Musicality. {Graham/Savannah}

Today she decided to take coverage under the tree by the troubadour's yurt. He was a music man, just like herself and she knew he wouldn't mind her sitting there because she brought a gift with her. A gift of sound, what she considered her own personal addiction. The red head brushed a piece of her hair back as she adjusted her way of sitting against the bark of the tree as she bent one knee up and allowed the other to remain limp and straight. With her knee, she propped up one of her prized possessions between her stomach area and her thigh--her guitar. She could create wonders with this masterpiece of work.

Savannah loved her music like a drug that just there was no rehab for--no way to cure it. She accepted it with arms wide open and embraced it completely with such a love for it. She began to pluck at the strings in some sort melody she had learned (The opening of "Welcome Home" by Coheed & Cambria) and just repeated it a few times before beginning her own little improvisation because she could not remember the rest of the song. But she let herself go, letting herself float in the music.

The open air. Seemed a shame to pollute it so, but it's not like Graham even cared about that. He had been chain-smoking more than usual lately; it had consumed his free time, which, eventually, disappeared like the smoke. He wouldn't be surprised if the people of this valley judged, or even hated him for it. But it's not like Graham even cared about that.

A sudden wind blew the gray cloud that waltzed before his head, and it also seemed to be tinted with...music?

Huh.

He tried to ignore it - bad things seemed to happen when Graham investigated the strange occurrences around here. But maybe it was an accident, his stumbling upon the tent (yurt?). Maybe his spotting the somewhat-familiar girl was an accident.

Or maybe his subconscious was telling him something. Leading him somewhere.

"Nice song," he said, jabbing his chin at the girl's guitar.

She wasn't really paying attention as time just began to pass right by her eyes and ears--her mind was basically focused on the music and the music only; what she had been producing herself and what the nature around her had been adding to the tracks. So it was only necessary that she wouldn't notice the appearance of a new pair of shoes before her, but only keep her eyes on where her fingers touched the strings along the neck of the guitar. But then when the man broke the melody, she only looked up towards him.

He seemed to be complimenting Savannah's song and motioned to her guitar very subtly. She smiled weakly, slightly squinting her left eye because of the sunlight shining in from that angle, "Thank you." She responded, "I made it myself." She didn't let go of her smile just yet.

Graham raised an eyebrow. "The guitar or the song?" He sat down on the ground, not minding the fact that it was still damp with dew. "Because instruments are made. Songs are created." He blew out a ring of smoke, and clamped the cigarette between two fingers.

"We've met before." It was a statement, not a question. Who could forget a shade of hair like that? She was squinting in the sun; it was directly over his head. But now that fall had arrived, it was merely bright, not nearly as scorching as in the summer. He would have to stop and get seeds for his fields on the way back to Mineral Town.

"However, I'm not lost this time."

Savannah let out a soft chuckle, "Then I created, or composed, this song." She stated, correcting herself in some sort of manner. "I don't think I would be able to make something like a guitar." She glanced down at it as he took a seat on the ground near herself. "I believe you are correct, we have. But silly me, I can remember note and fingerings but I can't remember your name." She spoke, carefully settling her guitar across her lap, resting her leg again on the ground. Now that he had sat on the ground, she was not forced to squint as much so she relaxed her eyes and opened them as she normally would.

She chuckled at his comment about not being lost this go around, "Good accomplishment." She smiled weakly, nodding her head in approval. "My name is Savannah." She introduced herself.

"Graham," he said simply, sticking the cigarette back into his mouth and inhaling sharply. "I'm no good with names, neither, so I don't remember yours." He shrugged. "I'm not much good with music, either, though. I'm not much good with anything, except my farm. That," he said, leaning back and flopping on the grass, "I'm good at. I'm good at farming. And if people think I'm bragging - let 'em think it."

She introduced herself - probably for the second time - and he nodded. "Nice t' meet ya, Savannah," he said lazily. "Don't let me interrupt your music. I'm just lyin' here."

She nodded as he spoke his name, "Nice to meet you as well." Her eyes caught sight of the patterns of the smoke trailing up into the skies and in the air. "Don't worry too much about it, I don't." She chuckled, lightly tapping the wood of her guitar, feeling the cool surface of it. "You farm?" She questioned him and he continued to speak--she lightly shrugged her shoulders as he fell back on the grass, very lazy-like, "Everyone has something their good at. Something like their passion." She spoke up. "You're good at farming and I'm for music." She propped up her knee once more, he seemed like an okay person. "It's being proud of something, but if people have bad things to say, let them speak." She brought her guitar back up.

"Hmm." She hummed, "It's nice to actually have an audience this go around then." She strummed the strings as she made sure it was still in tune. She played a little bit before pausing for a moment, "Any requests?" She perked up a brow, not caring so much if he answered her or not--she just loved to play.

"Yes. I farm. And I don't do much else. Well," he corrected himself, holding his cigarette at attention in the air, "I smoke. I drink. I bother people. But you can't make any money off of that, unless you're an actor, and if I were an actor you can bet I wouldn't be here." Why was he talking so much? Must be the nicotine, he decided, and let his head crack against the ground again.

"I don't have any requests," he said, shaking his head. "Do your thing." Whatever that was. People around here seemed to have "things." Some were talents. Some were incredibly annoying personality twinges. He was in the process of discovering them all. "Go for it."

Savannah merely nodded then took notice of the little tobacco stick he was holding up--he must have been some sort of hardcore smoker. The red head didn't particularly care for smoking, but it was not her place to be telling people what and what not to be doing. "You must love farming very much then." She hit a chord and adjusted her back against the tree, "Otherwise you still wouldn't be here. Perhaps the city or someplace else." She tilted her head to the side slightly, "Even if you were an actor, you still could end up here. Destiny, if you believe in that."

He said he had no requests and she merely nodded as he told her to do her thing. She certainly would because she began to count in the back of her mind. She strummed the strings and bobbed her head with the beat of the song she was trying to possibly recreate. She enjoyed playing this one song because of just the way it sounded and she loved the piece. (Imagine or listen to Good Riddance [Time of Your Life] ~ Green Day.). She didn't sing, she only played what she knew of the guitar part.

Graham took one last drag on his cigarette, and then smothered it on the ground. A single blade of grass smoldered under the dying flame, and then it was gone. "Farming is my life," he said, nonchalant. It was all he had ever known. He had been raised farming, and he was determined to die farming, as well. He only had two loves in his life... it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure them out. Good thing, too, because he doubted there was one of those on this island.

"I do believe in destiny," he added, listening as she began to play a familiar tune. He hummed, barely audible, to himself, nodding his head in time to the music.