take up your guitar and try this at home PV Fin

@Asteria Kurokawa

Gem had truly not been expecting an inquiry on his guitar lessons so soon, but when he heard the flapping at the window that the school owl had snapped him awake with, he felt his chest press up in a quick, bubbly joy that stuck until he opened it up and he had to get on with writing a response. For one of the first times, he didn't feel very self-conscious about replying so quickly-- he'd had a student! Or, a bandmate. Or something, he wasn't actually sure where they stood currently. They'd been pretty friendly in the messages being shot back and forth, and while he didn't know what she looked like, he was sure she was.

Asteria, the name rang in his head like soft Christmas bells. It was such a pretty name, he knew so, her parents really knew what they were doing there. He'd heard a lot of names he'd never ever heard of at Hogwarts, ones he knew he'd never hear in the muggle world, it was just curious, to him. He felt strange about it, realizing how divided muggle and wizard culture was. He'd never get mardy about it, but it still jarred him a bit.

This is what he thought about while he brought himself to the abandoned classroom they'd set to meet in, after class and all, both guitars in his hand. He had both a nylon stringed acoustic and an electric one. (He didn't have the amp yet, his mum had yet to send it over.) He'd peaked his head in, first, just to scan and make sure he wasn't going to get murdered, before his eyes landed on a nice-looking girl, a girl who definitely had to have been Asteria. She had short-ish brown hair, big, dark eyes, and skin that was just a little bit dark. She was pretty.

"Aye!" He called, slipping into the room with a little bit of struggle, which he got a bit red in the face for. Goddamn clunky guitar cases. "Alright, hi. I'm Gem, the guy ya spoke to yesterday." He set the cases down beside him, holding a hand out to shake it. "Pleasure." Judging by her general attitude, this was going to be real fun.

Asteria was broken out of her reverie by door of the room creaking open slightly, as a boy, sporting a mop of scruffy brown hair poked his head around it. Slowly, the rest of him entered the room, awkwardly hoisting two guitars. Her first impression of him, was that he made her think of a puppy; it wasn't just his hair that made her think that, but the bearing he had while entering the room and juggling the instruments, the awkward but sweet energy of someone trying to grow into themselves.

As he entered, she jumped down from the table where she had been perched. "Alright, hi. I'm Gem, the guy ya spoke to yesterday." Taking his extended hand, she shook it quickly and said. "I'm Asteria, but you probably guessed that." Standing next to the boy, she began to realize how much taller than her he was (at least four inches, by her best guess). It wasn't exactly a surprise, most people tended to tower over her, but the reminder of her height was jarring for a moment.

However, her focus quickly shifted from the personal and the petty as she remembered the guitars that sat on the floor next to them. She leaned over, taking them in - she had never had extended time alone with any kind of instrument (unless you count the clarinet that her primary school had attempted to get her to play, with middling hooting notes), and seeing one in person was exciting, a reminder that something physical made music, that she could learn to make music. She bit her lip slightly, trying to remember what, if anything she knew about guitars, and then gave up, opting for the most blatantly obvious question she could think of. 

"So, these are the guitars, yeah?" she asked, her hands emphatically pointing towards the instruments and the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rushed waterfall. It was an ungainly phrasing, but at that moment she was too excited to really care.

Cool, gotta be cool, she reminded herself. The entirety of her screamed with the urge to plop down on the floor and begin a barrage of questions. How do chords work? What are chords? What kind of songs do you know how to play? How do you memorize songs? But she bit her tongue, reminding herself to give Gem some space. He had just carried all of this here after all - he should at least be given the chance to catch his breath.

@Gem Stuart

@Asteria Kurokawa

It was endearing, watching Asteria curiously slide her fingers towards the guitar case, clearly hiding a wholesome kind of excitement he couldn't quite put his finger on. He remembered how much he bursted with joy when he first got his hands on one of these girls, (His dad said every single guitar was a girl, because you had to handle them sweetly and gently) and seeing someone with the same sort of sparkle in their eye? It made him smile.

He sat down on the floor, popping the case open with a soft click, instructing her to do the same. He decided he'd let her handle the nylon one, not only because it was softer on new fingers, but because it was louder. He wanted her to focus on his playing, and then try to mirror it. Judging by her slight fawning over the instrument, he figured she hadn't ever played one before. If she was anything like him, this would be a breeze.

"So, these are the guitars, yeah?"
"No, they're xylophones." He grinned innocently, hoping she knew he was only prodding lightly. Sometimes, sarcasm needed to look sweet for you to get by. That was a philosophy Gem could get with, one he wish he'd come up with before he got a Glasgow kiss due to his sarcasm being just a bit too rough. He shook off the thought.

"Alright, so... we'll start with chord progressions. Let me show you some parts of the guitar first," He spoke softly, but firmly, loud enough for her to hear. He pressed his fingers along the neck of the guitar, pointing at the lines licked across the varnished wood. "These lines 're called frets. They separate all e' strings from one another, keep us organized. These dots? They're called fret markers, it's like a shortcut for countin', in a way. Kind of like... countin' by twos." He straightened up his back, playing the beginning of a real simple song, one of the first he learned, Stand By Me. There were no chords, just string picks.

"You'll get there by the end, if all goes well. So, I need ta show you some ov the... chords. Here's a simple one-- pick up your guitar real quick-" He reached over, positioning it up, and then pressed her index and middle into the second fret, on strings D and G. "Right, so this chord is called E minor. Play it for me, just repeatedly until you absolutely hate it. All the strings, until you think you'll just break the guitar to pieces if you have ta hear it one more time." He'd go over how to tune by ear later, he wanted to see how well her strumming worked with her finger-- then he'd make her do it with a pick. The difference always freaked people out.

"No, they're xylophones." She smiled back at him, her mind processing his kindly teasing words somewhat, but with her attention still turned towards the instruments on the floor, like the bud of flower craning towards the sun. Sitting on the stone floor, she traced the neck of the guitar she had been told to pick up, watching rapt as Gem started to explain the basics. Her mind raced with the words and explanations, and her fingers itched, like she ought to take notes, a underlying, untrue fear racing through her that everything he was telling her would go in one ear and then fall right out of the other.

As she placed her hands on the frets with Gem's guidance, she suddenly became overwhelmingly aware of the physicality of the instrument in her hands, the way it felt both delicate and sturdy, and how utterly alien it seemed. She tensed up, her shoulders squaring and her fingers sweating as she made her first few cursory strums. The nylon string bit into her fingers less than she had expected, and as she continued to strum she felt the tension in her body ease slightly, although a dense core of it still lingered.

As she played, she looked over at Gem, watching the face of the boy instructing her with caution, attempting to judge, based on his expression, if she was doing it "right". She knew that she had only just started, that this was her first time playing, well, anything, but that faint desire to not only do okay, but excel which traced through her tugged at her anxieties. Even as her anxious brain churned, there was a sense of calm in the golden lit room, the simple and delicate intimacy of a conversation between two people, both intent and excited.

After she had practiced strumming for a few moments, a question flit into her head, and it was the straw that broke the camel's back for the dam of questions that had built up inside. Pausing for a moment, she looked directly at the other boy. "So, uh- how did you start playing? Like, you're only about my age right?" she asked, her voice tentative, cocking her head to the side slightly. "And you already know so much. It's-just-really-impressive-is-all!" she finished in a rush. A faint flush passed over her cheeks and she cringed internally - she hated being this emotional in front of others, wanting to seem cool and calm, but she couldn't help but admire the boy. He, at least from her cursory introduction, seemed to fall into that group of people who knew things and cared about them, enough to seek out absolute strangers to talk about it. There was something wonderful to her about that kind of passion and care, and the lack of a filter between her brain and her mouth meant that she had to tell him. 

@Gem Stuart

@Asteria Kurokawa

She was doing real well, keeping a sturdy rhythm after a few buzzy sounding notes. He tapped his finger against the wooden floor, discreetly getting a rhythm she could follow going, just a couple beats per minute, nothing she couldn't handle. Just as he was about to pick up his guitar and start playing something to match up, she spoke, making his eyes widen and turn his head up at her attentively.

"So, uh- how did you start playing? Like, you're only about my age right?"

He smiled, after that. It was a shy smile, one sprouting out of the very inside and managing to worm its way into his expression. He got red in the face, though it was a bit difficult to notice at first. He was never known to blush often, but his face felt hot-- he assumed that meant he was blushing.

"Well, ehm... thank you, that's very kind," He tried not to be so formal, he wasn't a professor for God's sake, but he couldn't help it sometimes. "I only started cos' ov the piano, honestly. I grew up around music a lot, me dad's a real big-shot musician, has his own band and such." He didn't like mentioning the name of said band, only because he didn't want someone to recognize it and ask him more questions about their personal life. That was one thing he wouldn't be able to lie about-- his family.

"So I joost kinda... picked it up, like a pre-destiny. He taught me some, an' I got taught bits from another guy, Leland, real cool. He's me dad's producer, he plays like... eighty instruments or somethin'. It's ridiculous." He set the guitar on his lap, then, his cheeks in his hands. "I sort ov learned by meself, too, but I can't give myself too much credit." He stopped before he could ramble on any longer, nodding his chin at her with an eyebrow raise, curious.

"And you? Wot kinda stuff you like, aye? You're a Hufflepuff, no reason ta think you lot aren't real creative too, right?" He probably should've gotten a conversation going at the very beginning, but she took the reigns with that outburst of hers. Although, he couldn't complain-- the very last thing he wanted was a stale guitar lesson. That was never good for business, and he didn't know how many more students at this school he could pass by and briefly greet with a tight-lipped smile and sometimes, if he knew them well enough (or not at all), a respective head nod. That was the worst. He almost shuttered at the mere thought of it.

Watching him talk about his past, she was wide eyed, nodding slightly at time to indicate she was still listening (there was also a part of her, a small, quiet part, that was glad that both of them were blushing,was thankful for the mutual, friendly awkwardness), awestruck at the idea of living a life inundated with music. It seemed so different in a way from her life - her dad never really brought his work home. Oh sure, he had tried teaching her basic programming, through both software for kids and basic languages. The logic of them though  had never resonated with her, the patterns and expectations, and so she had never quite picked them up or talked about them. Which was why she was startled when he asked her about herself.

"And you? Wot kinda stuff you like, aye? You're a Hufflepuff, no reason ta think you lot aren't real creative to, right?"

She paused for a moment, the cogs turning in her head as she turned over her interests and her life so far, the simple sum of eleven years. "I mean, sure?" she said, shrugging a bit, having placed the guitar she was practicing on delicately on the floor. "I garden, but that's more of a chore at home. I also skate? Like skateboard skate, not on roller-blades," a faraway gleam filled her eyes as she began to realize that she hadn't yet tried using her skateboard at Hogwarts. "But I'm sure that I could learn those too if I wanted. But my thing, like my big one, if I have to have one is, ugh-" she  said, running her hands down her face. "It's poetry. Like, no one's taught me how or anything, I have no clue if it's good, or the techniques or anything really about it." At this point, she was slightly frantic, her hands making vague emphatic motions in front of her, "But it's mine? It's- well- it's nice. Having something that really belongs to you, that you really make."

She smiled slightly, absent-mindedly tugging on her hair for a moment after that. She'd never really told anyone about her writing - it wasn't that her friends from home wouldn't care, but it wasn't the kind of thing they ever discussed. Their lives were filled with clambering up trees and toddling down streets on their various wheeled devices, not talking about their thoughts and feelings like this. This was new territory for her, this kind of talk. It was new, and therefore terrifying in a way, but it was't bad? It was kind of like walking into a forest and expecting spiders, but finding a baby bird instead, she thought.

@Gem Stuart

@Asteria Kurokawa

It felt like instinct, to just start picking at the strings on his guitar when he had one in his reach. He felt rude when he slid his thumb across the strings, just a weak little noise they made, while she spoke. He made up the excuse in his head that he was just making sure it was tuned up, in spite of the fact he knew damn well it was. Skateboarding? That was cool, he'd never really considered that.

"Skateboarding... s' very American, isn't it?" He prodded, trying to remember the last time he even saw someone in Sheffield using one, he'd seen a few in London, but... he didn't visit very often. He knew in this world, though, there were close to none, if any. Who needed skating when you could just pop into another place whenever you wanted? Transportation was essentially useless, when you had a wand and the right spell.

That's when poetry came into the picture.
He tried his best to never judge a book by his cover, but he couldn't help it sometimes. Asteria didn't seem like the type to care for writing, much less poetry-- that was something he could get behind, he loved it. He loved writing, he loved poetry. There was nothing he loved more than words.

"Poetry?" He slunk forwards a little bit, batting his eyelashes like a little girl asking for an extra piece of chocolate. "You like poetry? I love poetry!" He sat up straight, sliding the guitar off his lap in a moment of ecstaticism. (Was that even a word?)

"If... well, ya know. If ya ever wanna show me some ov yer writin', I'd love ta see it. Really, I think poetry is joost so important." He leaned back, a little embarrassed at his own outburst. Lucky him, he'd basically been trained to write, but... she was new, he needed to relax a bit. "Really. I would love ta read it."

Under Gem's close scrutiny, Asteria went bright red, even brighter than she had been before, her face veritably burning from embarrassment. This level of focused, caring attention was strange, awkward almost.  She was unused to it, unsure of how to navigate someone who was her peer wanting to hear what she had to say.

"Really. I would love ta read it."

"Maybe someday? Poetry is... it's weird. It's like I'm taking all of this stuff inside of me and scooping it out on a platter to show off. Eugh- that's a horrible image actually, please forget that." She scrunched up her face slightly in disgust, absentmindedly feeling for the pocket of her jeans, where her pocket notebook resided. Why did I talk about my poetry, I never talk about it, she thought, cringing inwardly. There goes my mouth again. It's not just enough to simply say "Yeah, I like this and that." No, it needs to gab until I can't stop.

Her arms wrapped around her, all of her curling inwards, her shoulders tensing up, just a smidgen. "But horrible mental images aside, I do love poetry. I love how jagged it can be? Like, you can make the flow and the words of the poem splintered and angry and soft and nostalgic all at once. It's..." she paused, snapping her fingers softly, trying to alight on the right phrase, "It's like breaking something, but where the wreckage is only on the page."

She leaned back slightly, the flush fading from her face as she continued to talk. As she did so, a strand of hair fell in her face and she blew it out of the way idly. "That's enough about me though." Far too much, she thought. There was something about not really talking to anyone since she got to Hogwarts that made her not want to stop once she started - the repulsion and attraction of attention, all intermingled.

She leaned forward a bit, looking at the boy across from her. "You said you like poetry too? Do you also write it, or..." she asked, trailing off softly.

@Gem Stuart

@Asteria Kurokawa

He understood the moment he saw her retract under his little explosion, and he did the same, retracting from the situation as if he'd just been slapped on the back of the hand. He felt bad, only because he knew what it felt like to have something pulled from you because it was supposed to be for you. Still, on another hand, he felt like art was made to be shared, no ones art was only theirs. The moment it resided in their brain was the moment it belonged to the world. He wished it wasn't like that, only because the world was very good at ruining things for people. Songs, writings, and most of all, people.

"Right, well," He wet his lips, trying to come up with something to egg her on, but not quite scare her off. "I fink that's what poetry kinda is, just words on a page that make you feel." He shifted, rubbing his wrists with a nervous sort of expression. "I think that... joost by e' way that ya told me how your poetry is like scoopin' up yer insides, you're a real good writer. Really." He reached up, twisting a piece of brown hair around a nimble finger, pinching the very end of the strand until it fell to the side of his face again.

"Yeh, I write it. Mostly, I do short stories or journal entries, but after reading a bit of Oscar Wilde, I couldn't help but whip out some ov me own. I think they're more like lyrics than poetry, but... those two are basicalleh the same thing, rhythm and rhyme an' all." He never memorized much, he'd been so caught up with school and his parents, but if there was one thing he loved, it had to be coming up with his very own music.

It seemed sudden, the way that his brain suddenly fell on another question to create an entirely new topic. He wondered if he should even ask, but he figured it wasn't too offensive to ask, anymore. It didn't matter, he was just curious.
"So... ehm, I've been thinkin' for a bit, an' you don't have to answer if ya don't wanna, but... are you a muggle-born? Or... muggle-something? I spend a lot ov me time doin' stuff muggles do, but that's just cos I like their culture n' allat, but... really, I'm just wonderin'."