* CALEN * 18th of Summer, 513 AV Slamming his door closed behind him, Calen grunted as he found himself exposed to the near blinding light of the midday sun. Turning his back on the sun and the small band of children that amused themselves by chasing each other up and down the road, Calen jammed his hand into his pocket, blindly fishing for his key. All around him, the city of Zeltiva seemed alive. In accordance with the predominantly residential area that he rented his apartment in, Calen found himself surrounded by the sights, sounds, smells and general energy of Zeltiva's life. As he made his way towards the main street of his city of origin, Calen whistled tunelessly, soaking in the livelihood. There were men going about their days work, gruff and determined. There were women watching their children at play, doting and motherly. It was an odd sort of place to live, but Calen wouldn't have it any other way. With a shout of 'Whoa!' Calen sidestepped a line of sprinting boys, all so intent on beating one another in their footrace, that they hadn't even considered that they might bowl over any pedestrians. For a moment, Calen was possessed by the urge to shout an insult or a complaint after them, but he was fairly certain that it wouldn't do him or them any good; he had been that age once, and he doubted they would be any better at heeding the words of their elders than he had been. Smiling ruefully as one of the boys fell flat onto his face, his forwards momentum carrying him so that he actually somersaulted, Calen turned his attention back to his tuneless whistling. As he turned onto West Street, making his way towards his destination, Calen tugged at his lute, which he wore slung across his back, as he so often did. Calen had always been a man of habit and he had long since fallen into the habit of traveling with his lute; it had practically become a part of him over the last season or so. Unfortunately, Calen's supposed symbiosis with his instrument had remained almost purely aesthetic; it was as obviously used and battered as his white shirt and simple brown pants. In fact, despite his frequent usage of the chordophone, Calen's skill in its usage could barely be considered anything but amateurish; he was oddly familiar with the sound that individual notes made, however. All in all, Calen and his lute, while rather shabby in appearance, had a very odd relationship, much like Calen and a majority of the things he regularly interacted with. Finally, Calen came to a stop, his lute held loftily in his hands as he stared upon 'The Laviku Monument'. Despite having heard about and having passed the monument rather frequently, Calen had never truly stopped to appreciate it, as he had today. It was a very nice monument. Coughing to clear his throat slightly, Calen lightly plucked at one of the strings on his lute, nodding as the lute emitted a slight noise. And so, standing only a few meters from the Laviku monument, plucking idly and randomly on the strings of his lute, Calen prepared to sing. "Hmm. Hmm Hmmm" Calen hummed softly. |