies and stumbling figures staggered around the warm room, slopping beer from their cups and bumping into tables- coins glittered as pieces were thrown down as bets, conversation roared with murmurs of shouting and laughter and anger mixed in.
Varric let out a heavy sigh as he set his quill down on the table top, his hand moving to reach for his cup as he moved it up toward his lips- emptying it of what little ale was left in the bottom before sighing again. The table was littered in papers and documents and matters to which he had spent the better part of the day trying to sort through and piece together. To near no avail, unfortunately- he’d been locked up in his room for the better part of the day before migrating to the main hall of the tavern to continue what had proved fruitless and frustrating.
The close confines and dingy atmosphere of the Hanged Man (as well as the lack of windows) gave no true indication as to the time of day. But judging from the rise in people drinking and the orange-yellow glow that seemed to grow dimmer in that one, small, grim-ridden window near the entrance- he had wasted the entire day away and now night was setting in over Kirkwall.
His fingers left the edge of the cup slowly before he started stacking his papers up into piles, the sound of music starting as the band got going.
His eyes began to trail slowly over the confines of the room and the people. He wondered faintly how likely it would be that dear Biron Hawke could not have called on him today..... Perhaps he was busy, and with no true need of Varric- though maybe he wished it had turned out the other way.
He found the same few people roaming the floor who never seemed to leave the Hanged Man. He saw the few Templars that came in for the end of the day and a reprieve from their duties, their shoulders sagging and glancing about at the common rabble and the thieves with wary eyes.
A whole wash of common and usual, the regulars and those that stumbled in drunk and looking to become more. Those simply there for the noise and others to see someone else, and some few for the information, to scope out the people and the possible marks. Varric’s lips twitched ever so slightly at the thought of some idiot brave enough to try and pick his pockets.
His hand moved to take hold of his cup again as he continued to look out across the rabble, his watching interrupted when the lightness of the cup reminded him it had emptied.
He began to raise it, intent on casting a word toward the bartender for a refill- his eyes trailing toward the bar only to halt.
She was moving between the crowd with hardly a sound, her feet trailing over the floor and hardly seeming to touch anyone she brushed so closely. Those icy blue eyes found every little opening between the bodies, her expression utterly neutral yet insanely keen and focused, her hands balancing several mugs and plates all at once. Her dark russet and red hair shone dimly in the firelight as she passed the hearth by.
She was something a familiar sight too, she’d arrived at the Hanged Man near a week prior and stayed- she worked there, serving drinks, food, cleaning too. Though in all his time spent at the Hanged Man he hadn’t afforded much time to actually talk to her- she seemed something of a busy body, on her feet from dawn to dusk and never ceasing in what she did. He found himself wondering how she managed to keep on all the time and never seem to tire even the slightest bit…. With how wrapped up in his own plans and things he’d been the last week, he had paid her no mind- not enough to know her name, or how she came to end up in Lowtown and toiling away here …. But now,
There was something about the way she was moving between the people, some lightness- as if she was weightless. It would have been hard to hear her make any noise from across the room and with what rabble filled the air, but he somehow felt he would have scarcely heard her feet move across the floor even without all the other interference. She walked with nothing but control, grace even-
He hummed lightly under his breath, his eyes narrowed as some keen light shone from them for a moment.
His hand lift in the air with his empty cup, catching those somewhat strange icy blue eyes in moments. She nodded, ever so slightly- before retreating back to the bar to grab a pitcher and trailing her way across the hall toward him.
Varric’s eyes flicked away from her for near only a few seconds as he pushed a stack of papers to the side- and as he looked up she was suddenly standing just there in front of him, filling the cup and those strange blue eyes like chips of ice watching the yellow liquid fill. His attention trailed from the markings painted under her eyes toward the fine and wicked looking blade that she had strapped to the low of her back, her skin and olive hue and her hair pulled into a tie at the side of her neck. Her clothes were well kept but nothing expensive, worn at the sleeves and clearly used to work, though a bit above the bare rags that the poor came to know.
“There you are, serah.” She murmured with a nod his way, her feet turning as she started to leave,
“That’s a fine looking blade you have there.” Varric called her back easily, her stoic expression breaking for half a second in slightest surprise toward him- before he saw those icy blue eyes flash in sudden uncertainty at what the words meant. He pulled his mug closer as he cast her a small, signature smirk. “Not often you see a barmaid carrying around a weapon like that, let alone one who knows how to use it well.”
The pitcher in her hands met the table top as she cast him a glance, pausing for a little while longer as her eyes narrowed. She let out a soft sigh,
“Is that a question or an assumption, serah?” She asked evenly, he smirked. She hardly waited for his response though, “… I am perfectly capable of handling a blade. Better to be at least proficient, lest my own weapon be removed and turned on me.” She paused, sighing slightly. “… Wise especially here in Kirkwall.” She added quietly,
“Clever girl.” Varric smiled, she blinked. He lat a hand lightly on his breast with a dip of his head her way. “Varric Tethras, at your service.”
She dipped her head toward him in return, “Nyaka Ayere.”
“I take it you’re from Fereldan?” Varric asked lightly,
“Escaping the Blight like near everyone in Kirkwall nowadays.” She nodded, “I take it you’re not?” She added in lightly, her lips twitching faintly at the corners and so faintly he barely noticed it- but ever the observant man, he did.
“Born and bred in Kirkwall.” He replied easily, she nodded a little.
“…. You do seem more local than most.” She murmured lightly, “… However, I thought that House Thethras was a part of the Merchants Guild. I find it a little strange you’d be toiling your time away in a tavern in Lowtown…. The Hanged Man doesn’t strike me as the sort of place to offer much profitable venture.” Varric’s eyes widened slightly,
“Heh, well informed about the Merchant’s Guild are we?” Varric hummed, she let out a small breath.
“Not quite so well.” She murmured, “But well enough to know you likely don’t handle upfront errands for the Guild…. Spymaster and secrets seem more your area of expertise, Master Tethras.” She stacked up the discarded plates resting at the end of his piles of papers and the like, those icy blue eyes of hers fixed to the cutlery and not to him. His eyebrow quirked at that, his interest peaked in pleasant surprise.
“And you garnered that from watching me work only a few hours?” He hummed, “It’s not as if I’ve spent much time in here since you began working here. That’s the quite the leap to be making about my character with so little time.”
“…. Hmm, you’re entire countenance exudes charm, wit, and a roughish mysteriousness, Master Tethras.” Nyaka replied lightly, Varric chuckled lightly under his breath. Her expression didn’t change at the sound though, her eyes kept still on her hands and her movement as she continued talking. “I don’t think it so much a leap…. But the piles of papers of names and manifests, carefully sealed letters, and little notes you pass along between here and your room to the outside while no one is looking do say something of your character.” She hummed, before pausing a moment “…. The way you watch the crowd is something of an indication as well.” she added in softly.
Varric’s eyes widened, glittering in the dim as he watched her carefully, and with no small flicker of surprise stirring in his core at those words that were so weighty and yet she said them so offhandedly. They weren’t vague, they were detailed, precise… It seemed she had noticed him more than he would have thought, and nearly with the same keen interest and perception he’d expect of himself. And yet there was nothing about her that gave off a hint as to someone so observant, at least not like that. And he was… Pleasantly surprised. Intrigued too.
“Very clever girl.” He smiled, she seemed to shrug her shoulders at the words- but he swore he saw her smile for half a second.
“You’re something of a rogue yourself it seems, and not simply a barmaid, hmm?” Varric smirked, his head tilting at her every so slightly.
“I suppose I am.” Nyaka replied lightly, the plates now resting on her fingertips with perfect balance. She turned her back on him with a small wave over her shoulder and not a bother in the world.
Her icy blue gaze met his for but a split second as she headed away- her feet across the floor made near no sound at all.
“Enjoy your ale, Master Tethras.”
Varric leaned back in his seat, his fingers trailing along his chin as his other hand reached out toward the now full cup. His eyes watched her melt back into the crowd and move through it with ease, never bumping into anyone, her balancing of the plates never faltering- and those icy blue eyes never moving back toward him or his corner. Or at least, not whilst he was looking… And now suddenly he had a feeling she did look his way and he would never know it when she did.
“Hehe…… I think I’ll need to keep an eye on that one… ”
.:+:.
Part 2 (next)
.:+:.
MasterList/Directory
Guru Nyaka!
Tw: fake blood, guru
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