[He makes a face, but decides to take the plunge and be the one to step forwards first. Any wariness about touching strange objects in this place is no doubt well-founded considering how these things tend to go, but how bad can it really be?
So he reaches out his hand and touches the stone, and rather than indicating any kind of aptitude for a magical element the memory stone plucks out a specific instance in Red Wine's life and plays it out for them both to see.
It's a hazy thing, wobbly around the edges and washed out in soft light. Red Wine sits at a piano with a young woman beside him, and though her shape and form and the colour of her hair is bright and clear, the features of her face are strangely blurred. Red Wine's own expression is clear as he looks at her, as he speaks--
"I keep telling you that this isn't what I'm for," he says, and the woman laughs. The laugh, joyful and clear as a bell, is a sharp contrast to the muffled quality of her voice when she answers him.
"That isn't the point, Red Wine."
Standing next to Steak, Red Wine looks entranced, and yet... he hadn't realised that he had forgotten so much about her.
The woman places her hands on the keys. She waits, expectant, until Red Wine sighs softly and relents and does the same. They play together - hers bold and confident, his own less so and occasionally missing a note. But she laughs again, and Red Wine struggles against a smile, eventually laughing as well as he bumps his arm against her shoulder.
"All right, madam. But only because you're the one who asked."
The darkness descends back around them as the memory fades. Red Wine's throat works as he presses his lips together and his fingers clench and unclench by his sides, his chest feeling strangely full and tight around the emotions swelling up into it.]
That--... [He presses two fingertips to his lips and swallows, then shakes his head.] Mmn.
no subject
[He makes a face, but decides to take the plunge and be the one to step forwards first. Any wariness about touching strange objects in this place is no doubt well-founded considering how these things tend to go, but how bad can it really be?
So he reaches out his hand and touches the stone, and rather than indicating any kind of aptitude for a magical element the memory stone plucks out a specific instance in Red Wine's life and plays it out for them both to see.
It's a hazy thing, wobbly around the edges and washed out in soft light. Red Wine sits at a piano with a young woman beside him, and though her shape and form and the colour of her hair is bright and clear, the features of her face are strangely blurred. Red Wine's own expression is clear as he looks at her, as he speaks--
"I keep telling you that this isn't what I'm for," he says, and the woman laughs. The laugh, joyful and clear as a bell, is a sharp contrast to the muffled quality of her voice when she answers him.
"That isn't the point, Red Wine."
Standing next to Steak, Red Wine looks entranced, and yet... he hadn't realised that he had forgotten so much about her.
The woman places her hands on the keys. She waits, expectant, until Red Wine sighs softly and relents and does the same. They play together - hers bold and confident, his own less so and occasionally missing a note. But she laughs again, and Red Wine struggles against a smile, eventually laughing as well as he bumps his arm against her shoulder.
"All right, madam. But only because you're the one who asked."
The darkness descends back around them as the memory fades. Red Wine's throat works as he presses his lips together and his fingers clench and unclench by his sides, his chest feeling strangely full and tight around the emotions swelling up into it.]
That--... [He presses two fingertips to his lips and swallows, then shakes his head.] Mmn.