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Y/N sits by Wednesday’s desk on a small stool. Wednesday adjusting her arms to hold the cello properly.
“I don’t think I’m doing this quite right,” Y/N says.
Wednesday replies, “Brilliant observation. What’s wrong?”
Y/N huffs, “Uhhh, this hand goes here?” She moves her hand slightly. Wednesday looks at her blankly. “Well done; maybe you aren’t hopeless.”
Across the room, Enid watches them with her legs swinging in the air. It looks like a scene right out of a coming-of-age movie. “I feel like I’m watching a gothic romance. It’s beautiful.” “Say that again and you might have to wear a hat tomorrow.” Wednesday starts to adjust Y/N’s hand placement again, not even looking back at Enid to see her reaction.
With Wednesday’s approval, Y/N tries to play a singular note from the song Wednesday showed her. Enid covers her ears as the room fills with an uneven screech. It could be confused with a dying raven. “Not as bad as I expected.” Wednesday comments. “Are you sure?” Enid yells. “Now now, ladies, one at a time.” Y/N replies dryly. “Why am I doing this again?”
“Because I told you to. Try again, but move your hand like this.” Wednesday uses Y/N’s hands to play the note. Hers is drastically better; it actually sounds like something musical. “Maybe I can play… do it again.” Wednesday just looks at her blankly. Y/N sighs but plays the note again—by herself. It’s slightly better.
The cello doesn’t screech as loud, but the sound is still uneven and a bit shaky. “Atrocious. If the goal was to hurt someone, I’d enjoy it.” Wednesday says amused, well—as amused as she can be. “Here.” Wednesday moves to help her. “Your grip is too tight, cara mia. It has to glide; it’s not a piano.” Y/N sighs. Enid doesn’t comment on the nickname; she treasures her hair too much to risk losing it. Wednesday shoots her a disturbing glare anyways.
“Again.” With a groan, Y/N plays the note again. The cello sings instead of cries, as if it was finally given life. Wednesday studies her in the same way an artist examines their final creation. “Acceptable… move on.” Wednesday says, a little absentmindedly, like her mind was occupied elsewhere. She simply watches as Y/N plays the notes on the music sheet. The music is off, barely in tune, but it’s there, and it’s heard throughout the room.
By the end of it, the room is quiet. “It’s not the worst piece I’ve heard.” Wednesday says, like a proud parent. Enid feels the need to encourage Y/N as well. “I didn’t want to stick my head in Wednesday’s knife drawer that time!” “Well, that’s a start.” Y/N grumbles. “Also, knife drawer?” Wednesday ignores the comment. She retunes the cello and has Y/N try again. Her second attempt at ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ is amusing, but the song is intelligible. Enid hums along, following the off-key notes humorously. “I think I did an excellent job.” Y/N comments after the third try.
“Adequate. But yes.” Wednesday says flatly, but softly—for her at least.