Title: Beautiful Ringing Noise
Word Count: 666
Summary: ["I didn't know you played." She says. "I don't. My father did." | Mako. Korra.]
Rating: K+
-.-
prompt· Sunday Morning, Guitar, Memories
-.-
The sun is drifting up in the sky, melting the slight frost stuck to the attic's many windows. Mako sits on the couch, moving his hands over an old beaten-up guitar. The strings are loose and the body is rough, worn, and chipped in some places. He twists one of the tuning keys at the top of its neck, turning it gently as he watches the string shine in the sunlight. After a few turns he places a single finger on the tightened string, plucking it softly until the sound is right and crisp to his ears.
"Where'd you get that?"
The voice is so sudden it nearly makes Mako jump in his seat. He quickly looks up to see Korra with her hand propped under her chin, gazing down at him from the platform above. He doesn't even notice she was awake until now.
He goes back to tuning the guitar.
"Found it outside in the trash – it's not broken or anything, just worn down." His hands move over the neck of the instrument and the strings ring, echoing into the air. "There's a few loose strings here, a few more to tune and it'll be ready to play."
"I didn't know you played." Korra says, tapping her fingers on the wood.
"I don't. My father did."
She stops and her neck extends outward, staring down at him. Waiting for some sort of reaction to come across his eyes, some sort of connection from him to her because now she feels terrible for saying and she wants to know she hasn't unlocked a memory that was better left buried. But nothing happens. He doesn't even look at her; he's so concentrated on his work. Silence grows and dwindles as Mako runs his hand across the strings. It still sounds sour, just a small bit and Korra sees the corners of Mako's mouth go down, his eyebrows scrunch together.
"It's fine, you know." He finally says, bringing the head down to examine it closely. "Really, it is. My dad wasn't that good; he could only play a few things…"
Mako stops after that, his voice trailing into nonexistent wind and he leans back on the couch, the guitar dropping lazily into his lap. He turns his head up to the ceiling, staring at it as memories stir inside his mind, playing in loose fragments like ghosts in the night.
"When it would get cold and everyone was gathered in the living room by the fireplace; he would play it." He speaks, and his voice is soft and detached, like he's not even realizing words are coming from his lips. "Just a few nomad songs he picked up on the street: Light the Trees Ablaze, Caving Badgermoles, The Two Lovers of Omashu…"
His eyes focus suddenly and he brings the guitar up again, tightens and loosens two more knobs, plucking his fingers on the strings.
"Bolin and I, we loved listening to him play. He even tried to show me a few things, a long time ago…" Mako brings his hand across the strings again and they sing, ringing loudly from the core of the guitar. Placing his other hand on the neck, his fingers fumbling and shaking as he moves them from one board to the next.
"I don't remember everything about it." He says. "I don't even think he got me to sit still long enough to learn how to play a song."
Mako draws his fingers down the strings once more and they sound beautiful echoing in the room. He laughs, a light breath coming from his mouth and he looks up to Korra, who is still gazing down on him, eyes shining in the morning light, lips at a comfortable spread as she smiles to the sound. He raises a hand and motions toward him.
"Come on, I'll show you what I know."
They spend the rest of the morning sitting on the couch, finger grazing over the strings of that old guitar.
:Fin:
This one was great to write. Really helped me get out of my rut. :)