Nymm's Music

“Someone gave me wine? They told me to share it with you… Are you okay with that?”

Bretta fidgets with a bottle cork.

—Signed, @bretta-the-not-so-damsel

Nymm smiles brightly, posture straightening. He seemed... genuinely delighted to see Bretta.

Bretta gestured at her head.

“Like, messes with up there…”

"And what do you mean, messes with... the... Ohhhh, haha! Well, my head's doing poorly enough on my own; not sure a little drink will add much."

Ah, an awkward memory loss joke. So funny.

Nymm held his map in one hand, and reached for Bretta's hand with the other to hold her hand and lead her to his house, before he realized he was reaching for her hand and paused. His hand froze, halfway across the distance between them. Nymm's face flushed green.

“L-Lets go there then. Right. Uhm…”

“…Oh! The small pilgrim village? I remember passing that….”

She laughs nervously. God this girl is a wreck.

Bretta was... actually holding his hand.

Bretta had. Er. Nice hands. Very nice hands.

Warm. And soft. And it fit perfectly in his hand.

Yes, Bretta had very nice hands.

These were normal things to think, absolutely.

"Yes, that village! Strange folk, the pilgrims are," Nymm said as he began walking, slowly at first to allow Bretta to follow, but eventually speeding up. "I got a real big house there, though I am sorry if you'll be disappointed to know that it's... rather sparsely decorated.

He read books. He made music. That is what he is, a bard. She should stop applying the savior archetype to all of the people she liked, godsdamnit.

—Signed, Bretta

Nymm and Bretta arrived eventually at Nymm's house. Nymm was not exaggerating its size. It wasn't a MANSION by any means, but it was large.

Nymm opened the door and stepped inside, before glancing at his table (with no chairs) and the gramophone (with no psalm cylinders) on top of it, and said, "Er... Yes, I know, it's not much, I just... No one here sells furniture," Nymm said with a chuckle. "So... But it's okay, I'm sure I'll find someone who will sell me a couple of chairs.

She fidgeted with the cork of the bottle again. “A-And if you need any furniture—or just anything to put in an empty corner—I make some little bits and bobs if you want…”

Soon enough they were in his bedroom. It was, admittedly, not a romantic setting. It was a completely empty room with nothing but a bare mattress on the floor. No sheets or blankets. Nymm's shoulders bunched up, part of his head disappearing in his fluff. He seemed... embarrassed, by the lack of, well, anything, in the room.

“Do you have cups? Wait- never mind, stupid question, sorry. Uhm, I guess just straight out of the bottles? Since we have two?”

"And, well... My migraines are from regaining my memories," He explained. "I don't think alcohol will really contribute. Ha, ha, ha."

With that, Nymm sort of... flushed, face turning a smidge green, and then he opened his bottle and took a sip, deciding to get them started now... Before he stopped.

She supposed she was just scared of being forgotten again, and took a shaky sip of the drink.

It felt bitter in her mouth, as if it was telling her that her assumption of her feelings was wrong.

Maybe it was that and something else that made her scared.

"Bretta, does it... taste bad?" He asked, gently. A bit hesitantly. He was a bit worried if his concern might be annoying her...

Bretta placed the bottle back on the floor and nudged it away, trying not to think about the implications of drinking from the same bottle as Nymm.

She could still taste vinegar between her mandibles.

He placed his bottle directly in front of Bretta, in offering.

"And yes, of course I don't mind. Especially since yours is spoiled, but even if it wasn't... I don't mind sharing my wine with you. Ever."

Nymm smiled, gently. Trying to be encouraging, and friendly. Trying to very clearly signal I am not upset with you and you can relax, because as time went on, he was becoming more and more acutely aware of how uncomfortable she seemed, and he really didn't want her to be uncomfortable around him.

“T-Thank you. I- that means a lot—that you care, I mean.”

“You’re really sweet.”

She wasn’t sure if that was the wine and her low as fuck alcohol tolerance talking (probably not, since she only had one drink) or something else, but she didn’t regret it.

The treehopper felt a strange heat overcome him as Bretta thanked him.

His face heated further. He was sure it was green. He didn't mind much.

His hands felt a little clammy. He reminded himself to calm down. Besides, this wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation. Just mildly unpleasant.

And otherwise kind of nice, actually.

"You're welcome. And thank you," He said, softly, certain he should return the compliment, though now that he thought about it, what did he know about Bretta?

... She was awkward, but kind. And she seemed... like she expected to be forgotten about. But she endured, regardless.

... Resilient. She was resilient.

Hm. He'd keep that in the back of his mind, for now; he realized that while he certainly would repay the compliment eventually, doing so now may be a bit awkward?... Or was he overthinking this?

“…H-Here,” she handed the bottle back to him so he could take another sip, “so uhm… Any thing that have happened recently for you that you would want to talk about, maybe?”

"Mm? Ah, right. Well, I regained some memories recently," He said. "I used to live in a small little village. I was inspired to make music when some musicians came around. And one of them gave me my accordion," He explained.

He took another sip, thinking about it, and then handing the bottle back over to her.

“Someone gave me wine? They told me to share it with you… Are you okay with that?”

Bretta fidgets with a bottle cork.

—Signed, @bretta-the-not-so-damsel

Nymm smiles brightly, posture straightening. He seemed... genuinely delighted to see Bretta.

Bretta gestured at her head.

“Like, messes with up there…”

"And what do you mean, messes with... the... Ohhhh, haha! Well, my head's doing poorly enough on my own; not sure a little drink will add much."

Ah, an awkward memory loss joke. So funny.

Nymm held his map in one hand, and reached for Bretta's hand with the other to hold her hand and lead her to his house, before he realized he was reaching for her hand and paused. His hand froze, halfway across the distance between them. Nymm's face flushed green.

“L-Lets go there then. Right. Uhm…”

“…Oh! The small pilgrim village? I remember passing that….”

She laughs nervously. God this girl is a wreck.

Bretta was... actually holding his hand.

Bretta had. Er. Nice hands. Very nice hands.

Warm. And soft. And it fit perfectly in his hand.

Yes, Bretta had very nice hands.

These were normal things to think, absolutely.

"Yes, that village! Strange folk, the pilgrims are," Nymm said as he began walking, slowly at first to allow Bretta to follow, but eventually speeding up. "I got a real big house there, though I am sorry if you'll be disappointed to know that it's... rather sparsely decorated.

He read books. He made music. That is what he is, a bard. She should stop applying the savior archetype to all of the people she liked, godsdamnit.

—Signed, Bretta

Nymm and Bretta arrived eventually at Nymm's house. Nymm was not exaggerating its size. It wasn't a MANSION by any means, but it was large.

Nymm opened the door and stepped inside, before glancing at his table (with no chairs) and the gramophone (with no psalm cylinders) on top of it, and said, "Er... Yes, I know, it's not much, I just... No one here sells furniture," Nymm said with a chuckle. "So... But it's okay, I'm sure I'll find someone who will sell me a couple of chairs.

She fidgeted with the cork of the bottle again. “A-And if you need any furniture—or just anything to put in an empty corner—I make some little bits and bobs if you want…”

Soon enough they were in his bedroom. It was, admittedly, not a romantic setting. It was a completely empty room with nothing but a bare mattress on the floor. No sheets or blankets. Nymm's shoulders bunched up, part of his head disappearing in his fluff. He seemed... embarrassed, by the lack of, well, anything, in the room.

“Do you have cups? Wait- never mind, stupid question, sorry. Uhm, I guess just straight out of the bottles? Since we have two?”

"And, well... My migraines are from regaining my memories," He explained. "I don't think alcohol will really contribute. Ha, ha, ha."

With that, Nymm sort of... flushed, face turning a smidge green, and then he opened his bottle and took a sip, deciding to get them started now... Before he stopped.

She supposed she was just scared of being forgotten again, and took a shaky sip of the drink.

It felt bitter in her mouth, as if it was telling her that her assumption of her feelings was wrong.

Maybe it was that and something else that made her scared.

"Bretta, does it... taste bad?" He asked, gently. A bit hesitantly. He was a bit worried if his concern might be annoying her...

Bretta placed the bottle back on the floor and nudged it away, trying not to think about the implications of drinking from the same bottle as Nymm.

She could still taste vinegar between her mandibles.

He placed his bottle directly in front of Bretta, in offering.

"And yes, of course I don't mind. Especially since yours is spoiled, but even if it wasn't... I don't mind sharing my wine with you. Ever."

Nymm smiled, gently. Trying to be encouraging, and friendly. Trying to very clearly signal I am not upset with you and you can relax, because as time went on, he was becoming more and more acutely aware of how uncomfortable she seemed, and he really didn't want her to be uncomfortable around him.

“T-Thank you. I- that means a lot—that you care, I mean.”

“You’re really sweet.”

She wasn’t sure if that was the wine and her low as fuck alcohol tolerance talking (probably not, since she only had one drink) or something else, but she didn’t regret it.

The treehopper felt a strange heat overcome him as Bretta thanked him.

His face heated further. He was sure it was green. He didn't mind much.

His hands felt a little clammy. He reminded himself to calm down. Besides, this wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation. Just mildly unpleasant.

And otherwise kind of nice, actually.

"You're welcome. And thank you," He said, softly, certain he should return the compliment, though now that he thought about it, what did he know about Bretta?

... She was awkward, but kind. And she seemed... like she expected to be forgotten about. But she endured, regardless.

... Resilient. She was resilient.

Hm. He'd keep that in the back of his mind, for now; he realized that while he certainly would repay the compliment eventually, doing so now may be a bit awkward?... Or was he overthinking this?

“Someone gave me wine? They told me to share it with you… Are you okay with that?”

Bretta fidgets with a bottle cork.

—Signed, @bretta-the-not-so-damsel

Nymm smiles brightly, posture straightening. He seemed... genuinely delighted to see Bretta.

Bretta gestured at her head.

“Like, messes with up there…”

"And what do you mean, messes with... the... Ohhhh, haha! Well, my head's doing poorly enough on my own; not sure a little drink will add much."

Ah, an awkward memory loss joke. So funny.

Nymm held his map in one hand, and reached for Bretta's hand with the other to hold her hand and lead her to his house, before he realized he was reaching for her hand and paused. His hand froze, halfway across the distance between them. Nymm's face flushed green.

“L-Lets go there then. Right. Uhm…”

“…Oh! The small pilgrim village? I remember passing that….”

She laughs nervously. God this girl is a wreck.

Bretta was... actually holding his hand.

Bretta had. Er. Nice hands. Very nice hands.

Warm. And soft. And it fit perfectly in his hand.

Yes, Bretta had very nice hands.

These were normal things to think, absolutely.

"Yes, that village! Strange folk, the pilgrims are," Nymm said as he began walking, slowly at first to allow Bretta to follow, but eventually speeding up. "I got a real big house there, though I am sorry if you'll be disappointed to know that it's... rather sparsely decorated.

He read books. He made music. That is what he is, a bard. She should stop applying the savior archetype to all of the people she liked, godsdamnit.

—Signed, Bretta

Nymm and Bretta arrived eventually at Nymm's house. Nymm was not exaggerating its size. It wasn't a MANSION by any means, but it was large.

Nymm opened the door and stepped inside, before glancing at his table (with no chairs) and the gramophone (with no psalm cylinders) on top of it, and said, "Er... Yes, I know, it's not much, I just... No one here sells furniture," Nymm said with a chuckle. "So... But it's okay, I'm sure I'll find someone who will sell me a couple of chairs.

She fidgeted with the cork of the bottle again. “A-And if you need any furniture—or just anything to put in an empty corner—I make some little bits and bobs if you want…”

Soon enough they were in his bedroom. It was, admittedly, not a romantic setting. It was a completely empty room with nothing but a bare mattress on the floor. No sheets or blankets. Nymm's shoulders bunched up, part of his head disappearing in his fluff. He seemed... embarrassed, by the lack of, well, anything, in the room.

“Do you have cups? Wait- never mind, stupid question, sorry. Uhm, I guess just straight out of the bottles? Since we have two?”

"And, well... My migraines are from regaining my memories," He explained. "I don't think alcohol will really contribute. Ha, ha, ha."

With that, Nymm sort of... flushed, face turning a smidge green, and then he opened his bottle and took a sip, deciding to get them started now... Before he stopped.

She supposed she was just scared of being forgotten again, and took a shaky sip of the drink.

It felt bitter in her mouth, as if it was telling her that her assumption of her feelings was wrong.

Maybe it was that and something else that made her scared.

"Bretta, does it... taste bad?" He asked, gently. A bit hesitantly. He was a bit worried if his concern might be annoying her...

Bretta placed the bottle back on the floor and nudged it away, trying not to think about the implications of drinking from the same bottle as Nymm.

She could still taste vinegar between her mandibles.

He placed his bottle directly in front of Bretta, in offering.

"And yes, of course I don't mind. Especially since yours is spoiled, but even if it wasn't... I don't mind sharing my wine with you. Ever."

Nymm smiled, gently. Trying to be encouraging, and friendly. Trying to very clearly signal I am not upset with you and you can relax, because as time went on, he was becoming more and more acutely aware of how uncomfortable she seemed, and he really didn't want her to be uncomfortable around him.

“Someone gave me wine? They told me to share it with you… Are you okay with that?”

Bretta fidgets with a bottle cork.

—Signed, @bretta-the-not-so-damsel

Nymm smiles brightly, posture straightening. He seemed... genuinely delighted to see Bretta.

Bretta gestured at her head.

“Like, messes with up there…”

"And what do you mean, messes with... the... Ohhhh, haha! Well, my head's doing poorly enough on my own; not sure a little drink will add much."

Ah, an awkward memory loss joke. So funny.

Nymm held his map in one hand, and reached for Bretta's hand with the other to hold her hand and lead her to his house, before he realized he was reaching for her hand and paused. His hand froze, halfway across the distance between them. Nymm's face flushed green.

“L-Lets go there then. Right. Uhm…”

“…Oh! The small pilgrim village? I remember passing that….”

She laughs nervously. God this girl is a wreck.

Bretta was... actually holding his hand.

Bretta had. Er. Nice hands. Very nice hands.

Warm. And soft. And it fit perfectly in his hand.

Yes, Bretta had very nice hands.

These were normal things to think, absolutely.

"Yes, that village! Strange folk, the pilgrims are," Nymm said as he began walking, slowly at first to allow Bretta to follow, but eventually speeding up. "I got a real big house there, though I am sorry if you'll be disappointed to know that it's... rather sparsely decorated.

He read books. He made music. That is what he is, a bard. She should stop applying the savior archetype to all of the people she liked, godsdamnit.

—Signed, Bretta

Nymm and Bretta arrived eventually at Nymm's house. Nymm was not exaggerating its size. It wasn't a MANSION by any means, but it was large.

Nymm opened the door and stepped inside, before glancing at his table (with no chairs) and the gramophone (with no psalm cylinders) on top of it, and said, "Er... Yes, I know, it's not much, I just... No one here sells furniture," Nymm said with a chuckle. "So... But it's okay, I'm sure I'll find someone who will sell me a couple of chairs.

She fidgeted with the cork of the bottle again. “A-And if you need any furniture—or just anything to put in an empty corner—I make some little bits and bobs if you want…”

Soon enough they were in his bedroom. It was, admittedly, not a romantic setting. It was a completely empty room with nothing but a bare mattress on the floor. No sheets or blankets. Nymm's shoulders bunched up, part of his head disappearing in his fluff. He seemed... embarrassed, by the lack of, well, anything, in the room.

“Do you have cups? Wait- never mind, stupid question, sorry. Uhm, I guess just straight out of the bottles? Since we have two?”

"And, well... My migraines are from regaining my memories," He explained. "I don't think alcohol will really contribute. Ha, ha, ha."

With that, Nymm sort of... flushed, face turning a smidge green, and then he opened his bottle and took a sip, deciding to get them started now... Before he stopped.

She supposed she was just scared of being forgotten again, and took a shaky sip of the drink.

It felt bitter in her mouth, as if it was telling her that her assumption of her feelings was wrong.

Maybe it was that and something else that made her scared.

"Bretta, does it... taste bad?" He asked, gently. A bit hesitantly. He was a bit worried if his concern might be annoying her...

“Someone gave me wine? They told me to share it with you… Are you okay with that?”

Bretta fidgets with a bottle cork.

—Signed, @bretta-the-not-so-damsel

Nymm smiles brightly, posture straightening. He seemed... genuinely delighted to see Bretta.

Bretta gestured at her head.

“Like, messes with up there…”

"And what do you mean, messes with... the... Ohhhh, haha! Well, my head's doing poorly enough on my own; not sure a little drink will add much."

Ah, an awkward memory loss joke. So funny.

Nymm held his map in one hand, and reached for Bretta's hand with the other to hold her hand and lead her to his house, before he realized he was reaching for her hand and paused. His hand froze, halfway across the distance between them. Nymm's face flushed green.

“L-Lets go there then. Right. Uhm…”

“…Oh! The small pilgrim village? I remember passing that….”

She laughs nervously. God this girl is a wreck.

Bretta was... actually holding his hand.

Bretta had. Er. Nice hands. Very nice hands.

Warm. And soft. And it fit perfectly in his hand.

Yes, Bretta had very nice hands.

These were normal things to think, absolutely.

"Yes, that village! Strange folk, the pilgrims are," Nymm said as he began walking, slowly at first to allow Bretta to follow, but eventually speeding up. "I got a real big house there, though I am sorry if you'll be disappointed to know that it's... rather sparsely decorated.

He read books. He made music. That is what he is, a bard. She should stop applying the savior archetype to all of the people she liked, godsdamnit.

—Signed, Bretta

Nymm and Bretta arrived eventually at Nymm's house. Nymm was not exaggerating its size. It wasn't a MANSION by any means, but it was large.

Nymm opened the door and stepped inside, before glancing at his table (with no chairs) and the gramophone (with no psalm cylinders) on top of it, and said, "Er... Yes, I know, it's not much, I just... No one here sells furniture," Nymm said with a chuckle. "So... But it's okay, I'm sure I'll find someone who will sell me a couple of chairs.

She fidgeted with the cork of the bottle again. “A-And if you need any furniture—or just anything to put in an empty corner—I make some little bits and bobs if you want…”

Soon enough they were in his bedroom. It was, admittedly, not a romantic setting. It was a completely empty room with nothing but a bare mattress on the floor. No sheets or blankets. Nymm's shoulders bunched up, part of his head disappearing in his fluff. He seemed... embarrassed, by the lack of, well, anything, in the room.

“Do you have cups? Wait- never mind, stupid question, sorry. Uhm, I guess just straight out of the bottles? Since we have two?”

"And, well... My migraines are from regaining my memories," He explained. "I don't think alcohol will really contribute. Ha, ha, ha."

With that, Nymm sort of... flushed, face turning a smidge green, and then he opened his bottle and took a sip, deciding to get them started now... Before he stopped.

As such, I will not be online from about 5 PM MST (I think) to... I don't really know, I don't have a clue how long the ceremony is meant to last!

So. This is my last week of High School.

I have to finish two (2) projects, review for final exams, take two (2) final exams on Wednesday, and then take two (2) final exams on Thursday, one of which is to read a children's story of my own creation to a bunch of young children.

If I am less active this week, this is why.