lifeaftr | Ren On Tour

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Ren On Tour

Who: Ren + her goblin family + YOU
What: Ren's birthday bonanza, first prompt closed to camp BASE, second prompt OTA
When: May 2nd
Where: elf camp in the morning, all over the rest of the day!
Warnings: precious cinnamon raccoon too good for this world, too pure

closed
The hardest part about this morning has been keeping a straight face around Ren, like it's a day like any other, nothing to see here. Like they don't know. How can you not be totally hype about getting to throw a kid's first birthday party ever, especially for this kid? With great difficulty, turns out, and the twins keep throwing each other conspiring glances while everybody goes about their morning routines of pet smooches and breakfast. They are also. Throwing everybody else glances that say don't blow this.

The best part is sending Ren off on some harebrained quest that's just whimsical enough to work. Kravitz has ~~finally~~ decided to pull his weight around here and takes her off to a thrilling game of Hide n Seek: Grim Reaper Edition, while Chara and Seto elect to hover helpfully as the twins do their cooking magics.

Around lunchtime, they've called her back to camp and when she arrives, she'll be greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of a whole entire chicken roasting over the fire. Next to it, there's a real life actual pile of bright and colorful and arcane objects hidden in kitty wrapping paper, ready to be unpacked. There is abso-fucking-lutely a Fantasy German chocolate cake.

And in the middle of it all, two very very proud elves.

OTA, Ren + YOU
Once the goblin festivities have concluded, the twins make sure not to let Ren abscond to some anti-birthday hidey hole. Instead, they parade her around the island like this is Ren On Tour and they're her roadies. For real, actually, because Ren is wearing this bitchin dress and this very special crown. ~~Lup narrowly convinced Taako he can't charge any kind of ticket price no matter what he calls this.~~

Ren On Tour can be found at the temple, at the beach, on the islets, just, all over. Come say hi and ~~ask for autographs~~ give her presents! The twins are hanging back because she's the center of attention, here. But they're there, in the distance, out of the corner of your eye you will spot them. Watching, making sure you treat her right.

Anyone who doesn't have a present may or may not get levitated straight into the ocean.

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It used to be difficult to imagine a world where people listened to her-where her thoughts and feelings mattered beyond another's end goal and people took her words with more than a grain of salt. She likes to sing, enjoys hearing others do the same, and she can't recall saying it more than a few times in passing. Not enough for someone to remember this seemingly pointless bit of information about her.

She doesn't know quite what it is. Can't figure out the name, but it's a familiar shape she's spotted in books and homes and she knows it creates pretty noises. Like a whistle? Almost.

"Where did you find that pretty treasure?"

"I made it." He can't quite meet her eyes when he says it, dropping his stare and skewing his mouth to one side, ducking his head. Problem is, he still has to look at it, and pick apart every single flaw that he couldn't quite smooth away - the bumps in the wood, knots and whorls he couldn't shave away. "I, uh...whittled it. It's a flute. You can...do you know how to play one?"

He's pretty sure the answer is no, but that's where he can help. He's not good at a lot of things here. His construction work is passable at best. But he does know music, and he can play more instruments than he realistically needs to know how to play, and ever did.

"I know how to blow a whistle." The pleased way she voices that minor accomplishment makes it sound like she composed a concert or something to that effect. While her lack of experience doesn't stop her from wanting to play with the fun gift, she hesitates in picking it up simply because it's a treasure he created with his own two hands. It's impressive and the smile on her face only gets larger and larger as she runs her fingers across the wooden instrument, kneeling down to look at it from below, though she only gets a good view of the back of his hands. What a talent. He's like Taako, in this way.

"Do you like flutes? Can you play this thing? Can you show me?" She asks, because he mentioned instruments with strings before, but she doesn't see any pulled across. And while she wiggles her fingers over the flute to see if that makes something happen, it doesn't. It must be like a whistle after all.

“It’s a little like a whistle, yeah.” He’s not sure if a little kid will understand the minutiae of emboucher, but flutes like this one are easier than most woodwinds, more akin to a recorder in shape and function. Be glad he didn’t decide to start her off with an oboe.

“You block the holes with your fingers, and those will give you different tones - notes - when you blow on it through there, the mouthpiece. I can, uh...make you a fingering chart if you want.”

Or ask for one; he’s not a flautist, after all. But he can start her off with the basics, if she wants.

Elf camp thought they only had to worry about the occasional screaming lobster, lobstar. Now they have a budding flute player in their midst. Tim is giving the gift that keeps on giving, really, to all inside that ever expanding camp. It's her desire to actually play the instrument correctly that makes her eagerly nod yes. She doesn't need a chart-she can make her own.

"Can you show me now? I'll remember and then we can play together."

"Yeah, 'course." What kind of present would it be if he made her the flute and then just dumped it on her, expecting her to figure everything else out on her own? He might not be a perfect musician, but he'd like to think he's not that bad at birthdays.

"So it's a little like a whistle, but you can't just blow into it. There's a certain way you gotta do it. Give it a try, and I'll help you adjust."

As a, uh. Baseline, he guesses. He's not a music teacher. Can you tell?

Tim, a fool, once again puts far too much faith in this gremlin. Faith that she might be able to contain her excitement long enough to not blow his ear off, faith that she won't try to make it as loud as possible, to see if it's a powerful enough noise to contend with the loud surprise reigning champion-the bomb. Hint, it's not. No explosion noises come out, which is perfect for her, and that little test is enough to sate her curiosity. Incredible.

So yeah, after test number one, she holds the item up to her lips again and blows as hard as she can. That's a noise!!! She's doing it!!

Yep, that’s a noise. High pitched, reedy, and about on par with a recorder on pitch and timbre. He does his best not to wince, and suspects he does an admirable job of it. Relatively.

“There you go. That’s how you blow on it. So you’re gonna use your fingers to change the note.” The recorder is significantly easier to learn than a flute or, god forbid, a clarinet. “Covering different holes gives you different tones. Here, I’ll show you the, uh...we call this the ‘root’.”

Tim's proving to be quite the excellent teacher and as his student, she'll be sure to update him on her progress at random times throughout the night. Goodbye peace and quiet. Who needs that? Not islanders, that's who.

But first she has to learn the basics and she follows along with what he shows her, smiling from ear to ear when she manages to copy the motions and whispering words like root to herself. "Did you learn this kind of thing from-?" A pause, because where would someone learn flute playing. "A book?"

He hesitates at that one, because I was a music theory major when I was still in college is a lot of concepts to throw at someone who probably doesn't know what colleges or majors are.

"I went to school for this stuff," he says. "I learned how to read music and play different instruments."

He leaves out the part where he dropped out and never finished said major.

It makes sense. Music is something he enjoys and if his world had a school to learn all different kinds, what could stop him? He's a free man, no longer contained by people who want to experiment on him and able to live his best life.

"I'll find things for you to play on June 19th," Which sounds almost like a threat, but it's musical quid pro quo. Did she, maybe, spoil part of the surprise? A tiny bit. But she wants him to be happy. "Your heart will be warm on your birthday too."

Well, shit. Suppose it would’ve been too much to hope that she’d forgotten. She’s a kid; she deserves to have birthdays celebrated. But Tim, he’s - he just isn’t the sort of person who gets things like birthdays. It’s no one’s fault. That’s just how it is with him.

“I could show you how to read music, if you want,” he offers, handily escaping the subject like the filthy hypocrite he is. “Do you know how?”

As if he doesn’t already know the answer.

Edited 2018-05-21 22:19 (UTC)

Oh, how the tables have turned. Not even a month ago she was making herself sick with the thought of having to face today. A fear that turned out to be entirely unfounded, unnecessary, and almost silly to look back on, even if small pieces of her guilt remain inside her. She can deal with that bad feeling another day, another time. He can change the subject, but for all the good he's done for her-

She won't forget.

"I don't know. Did the caterpillar one have music? Or the three bears?" She could read those books and if they had music, she's kind of fluent.

"Music's kinda like a...different language. It's written differently. Like dots on a page."

Look at this. Ren is younger than most everyone on these islands, and between this and sign language, she's gonna be trilingual in no time. Simply stunning. And a talented musician to boot.

"It can take some getting used to, but if you wanna learn to play your...I dunno, your favorite songs or anything, you can. If you wanted to."

Well, she's pre-qualified for this position because she draws dots and cats and all kinds of doodley nonsense on a daily basis. This could work. And even if it couldn't, it's not going to stop her from trying to learn how to read and write music. Just call her Beethovren.

"How many dots mean 'moon'?"

“...not that kinda language, kiddo.” Well, fair. He could’ve worded that better. “There are eight notes, and playing them in different orders makes music.”

He doesn’t have a swelling rendition of “Do, A Deer” on hand, so he’ll have to explain the old fashioned way. And also by leaving out the more complicated asides, like rests and sharps and literally every other part of musical notation.

"Can you all 8? Can you put them on the ground? I can help."

Now we're really getting old fashioned. Flute safely tucked in the crook of her arm, she kneels down and pushes her finger into the dirt. There, a dot. She made music. Hell yeah.

Oh boy. Music is complicated, particularly for kids, and Tim only started learning it properly in college. He breathes out, long and patient, blowing the sweep of his bangs from his face. He keeps forgetting to cut his hair.

If they're gonna do this, they're gonna do it right. He hunkers down in the sand and draws five parallel lines with his finger.

"This is what we call the staff. This is where the notes get written. It's like...the page, and the notes are the letters. When you put enough of them together, you get a tune. If you put enough tunes together, you get a song."

Who could have predicted that Tim would become a part time music teacher after being swept to an island? Sorry, there are no benefits and 401k's are outta the question. This is his new thankless job. And like any good student, she wraps her arms around her knees and watches the little lines form. She can get this language, maybe. At the very least, she's trying to. Using every bit of willpower in her body, she refrains from interrupting and copies the symbols he makes with her own finger.

She can't really read it, but she's listening. Trying. That's for sure.

Tim is relatively positive he's never going to reach an age where he'll need retirement benefits anyway, so as far as he's concerned, this is probably the best he's gonna get.

"When notes go too high or too low, we put a line through them." He imprints a little lump of the circle in the sand beneath the staff, intercutting it with a line. "This note here, this is what we call 'middle c.' It's right in the middle of the scale. You wanna see the fingering?"

Not if Ren has anything to say about it and in fact, she has quite a number 'you will live' statements on the docket. Start petitioning for a retirement fund. He needs to live so that other apocalypse children may learn about staves and middle c's.

Again, she quietly copies the notes with her finger, not fully understanding what they mean, but starting to grasp the general idea and the you wanna- makes her immediately hold the flute up to his level. Yeah, she wanna. Show her right now.

He mimes the fingerings, as though he has a flute of his own with which to demonstrate - the combination of fingers tucked in and held away from the carefully whittled holes in the length of wood he spent hours laboring over.

"Like that. So if you blow on it with your fingers held like that, you'll play a middle C." He's...never done this before. Taught someone how to play an instrument. Can you tell? After a moment's pause, his hands drop, and he glances at her with a sheepish lift to his brows. Doing this birthday thing like a pro, isn't he?

"Uh...let me know if you need...help. I guess."

In the grand scheme of music, this is such a minor accomplishment, but she mimics the way his fingers go over the fake flute on her real one, softly blows into it and-

Well it makes a noise and she's so happy because that's the middle C. It's something she managed to do, thanks to Tim. And she blows into a second time, for good measure. This is awesome.

"I did it! That's a middle c-that's how it sounds."

Her elation is so genuine, so complete, so infectious, that for a moment it catches Tim off guard. It twitches one corner of his mouth upward, a startled, undeniably fond quirk of the lips.

"Hey, yeah. You did it."

He almost reaches out to - to effect some kind of affection gesture he's not sure he can enumerate to himself, like maybe ruffling her hair, something he's not even entirely sure she would enjoy, before thinking better of it, and settling instead for holding up a hand in anticipation for a high-five.

"You're a natural, kid."

With her teacher's approval, she's going to mentally add this to the list of things she can do-find cats, hide, and play a flute. Incredible, what a fantastic skill set. Becoming a flute master is her new life goal.

Has she seen high fives? Probably. Does she recognize when one is coming her way? Not at all. The gesture is met with her own hand, but instead of clapping against it, she grabs hold and doesn't let go. It's like a venus flytrap of affection. This is really his fault, sorry. She's going to cling for awhile unless he shakes her off.

"You're a 'natural' too. Middle c's are your special talent."

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