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“What is that?” he asks one day as he lounges upon her bed, popping a grape in his mouth whilst he watches her shuffle a small reddish-brown box across the room. She starts slightly as she glances up at him, as if having entirely forgotten his presence until just a moment ago. Perhaps she had. She hasn’t even paid him a lick of attention for the past hour or so, engrossed first in jotting something down, and then in pulling things out of her customary satchel.
“It’s...ah...” Arianna shuffles anxiously, looking from him to the box. There’s a keen difference between her not wanting to speak, and her simply being embarrassed or self-conscious about what she wants to say.
“...Hmm. No matter.” He supposes it’s fine to have some secrets. Though he would be lying if he said he was not unbearably curious, the flames stoked by her reluctance to answer him. The time her books were secrets to him is long gone, but this ...this is something new. And he can’t recall ever seeing that box, which is strange -- since she’d removed it from her satchel to put it in this house of hers on the Source, it’s clear as day she must have had it with her on the First...
Arianna’s shoulders sag slightly in unmistakable relief as she continues pattering across the room to push the box into the set of drawers on the other side, the one with her (admittedly paltry) collection of makeups.
Hades is no stranger to secrets. He’s not a snoop. Not much of one at least. He can, of course, restrain himself.
Ah, but he would be a liar if he told himself the temptation was entirely gone. It is not.
Hades is, however, a patient man; he’s waited years upon years for this sense of peace again, he can afford to close his eyes until she’s “ready” enough to show him that mysterious box of hers.
He occasionally sees her fiddling with it, or putting it away just as he returns as if she’s somehow felt his arrival through the sea of aether (though he knows this to be ridiculous). It is as if she simply intends to prolong and exasperate his intense curiosity as much as possible, and he cannot even ask about it for knowing the question would simply frighten off whatever nerves she’d managed to steel.
But one evening, she does not put her box away at all. Instead, she brings it to him as he sits upon the bed, arguably the most comfortable place in the entire house.
“I-I will show you, if you like,” she stammers awkwardly, gaze averted shyly. She holds the box as if it is something precious, and his interest only piques. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from responding inappropriately quickly.
“Of course, Arianna,” he replies smoothly, tilting his head. She settles next to him, pulling her legs up somewhat defensively beneath her robes and skirts. She allows the box to rest on her knees, before she very carefully opens it. For some reason, he finds himself holding his breath.
Finally, she removes the thing that has scratched at his thoughts for far too long.
It’s...some sort of little hollow box, wooden, with small metal bars of varying lengths. He supposes, based on its construction...
It might be some kind of instrument.
She shifts a bit nervously on the bed; Hades can feel her glancing furtively at him from the corner of her eyes. The anxiousness hasn’t faded in the slightest, though he knows better than to assume she’s nervous of him .
Or is she? -- He’s not really sure.
The woman simply sits there, thin fingers curving stiffly about the wooden thing, hands almost just as wooden. So he deigns to break the silence, prod her into motion again and out of her makeshift dread.
“What is it?”
This she had not expected. Her head tilts slightly before she answers the question. He can read her own unvoiced query easily enough from her surprise as she blinks up at him --
Why does he not know?
As much as he wants to say with a sardonic sigh that no matter what she thinks of him, alas, he is not the keeper of all the secrets of the universe...
The answer is perhaps more complicated than that. After all, as a lover of all things theatrical and operatic, it should only be natural he should know the name of every instrument.
He had never quite appreciated the sounds they made -- the racket , he would say derisively -- until he suddenly found the world bereft of it. Perhaps he only ever made enough noise to be able to drown the silence out.
“I-it’s a -- kalimba...” Her soft voice breaks through the dark musings, and blessedly she does not ask. Instead, she carefully shifts the thing closer to him, shoulder and arm bumping against his. “My father...taught me how to play.”
Her tense limbs relax, if only minutely. He brings one hand up to touch his index finger to the top of the box; it feels exceptionally smooth. He doubts he’d find a splinter even if he tried.
A few more moments of quiet pass between them -- less strained, this time. He’s about to break it yet again when he notices her open her mouth. She backs down the moment she thinks he intends to speak, however.
“Mm?” His hand goes from her “kalimba” to her cheek, pushing hair from face. Her gaze falls nervously to her hands -- then shoots back up to meet his own again.
“I-I could -- s-show...you...if you wanted...”
Show him? Show him wha --
Ah. Her instrument.
“You would like to play it for me?” he asks her. She makes eye contact with him this time as she nods, less tension to her and more something bordering on anxious excitement. How curious.
It has not been, comparatively, a very long time since he last had someone play for him. But that had been when he had been an emperor, waving a hand for musicians to entertain him -- them, with her by his side. When he had asked her to accompany him to a ball or a new opera or a new play…
But he does not remember that she had ever played something for him. Something exclusively for his ears.
What a novel experience.
In answer, he reclines himself, hears her confused sound as he allows himself to rest his head in her lap. He has always enjoyed this pose, though Arianna typically reads or writes when he does this…
This will surely be interesting.
“Play for me, then,” he says, gazing up at her as she gazes down at him.
“Ah -- all right -- ” Placing the instrument down momentarily, she brushes her dark hair back before she braces her fingers about her kalimba and readies her thumbs to begin gently plucking at the metallic bars.
It sounds like a little music box.
How endearing, that a little instrument should make such a sound, played by flesh and blood rather than mechanical engineering. He feels his body relax as his eyes shut, though he does not sleep. Rather, he focuses on the sound of the music, the warmth of her as she softly plucks at the makeshift strings and continues to play.
He feels almost off-balance when the tinkling chimes slowly come to a stop and her arms lower. She places the little box to the side. When he opens his eyes, she is looking down at him pensively, dark brows somewhat furrowed, clearly waiting for whatever decree he might bestow upon her.
Does she think he might say something bad? Why ever would he?
“Well? I didn’t ask you to stop.”
Green eyes widen as she stares at him as stunned as a deer for a moment, her lips forming a surprised ‘o’. The pinched anxiety all but slides from her face, to be replaced by utter shock for a few too long moments.
A tiny exhalation leaves her. His ears pick up the barest of sounds as she quickly turns away from him.
“Are you laughing?” he demands, brows furrowing slightly, eyes narrowing in a vague glare. The black-haired hyuran woman merely shakes her head, face firmly hidden from his view.
He knows better than to assume Arianna has “lost her words”. He can see her shoulders trembling.
Sitting up, he clamps a hand upon one of those thin shoulders, attempting to pull her toward him. Stubbornly, she resists, though the shaking of her shoulders only increases.
“You are,” he hisses out, though there’s no malice in the words. In fact, to his chagrin, he can feel the corner of his lips curving upward.
Finally, victory is his, as she relents -- finally showing him her face, mirth and all. Tiny giggles leave her as she tilts her head up, practically beaming at him. For once, Hades finds himself at an utter loss of words, unable to do anything against the sickly warm affection welling in his chest.
He places his other hand upon her other shoulder, almost as if he might shake the woman for her unwanted transgressions on his emotions. This only manages to coax her laughter louder, her head bowing slightly to hide her expression.
A world-weary sigh leaves him as he gazes down at her, too full of exasperation and something else he can’t put a finger on to be able to complain.
With a shaky breath and an awkward smile, she eventually manages to speak. “I-I am glad you liked it.”
“I did.” He huffs in a show of mild irritation and lets his gaze fall to her instrument. “Know any other songs?”
“Ah -- of course.”