Luke Triton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hisapprentice) wrote2014-06-11 10:51 pm
hisapprentice) wrote2014-06-11 10:51 pm
[Puzzle 017]
[Things in the village continue to move at molasses speeds, ever since the draft ended. Without school to keep him occupied, and with (shock and dismay) a wholly diminished interest in all things puzzle, what with all the sadness and walking on eggshells going on all over the place, he's been...practicing his violin, actually. No one in the house came after him pounding on the door, so it must not be that bad.
It was better, sometimes, than thinking about all the strangers who appeared (from the draft, he learned later) bloody and beaten up, or his friends, coming back with darkness in their eyes.
His plans for this day are tame, and come in two flavors:
In the morning he's at the stables, tending to the horses with the kind of affectionate banter and bounce in his step that he doesn't have many close friends to share with anymore. It's not so bad. Animals are, um, people too. But anyone else there might catch him whistling or seeming to talk to himself.
After lunch (Luke always has a long generous lunch - today he eats at Seventh Heaven) he heads into the school to the music room, balances the open journal on a spare music stand, and pulls his violin and bow out of their case to prepare and tune them.]
So, er. [It doesn't usually bother him to talk to the village but...this is a little different.] You know...I think maybe it's better if I don't say anything first.
[And, after one last, soft check of his pitch, Luke shuts his eyes and starts to play a song whose sheet music he found in the library months ago. It isn't very long, but he goes through it thrice: the first time quietly, too afraid to mess up to really play, and then twice after that. It's a little slow and a little sad but he doesn't feel sad when it's over.]
That's that, then. [Projected confidence or not, he's blushing pretty red on his end of the journal.] I sort of thought, um, that maybe somebody could use a little music.
[[ooc: shh shh pretend it's a violin in the track not a cello...]]
It was better, sometimes, than thinking about all the strangers who appeared (from the draft, he learned later) bloody and beaten up, or his friends, coming back with darkness in their eyes.
His plans for this day are tame, and come in two flavors:
In the morning he's at the stables, tending to the horses with the kind of affectionate banter and bounce in his step that he doesn't have many close friends to share with anymore. It's not so bad. Animals are, um, people too. But anyone else there might catch him whistling or seeming to talk to himself.
After lunch (Luke always has a long generous lunch - today he eats at Seventh Heaven) he heads into the school to the music room, balances the open journal on a spare music stand, and pulls his violin and bow out of their case to prepare and tune them.]
So, er. [It doesn't usually bother him to talk to the village but...this is a little different.] You know...I think maybe it's better if I don't say anything first.
[And, after one last, soft check of his pitch, Luke shuts his eyes and starts to play a song whose sheet music he found in the library months ago. It isn't very long, but he goes through it thrice: the first time quietly, too afraid to mess up to really play, and then twice after that. It's a little slow and a little sad but he doesn't feel sad when it's over.]
That's that, then. [Projected confidence or not, he's blushing pretty red on his end of the journal.] I sort of thought, um, that maybe somebody could use a little music.
[[ooc: shh shh pretend it's a violin in the track not a cello...]]
[Action]
But you've heard me practice it in person in class.
[Action]
Yes, but that isn't the same thing.
[Action]
[Luke shakes his head. Almost tricked!]
That's not the point! You're just trying to confuse my argument now.
[Action]
[If there is one thing Jack is good at, it's being innocently infuriating.]
[Action]
No, but I think I'm about to.
[Maybe Jack won't hear it all...]
[Action]
[Action]
[Not what he said but hey why not challenge dear teacher.]
[Action]
[... probably not as planned.]
[Action]
It's not my piano, is it? You don't need my permission.
[Action]
[Shots fired.]
[Action]
Thanks for asking, then.
[Action]
But of course.
[Now that he's been given the go-ahead, he makes his way over to the piano and takes a seat on the bench. After a moment or two of adjusting, he rests his hands on the keys and begins to play a soft melody. It's quiet and sad, full of feeling, though Jack's face remains neutral while he focuses on playing. He doesn't need to be expressive, not when the music is doing a fine job of that for him.]