CAN'T HELP FALLING IN LOVE / human au

[bubblegum]

[elijah]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; border-width:0; width: 70%; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; line-height: 1.5; font-size: 9pt;"]The young boy, while enjoying to 'write' his own little stories, would have liked to have learnt how to play an instrument. He always liked the sound of classical instruments, always wanted to try his hand at them. He never got the opportunity. His love of fantasy took him away from more minor hobbies. He remembers being younger and scribbling on paper, thinking meaningless symbols were words and reciting what he had written. Every time he told his story, the story would change to something completely different. And yet it was what made Elijah happy. Then again, one's image of happiness changed. When he hears the strum of a ukulele, his eyes light up with interest. He is drawn towards the music that begins to be accompanied by a familiar voice. Elijah looks to her, unable to help himself but smile.

He comes over and sits down, crossing his legs and listening politely until he is finished. As he listens, he holds Thirteen gentle in his hands, stroking the rodent's back soothingly. Then, the music stops. "How did you learn to play the ukulele?" Elijah asks curiously, "You're so good at it." Of course, the boy wouldn't know what counts as good or bad. He is only seven years old. How was he supposed to know talent?

[Keona.]

[div style="width: 527px; line-height: 1.4; text-align: justify; font-family: palatino; font-size: 11px;"][align=center]blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly

Music.  Everyone in her family knew a little music.  Even her younger cousin tittered out tunes on the beginner's children instruments.  An expectation? Perhaps.  Or a shared love of the sound.  Even with useless eyes, Keona handled a few herself.  Experimentation at first.  Low expectations.  She could not read sheet music or see the notes.  Only feel and hear them.  Viola and ukulele came first, with great practice.  Fingers dancing on strings.  A fondness for orchestral sound especially in one.  Warmth for the feeling of her late mother's chosen instrument in the other.

With bare feet buried in sand, she practiced her music for the sea.  She let the rush of waves join in the symphony.  More pleasing than fiddling in her room.  Notes floated into her ear from not far.  Voices overlap.  Song.  Talking.  With red curls bouncing around her shoulders, freckled, mocha arms raise a bow, testing.  Curious.  Chin resting gently down. 

She echoed the song, chords to notes, humming under her breath.  Easy with such a familiar tune.  She let the notes fly away, content to repeat and settle in the quiet after, aware of the near voices.

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