The plucking of guitar strings broke into the early-morning quietude, startling Lili, who had been kneeling beside the bushes.
Lili was, contrary to her overall aesthetic, very much a morning person, and being awake at the crack of dawn was not unusual for her. That did not mean that she wasn't a night person; she was just as likely to be up and about at midnight as she was in the early morning. It was the rest of the day, from about 11:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m., that she could have done without, as that was when the people she preferred to avoid (everybody) were most active.
She peered upwards and almost missed Chops, his voluminous hair appearing as an extension of the bushes that separated them at first glance. The head of his guitar stuck outwards, the turning pegs silver and shiny. How long had he been sitting on that bench? She hadn't heard him walking up the path that led to the G.P.C., but then she hadn't really expected anybody else to be up at this hour, and as a result hadn't been paying attention.
She considered leaving, and then immediately discarded the thought. Chops didn't know she was there, she knew this because, as polite as he was, he would have greeted her if he had noticed her. The bushes hid her and the small cluster of shy bluebells well from the sight of those on the other side.
Miss? Cassie, the boldest of the five, delicately stemmed flowers that grew here, piped up softly. Is there someone there?
Yeah, but he's alright. That was true. Chops didn't get over-excited about things; he wasn't loud and obnoxious (like a certain other camper with big hair), and he was nice enough, even if he was a bit passive. Solitude was her preference, but if she had to spend her morning with somebody, she'd take a quiet guy like Chops over most of the other campers. Maybe he had also come out here for some alone time. His friend, that cowboy kid (J.T., he was okay too, she supposed) wasn't there, perhaps still asleep or off practicing his psi-blasts. It didn't matter, just as Chops being here didn't matter, so long as he didn't bother her or her new friends. What were you saying about that beetle?
Cassie resumed their anecdote, their voice eager, with their friends chiming in here and there. These bluebells had been timid when she had first come across them, their dome shaped blossoms pointing towards the ground and their responses limited to nervous one-word answers. It had taken a couple days of gentle, patient coaxing, but they now perked up at her approach (as much as they physically could, anyway) and were more than happy to chat with her.
Lili listened as the bluebells chattered on, switching from topic to topic, swaying gently as a light breeze blew through the forest. The previous night's coolness still lingered, and the grass that Lili was kneeling on was wet with dew, staining her knee-socks. Chop's guitar blended nicely with the flow of the nearby creek, the song of the birds overhead, and the squirrels scampering from branch to branch.
They sat there together, the musician unaware of his audience. Lili didn't know what song this was, but it sounded upbeat and jazzy, the kind of song her grandmother would have listened to while out in the garden or in the kitchen.
It wasn't perfect. The song had many tempo changes – relaxed, lazy notes transformed into quick staccato ones- and his fingers stumbled over these parts in particular. His mistakes didn't stop him from continuing on, nor did he huff in frustration or start over from the beginning. He simply kept going until the song was finished, and then he'd play it again, and then again, the initial flaws in his performance decreasing with each play through.
Lili found herself respecting him for that. She didn't have an ear for this sort of music, but it was obviously a tricky piece to play. But he didn't give up or switch to an easier song. He faced the challenge patiently, and when he was done, he'd probably feel proud of the progress that he'd made, even if he didn't get it one-hundred percent right.
He paused for a break some fifteen minutes later. Lili opened her mouth, and then closed it without saying anything. New found respect for him or no, she wasn't sure if she was actually up for having a conversation with him. She decided to stay silent and hidden with her bluebells.
A squirrel in one of the trees across from Chop's bench hopped down to the ground, darted across the path, and dove into the bushes. It emerged right onto her lap and she yelped as it jumped off of her and climbed up a tree behind them. Caught off guard by the sudden noise, Chops turned his head, his gaze immediately falling on her. "Oh!" he said, his eyes wide. Then he smiled, recovering quickly. "Hey, Lili," he greeted, his tone polite and friendly. "I didn't see you there."
He didn't ask why she was hiding in the bushes at a quarter past six in the morning. Maybe he didn't need to- she saw his eyes flicker from her to the bluebells, and then back to her. Her herbaphonic abilities weren't exactly a secret around the camp. "Hi, Chops," she replied, a bit aloof but not unkind.
They lapsed into silence for a moment. She saw him flex his fingers through the bushes, and she wanted to ask what song he'd been playing. He spoke first. "Did they like the song?" he asked, pointing at the flowers.
"Plants can't hear music," she answered, shrugging, "but I thought you sounded pretty good."
He thanked her humbly for the compliment, a light blush on his cheeks. She had to give him points for not boasting or trying to fish for more compliments. Instead he went back to playing, a slower song this time. They hung out like that for maybe an hour, he with his guitar and she with her bluebells, and when she got up to leave, she gave him a quick goodbye before returning to the cabins.
Hours later, when she heard him playing near the main lodge, this time accompanied by J.T.'s harmonica, she stopped to listen.