"I don't think it's going to work." A single line spoken by Maven, looking over Artman's shoulder at the box of metal pieces he was working on. The simple words of an assistant tugging at the magician's ear, who was already furiously at work.
"Did you say something, Maven?" Artman asks absentmindedly, just for his finger to slip and cut a gash across the tip as the knife twists in his hands. She huffed for a moment, reaching for a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding. "I know my instruments, I've made my living off them, remember?"
"Don't you mean dancing and music?" Artman muttered, cleaning his inconvenient wound and setting the carving knife down as Maven continued. "There's no belly, nowhere for the sound to build or amplify, and it's ugly. I can't imagine any sound it makes will be any more pleasant than a croaking toad." A slight curl of her lip exposed a glint of her teeth, the disdain and disgust on her face fleeting but as plain as if they'd been carved into a mountainside. Artman quietly dismissed her notions with a wave of his hand as he studied the spot where he'd missed with his knife's stroke. "Well, it's not finished yet, Maven, but it'll be fine. Look.." As he waved her closer now, she sighed a little and leaned in.
The contraption on the table was little more than a wooden stand with two flat metal plates affixed to a set of pivots, allowing them to swing along a small lateral arc. Artman reached out to thumb the edge of one of the plates, creating a dull 'twang' sound. "The mechanism will use strings I need to put in, so the plates can draw closer or be pulled apart. That will let me control the quality of pitch and tone, like the cords in a man's throat, that's what will allow our simulacra to talk, and yes, I'll have more than enough room for a 'belly' for the sound rumble around in." The simple jest did assuage Maven a little, but her grey eyes still regarded the infant contraption on the table as if it were a garden slug.
"Sounds like the old fool's lute." she purred, faintly amused. "The what?" Maven gave a little teasing smile. "Oh, just an old story, about some bard with a lute he stole or bought from a magician, it talked endlessly when played, always insulting the people around it, how terrible and stupid the player was." Artman snorted in amusement, "That sounds like something the old masters would do, but I haven't a clue how he might have made it talk." Then his face shifted to a quizzical expression. "Why do you ask?" Maven pressed a finger to her chin and thought a moment before replying, "Well, it sounds silly, but, I figured you'd be using some magic to do something similar, I mean, if that lute could spout insults and crass embarrassments, maybe it could be taught to echo someone instead."
Artman again snorted a laugh as Maven stared at him, slightly taken aback by his amusement. Artman continued to laugh to himself for a moment longer, Maven slowly grew more sullen than confused, her face darkening slightly till Artman finally finished his private joke and came around to answering her growing disdain. "Oh, Maven. I wish it were so simple. But the bending and changing of sounds is complicated. But should the particular secrets of that art be discovered again, I would love to learn it. A novel power like that would certainly make this project vastly simpler." He told her reassuringly, "But the fact of the matter is, I think that talking lute of yours is just some minstrel's story, one full of idiotic gaffs and shallow humor." He explained, turning back towards his blossoming construct. Maven sighed a little and started drifting slowly towards the bench where they'd propped their current mannequin subject, a blanket thrown over its chest and legs and tied in place around it. She smiled in a pause of amusement, an idle thought leaving her lips. "Why not..." she wondered, idling, thinking on some distant subject.
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"Why what?" Artman answered, surprising Maven with her ideations.
"Well, uh, why not the talking lute? Is it somewhat the goal of this project anyway? Couldn't a set of strings be made to talk like a man? I mean, you said it sounded like something the old master magicians might have done." Covering quickly for her actual subject of thought. Artman sighed and placed his tools back where he'd picked them up, turning to stare in her direction. He took a slow course to step up close behind her, gently holding her shoulders in his hands. "Maven, the idea is lovely, it is, but I'm afraid magic and reason simply haven't caught up to the idea of changing the path of sound in the way you describe. It's more likely that whatever the legend was based on it was likely a curse. An imposed compulsion created by some angry mage, that convinced the poor player that the stolen instrument was talking, rather than making it talk on its own."
Maven sagged slightly under the explanation. Artman kissed her neck gently as his arms moved to wrap around her, firm yet supportive. A tender moment in the workshop's dim and dusty confines.
"Why not?" she murmured again. Artman's attention was caught once more. "Why not, what?" he asked. She nervously laughed, "Why not just trick people into thinking they hear someone's voice instead of trying to recreate it exactly?" She asked, Artman gave a serious look as she spoke, "I mean, it's not like we aren't using illusionary powers already, having it project the image of persons using it already? What's one more illusion on top of it?" Artman sighed, teeth clenching slightly. "Maven-" he started, drifting away from her.
She turned as he left, feeling the shift in his demeanor as he ghosted back towards his workbench. "It would be illegal, Maven. It's one of the few powers that might be considered treason for its implications and connective disciplines. The compulsion effects you're asking about are confined to the Forbidden record, unreadable save for study of countermeasures." He took in a deep, almost sigh, as he continued, "I'd love to explain more, but as my oath to the Brotherhood demands I protect its secrets even to the cost of my own life. I would say the secrets of the forbidden record count under that category of secrets. So if you need to ask, just know the answer is 'No' in the firmest language possible." he took a small breath as the weight began to sink in. "Alright, I understand," She said, "But I'm no stranger to things being unfair." She barked a mocking laugh, "After all, we can't have anything come too easily, oh no. We might just get something done! Or change to many things, can't have that, can we? Magic needs to be mysterious and awe-inspiring, because it's so bloody dangerous and important to trust normal people!" The rising cry of frustration lifted her voice to a near cackle.
Artman smirked dryly, "If you think so, but just remember the old stories. Of Mage kings and demigods, when power, not reason, ruled the Earth, And thank God almighty we don't live like that anymore and only need to beware things like the Cupid War at the worst." He said quietly. There was a dull pause as the silence hung for a moment, like an open wound between them. The minutes passed painfully slowly as they simply sat there in their respective darkness.
"damn," Artman muttered quietly. "Well, I'm certain I'm not going to get anything done after that," he declared. Putting his tools away. "Let's go out somewhere, see a play. I'm tired of this place, and it seems to me more a tomb than a workshop." He stood and started towards the door. "Will you join me?" he asked. Maven forced a smile and walked towards his outstretched hand. Placing hers in his, he spun her gently, wrapping her in his arms as she giggled. The door swung wide as Artman gave it a slight kick with his foot, the pair wandering into the street in search of a pleasant distraction from their current surroundings. Leaving behind the shadows of distant woes and pressing dysfunction, in exchange for the warmth of the sun as they crossed the threshold. Within the hour, they'd have found a sufficient distraction for themselves and their troubled minds.
