12-02-2009, 09:55 PM
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Daisuke did not respond, and Snake did not mind. He was still undecided about a name. He was actually growing fonder of the idea of having several, and introducing himself as such whenever he felt like it. Some days he would feel like just Snake. Perhaps another day he would be Snake Hayter. Or then again, perhaps Snake Silverburgh—this name coming from New Haven, mockingly called the “shining city”; it was actually Sigint who had first nicknamed the denizens “silverburghers”. Who said that a name should be so transfixed? Perhaps Snake’s would be a fluid identity, as shifting as his subtle thoughts and moods.
And, strangely enough, Snake knew well what a guitar was. His mother had played a different kind of string instrument, a cello—he remembered her speaking of it, weaving words into pictures and describing the music she had once made with a bow in one hand and the other finding the notes and chords on the instrument. She had been sad she couldn’t make music anymore, because she had left her cello in Esper Hollow, in Souls. That one was more orchestral than a guitar, though. His father had played a banjo, which he knew of as a smaller guitar, as well. His parents were musical people. He wasn’t. “It’s a string instrument. Usually a hollowed-out wooden body with strings stretched across it, that usually span up a stick that’s attached to it. You hold the strings in different places with one hand and pluck them with the other and it makes music.” He paused. “We could probably try to find a music store,” he mused. The chances of finding a guitar in working order were about as slight as… finding a gun in working order. Well, they seemed to be having at least half-good luck today. They might as well try.
Snake exited the store, making a mental note of its location (he’d probably come back for the rest of the booze on a later date) and taking another sip from the vodka. Without checking he started to walk down the street, looking vaguely at the windows and signs of the old stores, looking for anything that had to do with music.
Daisuke did not respond, and Snake did not mind. He was still undecided about a name. He was actually growing fonder of the idea of having several, and introducing himself as such whenever he felt like it. Some days he would feel like just Snake. Perhaps another day he would be Snake Hayter. Or then again, perhaps Snake Silverburgh—this name coming from New Haven, mockingly called the “shining city”; it was actually Sigint who had first nicknamed the denizens “silverburghers”. Who said that a name should be so transfixed? Perhaps Snake’s would be a fluid identity, as shifting as his subtle thoughts and moods.
And, strangely enough, Snake knew well what a guitar was. His mother had played a different kind of string instrument, a cello—he remembered her speaking of it, weaving words into pictures and describing the music she had once made with a bow in one hand and the other finding the notes and chords on the instrument. She had been sad she couldn’t make music anymore, because she had left her cello in Esper Hollow, in Souls. That one was more orchestral than a guitar, though. His father had played a banjo, which he knew of as a smaller guitar, as well. His parents were musical people. He wasn’t. “It’s a string instrument. Usually a hollowed-out wooden body with strings stretched across it, that usually span up a stick that’s attached to it. You hold the strings in different places with one hand and pluck them with the other and it makes music.” He paused. “We could probably try to find a music store,” he mused. The chances of finding a guitar in working order were about as slight as… finding a gun in working order. Well, they seemed to be having at least half-good luck today. They might as well try.
Snake exited the store, making a mental note of its location (he’d probably come back for the rest of the booze on a later date) and taking another sip from the vodka. Without checking he started to walk down the street, looking vaguely at the windows and signs of the old stores, looking for anything that had to do with music.
table credit goes to jacoby
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