FenixZero
Boosh!
- Joined
- Aug 12, 2006
- Posts
- 1,038
Amadeus stretched his arms up over his head, feeling the satisfying pops and cracks as his tensed muscles slowly unwound. He was seated cross legged on the floor of the library, surrounded by his notes. Hills and valleys of paper were strewn everywhere around him, almost obsucring him from vision. The papers looked almost like alchemic symbols drawn on sheet music. To the untrained eye it was chaotic mess of scribbles and margin notes, but to Deus, it was art.
To his mind music and alchemy were basically the same thing, take the individual components, alter them as you see fit, then combine them together and make something totally new.
Pushing a large leatherbound book out of the way, Deus fished around in his pocket for his best friend and closest companion. His harmonica.
The small instrument had been a gift from his adopted father and mentor, and it never left his side. Wetting his lips with his tongue, Deus brought the harmonica to his lips. Taking in a low breath through the instrument, he produced a low mournful moan, barely audible with the mountains of books surrounding on all sides.
Smiling wide, Deus pulled the pen from behind his ear and added a symbol to his notes. Even feeling the metal on his lips made him want to tear into a rift on his blues harp, to open up his heart and pour out the pain in a way that only the blues could, but this assignment wouldn't wait.
Deus half hoped someone would come in a distract him. Homework was a bore and a half.
To his mind music and alchemy were basically the same thing, take the individual components, alter them as you see fit, then combine them together and make something totally new.
Pushing a large leatherbound book out of the way, Deus fished around in his pocket for his best friend and closest companion. His harmonica.
The small instrument had been a gift from his adopted father and mentor, and it never left his side. Wetting his lips with his tongue, Deus brought the harmonica to his lips. Taking in a low breath through the instrument, he produced a low mournful moan, barely audible with the mountains of books surrounding on all sides.
Smiling wide, Deus pulled the pen from behind his ear and added a symbol to his notes. Even feeling the metal on his lips made him want to tear into a rift on his blues harp, to open up his heart and pour out the pain in a way that only the blues could, but this assignment wouldn't wait.
Deus half hoped someone would come in a distract him. Homework was a bore and a half.