They were still very much a mess, even after all the time spent...well, in time, trying to make Exsilium a better place overall. Shrubs and foreign plants were overgrown, tangled in with themselves and the neglected metalwork and statues strewn throughout the place, still faintly caged by metal framework, much of the glass blasted or gone away entirely. There were easy ways in, of course, that Jericho and many others had found already, so it wasn't like it was an isolated place.
Still, the denseness of the green made it feel that way sometimes. It was a nice transition from grimy, gray gloom and concrete all around; it'd never be the mountains he knew so well from home, but it was still a comfort. It was a nice place to retreat to, to reflect and feel a little less restrained.
Since the bombings, Jericho had been wary of taking his guitar out that way, lest he forget it and let it fall into ruin once again. It'd kill Sollux, for one thing – not to mention the trouble that Red X fellow went to in fixing it. Best to keep it safe in the apartments...
Until spaceships land on the apartments and kind of ruin all sense of security there, too, that was.
There was really no telling what would happen next, was there? Jericho was pretty certain of that now! So he made do, settling on gambling with the day to play to the green and easier thoughts, away from so many people. He wasn't what anyone could call a performance player: rather, his music was more of a stream-of-consciousness, giving him a means to speak without words, without a pencil or a paintbrush. The melodies would amble, as thoughts would, and perhaps get too repetitive as he mulled on something over and over, but it was a comfort to him.
He was out there, cross-legged under one of the thicker-set trees caged in there (all the better in case the rain started up again), plucking at a simple melody that had caught his attention. His fingers would slide down the neck at a particular point, trying to recall how Johnny had done so in his own jam session. It was a different style, but there were things about it he rather liked.
civic gardens:
Still, the denseness of the green made it feel that way sometimes. It was a nice transition from grimy, gray gloom and concrete all around; it'd never be the mountains he knew so well from home, but it was still a comfort. It was a nice place to retreat to, to reflect and feel a little less restrained.
Since the bombings, Jericho had been wary of taking his guitar out that way, lest he forget it and let it fall into ruin once again. It'd kill Sollux, for one thing – not to mention the trouble that Red X fellow went to in fixing it. Best to keep it safe in the apartments...
Until spaceships land on the apartments and kind of ruin all sense of security there, too, that was.
There was really no telling what would happen next, was there? Jericho was pretty certain of that now! So he made do, settling on gambling with the day to play to the green and easier thoughts, away from so many people. He wasn't what anyone could call a performance player: rather, his music was more of a stream-of-consciousness, giving him a means to speak without words, without a pencil or a paintbrush. The melodies would amble, as thoughts would, and perhaps get too repetitive as he mulled on something over and over, but it was a comfort to him.
He was out there, cross-legged under one of the thicker-set trees caged in there (all the better in case the rain started up again), plucking at a simple melody that had caught his attention. His fingers would slide down the neck at a particular point, trying to recall how Johnny had done so in his own jam session. It was a different style, but there were things about it he rather liked.
And practice made perfect, in theory.