Oh, maybe one of those large violins that you have to prop against a leg... Could work.
['Cello' wasn't a word she heard much. But he asked forgiveness and she sent him a look and a smirk- he needed to look elsewhere for a harsh musical critic- before he shifted gears to playing.
Miqo'te hadn't been a frequent sight back home in the Far East, so of any legends, songs or folklore she knew very little. She was profoundly interested in this glimpse, but the impish humor didn't last long. Instead her stomach twisted into a first, second and third knot as she recalled something she'd confided in an old friend during her childhood in the Steppe:
"Is it Qalli of me to fall for a man that sings...?"
But he was telling a story, one that jingled with that familiar tone of something that fathers told sons, or mothers told daughters. It made her heart ache, wishing for just a moment that her own parents had left anything like that for her.
But stories, like many things, had to come to an end. G'raha had finished and she scooted closer to lean against him, rest a cheek upon a shoulder. Hopefully, her angle could hide the blush. No angle could hide the clovers and blossoms that had grown a little ring in the grass around them.]
...Thank you for sharing that with me. You did fine, you know. And from a Qalli, that's nothing to sneeze at.
no subject
['Cello' wasn't a word she heard much. But he asked forgiveness and she sent him a look and a smirk- he needed to look elsewhere for a harsh musical critic- before he shifted gears to playing.
Miqo'te hadn't been a frequent sight back home in the Far East, so of any legends, songs or folklore she knew very little. She was profoundly interested in this glimpse, but the impish humor didn't last long. Instead her stomach twisted into a first, second and third knot as she recalled something she'd confided in an old friend during her childhood in the Steppe:
"Is it Qalli of me to fall for a man that sings...?"
But he was telling a story, one that jingled with that familiar tone of something that fathers told sons, or mothers told daughters. It made her heart ache, wishing for just a moment that her own parents had left anything like that for her.
But stories, like many things, had to come to an end. G'raha had finished and she scooted closer to lean against him, rest a cheek upon a shoulder. Hopefully, her angle could hide the blush. No angle could hide the clovers and blossoms that had grown a little ring in the grass around them.]
...Thank you for sharing that with me. You did fine, you know. And from a Qalli, that's nothing to sneeze at.
[In case you doubted yourself, sir.]