ArchivedLogs:Wild Notes

Wild Notes
Dramatis Personae Nick, Shane	2016-02-25 "{If you like the growl, you should hear me howl.}"
Location <XS> Music Room - FL2
Wide and spacious, seating in this soundproofed room comes largely on the sweep of gentle risers that afford the teacher an easy view of all the budding performers, and add another dimension to the acoustics of the room. Instruments of all types are carefully stored around the room, and a grand piano, immaculately upkept, takes the position of prize near the back. In a nod to the eclectic studies of the students, digital mixing equipment and turntables rub shoulders with the classical instruments. Music stands sit in front of most of the seats, and the only windows look out out over the side of the school grounds. It's evening, near enough to suppertime that most students have migrated food-ward. The music room is empty except for one brown-furred wolf-boy. Perched on a bench with a composition notebook open on the music stand in front of him, Nick is hunched over a guitar. He wears a black Of Monsters and Men t-shirt with overlapping colorful lineart graphics of various nameless beasts, and loose, fraying jeans modified to accomodate his tail. His amber eyes study the page before him for a long spell before he starts playing again. The chords are a little stilted, the transition between them unnatural, but as he plays the notes come easier, in time with the clack of his claws as he taps his foot against the floor. After the third play-through, he begins singing. His voice is low and growly and not at all like what most would expect out of a teenaged boy (though perhaps quite a lot like what most would expect out of a humanoid wolf). "If you look the other way, how will you hear me? If you take away my voice, how will you see?" There's a distinct Canadian folk lilt to his singing as his words come more fluidly and less hesitant. "You say you want the best for me but you just won't take my word on what I need. On what I need..." His eyes flick to the notebook as he launches into the chorus, in Vietnamese, "{I need to howl, I need to run, I need to fight and bleed and hunt the setting sun...}" He trails off here--the last chord isn't quite right. His furry brows gather and his ears press back as he leans over his notes and picks up a pencil. Shane is likely heard and smelled before he can be seen, damp sneakers squeaking faintly against the wooden floor outside, tote bag of pho and lemongrass beef salad slung over his shoulder. He is dressed plainly, jeans and a black sweater over pale silvery-grey button-down, jacket draped over an arm and his violin case in one hand. He pauses in the doorway for a moment, head tilting slightly to one side, before proceeding further into the room. He doesn't say anything -- just sets his things down, moving over to the piano bench, humming something under his breath before his (still shredded) fingers seek out a different chord, ridged brows lifting to Nick as if in offering. Nick's ears swivel toward the door at the footfalls outside, though he doesn't look up until Shane actually enters. His pink tongue darts out to lick his twitching black nose as his eyes linger on the tote. He cocks his head at Shane as he sits down at the piano, studying his hands for a moment before his mouth opens in a silent 'ah'. Nodding eagerly, he rotates his stool to face the sharkpup more fully before playing the last few measures of his song, ending with the problem chord. Then looks up at Shane, amber eyes wide and unblinking. Shane listens quietly to Nick play, one foot bobbing quietly in time with the song. There's a flick-shift of inner eyelids as his nictating membranes slide shut, his outer eyelids slipping half-closed a moment later. He waits for that dissonant chord kind of /expectantly/, gills already starting to flutter just before it sounds. With a small pensive shake of his head, he plays his own offering chord, eyes opening again as his head tilts, black eyes flicking to Nick. Nick tilts his great, furry head, ears cocking toward the piano as he attends to Shane's playing. His head tilts in the other direction now, considering. He looks down at the fretboard as he shifts his fingers carefully to reproduce the new chord. His expression remains neutral as he strums it a couple of times, experimentally. Then he plays the last measure back with Shane's chord in place of his own. Now he nods, his mouth parting in a wide, sharp, wolfish grin. Shane's mouth splits into a bright toothy grin as well, fierce and sharp once Nick finishes playing. "Mmm. That's better?" A question, rather than a statement. "{Though honestly with your voice you could be singing about breakfast cereal and I'd think it was fantastic.} My pa could probably catch the sun for you," he adds brightly. "{If you're on the prowl.}" "So much better!" Nick's grin doesn't fade, and his words lisp faintly in his excitement. "Nah, the fun's in the chase, you know? Gotta share the sun." His tail wags in quick, short strokes, and he lowers his muzzle, ears pressing back. "{Thank you. My brother says I sound like I've been smoking for twenty years. But...}" He peers back up at Shane. "{You really think it's good?}" "{Yeah but you get that amazing throaty rasp without all the unfortunate cancer.} It's win-win." Shane swivels on his bench, turning aside from the keyboard to face Nick. "{What kind of American /are/ you anyway. You hoard all the sun. Then sell it for whatever the fuck you want, you're the only one oon earth with the /sun/ supply.}" He hitches a foot up underneath himself on the bench, nodding. "I think it's great. Play it again?" "{If you like the growl, you should hear me howl.}" Nick's grin has turned a /little/ self-conscious, maybe. "{Well, your pa doesn't hoard the sun, and he needs it a lot more than most people do.}" He rolls his shoulders as he re-situates the guitar, glances at his notebook, and gets his fingers back into position on the fretboard. Even after all of this, he hesitates just a moment longer, looking to Shane as if for permission--though he begins playing anyhow without waiting for it. "If you look the other way, how will you hear me? If you take away my voice, how will you see? You say you want the best for me but you just won't take my word on what I need. On what I need..." "{You could put the howling in a song, too.}" Shane's claws click lightly against the piano keys, absent, not actually playing anything. "{And my Pa would probably just smuggle sun out from you whether you were hoarding it or not. He's a terrible sun-thief.}" Whether he gives Nick /permission/ or not is ambiguous; his gills flutter, foot bopping idly as if in time to music that hasn't yet started. He hums along quietly under his breath when Nick starts singing, a small smile on his face. He reaches over, pulling his violin out of it case and tucking it beneath his chin, lips pursing thoughtfully. Nick draws a deep breath and goes into the chorus with considerably more confidence this time. "{I need to howl, I need to run, I need to fight and bleed and hunt the setting sun.}" Shane's chord closes the measure perfectly, and he goes on without hesitation. "{I need to dance, I need to love, I need to know that it still matters that I'm here.}" The instrumental bridge is simple--perhaps a little /too/ simple to stand on its own, without accompaniment--but Nick has clearly practiced it a lot, and his smile slowly returns. There is accompaniment, soon enough. Shane folds his legs up into a pretzel on the piano bench and sets his bow to his strings. The tune he plays is simple, too, weaving lightly in easy harmony with Nick's chords. His gills flutter, slow and calm, his own smile warm at Nick's growly voice. Nick's voice grows softer on returning to verse. "And if you can't give then how will you receive? And if you can't trust then how will you believe?" Then the growl returns to his words as he strums harder again. "You say you want the best for me but you just won't take my word on who I am. On who I am..." He closes his eyes and raises his voice. "{I am a child, I am a man, I'm a lost soul and I'm trying to find my way. I am a friend, I am a freak, I am a speaker for the wilds that cannot speak.} If you would only listen." The last chord--Shane's chord--fades to silence, and he opens his eyes again. His hand lifts from the strings and scruffs at the back of his head. "Maybe next song I'll try some lyrics about breakfast cereals." Shane's playing continues until Nick's final chord, his bow lowering after that as he sets his violin down on the bench behind him. "I like these lyrics plenty." Though his smile has crooked up, bright and amused. He hums quietly under his breath, singing a moment later -- "When the toast is burned and all the milk has turned and Captain Crunch is waving farewell --" There's still amusement lightening his expression as he slides down off his stool, moving over towards his tote bag to open it up, start unloading its parcels of broth and thin slices of beef brisket, tendon, tripe, flank steak, tofu. Basil and limes and sprouts and onion, sauces. Beef salad. Coconut and lychee juice. "{What do you think the wilds /say/?}" This is sort of an absent musing, quiet as he sets all the foods out on the floor. "I still have plenty of songs to write." Nick stands, ducks out from under the strap of his guitar, and returns it carefully to its case, though he leaves the cover open. "{Already started working on another one--all about what the wilds say.}" He pads over to Shane, claws clicking on the floor, nose twitching eagerly. "{But one of the things they say most is, 'we're hungry.'}" "{Well. I'll be looking forward to /that/ one then.}" Shane drops down to settle comfortably pretzelled up on the floor by their dinner, grinning over at Nick. "Man. Guess that's how you can tell I'm a wild animal. That's all I'm /ever/ saying. {Thankfully,}" he nods towards the food, "{I came prepared.}"