[SE] By the beat of this drum

CHULANE

Nature is cruel

In the last day before the Longnight would begin, Chuy had a final delivery to make. It had only just been finished, a piece he commissioned for someone else, someone who they had almost lost…

But he had managed to make Korbin see that life was worth living, even if he had to convince him it was just to preserve the memory of his sister. Chuy had tried to make Korbin see his own personal worth, but the boy was obstinate, stuck in his ways - but at least he was still alive.

The drum was a fine piece, with oiled luxere skin stretched across both ends, and smooth, well-oiled wood completing the structure. Chulane was rather pleased with it, but being in no way musically inclined (except to listen to it occasionally), it was not meant for him.

He was relieved to see the Notice, even if it altered the plans Kia and the Grounders had made to stay at the Kraai for Longnight. It didn't matter, they would stay at the Academy instead (even if Chuy craved to share the privacy of the cottage with only Kia, he craved her happiness more).

Banging loudly on the door to the Kraai, he then opened the door, and left the drum just inside with a note attached, which read:

Your sister had this made for you. Enjoy.

It wasn't 100% the truth. But Chulane had discussed it with Weaver, and knowing the general apathy Korbin felt for Chuy, had agreed to gift the instrument in her name rather than his. Chulane was merely honouring that agreement.

Then, he turned and left, not wanting to put too much pressure on the boy who had only recently agreed to keep on living. He had last-minute preparations to make, before he and Kia ventured to the Academy until the sun rose again.

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Picture of the drum:
https://previews.123rf.com/images/phanas...kgroun.jpg

but we don't have to be

KORBIN

But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?

The door was open. Korbin was in the middle of the process of cleaning out the perishables from the kitchen when the banging started on the entrance. As he heard it open, Korbin began to set aside what he had in his hands, and headed for the door. But the visitor was gone by the time he got there, and he was left to stare numbly at the gift.

Slowly, Korbin reached down to pick up the note. His insides turned cold as he read it. Then hot. Then cold again. He flipped the note over, looking for a sender, but found none.

Carefully, he picked up the drum. Turned it between his hands, examining every inch. There were no telltale signs of who the maker was. A hobby craft, perhaps, or some new talent. His throat tightening, he carried it over to a table and set the instrument down. Touched the tightened membrane with light fingertips - that alone was enough to send reverberations through the wood, resonating like a hiss of breath, a sigh, the beginning of a note humming in the air.

How cruel. To leave something like this for him here. As a reminder of what could never be. Did the sender know that he used to make music? Did they know that Weaver once offered him a place here, to play while she served drinks, to live his life alongside hers - not exactly like they had been, but still together? How unspeakably cruel, to throw this in his face. As if he didn't regret rejecting that offer every waking moment.

A girl had played violin in the bar the other night while he served drinks, and Korbin had almost wept at the irony of the reversed roles. How it was almost right but too wrong to ever be funny.

His hands tightened around the drum. A wild impulse rose up in him to hurl it against the wall, smash it to pieces in incandescent rage. But instead, he very carefully brought the drum back behind the bar, and placed it on one of the shelves, amidst the flasks.

If Weaver had ordered it made, he would not destroy it. But he would never touch it again either.

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- Fin

Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around