taxonomites | [location] Kal ho naa ho...

It is said, that as surely as the moon gives way to sunshine, so too does the wool by and by become a carpet. Little by little, step by step, thread by thread until the carpet maker can display several years' work on his wall. He remembers one such man; a carpet-seller who had use for his services as provided by Datis; the man who so many years ago had set him on a new path. Sometimes he wishes for his life to have been simple like that, to be able at the end of each day look at the work done and know the measure of one's accomplishments.

Every morning, he sets out to walk along the many winding streets, choosing a new direction every other day. Every day he finds himself somewhere shaded and out of the way of others where he may practice his skills. He dances on green grass, feet bare and spirits lifted; he orders a pot of spiced tea from one of the many tea shops and restaurants and sits in a quiet corner, pouring the tea just so, handling the cup and saucer as were they the finest quality; sometimes he even sings, to please a friend or intriguing new acquaintance.

Habits are cobwebs at first, then become cables: he is careful not to grow accustomed to his own ways, but to make sure he explores all venues available to him.

Turning the corner onto a new street, drawn by the sound of a flute, he can't help but smile at the sight of a young woman - not a fellow captive, but captivating nonetheless - with her glossed black flute-like instrument, leaning against a whitewashed stone wall as if she has all the time in the world. Their eyes meet, and in the crinkling of her eyelids he can see an answering smile. He finds himself walking closer, humming a counterpoint to her melody. Their music combined seems to build, until his very heart is bursting with it and must take flight the way songs alone could ever do.

"Life is changing every moment, life is now a shade... Life is now sunshine." Touching finger-ends to his brow, inclining his head in appreciation. "Every moment on earth, live life to the fullest. Whatever time you have is yours, for tomorrow might never come."

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There's a soft, melodious giggle, a swish of fabrics and hair, and then a kiss each pressed to Josef's cheeks. "Sometimes, yes. When inspiration strikes, I even sing, if I have an appreciative spectator."

Tilting his head, he gives Josef an enigmatic, assessing look, then decides to slide his hand into the crook of his arm and walk beside him beneath the parasol.

"I would never claim to have made it," he says all in tones of apology. "I looked for a proper gift to present you with, at the bazaar, and found this. I thought it might suit your...particulars."

The cheek kisses make Josef smile, a tiny and honest smile that would have brought a brighter blush on another man. “I may have heard a bit of your singing,” he admitted, knowing it also revealed about how long he might well have been following Bagoas.

Curling his other hand over to pat Bagoas’ a moment, fingers sliding against the other man’s as he began walking once more. “It is a perfect gift, and my wording was poor. I had not assumed you made the parasol as much of making use of such a perfect present. Though I admit, I find many gifts from you merely have to do with you,” he confessed, feeling as he sometimes did around Bagoas, a little goofy and a lot younger than he was.

How long, how intently, neither concept matters in the here and now. He touches his brow to Josef's shoulder, easing into a slow stroll beside him. Such a sweet man, with his fine clothes and short hair and boyish good looks...

"No matter that you heard me sing," he says. "But did it please you?"

How long had it been since Josef had strolled in the sun, parasol or not? He didn't know, which made this such a sharp moment in his mind, a memory he was certain he wouldn't forget.

"It matters to me that I heard you. I like your voice," he murmured, glancing to Bagoas before leaning closer and lightly brushing his lips to his temple. "It pleased me more than I have words for."

With a smile and eyes slitted towards his friend, Bagoas lifts his other hand to lace his fingers with Josef's. He tilts his head into the soft kiss, lashes fluttering briefly.

"In that case I must sing to you. Tell me, what kind of songs do you like?"

It would always bring a bit of surprise for Josef to realize how much he felt changed around Bagoas. Calmer than the hedge fund manager that had to make the next deal. Younger than a man of his age. And human. He’d never sought it out in all those hundreds of years but with Bagoas he enjoyed the sensation. More than that, he reveled in it.

“That’s a tough question to answer,” he admitted. “I rarely listen to music for pleasure. I attend to the theater, as well as opera, but that is for the image as much as entertainment. What do you enjoy?”

"Ah," says Bagoas softly, a smile coming to his lips like blossoms in spring, by and by.

"You are deferring to me. Of course."

He sets his gaze forward, content to be walking slowly, in the shade. A difficult question indeed, and how to answer it? He decides to do as is only proper, and start at the beginning.

"When I was a boy, I loved the sound of drums. They spoke to me of festivities as well as war, and I was set on that path even before I was born. They spoke to me of great deeds, of my forefathers, and bringing honour to our family as I grew into a man as they had before me.

"As I grew older, I grew fond of the flute. It reminded me of birdsong, you see, and I had always found them beautiful. There are so many kinds of flutes, which I was not aware at the time... Such a versatile instrument. As for myself, I learned to play the lute, but I digress. I find myself drawn to songs of melancholy. I much prefer the kind of music that makes your heart beat faster, whether melancholy or not. If it makes me want to dance, that is all I need."

As if on cue, music begins to fade in all around them. Up above, the sun takes on a veil of pale, wispy clouds.

He turns to Josef again, eyes bright and mischievous. "I do believe the hamsters are having a bit of fun with us. But, you see my point. There is something beautiful in melancholy. If one has never known it, one has never lived."

"Of course I am. One, I like the sound of your voice, and two it means learning more about you," he said, not denying in the least that he had motives. Not bad motives, but motives nonetheless.

Yet he listened, slowing his gait and not caring where they were walking towards. He didn't care about where, it was the company that had his attention.

The music swelled around them, the lighting changed and Josef chuckled, shaking his head at the aliens and their games. He wasn't sure the point of this but he would take it any day over ships and sunlight and hamsters.

"When I was a boy, music was very set to a certain mood. The ensembles for dancing and parties for the rich. The bawdy tales of the sea from sailors. The work songs of the people. Such like that. What I knew was dance. Formal and intense and careful dance steps that I was trained in as a boy." And he still hated them.

"Then, on the ships, I learned all the songs of the sea, but as the man in command, it was not my place to sing them. Not in taverns nor on the deck. By the time I was in a position where music was more than merely listening or formal dance, it was synthesized," he said, considering the word. "Created by computers like the tablets. Didn't listen to it much. Aggravated some of those that worked for me when I didn't allow them to play it without headphones."

Bagoas lights up at the untold promise of foreign dance, tugging at Josef's arm in pure delight. Forget tablet-made music, forget hed-fone, forget everything save music and song and dance.

"Oh, please, Josef, you will show me, won't you? Won't you teach me how to dance like you would in your past?"

It wasn't the reaction he had expected, though it was a delight to see Bagoas like that. Excited and desiring to know more.

Even if that more made Josef blank for a moment.

"You... you'd want to learn them? I admit, they're kind of dry compared to things I've seen you doing, and definitely more so than modern dance," he pointed out, thinking about the waltzes and such he had grown up on.

For a brief little moment of incredulous staring, Bagoas can't believe his own ears. Then he pokes Josef in the side with an impish glint in his eye. "You mean to tell me you call modern dance...dance?

"And of course I want to learn; I would love to learn, if you wouldn't mind teaching me. Just a few steps, please?"

Careful, or he'll soon bring in all the wiles he knows, feminine and otherwise.

"Well, there's a lot of years of my dance experience. The kind I learned as a boy, the sensual dances I learned in ports over the years. Then there's the hideous crap that most do these days that I can't stand," he said with a snort but a bit of a smile making the corner of his eyes crinkle.

"Why wouldn't we call it that?" But then he paused, considering it. "You mean because of the changes in languages?"

Glancing around, he considered his options. Most of them meant Bagoas in his arms and he liked that. "Do you mean here?"

[location] Kal ho naa ho...

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