#v. 01

Woah. They’re big. And cold, somehow. It rolls off them like winter winds. B-But it’s fine! Ro loves them! She can’t say enough good things about them! So it’s fine! Even if Eli feels smaller than she has in years! Right?

your  voice  is  slow  and  careful.     you  stand  in  the  way  of  the  light  of  the  entrance,     yet,     you  lack  a  shadow,     and  still  the  light  pours  in  with  no  regard  for  your  presence.     you’re  honestly  not  even  sure  if  she  can  hear  you     —     understand  you,     for  that  matter.

     ❛  i  wish.  ❜

     ❛  i  just  think  the  beyblade  trend  should’ve  lasted  longer.    they’re  really  cool.    some  even  create  sparks.  ❜

Hunting kept her out of the house so even trips like this when she came back after several days with an empty belly and just a single pelt to sell were successes. She washed the most obvious of the grime off her face and hands before entering the village proper. There was no use for coin in the forest, and as the plan was always to use what she brought back she fully intended to sell the pelt before finding something to eat. That was immediately dashed by the scent of fresh bread coming from one of the market stalls.

Elisheva peeked down a couple dingy streets, finding neither sign nor trace of the gamblers that usually gathered. No hope of winning a few games to pay for it. She could try to sneak in and out before Father caught wind she was back but that would take too long, and considering what had happened the last time...

She greeted the craftsman with a saccharine smile and a chipper hello. There were others she could take the pelt to, the market ran on a barter system half the time and she could just as easily have traded the pelt for food outright, but the craftsman was kind to her and taught her some of his trade in exchange for the fruits of her hunts. When he did pay her outright it was at a fair price. Usually.

“Whadd’ya mean it’s only worth two!?”

“That’s what it’s worth,” he gave a small grunt with his shrug. “It’s small as is, an’ with the season pickin’ up it’s time t’ look for people sellin’ large game.”

“Oi.” Elisheva leaned over the wooden counter that separated them. “This isn’t some way to scam a poor, defenseless kid?”

“Y’ haven’t been either of those for two years.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. Bodies shift every which way to reach their terminals with little room to breathe. Thankfully for the violinist, his flight doesn't leave for another hour.

He nods to the barista in thanks for the coffee, and upon stepping away from the counter– he spots it. A beautiful grand piano sits, collecting dust, in the airport atrium.

A familiar itch washes over him. It's been a long time since he's played piano, but... before he realizes it his legs carry him to the elegant instrument. He sets his coffee next to the bench to be long forgotten... because the moment his fingers hover over the keys, the warm comfort of nostalgia floods him.

Closing his eyes, the notes come easy. The bustling world around him fades and he simply... plays– not caring if people are listening or not.

Operation pester big sister into loving her is a-go.