CHULANE
"Sorry," he said, almost in perfect synchrony with hers, when he saw how his approach had startled her. He allowed a slanted grin to tug on his lips, waving away her apology.
Good music was something he always admired, not having a musical bone in his body, he could play chopsticks on the piano and that was about it. He had a healthy respect for those who could craft or play music, healthier still if they could do both. He was openly pleased when he saw that she was fixing the fiddle already, hoping to match the bright grin she wore, though also knowing that the general fatigue that plagued him probably made it a bit softer around the edges.
"Can't say I know the name of anything from here to be able to request it. I'd be glad to hear whatever tickles your fancy," he spread his hands, before sitting in another chair. He was tired, exhausted really, the days blending into one long torturous event for him, but sleep just wouldn't come easily too him. The newness of this event, the upheaval of their living arrangements (and everything else that was on his mind what are timelines) had him twitching with anxious energy whenever he tried to rest, so there was little else to do but keep putting himself to whatever work he could do in the meantime.
"What sort of material do you use for the string?" he asked, curious to know if it was equine-derived hair like some instruments on his homeworld, or a Caido variant. He looked at the way she expertly re-strung the instrument, admiring the shape of the fiddle as much as the easy, familiar way she handled its maintenance. It was nice, comforting almost, in an odd way that Chuy would not be able to explain if pressed to.
Good music was something he always admired, not having a musical bone in his body, he could play chopsticks on the piano and that was about it. He had a healthy respect for those who could craft or play music, healthier still if they could do both. He was openly pleased when he saw that she was fixing the fiddle already, hoping to match the bright grin she wore, though also knowing that the general fatigue that plagued him probably made it a bit softer around the edges.
"Can't say I know the name of anything from here to be able to request it. I'd be glad to hear whatever tickles your fancy," he spread his hands, before sitting in another chair. He was tired, exhausted really, the days blending into one long torturous event for him, but sleep just wouldn't come easily too him. The newness of this event, the upheaval of their living arrangements (and everything else that was on his mind what are timelines) had him twitching with anxious energy whenever he tried to rest, so there was little else to do but keep putting himself to whatever work he could do in the meantime.
"What sort of material do you use for the string?" he asked, curious to know if it was equine-derived hair like some instruments on his homeworld, or a Caido variant. He looked at the way she expertly re-strung the instrument, admiring the shape of the fiddle as much as the easy, familiar way she handled its maintenance. It was nice, comforting almost, in an odd way that Chuy would not be able to explain if pressed to.
it is better to know some of the questions
than all of the answers
than all of the answers
