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.
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.