Post by verisimilitude on Jul 12, 2015 12:11:50 GMT -5
POV: Aaron Exurgo, son of Demeter
Aaron walked into the Amphitheater, nodding at an auburn haired girl-one of his friends, a girl named Belidonne and a daughter of Aphrodite. Noting absently that she had brought a violin-simple, with an ordinary appearance-he suddenly felt an itch to play his guitar. Taking a seat by some empty blankets scattered around, the son of Demeter raised his black nondescript guitar case over his head and into his arms. After adjusting the honey-amber instrument, he fiddled with the strings for a bit, tightening and loosening them. Absently running a hand through his hair-he should really stop doing that-Aaron let out a long exhale. It had been much too long. The familiar easiness of the keys was gone, replaced with a hesitance he didn't know he possessed-sort of.
Having not brought his music-who remembered to bring sheet music when they went to camp?-he awkwardly strummed for a minute, hoping for something that sounded remotely like music. Or harmony. Picking at random strings in different scales, he sighed, rubbing a hand against his temple. Was it actually that hard to do this? He remembered playing effortlessly once. It was sad, really, that young him was so much better at something than he was currently.
When he actually found something akin to a tune-a simple song he remembered from his days in Minnesota-he was so engrossed in making this complex bridge in the song that he didn't notice the approaching form of another person, flinching slightly and putting a reflexive hand on his weapons.
Aaron walked into the Amphitheater, nodding at an auburn haired girl-one of his friends, a girl named Belidonne and a daughter of Aphrodite. Noting absently that she had brought a violin-simple, with an ordinary appearance-he suddenly felt an itch to play his guitar. Taking a seat by some empty blankets scattered around, the son of Demeter raised his black nondescript guitar case over his head and into his arms. After adjusting the honey-amber instrument, he fiddled with the strings for a bit, tightening and loosening them. Absently running a hand through his hair-he should really stop doing that-Aaron let out a long exhale. It had been much too long. The familiar easiness of the keys was gone, replaced with a hesitance he didn't know he possessed-sort of.
Having not brought his music-who remembered to bring sheet music when they went to camp?-he awkwardly strummed for a minute, hoping for something that sounded remotely like music. Or harmony. Picking at random strings in different scales, he sighed, rubbing a hand against his temple. Was it actually that hard to do this? He remembered playing effortlessly once. It was sad, really, that young him was so much better at something than he was currently.
When he actually found something akin to a tune-a simple song he remembered from his days in Minnesota-he was so engrossed in making this complex bridge in the song that he didn't notice the approaching form of another person, flinching slightly and putting a reflexive hand on his weapons.
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