It was a day for strange occurrences, it seemed. The unusual rain had served dual purposes, both magical and mundane. The magical he would leave til a bit later. The mundane, at least, served to allow them to spend extended periods back inside the school, for which he was grateful. Heading back to the room he shared with Sun and Chara, he sought to make certain that nothing had been damaged by either mold or water. He certainly didn't expect to find anything new there.
But something new there was, namely an old leather instrument case sitting on the desk that served as his bed. The case, though worn, had clearly been well cared for, which made it markedly different from the Isle's castoffs. And moreover it looked... familiar. "No...", he muttered in disbelief. "Surely not..." It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. And yet...
He walked over and carefully undid the case's clasps, but hesitated to open it. After a moment's thought, he removed his gauntlets before resting bare hands on the stiffened leather of the case's surface. The feel of it confirmed that while unadorned, it was well made and well kept. The sense of familiarity only grew.
It was with hands that trembled faintly that he finally opened the case, revealing that it contained exactly what its shape had suggested; a lute. Similar to the case, the lute was largely unadorned, but clearly- to those who knew a bit about stringed instruments- well made and maintained, the wood polished so that it nearly glowed even in the unflattering glow of the school's lights. The color in particular stood out, having a deeper, almost reddish hue to it: commonplace for instruments like violins perhaps, but one rarely seen in a lute. It gave it a warm appearance, which should have been comforting, but Foulques stared at it as if he'd seen a ghost. "Rosewood," he said, half to himself. "A rosewood lute. But that's... It can't..."
Reaching out to touch the lute itself, he noticed his hand trembling even more, and clenched them briefly into fists to try and halt it, sucking in a breath and exhaling slowly to try and calm himself. He was only marginally successful, but it would have to do. Carefully, he ran his fingers along the grain of the polished wood, before gently lifting the lute from its case, acting as if it might fall apart or vanish if handled too roughly. Removing the instrument revealed what he'd seen peeking out from beneath the neck, namely a simple book of sheet music, but he wasn't focused on that at the moment.
Instead he was focused on the instrument itself. There was one sure way to know if the impossibly familiar instrument was what it seemed to be. Taking another deep breath in hopes of steadying his nerves, Foulques turned the instrument over examining the underside f the neck. And there, near where it met the main body of the instrument, were carved two letters: A P. A set of initials, short for Anthelme Palissandre; his father's name. This lute, somehow, against all reason and possibility, was the self same one that had been his father's most cherished possession for as long as Foulques could recall.
He cradled the now infinitely precious instrument gently to his chest as if it were a baby, visibly trembling a bit, his head bowed over it. And though he was quiet, a teardrop fell onto the polished rosewood. Then a second. In a moment he would remember that there were likely eyes on him. But right in that moment? For once, it didn't matter.
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chiming
Foulques OTA
Date: 2025-04-24 06:28 am (UTC)From:It was a day for strange occurrences, it seemed. The unusual rain had served dual purposes, both magical and mundane. The magical he would leave til a bit later. The mundane, at least, served to allow them to spend extended periods back inside the school, for which he was grateful. Heading back to the room he shared with Sun and Chara, he sought to make certain that nothing had been damaged by either mold or water. He certainly didn't expect to find anything new there.
But something new there was, namely an old leather instrument case sitting on the desk that served as his bed. The case, though worn, had clearly been well cared for, which made it markedly different from the Isle's castoffs. And moreover it looked... familiar. "No...", he muttered in disbelief. "Surely not..." It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. And yet...
He walked over and carefully undid the case's clasps, but hesitated to open it. After a moment's thought, he removed his gauntlets before resting bare hands on the stiffened leather of the case's surface. The feel of it confirmed that while unadorned, it was well made and well kept. The sense of familiarity only grew.
It was with hands that trembled faintly that he finally opened the case, revealing that it contained exactly what its shape had suggested; a lute. Similar to the case, the lute was largely unadorned, but clearly- to those who knew a bit about stringed instruments- well made and maintained, the wood polished so that it nearly glowed even in the unflattering glow of the school's lights. The color in particular stood out, having a deeper, almost reddish hue to it: commonplace for instruments like violins perhaps, but one rarely seen in a lute. It gave it a warm appearance, which should have been comforting, but Foulques stared at it as if he'd seen a ghost. "Rosewood," he said, half to himself. "A rosewood lute. But that's... It can't..."
Reaching out to touch the lute itself, he noticed his hand trembling even more, and clenched them briefly into fists to try and halt it, sucking in a breath and exhaling slowly to try and calm himself. He was only marginally successful, but it would have to do. Carefully, he ran his fingers along the grain of the polished wood, before gently lifting the lute from its case, acting as if it might fall apart or vanish if handled too roughly. Removing the instrument revealed what he'd seen peeking out from beneath the neck, namely a simple book of sheet music, but he wasn't focused on that at the moment.
Instead he was focused on the instrument itself. There was one sure way to know if the impossibly familiar instrument was what it seemed to be. Taking another deep breath in hopes of steadying his nerves, Foulques turned the instrument over examining the underside f the neck. And there, near where it met the main body of the instrument, were carved two letters: A P. A set of initials, short for Anthelme Palissandre; his father's name. This lute, somehow, against all reason and possibility, was the self same one that had been his father's most cherished possession for as long as Foulques could recall.
He cradled the now infinitely precious instrument gently to his chest as if it were a baby, visibly trembling a bit, his head bowed over it. And though he was quiet, a teardrop fell onto the polished rosewood. Then a second. In a moment he would remember that there were likely eyes on him. But right in that moment? For once, it didn't matter.