-=Business-like Journeys=-

[ooc: Just dropping the girly spiderboy off somewhere with some task or other to do. : D Starting in Ko Peninsula.]

Jonquil muttered irritably under his breath, fussing at his hair; the beading had gone a little awry with the coastal wind. Not like he could just abandon Plantain's customers, though. One purchaser had fallen ill, so they'd agreed to deliver. That was another one of Jonquil's roles since he was still mooching off Plantain: deliveries when needed, whether purchasers were ill or something came up, and also to wander around advertising. He didn't mind the traveling, at least; it was nice to see places he wasn't familiar with. Sure, Tulli Forest was great and living with Plantain was wonderful, but seeing places like Ko Peninsula, where he was now, was also nice. This was the farthest out he's been, so far. Plantain had asked he look around the area to advertise, explaining the level of intricacy in the weaving of the sarong around his hips, and the simple scarf top that followed just under his carapace, crossed over his chest, and tied behind his neck had similar weaving. It grew in sheerness toward the edges, offering a gradient of the naturally yellow-gold silk. The silk itself carried a quality much different from silk dyed a similar colour, which was part of the buying appeal.

So Jonquil was a traveling advertisement, this week. Both of his sister's outstanding work and his own beading skills. White and brown beads ran down strands from the tied knots both of the top and the sarong, although they were his best work so far; he'd been praised by one traveler, even! And flattered as a "pretty girl with a deft hand". That had made his day. Even though he had wondered about the honesty on the beading statement (he liked the rest of the comment well enough to let alone).

Although he was still, presently, re-beading his hair and mumbling to himself while making the occasional comment to his mount.

"You know, if I were facing the right way, I really wouldn't mind this wind at all. But as is," and he turned away while speaking, although he adjusted his volume as he spoke, "it's just being a flat nuisance." ...As if the giraffe weevil could really offer a proper reply? Oh well. Geran was a useful thing and good company, right now. And his only company right now, really. "So let's see, we need to head north to the plains and then back home... Should take a day and a half?" Jonquil turned bright blue eyes toward Geran, who was happily curled up for a rest and looking right back at the Arachin. The spider cooed and crouched by the weevil, reaching out and fussing at Geran's muzzle affectionately, oblivious for the moment to the rest of the world.

[Adding; feel free to drop someone in on this, guys. XD; I'm trying to leave it open.]

As Jonquil sat back, he took to examining the contents of a few packs attached to Geran's sides. Materials and all that. With one hand on the weevil's muzzle and another two fishing through the packs, the Arachin hummed quietly. He guessed no one was traveling this way; not too much traffic, at this point. It was nice in a way, but also pretty lonely. Oh well. He'd be home soon enough, right? Just had to scope out this far and then some, then he'd turn around and start for home. Hopefully he'd not be alone the whole time, though. Well. Alone besides Geran.

The voice that begins to be heard; well before a lone figure was seen upon the horizon, was loud, yet, lilting and mellow even as he himself seemed to be worse for wear, though the tune itself was, strange, almost foreign, the insect himself was a sight to beholden; red drapes itself over a frame that's much thinner than normal; yellow trim upon a plumed hat; orange brocade all along the sides and sleeves; for the love of all he looked to be a walking advertisement of pillage and loot! But; he bears not the blade that clinks and clanks beside him; instead, the sound of notes, not just words is heard across the grasses, his voice accompanied by 'understanding and clarity' not just being a liliting, tuneless mush...

"En man han tjänt herr lagers gård; I sommar, vinter år för år. Säg mig, vem sörjer nu för dig?", his voice, the sound was so saddening that, one could almost think he was the most pained man in the world. Teeth are bared as he sings, the sound of his voice almost multiplicative even as the notes begin to become beautifully wrought as any work, his eyes, red, dead things are set on the path before him; not looking up; he doesn't notice the forest for the trees.

"För slit och släp under himmel grå. Han blott sitt bröd som löning får. Säg mig, vem sörjer nu för dig?", the words, almost spat as he sings, that voice, so loud, so... clear, it's obvious he doesn't think, or know, that anyone else is along the road; or, maybe that's just it. He knows very well, he just doesn't care.

Fingers gesticulate; angry in a way; a single digited mid-arm strums now; deft even in it's primitiveness and oddity; "Så kommer hastigt budet in: - Vår herre lägrar dotra din! Säg mig, vem sörjer nu för dig?", his voice carrying a hint of malice even though, apparently no one is around. It's strange seeing this insect moving, his movement suggests that he's... Practicing, more than anything else; mind you he's so loud that it might be a little hurtful; though, he remains the clearest sound about. His words bearing the force of the song itself on the ears of any thing, any one, around; he's passionate about his work!

"Och trällen nu genom dörren steg, Han lämna plogen vid årkerns teg. Säg mig, vem sörjer nu för dig?"; again the snarl is on his lips even as he throws his fingers and hand about in a flourish that removes his hat in a way; his red eyes glaring down purposefully at the ground before; with a sudden silence he looks up; a quick movement and the strings of his instrument are still... Apparently he's abashed, though his accented voice is a tinge of how powerful it had been just moments ago; it's still just as beautifully wrought, if a lot less loud.

"Ah, I do apologize young miss, I, am The Minstrel; and as you can see, I was practicing.", his voice is sweet as silk and the 'girl's' species doesn't even have him bat an eye, "Again, I apologize, I can remain silent until I am well away before beginning again... Unless Traveling Partners are required; of which I am perfectly happy to be... Again, I may seem brash, but it's a Lonely Road, and thus, is my Lament to be so... Well, Lonely; isn't it?", he speaks well, even if it's obvious he has no idea that he sounds overly pompous; although, truth be told, it would be expected. He was a Singer after all....

Jonquil's eyes widened at the sound of a voice--one that carried so well, too. Turning, he rose up from where he had only moments ago crouched to better rifle through one of his bags, regarding the origin of the sounds. He noted the tone and emotion behind the lyrics, and yet he had to admit, it was enough to rile anyone up. Were it not for a practiced soft demeanor, even he might have been up in arms. But instead, he held his bag before his chest, secondary and tertiary legs curled in almost nervous carriage, and simply stared. If Plantain thought he was one to dress "oddly", then so much the better she never met this fellow; his sister might come up with something unpleasant in her bluntness.

The minstrel's speaking voice, while not so different from that with which he sang, had Jonquil bowing his head and raising the bag a bit higher. He flushed faintly at the address; well, at least he was convincing in appearance to this fellow. Had he a need to explain it, the task would have been... rather difficult. Even Plantain wasn't clear on why her younger brother wanted to appear as feminine as possible and yet never directly declare himself female to anyone. Jonquil wasn't entirely sure, himself, but it was what he wanted to do; so long as it wasn't hurting anyone or himself, he didn't think the reasoning much mattered. And it gave him reason to show off just what could be done with their silk and beading. <3

So, shifting his voice from his normal tenor to something a little higher, practiced enough to be convincing and natural-sounding, Jonquil laughed quietly.

"Such is the way of a traveler, though." He thought the other amusing for all the strange artistry with his words, but Jonquil knew well enough not to turn his back to him. The Arachin had been traveling for a while, now; there were lessons learned early and lessons learned well. "Loneliness to be dispelled upon reaching a settlement, town, village, or city, only to revisit the road and have the cycle begin again." Jonquil urged his mount beside him so as to replace the bag without turning away from the other male. Hitching the belts together and checking things over by hand instead of visually, he smiled. "Although, temporary reprieve from that cycle is always welcome."

For all his soft-spoken demeanor, he could carry a bit of conversation well. ...Although he wasn't liable to say much more than that just yet.