03-21-2020, 04:25 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; line-height: 150%; color: #494949; font-family: karla; font-size: 9pt; letter-spacing: 0.2px; word-spacing: 1px; margin-top: 10px;"]his mother knew how to play the piano.
well, sorta. about five or six tunes, but still; it impressed rory. sometimes, when his father was away, she'd play all day. some of the keys were broken, but it never stopped her. sometimes, when rory had nothing better to do, he'd listen; his favorite time do so was while he was forced to nap. watching this girl play gave him that recollection.
sported in his usual, a hoodie and sweatpants, rory clasps a hot coca in hand. today is finally one of those off days, in his opinion well deserved. he's worked hard — much harder than he did in the beginning — and admittedly, he was beginning to like it. even the patrols ( although he still sometimes complained ). downtime was give or take, but it gave him something to do . . . allowed him time to avoid his injured father, who was beginning to insist being anywhere but bedrest. rory wanted to put that aside for as long as he could.
"your voice is nice," he complimented. he's perched not too far from her on a countertop. rory could settle for chairs, maybe couches, but he much preferred a place that wasn't meant for sitting. "where'd you learn how to play it— is it a mini guitar?" rory was just about as knowledgable with instruments as he was numbers, maybe a little more so. the thing looked like a guitar to him.
well, sorta. about five or six tunes, but still; it impressed rory. sometimes, when his father was away, she'd play all day. some of the keys were broken, but it never stopped her. sometimes, when rory had nothing better to do, he'd listen; his favorite time do so was while he was forced to nap. watching this girl play gave him that recollection.
sported in his usual, a hoodie and sweatpants, rory clasps a hot coca in hand. today is finally one of those off days, in his opinion well deserved. he's worked hard — much harder than he did in the beginning — and admittedly, he was beginning to like it. even the patrols ( although he still sometimes complained ). downtime was give or take, but it gave him something to do . . . allowed him time to avoid his injured father, who was beginning to insist being anywhere but bedrest. rory wanted to put that aside for as long as he could.
"your voice is nice," he complimented. he's perched not too far from her on a countertop. rory could settle for chairs, maybe couches, but he much preferred a place that wasn't meant for sitting. "where'd you learn how to play it— is it a mini guitar?" rory was just about as knowledgable with instruments as he was numbers, maybe a little more so. the thing looked like a guitar to him.