Solo A Sailor's Song

[Reverrsoi]

8th of Winter, 520 AV

Reverrsoi sat on his bed, kicking his fin idly and anxiously. His expression was furrowed and his movements slow. He flipped the metal flute over and over in his hands, examining first the head joint, then the body, then the two keys at the end. He pressed his finger over each of the holes silently, refamiliarizing himself with the feel of it in his hands. His lips tightened as he did so, mimicking the notes he could be playing. But he did not attempt to produce a sound yet. As much as he missed the flute, it had been a long time since he had touched the instrument and he knew even his limited previous skills were rusty. He had simply not had time with all the goings-on in Avanthal.

To be fair, he still didn't have time.

Ignoring the mess of chores laying around his bedroom he shrugged on his coat and headed out the door.

---

He had been to the hall a few times before, but he had never had the courage to enter a room. The long rows of doors and the colorful gazes of the Vantha had been too intimidating to stay for long. But today, he veered into the nearest open door and closed it firmly behind him, shutting out the prying eyes. Though he was certain the Vantha would not make fun of him for his lack of skill, the self-consciousness was still a concern he did not want to tackle at the moment. For now, he just wanted to practice, and the Hall of Aural Creation was perfect for that.

Verrs freed his wings from his coat and carried it with him to the single chair in the center of the room. He gently set the coat down to pad the hard chair, then took a seat on top of it. For a chime, he just stared at the flute in his hands again. The worries of being inadequate came surfacing back. He had heard so many beautiful things in Avanthal since he arrived. How could he ever hold up?

You'll never get there if you don't practice. He thought bitterly. So, Verrs closed his eyes. He assumed a straight-backed position, placed his flute against his lip, and blew.

[Reverrsoi]

The sound that came out of his instrument was unbearable.

Verrs flinched away immediately, barely resisting the urge to drop the flute and cover his own ears. The disappointment that hit him gave him pause. He knew it was going to be bad, but he realized now that he had thought he would at least make a note. And if he were to be entirely honest with himself, he'd even had fantasies of sweet melodies filling the room. Instead he found himself worrying on just how soundproof the rooms were.

A fluke. He thought. That's right. Just a mistake.

Salvaging his confidence, he tried again.

And again.

And again.

The same high-pitched, squawking sound came over and over and over. The frustration began to build. No matter what he did, it didn't seem to get any better. He tried short bursts and long blasts. He overblew fiercely and then with a timid wind. He played a steady beat of screams. He swung the beat a little. He covered the holes one at a time down the row, then entirely at random. He moved his arms while he played as if in a merry little dance. He slumped against the chair pretending he was stuck in a jail cell playing the blues. He played himself an awful note and tried to match pitch with an equally awful voice.

By the time he had finished making every mistake he could think of, the sun hung significantly lower in the sky and he had not yet produced a tolerable sound. But it was also true that the fear had evaporated from his chest. The weight of the skill he didn't possess no longer pressed against him. His flute was not awkward to hold in his hands, but warm and comforting once again.

He was finally ready to start.

[Reverrsoi]

It took him a moment to return to the proper stance. However, this time it was much easier for Reverrsoi to walk himself patiently through the steps he needed in order to get there. His father had told him when he was small, sometimes he just needed to "get the wiggles out", and it seemed that Verrs had never grown out of the advice.

He straightened his spine, held his flute out at a right angle, and placed it lightly below his lower lip, careful not to dig in with the metal. He wiggled his fingers one last time, before balancing the instrument on his fingertips to play an open note. It was still terrible, of course. It was airy and anemic, and the sound scratched at his ears. But Verrs did not feel the need to drop his flute. He did not need to cover his ears or cringe away abruptly. In fact, he smiled and prepared his fingers for the next note, climbing up his scales.

Once he began, memories flooded back to him. The familiar rhythm brought to mind playing one note at a time on board the ship. Whatever sailors had a free moment gathered around him, encouraging what must have been a horrible song to peter forth. He played simple songs with hardly five notes and none of them on-key, but occasionally someone would sing along anyway and those were the best of days. The notes out there were lost to Laviku, pulled away on the wind. Here the sounds bounced off the walls and surrounded him, and him alone.

Stuffing the loneliness down deep and ignoring the aching in his chest, Verrs completed his scales and immediately moved onto his next exercise. He could recall one of his melodies that he had adapted from a work song on board (come to think of it, he was almost positive that he was supposed to be working and was avoiding it, but that was beside the point). It used a call and response pattern, and since he had to sing the response, he only knew to call with his flute. Even though he knew it would sound lonely, he would just have to fill in the other parts on his own.