[Red Wine nods, adjusting his grip and settling the violin more firmly against his shoulder. He straightens his back and shoulders, pauses a moment in thought, then lays the bow to the strings again.
What comes out would be something entirely unfamiliar to Dohalim. A composition from Nevras, Red Wine's home country. It begins slowly, almost sparsely, as if it ought to be accompanied by something, but quickly comes into its own as Red Wine fills in some of the gaps himself. His fingers move smoothly over the strings, his eyes half-closed in concentration, and he can't help but admire the sheer quality of the instrument.
Far beyond its unique and elegant appearance the notes it produces are so crisp.
He only plays for a minute, then lets the last note fade. His wine-red eyes are curious again as he looks over at his companion.]
no subject
What comes out would be something entirely unfamiliar to Dohalim. A composition from Nevras, Red Wine's home country. It begins slowly, almost sparsely, as if it ought to be accompanied by something, but quickly comes into its own as Red Wine fills in some of the gaps himself. His fingers move smoothly over the strings, his eyes half-closed in concentration, and he can't help but admire the sheer quality of the instrument.
Far beyond its unique and elegant appearance the notes it produces are so crisp.
He only plays for a minute, then lets the last note fade. His wine-red eyes are curious again as he looks over at his companion.]
It's a lovely instrument.