01-17-2010, 01:33 AM
522
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Both of his parents had been musical people—he had grown up with the sound of his mother humming and sometimes (“when her voice was good”, or so she said) singing. He had liked it, though he knew he would never be capable of anything like that. One could not exactly coax notes and melodies out of a voice that sounded like it belonged in a computer tutorial, right? Regardless, he found it oddly soothing—calming, like the song of the snake charmer. When he and his mother had met back up with his father, music had almost been omnipresent. He had played the banjo whenever he had the chance, and he was very good at it. Snake had often listened and watched him play, but no matter how much Laurel had tried to teach him about it, he hadn’t understood. Chords, notes, melodies, they didn’t make any sense to him. It seemed he could only appreciate music as a listener.
Luckily, that was all he had to do now. Daisuke returned from his home with a guitar and then sat near Snake and the fire, though angling himself towards the former. Snake did not shift posture, but he did look over to watch Daisuke’s hands and fingers move across the strings of the instrument as he played the song. There would be no way that he could ever understand the intricacies that went into every song, every verse, every melody, every bridge, but he could appreciate them enough. The song was well put together, especially for someone who had just picked up the instrument not but a short while ago. By the time the song had finished, its effect had worked on Snake. He looked different—placated, the entirety of his former tension alleviated from his body. His olive eyes even seemed to have lost their sharp edge, becoming a little more malleable beneath the shadow of his bandanna.
Lost within thought and contemplation over the song, he looked up only when Daisuke asked him a question. He shook his head, saying, “No, there’s no need. I liked the song a lot.” Unfortunately, it was not his skill to put into words how much he liked certain things, but if he could, he would have said that he had really enjoyed the song. It was not one of those sappy songs that always made him sleepy, though it was not raucous enough to make him agitated. Actually, it almost reminded him of a few things his mother had hummed when he was young.
“So you just put that together yourself, while learning to play?” he asked, his brow furrowing. It was hard for him to imagine, the act of creation. Like a machine, Snake was not so. Computers could not compose music, they could not paint masterpieces, they could not write bestselling novels. They could display them and maybe even reference them. Snake went as far as to appreciate them and enjoy them… but the act of making them was totally different. It was something that he revered greatly in others, though he knew it would never be present within himself.
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Both of his parents had been musical people—he had grown up with the sound of his mother humming and sometimes (“when her voice was good”, or so she said) singing. He had liked it, though he knew he would never be capable of anything like that. One could not exactly coax notes and melodies out of a voice that sounded like it belonged in a computer tutorial, right? Regardless, he found it oddly soothing—calming, like the song of the snake charmer. When he and his mother had met back up with his father, music had almost been omnipresent. He had played the banjo whenever he had the chance, and he was very good at it. Snake had often listened and watched him play, but no matter how much Laurel had tried to teach him about it, he hadn’t understood. Chords, notes, melodies, they didn’t make any sense to him. It seemed he could only appreciate music as a listener.
Luckily, that was all he had to do now. Daisuke returned from his home with a guitar and then sat near Snake and the fire, though angling himself towards the former. Snake did not shift posture, but he did look over to watch Daisuke’s hands and fingers move across the strings of the instrument as he played the song. There would be no way that he could ever understand the intricacies that went into every song, every verse, every melody, every bridge, but he could appreciate them enough. The song was well put together, especially for someone who had just picked up the instrument not but a short while ago. By the time the song had finished, its effect had worked on Snake. He looked different—placated, the entirety of his former tension alleviated from his body. His olive eyes even seemed to have lost their sharp edge, becoming a little more malleable beneath the shadow of his bandanna.
Lost within thought and contemplation over the song, he looked up only when Daisuke asked him a question. He shook his head, saying, “No, there’s no need. I liked the song a lot.” Unfortunately, it was not his skill to put into words how much he liked certain things, but if he could, he would have said that he had really enjoyed the song. It was not one of those sappy songs that always made him sleepy, though it was not raucous enough to make him agitated. Actually, it almost reminded him of a few things his mother had hummed when he was young.
“So you just put that together yourself, while learning to play?” he asked, his brow furrowing. It was hard for him to imagine, the act of creation. Like a machine, Snake was not so. Computers could not compose music, they could not paint masterpieces, they could not write bestselling novels. They could display them and maybe even reference them. Snake went as far as to appreciate them and enjoy them… but the act of making them was totally different. It was something that he revered greatly in others, though he knew it would never be present within himself.