One Note Off PV - Zephyr Deakin

Reducio Word Count: 1043

Reducio Mention: @Cirrus Mooney

Reducio OOC Notes: Don't worry about the length, give it your all

Zephyr spent most of his morning inside their common room to work on his homework. He reasoned he would finish at least two of his homework until lunch time. Initially, he started with a purpose, he read through the required chapters, wrote his notes and even managed to start the first part of his essay work. But after some time, the noise in the common room lounge became unbearable for him as it was filled with more students now. The current chapter he was reading wouldn't register in his mind anymore, it's getting harder to focus. He reread the same line in his textbook four times before realizing he didn't understand what it was about anymore. Eventually, he heaved a frustrated sigh as he closed the book and leaned back in his chair. His eyes were tired from staring at the book for too long. He also massaged his temples feeling a headache starting. When he checked the time, he was surprised to find out it's beyond lunch time now. Too engrossed with his homework, he didn't even notice how much time had passed. It was weekend, he reminded himself not to do everything right away. Deciding he had enough, he gathered his things and put them back inside his dorm room. Some fresh air would be good right now.

He's someone who hates idle times, he could take a break while still doing something he loves that doesn't require much effort, like playing his tin whistle. He layered his clothes to combat the cold weather and grabbed his tin whistle from his trunk. It's usually wrapped in a cloth. It was one of his most prized possessions as it was a gift from his grandfather before he died. It looked old from constant use, but he wouldn't trade it for something new. Playing music usually helped him relax when there's too much going on in his mind. The corridors were mostly empty when he came out of his common room. As soon as he was out of the courtyard, he shivered as the cold wind brushed past him. The afternoon sun was still bright, and the breeze moving across the ground was chilly. He took several deep breaths, just enjoying the fresh cold breeze. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, so he followed one of the dirt paths that led away from the busier areas of the grounds until the voices of the other students slowly faded behind him. He prefers going to the quieter parts of the school grounds. You can only count the number of students who go out that afternoon which worked best to his advantage. The path curved leading toward a line of trees. He wandered out here a few times before, it was not completely hidden, but most students don't bother coming this far unless they were looking for a quiet place themselves which he couldn't fault them if that happens. Going for the large tree with thick roots spreading across the ground, he took solace there as it looked like a comfortable place to sit. He sat down over one of the roots and leaned against the trunk. For a few minutes, he just sat there and looked around to enjoy the serenity of the place. The breeze moved gently through the branches above him and he could hear the birds chirping.

After a while, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the tin whistle. He was not a professional musician but he enjoyed playing different songs when he gets the chance. Some of the tunes he knew came from things his family listened to back home, mostly country music. He brought the whistle up to his lips an began playing Scarborough Fair. It was the first song that came to mind, it was calm and familiar melody to him. One he practiced many times in the past that he didn't need to think too hard about the finger movement and placement. The notes could be heard through the trees easily and drifted through the open space around him. As he played, his thoughts slowly cleared and his head feels lighter. The frustration from homework disappeared instantly. The only thing he focused on was the rhythm of the song and the movement of his fingers along the whistle. The breeze shifted while he played, which only carried the sound further into the trees. He didn’t notice anything unusual at first, once or twice he thought he heard a rustle behind him but he assumed it was just the wind or maybe an animal running around in the bush. He just kept playing until the melody reached its final notes.

Reference to what he's playing

The last note echoed in the air before fading, only then he lowered the whistle and smiled in satisfaction. The only sounds were the wind moving through the leaves but that peace didn't last long. He heard crunching of leaves and footsteps which alerted him to another presence. He turned his head in surprise and saw a figure stepping out from behind one of the nearby trees. A boy, possibly the same age as him. Before he could say anything, the person spoke. So he's been listening to him play. He was too deep into playing that he failed to realize someone was actually listening to him. His ears felt warm as that realization settled in. “Oh--uh… thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward for knowing he's got an audience while playing. Not that he never did that in the past, he even performed in front of hundreds of people in Tenusa but he was aware of his audience' existence, here, he was not. “I didn’t think anyone else was out here.” He held up the tin whistle so she could see it better. “I just come out here to pass the time. I'm Zephyr by the way, you are...?”

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WC: 728
Mentions: @Zephyr Deakin

Cirrus instantly felt a rush of shame and embarrassment upon noting his awkward gestures, feeling as though she'd just creeped him out. It wasn't her intention, but what else did she expect when she had been watching him like a creep? He was going to think she was a creep if she was behaving like a creep. She hates people looking at her, why in the world would she do exactly that to someone else? Stupid. The one time she tries to make a friend and she screws it up before it's even begun. Warm colour worked its way up her neck and she continued to scrunch her clothes in her hands as she whispered a small apology that he likely couldn't even hear. She was having an abundance of second thoughts, and none of them were kind to herself.

Cirrus was intrinsically socially inept; her brothers had inherited all the charm while she struggled to even ask for a piece of fruit at home. She never particularly disliked it about herself, she never made an effort to speak to anyone, so why would she need any people skills? She was content on her own. Yet, she still attempted to talk to this boy, and she had no clue why. She soon realised what a half-baked plan this was and now she was facing the repercussions of her actions. She wanted to talk to a fellow musician but wasn't prepared to meet the person behind the music. She had no clue where to go from here, having been led by her feelings instead of her mind up until now. It was so very stupid of her, she tells herself. She's typically much more meticulous than this. She's ashamed to admit that she got too excited to think and now has gotten herself in a bit of a pickle. Good on you, idiot...

Cirrus' thoughts quieted for the brief moment held up his tin whistle for her to see, and she studied it intently. It was ordinary but extraordinary, with its worn metal and beautiful simplicity. It was suddenly very important once he chose to share it, like a secret. But once that novelty dissolved, she still felt incredibly uncomfortable, like there were a thousand eyes spying on her from the trees, judging her for her poor excuse of an attempt at making a friend.

Just as she was preparing to bolt, hide away for the rest of the day, and try to forget this ever happened, the boy introduced himself. Maybe that's what she should have started with... Cirrus instantly felt sensations of relief, figuring that maybe she was pinning this too much on her own insecurities. Interactions are a two-way task; she was not expected by anyone but herself to carry the weight of anything. She was more at ease when she had something to go off of instead of clumsily stumbling into unknown territory. Hesitantly, she stepped a little closer.

When he spoke his name, Cirrus noted how unique it was. Zephyr. God of the West Wind, sweet and gentle. She'd never met a Zephyr before, even with all the interesting names she'd discovered wizards had in comparison to muggles or her own family's penchant for uncommon names, that was certainly a new one for the books. She decided she liked it. Then, he asked for her own name. Despite her awkwardness, she spoke once more.

"Cirrus..."

It hung in the air for a moment; it was scarily silent between them. Suffocatingly awkward. To her at least, but she was sure it'd manifest if she continued on this way. The hem of her sweater was wrinkled and creased from her fidgeting, but it was the only thing keeping her grounded at the moment. But her sincerity would guide her. She cleared her throat a little as she spoke once more.

"So... the tin whistle." Cirrus stated as if that within itself was a conversation starter, hoping Zephyr would expand on that. She was genuinely intrigued by his instrument. Most people went for the piano or guitar or something equally as conventional, something one could show off to their friends after learning a few pieces. The tin whistle was the sound of informal spaces, something of inheritance and tradition, proof that music didn't need much to exist and feel. And she was immensely drawn to its modesty.

Looking at the student closer now, there was evidence that they had been feeling awkward or embarrassed in each other's presence. He could tell just by observing how the student held onto the sleeve, as if unsure of being there at all. Although he was not a pro at reading people, he was not completely clueless either. Growing up on a farm, he learned to notice small changes in animals, the weather, and even people. And right now, something's telling him that the person in front of him was nervous, if not awkward. He, on the other hand, was confused, and he wondered if he had done something wrong.

An introduction was made, and he heard the person say Cirrus. It was an unusual name, "That's a nice name." Smiling as he commented, “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” He meant it as a simple comment, but it's also his way to ease whatever tension had suddenly built between them. He could actually taste and feel it in the air. He shifted where he sat on the root of the tree so he was not just staring. The more there was silence between them, the more anxious he'd become. What's with the air now? It was very peaceful a moment ago, now it was so heavy it could drown him.

Hearing the person's voice again, commenting about his tin whistle, Zephyr looked at the musical instrument in his hand, nodding in confirmation. “It’s nothing fancy or anything.” He turned it between his fingers. “I’ve had it for a while.” If one would look closer, it's easy to notice the wear on it, the metal had already dulled and there were faint scratches along the surface from years of use. But that wasn't what grabbed his attention, it was the realization that the person knew it was a tin whistle. “You noticed it pretty quickly, huh? Not everyone recognize a tin whistle unless they also play the instrument.” Sometimes it's mistaken as a flute. Most people don’t really care what instrument it is, they just hear music and move on. He could only assume they're both into music. “So you play this too?” Speaking more eased the awkwardness he initially felt. Now, it feels like a normal break in conversation.

But that's also the main reason why something clicked in his mind. At first, when he heard the voice from behind the tree, he assumed he was talking to a boy. The voice was low and a bit hoarse. But, upon hearing it more clearly up close, he was not so sure anymore. The name Cirrus didn’t help him either, it could go either way. And the voice...changed? It was softer, but it still had a slightly deeper tone in it. He couldn't stop thinking about the possibility that he had mistaken the person for a boy when, in fact, it was a she? Does it matter? Not really. But it would be rude of him to just assume the gender. He shook his head and shrugged the thought off quickly. It wouldn't change anything. She...or he, or they...was just someone who liked music.

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WC: 712
Mentions: @Zephyr Deakin

While she wasn't the best at reading people, Cirrus had an aptitude for noticing things. She noticed the heavy atmosphere; she'd have to be blind and deaf not to. Especially when she was the one who caused it, tarnishing that peaceful carefree lilt that travelled on the breeze just moments earlier. Maybe this wasn't worth it after all, she should never have come over here, she should have just minded her own business like normal and not bothered this boy.

Cirrus also noticed the way he was staring at her; all suspicious-like. She took it that he was trying to perceive her, only she didn't understand why. What in the world was interesting enough about her for anyone to be looking at her like that? And she wasn't entirely sure she liked it. She was trying to remain externally rigid, but could he see through the stained window and into her innermost thoughts? She wanted to shrink away under that gaze of his like a skittish baby deer.

But once he'd complimented her and continued talking, Cirrus' tension dissipated within seconds. She wholly realised that Zephyr didn't pose a threat to her, he wasn't going to pounce at any second, she had no idea why she was carefully treading around him as such. Even more so when he started asking her questions, she understood that she would have to be incredibly stupid to screw this interaction up as he seemed naturally friendly. He exuded a kind disposition, it was grounding in way, and she wouldn't give him any means to show her otherwise.

Cirrus just imagined she was speaking with another kid in her music class back home, someone she spent many hours of the day together without initially realising it. Someone vaguely familiar only for their common core interest, but not so unknown that it set her on constant edge. Someone separated only by circumstance and unspoken words. Because that was exactly who Zephyr was to her right now, a path that hadn't yet intertwined with hers because she chose not to walk in that direction. When he'd asked if she plays the tin whistle, she seemed much calmer when she responded.

"No." She then tilted her head contemplatively and added, "Well... that's not entirely true. My uncle's got one, he lets me play it every so often. But, no, I don't actively play the tin whistle."

Cirrus then decided to move closer. She was a generally direct person after overcoming her anxieties and had little issue joining his side once she'd determined the situation was safe. She crouched down with her arms folded around her knees, still keeping a comfortable distance, but at least now there wasn't an awkward schism between them. After all, she was in her element now.

"Honestly, though, I could play just about anything I picked up. Guitar, drums, bass, piano, violin, oboe, saxophone, cello, many other things... Name it and I've likely played it before. But the tin whistle is easy, really. It's a fipple flute, which takes away the lipping aspect of playing woodwind instruments. It's why it's so easy to learn. It's also got a simple linear fingering system and doesn't require much breath control either."She started to murmur lowly again as she continued to talk, well- ramble. She didn't get to talk much about music at Hogwarts, so, naturally, she was excited. But it was like it was an effort for her to uphold conversation, even if she was silently yearning for this interaction. She continued. "Tin whistles are diatonic, meaning the notes form a natural and intuitive scale without any complicated theory. Most are also typically tuned to the D key, which is basically the most foundational key of traditional folk music."

Cirrus seemed to catch herself rambling as she stopped talking abruptly, her cheeks reddening slightly as a faint pout carved itself onto her features. That was embarrassing, he didn't ask for a rundown of the instrument he already played... She was sure she'd said more words just then in that moment than she had all year. But maybe that was a good thing? She cleared her throat a little to cover up her tracks before trying to redirect the attention off her.

"Do you play many other instruments?"

Zephyr's gaze dropped to the instrument in his hands, his thumb rubbing the worn spots along the metal. He was told that the uncle had the same instrument, and that he usually let her play it, but not actively. "So you do play it occasionally and that explains why you could tell the difference so quickly." He concluded after finishing the explanation. Most people can’t tell the difference. With a flute, there’s more control in how one pushed the air. With this, it's much simpler and more direct.

It was not out of politeness why he continued to listen, internally, he was trying to keep up. Cirrus' words came in waves, from slight hesitation to slowly feeling of ease before gaining momentum. One moment, there was distance between them, the next, it was closed slightly, settling into a crouch not too far from where he sat. His own movement was instinctive as he adjusted his posture, to give enough space. The tension that was hanging awkwardly between them initially is now like a mist lifting under sunlight.

When Cirrus listed the number of instruments that she could play, his surprised became apparent. He just knew that some people struggled with one instrument, maybe two if they were particularly dedicated. "Wait, you’ve played all those instruments?" He was genuinely interested, edged with a bit of amazement. "How did that even happen? Did you have a tutor or is your family into music?" That, to him, was the most logical explanation. Looking at Cirrus, he could easily tell it was not to brag, it was stated as something obvious rather than boastful. It was fascinating to note how the atmosphere between them shifted instantly. Earlier, he had this feeling Cirrus might bolt at any second, an eye contact was also impossible to hold. But now that they're talking about music, the difference was instant. There was a little restraint there, but it's better. As the tin whistle was describe to him, an amused smile appeared though he didn't say anything.

He's been playing the instrument since he was a child, long enough to know about what it technically was. To him, it's always been there, familiar and tied to memory of his grandfather. But Cirrus broke it down, including the mechanics, the structure, and the reasoning behind it, putting it in a different kind of light. A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. "You’re not wrong there, that's pretty much it. But I haven't really think of it that way. For me, it's simple, I will pick it up and play. The sound comes easily if your finger placement was good, mess that up, and it will show straight away."

His earlier stiffness was gone. Talking about something familiar put him at ease. "It’s interesting to hear someone explain it in detail. Most people just hear it and say Oh! a flute, and that’s it." As for the question, “I don’t play that many, this is the main one and flute.” But he was currently interested in another instrument that was famous with Welsh people. "I’ve been learning the Welsh bagpipes for a few months before I was shipped here." He shrugged as if it was no big deal, but you could tell he was proud of it. It was not an easy instrument to learn. It was completely different from the whistle.

Now that their distance was closer, he could observe her better as they talked. At first, the voice threw him off, it was easy to misread because of its roughness. Now, it was clearer to him, there was a gentleness in it that was not there before, or maybe he was not playing close attention. She wasn’t a boy. It just clicked to him and once it did, nothing about the situation actually changed. She was still just Cirrus. Someone who followed the sound of music, and someone who understood it in a perfect sense. Knowing that didn't stop him from studying her more carefully now. "I think....I owe you an apology..." Shame flamed his cheeks.

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WC: 1132
Mentions: @Zephyr Deakin

Zephyr had this sort of calming presence, which Cirrus picked up on the more she talked to him. It wasn't a conscious acknowledgement, but she certainly felt the effect of it as it was what lead her by the wrist to sit beside him and persist through the motions of social nonsense. She was incredibly rattled coming into this with an opaque fascination but found that it simmered into a mild buzz of excitement as he seemed to appreciate her knowledge application. She'd yet to have a conversation with anyone of equal musical fervour (or many conversations in general) and she could feel herself almost smile a little as musically enlightening people was something she immensely enjoyed. She'd love to teach it to others, only she found herself idealising the perfect pupil as one whose passion for music rivaled her own. Or one that had any passions to begin with. People were very artificial to her, always forcing originality through the socially accepted niche, and she despised it. But this interaction with Zephyr was everything akin to sincerity and Cirrus enjoyed it.

"Yeah, my Mum's side of the family is very musically inclined, there's musicians all over that half of the family tree. Mum used to be a producer, so I was basically born in a studio, grew up around musicians. She's now a school music teacher, so I've certainly had the opportunity to learn all sorts of instruments. However, the ability to simply play an instrument is very different to proficiency." Cirrus stated, letting that last comment hang there for a moment. Yes, she has played many instruments before, as opposed to being fluent in them, she was only truly skilled at a select few she had a natural affinity with (the most unique instrument she'd ever played before - in her objective opinion - was the sitar and when she very unconventionally emulated Alice in Chains on it). Nonetheless, she knew that was still impressive for her age. Even if her massive influx of musical talent almost entirely outweighed every other core skill that she was expected to possess, as it was easy for her to simply dismiss things that she wasn't good at. If only she did as well in her classes at Hogwarts as she did that one time her mother plopped her at a piano on a stage in front of her entire school's cohort like a little performative monkey. Such a skill dominated any remnants of anxiety and came as naturally to her as breathing, yet still, the bagpipes were a major surprise to her. She'd never considered the instrument beyond its contributions in various Korn tracks, though she doubted Zephyr had any appreciation for such allegories. Although, it did seem fitting for someone who played the tin whistle. She could assume he was a particularly culturally invested individual, which she respected.

"Ah, you've already showed me up, it seems. Never played bagpipes before." She chuckled sheepishly, feeling silly again, this time for subconsciously making herself out to be some kind of prodigal musical messiah. Whether or not she believes it when her mother tells her that, Cirrus suddenly realised that she might have been unjustifiably pretentious, even unintentionally. She tries to refrain from doing so; but once she gets talking, it's somewhat difficult to get her to put a cork in it, especially if she has boundless knowledge or expertise on the topic. And the moment she thinks she's good at something, things go wrong, like playing an entire chord incorrectly when playing a piece that she's confidently played a hundred times before. It shouldn't happen, but no one is immune to natural human error, and an inflated ego was a flimsy shield to defend against that.

Cirrus also thinks too much and forgets to ask about other people. Not necessarily in a self-absorbent manner, but to care about what other people think - especially when it was about her - is not an inherent quality of hers. Even more so when it is not parallel to her own guiding principles as, unlike most people, she did not have the self-preservation instincts of a concussed pigeon. But also, when apparently, she and her companion were speaking from opposite sides of a coin. She wishes to interconnect her soundwave with a kindred spirit and would rattle off any relevant music theory in order to achieve that, but Zephyr is distracted, looking at her like that - like Dream Theater sheet music was plastered all over her face in place of her features. And he apologised, for something she wasn't aware he'd even done wrong. As far as she was concerned, she was the one messing up thus far.

"Whatever are you sorry for?"

However, the moments the words left her mouth, it finally clicked for her. Cirrus remembers copping similar looks at her muggle school, how the other kids would think that she was her brother and her brother was her, with his voluminous bohemian locks and her fresh buzzcut that she impulsively did to herself during a stifling English heatwave. It'd grown out now into a mess of ebony curls, but that didn't prevent the suspicious looks. 'What are you?' she imagined them thinking. She could never blame them - if you don't know, then... well, you don't know, do you? It's not her fault society is a construct of idealism that not everyone can fit in with the other cogs in the machine. It's not her fault that kids are indoctrinated by what is and what isn't meant to be but don't seem to want to listen after they ask. What do hurt feelings care for what is right or wrong against the bluntness of youth? Hers do not, she couldn't care less about what others think of her. She knows who she is, the people who matter to her knows who she is. If other people thought she was a three-eyed alien hamster disguising herself as a human, she would simply leave them to their own thoughts for assumption is the fruit of ignorance and ignorance was not a disease that was easy to cure. It was no concern of hers as her mind was her value and the poor were those who chose not to orientate themselves with it.

However, matters were slightly more complicated with her intentions to befriend Zephyr. Cirrus wouldn't shoot him a passively judgemental look and be on her way. Forgiveness was a virtue, something she would learn to be more complacent with in time, and also something she could throw around at will for mildly trivial things such as this.

"Oh, I understand. Don't worry, you needn't apologise. You just thought..." She trailed off before shaking her head, even waving dismissively at him. "Don't worry about it."

While Cirrus was speaking about her family, his attention was on her instead of the tin whistle resting in his hands. The more she speak, the easier it became to understand why music comes so naturally to her. Growing up surrounded by instruments, studios, and musicians explained a lot and he found that fascinating. His own upbringing was the complete opposite. It’s true that music exists at their home too but in simple ways such as listening to old songs playing from a radio while someone cooked, his grandfather whistling while working outside when he was still alive, his mother humming while cleaning, or his younger sister singing off tune while playing in the living room. It’s nothing compared to what Cirrus experienced growing up. There’s nothing professional about it. "A producer? You have a pretty cool family." He was being sincere when he told her that. The idea of growing up inside studios and around musicians was so far removed from what he knew that it was unreal to imagine. "No wonder you know so much about instruments." He glanced at her with a grin, "You talk about music as someone who’s lived inside it their whole life." And she probably had.

What surprised him most was how different Cirrus seemed now compared to a few minutes ago. Earlier, she looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Now, she was talking with confidence and her words were flowing naturally, even her her awkwardness was starting to fade whenever the conversation circled back to music. There are people who come alive when discussing the one thing they truly loved, and that includes him. He understood that feeling so much. It was also true, what she said about proficiency being different from playing. "I agree. There’s plenty of people who can play musical instrument, but not everyone connects to it. You can usually tell when music actually means something to a person." He didn’t need to ask Cirrus, from the way she spoke about it, it obviously meant something to her.

Her reaction to the bagpipes had him laughing. "I wouldn’t say I showed you up." He shook his head quickly, still laughing. The bagpipes sounded different from anything else he knew, there was something ancient about the sound. The first time he heard Welsh pipes played in person, he got goosebumps all over his arms. Another part of it was also because of his grandfather. He was the one who introduced him to folk music and gave him the tin whistle before he passed away. After losing him, he started clinging more strongly to the things that reminded him of home and family traditions. Learning the bagpipes almost became his way of holding onto that connection. There was also the challenge of it. Since he likes physical and practical skills, those things one can improve through repetition, patience, and muscle memory, he enjoys activities where progress was usually earned. Bagpipes frustrated him at first, which weirdly pushed him to want to master them more. It demanded focus and discipline and you cannot fake your way through bagpipes. "I’m still terrible at them half the time." That part was unfortunately true. "With Bagpipes one wrong movement and suddenly it sounds like a dying animal." His mouth twitched with amusement as a memory came to mind. "I nearly gave my father a heart attack the first week I practiced." He could still remember the horrified look on his dad’s face from across the farmyard. He rushed toward the barn where he was practicing and asked if something bad happened. Instead of feeling offended by that, they ended up sharing a good laugh. "It’s difficult, you have to control the pressure constantly while keeping the finger movement steady, and if you lose focus for even a second, the sound completely falls apart. But I like the challenge of it." Any instrument has their own challenges to overcome but once you get the hang of it, it’s rewarding.

The second she asked what he was apologising for, he reconsidered not bringing it up at all as embarrassment marred his face. He should have just kept quiet and spared himself the humiliation entirely but it was too late now. The apology was already hanging awkwardly between them. "It’s just…" He rubbed his hand on his nape while trying to gather the right words so as not to sound more foolish than he already felt. "Earlier, when you first spoke, I thought you were a boy." There! I said it! Now ground, please swallow me whole, and fast! There was silence after his confession for approximately three seconds before his dignity began preparing its own funeral procession, he was also looking mortified with himself. "And then as we continue talking, I realised I took it completely wrong." He sounded apologetic. "I didn’t mean anything bad by it, obviously. I just…your voice sounded different at first, rough, a bit hoarse." Her short hair didn’t help much either. By the end of his explanation, he sounded more exasperated with himself than anything else.

This was exactly the kind of situation his brain loved to torture him with afterward. She dismissed it immediately and just waved it off as if she’s used to it by now. Did that mean this was not the first time she experienced this? He expected awkwardness at minimum, maybe even irritation but she looked more amused than offended. Though confused why, it put him at ease. "You’re taking this suspiciously well, I take it this isn’t a first for you? I mean mistaken as a boy?" There was still unmistakable guilt in his expression. The more he looked at her, the more he came to a realization. Cirrus does not strike him as someone particularly preoccupied with fitting neatly into expectations. There was something untamed about her presence, she seemed fundamentally uninterested in moulding herself into what people expected her to be. Is that right? Because of that, he found her interesting. "I’m not judging you, to be clear, please know that. I just didn’t want to accidentally offend you by assuming wrong either way." A sheepish laugh escaped him. "Which ironically made me do exactly that anyway." Smooth one, horrible social behaviour. Sense the sarcasm there? Despite the embarrassment, the atmosphere between them no longer felt strained, the awkwardness became bearable now, softened by the fact neither of them seemed particularly skilled at normal conversation to begin with.

"The hairstyle suits you, by the way." His hand immediately covered part of his face, heat climbing straight into his ears. It was impressive how efficiently he managed to dig himself deeper every time he tried recovering a conversation. First the mistaken identity then the opinion about her hair. Slowly, he lowered his hand from his face to look at her again with a reluctant smile. "You know, this is the first conversation I’ve had where someone explained the anatomy of a tin whistle to me."

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WC: 1464
Mentions: @Zephyr Deakin

Cirrus liked that he was fascinated by her family, even if it was something she never really too much thought about herself. She had the tendency to isolate singular bad happenings and forget that she's had numerous opportunities that others would not have. While her relationship with her family is currently strained under the weight of this newfound distance, she understood she was pretty lucky for all that she had with them. She was blessed with music and for that, her family was indeed 'pretty cool', as Zephyr put it. Well, the parts of it that earned the compliment, anyway. Her instinct was always to deflect compliments before they landed anywhere meaningful, yet she found herself murmuring her thanks regardless. She couldn't act standoffish when he understood her so easily, it was not something she often found amongst people she just met, and she wouldn't squander it now. He was horrifying as much as he was a pleasant rarity, she thought, and she looked at him with a sort of reverence as he continued to talk.

"Yeah, I tend to do that when I like something." Cirrus stated as her eyes dropped back down to his tin whistle, noting all the little nicks and scuffs on it. Realistically, anyone would simply get a new one. But some things held too much sentimental value to replace with quality and in instruments, those were always the ones that played the better music. She understood that sentiment very well. "Talk too much, I mean. On occasion, I just can't shut up sometimes. As opposed to how I behave in every other setting, I've been told it's a little... abrupt." She seemed only vaguely abashed for she supposes everyone is of a similar substance in some way or another. Everyone is charged by something, guided through the motions of life tethered to the passion of interest. Everyone is alive in this world, but they are not living in it without such a reason to do so. That is why she followed music. Zephyr understood that about her. Horrifying, she thought.

But next thing Cirrus knew, she was pried from her introspection and found herself laughing a little at his bagpipe endeavours. "Yeah, I'd imagine. It'd be very physically demanding, eh?" She remembers the first time she tried the saxophone. It was her mother's doing, attempting to steer her away from the path of grunge and metal and attempt to reconnect her with her jazzical ancestry. It was an expressive instrument, to say the least. It looked smooth in the movies but was physically exhausting to play. Much to her mother's dismay, Cirrus decided to stand by her beloved Sepultura and Pantera and other such artists. Her talents were destined to be channelled into the poise of instruments that exercised her fine motor skills as opposed to her lung capacity. While she was sure that she wouldn't be on common ground with Zephyr in that sense, she could appreciate him being a custodian of tradition. While she couldn't culturally connect with an instrument like he did - she loved music for how it made her feel, how it spoke both to her and for her - she could hold an insurmountable capacity of respect for his values, which ultimately transcended the superficiality of the modern music industry. And that certainly aligned with her own values.

"Honestly, though... I admire you. I'm kinda hopeless at woodwinds. And I think the instruments also agreed with me that it wasn't going to work out, like it genuinely degraded my family's morale whenever I'd play." She joked, or she tried to, at least. She retained a certain tone of seriousness as though she were telling a fact. But her little dimpled smile betrayed her, for she knew she wasn't truly untalented with any instrument. That compelling thought was amusing.

What amused her more, however, was Zephyr's visible suffering during the other half of this interaction. Cirrus watched him unravel in real time with something akin to bewilderment. It was remarkable how much Zephyr managed to dig a deeper grave the more he tried to reverse his predicament. She didn't need any of that, however. She didn't need him to clarify that he wasn't judging her, with her he'd be free from the burdens of expectation, and she wouldn't care all that much. People were messy, no one was without issues, as much as they tried to deny it. But she was the type to sit there and work through it with the other person. Even if the other person right now looked as though he'd rather throw himself into the Black Lake than endure another moment of the words spewing from his mouth. Against all odds, she found it endearing. But not in the way that many people throw that word around, hollow adoration and artificial sweetness. But in quiet appreciation reserved for acts of sincerity. Zephyr wasn't trying to save face with social gracefulness. If anything, he was making himself look worse with every passing second. But there was a certain honesty in that which drew Cirrus in. Clumsy. But honest, nonetheless. That could never be humiliating in her eyes.

"It's alright, really." She assured him once more. "Folk back home used to mistake my brother for a girl more often than me for a boy, honestly. He has hair down to here. Very tragic surfer aesthetic." She gestured to around about her ribs as a brief snort escaped her from the many memories she'd had of similar encounters as this. Genuinely, however, this is one of the more positive ones. Cirrus shifted slightly where she crouched by the tree root, subconsciously pulling her sleeves over her hands again now that the initial embarrassment had fizzled out. It settled into something much gentler. It was strange to her how quickly the weight of the conversation changed, but she was certainly not about to question it now. She much preferred this to the stifling awkwardness that made her want to evacuate the premises.

Then Zephyr complimented her again and warmth spread across her cheeks despite herself, murmuring another thanks as though she were suspicious of the word itself. She couldn't deflect this one neither. Truthfully, she never really thought much of her hair. When she'd done it, it was unbearably hot and it irritated her like nothing else, even more so than the parasite she called her twin brother (lightheartedly). She spontaneously decided she no longer wanted to deal with thick, waist-length curls incessantly sticking to the back of her neck, so she hacked most of it off at two in the morning while her mother screamed bloody murder from the hallway, absolutely gutted. Admittedly, Cirrus preferred it this way. Not with her mother in shambles, but with less hair. It was lighter, easier to maintain, more honest in a sort of way. If people were confused by her appearance, that was hardly her problem. It certainly wasn't her problem now as Zephyr expressed a sort of fondness for it. She didn't know what else to do but shrug. "Just don't worry about it. Truly."

Cirrus wanted to find another way to make him feel less like disappearing into thin air - although, she does also find it amusing how the tables have turned in that sense - but she's decided to let the wind blow her in the right direction. She'd earlier approached him on instinct; she'd now see where that would take her for whatever it was that was instigating between them. After all, talking to Zephyr felt comfortably natural. It was not often at all that a person defied her principles, made her behave out of the shape she'd drawn of herself. Certainly horrifying, she thought, though not unpleasant.

"The anatomy of a tin whistle..." She parroted under her breath as though testing the absurdity of it. "I'm sorry, I forget not everyone is particularly fascinated by instrument classifications. I'm afraid I jumped the gun a bit. But you know... you're the only person who's listened to me talk about music without looking at me as though I belong in a ward." That sincerity returned to her eyes as she tiled her head a little at him. Say what you will about the nature of how they met, in the confusion of androgyny and missed notes, Cirrus was truly glad to have stepped out of her comfort zone today.

"Genuinely though, you play beautifully. I mean that. Anyone can learn notes, but I can tell how much care you put into it." Cirrus didn't seem to know how to complete her comment, not really sure what she planned to say to begin with, so she simply offered a short nod of approval and an earnest smile in absence of flattery.

Zephyr was starting to notice something about Cirrus. At first glance, it seemed they're opposite in personality. The girl has her way of filling the silence while he, on the other hand, has always been comfortable with it. It's not because he had nothing to say or that he doesn't enjoy someone's company. It was just where he was most natural. There were entire afternoons where he and his family would work beside each other without saying much at all, just being surrounded by the sounds of the land. Being together doesn't always require conversation. When Cirrus admitted that she had the tendency to talk a lot whenever she was interested in something, he didn't see it as a bad thing. "I don't see anything wrong with that. Talking about something you enjoy isn't the same as talking just for the sake of talking." When he looked at her, he could tell when someone actually cares about something. "You definitely do." He meant it sincerely. The way she spoke about her passion reminded him of the way his mother spoke about her herbs, or the way his father spoke about repairing things around the farm. There was some sort of affection behind her words, as if music was not just something she learned, but always part of her life.

She laughed as she commented about the bagpipes being physically demanding which was true. "They truly are, even I underestimated them initially." He laughed at the memory when he first hold a bag pipe. "I thought it would easy having played tin whistle for years. I mean how different can it really be, right?" He shook his head, still smiling. "Turns out I'm dead wrong, it's very different." The memory still amused him. He expected his experience with woodwind instruments would make the transition easy. Instead, he learned something else, that the two were completely different challenges. The tin whistle was simple and direct. Your fingers cover the holes, your breath controls the sound, and mistakes are obvious. The bagpipes demanded constant attention. "With bagpipes, you have to think about everything at once like keeping the pressure steady, controlling your breathing, maintaining the movement of your fingers, and making sure everything works together. If you lose focus for even a second, the sound changes completely."

Remembering something about it, he decided to share it with her. "I remember the first week I practiced, my dad ran from the barn because he thought something was wrong." He was laughing once again, "He thought one of the animals was hurt." His father's concerned expression as he rushed over was priceless, only to find his son struggling with the instrument. "When he realized it was just me practicing, he didn't know whether to laugh or tell me to stop." His grandfather was the one who introduced him to traditional music, and after his grandfather's death, he held onto his tin whistle, the songs, and the stories behind them, because they were all reminders of where he came from. The bagpipes was another connection to his grandfather. "It was frustrating at times, learning the bag pipes, but rewarding once you get the hang of it."

When Cirrus claimed she was hopeless at woodwinds, he was in disbelief, especially after learning she knew how to play multiple instruments. "You, hopeless at woodwinds?" He couldn't hide the amusement in his voice. "Cirrus, you just explained the entire structure of a tin whistle without batting an eyelash, I am having a hard time believing what you just said." He was just saying she was lying, the idea just seemed impossible. "Maybe it takes time for you to connect with them, because that's different." He understood that feeling, being capable of something doesn't always mean enjoying it. There were things he could do but still not feel attached to. Skill and passion exist separately. "Maybe those instruments are not the right ones for you." The joke came out naturally. There was something he appreciated about this girl; she could talk endlessly about music because she was trying to understand it and how they work.

He was not entirely sure what he expected from her reaction, maybe discomfort or awkwardness, or even irritation. He prepared himself for any of those responses, he would understand why someone might be annoyed by being mistaken as a boy. What he didn't expect was for her to look at him as if he was the one who needed reassuring. So when he laughed as if it was nothing, he just stared at her in surprise. He was internally preparing himself for embarrassment, convinced he made the situation worse, and meanwhile Cirrus seemed more amused by how badly he was handling it than offended by what he said. He really should take her words at face value and not overanalyze it. It was embarrassing. That realization caused his ears to burn even more. For sure, he looked ridiculous. He started with a simple apology and turned it into a full explanation, as if he needed to present evidence in his own defense. The more he tried to assure her he was not judging her, the more it feels like he was making the whole thing weird. When she told him about her brother, his embarrassment shifted to curiosity, glad for the change of topic as it remove the attention to him. She explained that people often mistook him for a girl because of his long hair. The mental image formed in his head, and despite himself, he chuckled. "I can imagine why people will get confused."

He was not teasing her brother, or her for that matter, he was simply acknowledging her story. He grew up around different people, and learned that appearances don't always fit into categories. Even within the wizarding world, where people have different names, styles, and traditions, there was never one way someone was supposed to look. It was funny how often people tried to make those assumptions. "That's one thing we have in common then, people deciding things before they actually know anything." The irony was not lost on him. Here he was, apologizing for doing exactly that but she didn't seem bothered by it, if anything, she understood it. Once again, she assured him not to worry about it. "Alright then, I'll leave that topic now." He smiled, appreciating her a bit more. He's someone who would think carefully about things. His parents often joke that he could spend ten minutes deciding if a fence post was straight before fixing it. He liked making sure things are done properly, unfortunately, sometimes that includes conversation too. She was not uncomfortable with the compliment, surprised maybe. She was more comfortable discussing things she loved than things about herself.

Going back to the tin whistle, his laughter returned, "I suppose when you say it like that, it does sound strange at all." And then told him he was the only person who listened to her talk about music without looking at her like she belonged in a ward. Did that mean she was used to people not taking her seriously? That bothered him, "Why would anyone do that?" Not realizing he asked the question out loud. People show pieces of themselves when they talk about things they care about. Why would anyone want to shut that down? It was his turn to receive a complimented about his performance. He was used to compliments about working so hard and being dependable. But when it comes to music, it's more personal to him. "Thanks, I know I still have a lot to learn and improve." Looking at Cirrus, "You talk about music beyond just the sound." She was not just listening to the song but also to the person playing it. "I'm glad I met you here today." He smiled at her, "You think we can play sometime together? With my tin whistle and one of your chosen instruments?"