@rcguna asked : "Was there something wrong with my flute playing?" Raguna squints at Leon, lowering the instrument from his lips and suddenly feeling a fair bit more self conscious about his still developing 'skills'. This style of wind instrument was still new to him, far from the ocarina he had used on his farm when relaxing in the evenings, and let alone the guitar he was most familiar with.
It's hard to discern what Leon may be thinking at any time, but to Raguna, their expression had suggested distaste. Disappointment. Frustration. Something? He looks at the flute, looks at his hands.
"I'm still learning. Do you play any music, Leon?"
he wasn’t that bad, really. he himself wasn’t too familiar with woodwinds - less so with this age’s iterations, although the flute had been a welcome familiar sight - but even he could see the issue was moreso a mere matter of confidence rather than any real lack of technical skill. the instrument may have been relatively new to the other man, as he claimed, but his humility could not belie the knowledge or experience he was certain to possess, even if simply translated from another instrument - he’d heard him play another flute - like device before on occasion, hadn’t he ? or else the man was simply just a fast learner.
earthmates, the thought occurs as he returns the jug of wine to his wry lips. was there anything they couldn’t do ?
the delicate notes had been almost soothing to him, at first. camped upon the shores of the gently lapping lake where the other man had finally relented to catching and cooking dinner for the two of them over their makeshift campfire ( a fitting reminder to why he had begun to refer to the earthmate as one of his favorite playthings in the first place -- though the man nearly always complained, he never turned down his requests, and as far as the former priest was concerned, the best kind of meal was the kind that was free and came with its own entertainment, both of which the man provided readily ) the pair had turned the occasion into an impromptu beachside picnic of sorts, with drinks provided from his own personal ( hidden ) stash back in his room. and as their usual banter had fallen into companionable silence, long after the golden eye of sunset had fallen shut and the sable - cloaked heavens came alight with stars, the man had begun to play, all dainty trills and refreshing tones, songs that were lifted upon the selphian breeze like prayers.
and it wasn’t the playing, nor was it the player, that had over time drained the lighthearted smirk from his lips, fingers tightly clenching the ceramic jar captive between his hands, chest leaden and weary.
foolish, he hears, and the voice - his voice - has attempted to resort to reason. childish, and utterly ... foolish. there had been many songs, even from his own time, even from his days of travelling across the world, that he had never heard a beat of, never heard a single note. such was the inevitability of an existence coinciding alongside other countless existences, other knowledge, other traditions, other communities, other life. and ... it had been years - centuries, certainly, millennia even - since he had closed his eyes in that temple. societies had fallen, but others had flourished, progressed. the world had turned without him.
the world had turned without him. and here he was now, a foreigner in what was once his homeland, in a new age with new people and new customs and new songs. the world had turned without him -- and what did that make him ?
‘ ... ah, was that you playing ? forgive me, i had thought for a moment that there was some small bird somewhere, crying out for its mother. ’ the words fall flat, and it only drives his lips into a deeper frown, setting his wine aside in the sand to fold his arms tight to his chest. aquamarine eyes flit, just for a moment, to meet the earthmate’s own - and then they look away. ‘ ... fox ears. my hearing’s a touch more sensitive than it used to be, you see. i haven’t quite ... gotten used to it yet. ’
he lets the man’s other question linger a bit longer, fingers restlessly coming up to tug the wrap from his hair, letting it fall to the side as he smooths down the long pale strands that had been nestled beneath. why had the earthmate stopped playing ? why were they suddenly talking about him now ?
‘ ... a little, once. my instrument of choice was one that was even considered old during my time, but now it seems it has completely fallen out of practice. ’ the comment is accompanied by a lighthearted shrug, even if his eyes don’t attempt to meet the other’s again. it wasn’t for lack of trying that he had failed to pick up his once - beloved craft once more - despite blossom’s promise to let him know if anything that sounded similar came in, she had never notified him even once, and the travelling merchants that came through selphia had all proven to be similarly fruitless. even if they did happen to carry one with them, which seemed to be a feat unto itself, the modern iteration of the oud was completely unfamiliar to him.
it would be all right, he reasoned, even if he never got to play again. what was one loss against a countless sea of losses ? there were many things he would never be able to do again, he had known this since he had first agreed to the terms of the etherlink spell that would bind him to the land. he would move on, as the world had moved on.
his head tips back as he studies the stars overhead. holy eyes and holy equations and holy revelations, divinity in every breath. he thinks this might be the only thing he knows, that there exists the laws of creation : the earth revolves around the sun, the world would turn without him, and he would be fine.
he would be fine. wine and stardust and godliness mixed upon his tongue and he would be fine.
‘ ... please, don’t stop on account of me. keep playing. ’
@rcguna liked this for a starter. | Dusty.
This was... new to say the least. Dustin knew that venturing further from the shack he called a home would lead to discovering new places, yet he was astonished to stumble across a tilled field of all things during his meanderings, crops of various kinds sprouting from the dark soil almost like weeds. It wasn’t a leap in logic to assume that this was someone’s farm. A big farm, at that. Bigger than any he’s seen by a long shot. However, there wasn’t trees towering over the field like the all the ones back home.
Forest green hues snapped towards the sound of a hoe striking the earth mere feet from him. Obviously, it was a farmer, though whether it was his land or he just worked here was something he’d find out later. Right now... he needed to address the fact he was unintentionally trespassing onto the property. “... apologies, but I had no idea a farm was out here.”
@rcguna said: Above all else you're organized, which ties in well with how deliberate you are with your writing. You know and love your muse and want people to see her for HER. And that's admirable, always. Being honest to yourself and your muse. You can always appreciate a mun who knows what they're after and isn't afraid to say it.
Also super friend shaped.
How would you describe the mun of this blog?
I’m either organized or obsessed, so let’s go with organized! Funny thing is: I’m terribly organized about some things in my life while others, like my closet, are a disaster zone.
But regardless of my messy habits, thank you so much! Mostly it’s Sonia telling me what she wants to show/see/say/do, but I try to push her headcanons and plots beyond just a pretty, well-mannered royal, and beyond what Sonia’s given in canon. I know not everyone agrees with it or enjoys the sort of content and HCs I write here, but it keeps it fun for me.
And THANK YOU for describing me as friend shaped! I feel like I’m lacking here a lot, whether due to life being busy or just not knowing what to say OOC. Not being in discord servers probably helps with that feeling, but they’re hard for me to keep up with most of the time and, like above, I never usually know what to say. I’m trying to be a better/more active friend, though. I just overthink OOC comments and dashcomm/crack/humorous IC interactions far more than my multi-para thread replies. Those come easy: it’s everything else that gives me panic honestly. Same can be said for sending asks/memes: I’m always worried I’m bothering someone.
@rcguna said: I just imagined her with a huge potato cannon
She wouldn’t want to cause permanent damage if it’s a friendly food fight. Maybe she’ll shoot marshmallows? If just for the fact marshmallow guns look like fun.
But if her loved one/close friends do an over-dramatized ‘death’ as they perish due to rotten produce?
She’s not hesitating to shoot first. With aggression.
rcguna: ragu vc: thats not safe
“Thanks, Mister Raguna! A shame I couldn’t see it in the first place.”
@hcstofthevoid this is the three of us rn :)
rcguna: "Wait, how is that weird?! Isn't wanting to hold hands normal??"
“I’ve only ever held hands with my family. Is it that normal to want to hold other people’s hands? Oh, but I hear lovers do that as well so.... Hehe!”