Strings

He entered the hall, golden light glistening across the floor, stopping just before he reached the center. Something stopped him from continuing, despite his previously hurried pace. Perhaps it was something in his shoe. Bending down to reach the floor, he cocked his head to the side, pondering his previous inclinations for his expedition.

Doors swung open, and Rendarren quickly rose and whipped his head in the direction of the interruption. He squinted, the blinding light from the hall distorting the silhouette of the intruder. 

"Who..?" He started.

The figure came closer. Quite abruptly, so Rendarren observed. "Rendarren." Said the invader. It was a man. A man who's features Rendarren wouldn't have mistaken for anyone else. Dark sockets, a deceased gaze, sunken cheeks almost deep enough to resemble a moon's crater. Rendarren often imagined him to be a personified visualization of the most grotesque side of the moon. Perhaps that was how he got his name.

Rendarren cracked a smile, the emotion spreading to his eyes and brows. "Crescent." He nodded to the man, "Is there a reason for your appearance?" 

Crescent merely stared back at Rendarren, into his eyes but not focused on the person. "The King was looking for you."

"Was he?" Rendarren trailed off. He turned away from Crescent and made a few steps across the hall. "I'll see to him shortly." Rendarren reverted to a monotonous and professional tone. Almost dread, despite there being nothing to fear when a man such as he was to be called upon by the Lord. However, Rendarren has since found other ways to distract himself from unpleasant encounters. Delaying his duties for a more impulsively desired activity. It was joyous for Rendarren to discover that this specific feeling had already been labeled by humans as "procrastination."

Rendarren suddenly spun on his heels, turning back to face Crescent. "Would you like to try something with me?" He asked gleefully, fidgeting his fingers with an unexpected burst of energy. As always, Crescent blinked at him with discontent. 

"Regarding?" Crescent questioned with sincerity.

"Do you remember..." Rendarren moved to stand side by side with Crescent, diverting his attention to the surrounding hall, "The concert hall from two moons ago?"

Crescent subtly raised an eyebrow, a rare showcase of emotion coming from him. "The raided one?"

Rendarren chuckled nervously. He had been trying to forget that event. The one he considered a devastating tragedy, contrary to the King's views of prosperity. "Preciscely. The architecture was beautiful, actually." His eyes were glossed over with reminisce.

"To my knowledge," Crescent started, taking a step aside to create more distance between him and Rendarren, "You have only seen the hall once. During the evaluation prior to the--"

"No." Rendarren interrupted and shook his head, still smiling for a reason Crescent couldn't deduce, "I've seen many shows there."

With a lift of Rendarren's hand, the hall surrounding the two men began to shift. The golden walls slowly churned, then eventually coagulated to become more rusting and stained in appearance. Not necessarily in a homespun manner, though. Crescent glanced across the changed setting, then turned his head to face Rendarren. Joy was plastered across the other man's face, seemingly triumphant in the transformation he had just performed. "Do you remember?" Rendarren finally spoke, almost breathless from the feat he had just committed.

"I wasn't there." Crescent replied with a tone of disinterest, juxtaposed to his act of moving towards the center of the new hall, glancing at all the new infrastructure that encircled the two men. Rendarren could tell he had won Crescent's reserved curiosity over. Rendarren then held out his palms, facing upwards and pointed in Crescent's direction. An object began materializing within his grasp. 

Crescent turned towards Rendarren, inspected the new article with inquisitiveness. "An instrument." The man replied.

"A violin." Rendarren corrected, a hint of pride in his voice. He brought the instrument up to his shoulder, adjusting it to fit comfortably. With a flick of his right hand, he summoned another utensil to his side: the bow that enabled the strung piece to sound smoothly. With only a second or so of preparation, he began to play. The vibrations in the air, the sting of the metal strings, the sliding friction between the hairs of the bow; Rendarren found every sound pleasant to his mind. The very act of holding what he considered a piece of art filled him with wonder. It was one of the many things he admired from humans: their wild and incomprehensible inventions. In no world did Rendarren imagine this instrument would be vital to the development of humankind, but at least there was one world that had it.

Crescent, on the other hand, wasn't quite accustomed to the works of the violin. Not yet. He didn't flinch at the creaks it made, nor was there even the slightest of dilation in his eyes as Rendarren played. His reactions were minimal, if none at all. He never interrupted, but it was plain to see he was waiting to.

"What luthier manufactured this work?" Crescent instigated, promptly.

"Pardon?" Rendarren cocked his head to the side, bringing the violin down from his shoulder.

"The volume is poor. Certain tones speak louder than others. Did you perhaps craft it yourself?"

Rendarren blinked, unsure if he should feel offended or not. "Are you insulting me?"

Crescent dismissively shook his head. Instead, he gestured out to Rendarren, holding out his hands and waiting for Rendarren to hand the instrument over.

Reluctantly, Rendarren passed over the violin. "Is there something wrong?" He pressed. Crescent didn't bother to respond. Instead, he tilted the fragile piece to its side and he peered into the holes of the instrument. After a few seconds, he promptly handed the violin back to Rendarren. Just as quickly as he paid his attention to Rendarren, he turned to make his departure, not batting an eye to the concert hall surrounding him.

Rendarren's heart raced. "Crescent?" He called out, his uneasiness increasing every moment that Crescent left him in the unknown. "Is something wrong?" He repeated, beginning to trot after Crescent. However, the man was already gone. Dissipated into thin air, Crescent had already left. There was no telling what that man may be thinking, and Rendarren found it best that he forgot the entire ordeal. Forgetting was something he had always struggled with, but had grown progressively more fluent in the more time he spent away from the kingdom. 

A few nights later, Crescent found Rendarren in the concert hall once again. The environment's atmosphere is still as pungent as before, Rendarren taking his place in the center of the performing stage. Alone, playing the instrument, but seemingly relaxed in his own pleasure.

"Rendarren." Crescent spoke clearly from below the platform. 

Rendarren paused his activities to look Crescent in the eyes. "Crescent?" He answered, almost with a hint of disbelief. He set down his belongings and advanced towards the other man. "What is it you seek me for?"

Crescent promptly put a hand out to his side, revealing a large instrument from the dark. "Viola da braccio. Violacello."

The other man's eyes lit up, the corners of his mouth curling into amusement. "Where did you find that?" He asked, moving towards Crescent to marvel at the instrument. It was a much larger version of Rendarren's violin. He had seen these objects before; he always enjoyed the lifting sound they made, carrying a symphony upon its shoulders but shying away from the miscellaneous glories that the melodic instruments face. Though Rendarren much preferred his own instrument, he couldn't help but wonder why Crescent had gone out of his way to find this one.

"Upon seeing your artifact, I have been reminded of the rest of the pieces to an orchestra." Crescent responded, leaning the cello towards Rendarren for him to analyze further. "I'm sure you know other works of music to be played on such an instrument?"

Rendarren beamed at Crescent, touched by this alarmingly sudden act of sensibility. "I do." He nodded, then slowly added, "Would you like me to teach it to you?"

There wasn't a visible response from Crescent; not a smile, twitch, or even a softening of his gaze. However, he did respond rather promptly to Rendarren's request. "I am not well versed in the field of music."

Shrugging in response, Rendarren reached out to pat Crescent on the shoulder. "I'll teach you." He laughed, gently taking Crescent by the arm and leading him up on the stage where his own violin was waiting. Rendarren almost found it hard to believe that there was something Crescent didn't know. The man who cemented himself as the kingdom's sole source of insight and intelligence has never played an instrument. It was prideful to know that Rendarren would be the one to pass this skill on to Crescent, even more so that Crescent was receptive to this lesson. Perhaps, besides Rendarren's constant input of judgment and second opinion for the sake of the kingdom, he would serve a different purpose.

That is until the day Rendarren finds another escape from the kingdom. It would be one after another, decades upon decades. Soon, the very instrument which hooked his attention will spawn its own child admist what he considers anarchy. He means it in a good way.