Viktor Hargreeves (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fifthbeatle) wrote2021-01-29 12:56 pm
fifthbeatle) wrote2021-01-29 12:56 pm
Entry tags:
[for Elio] If music be the food of love, play on
It's finally happened.
Vanya's been walking by this second-hand store for weeks. It's on the way to the grocery she likes. As long as she can remember, she's liked consignment and antique shops. Maybe it's the part of her that spent so much time wishing she could have what her siblings did. That wasn't just about powers or love. The rest of the Hargreeves' bedrooms were rich with things. Posters, trinkets, jewelry, gifts from adoring fans. Whereas Vanya's room was bare walls, a few pairs of shoes and one gorgeous (second-hand) violin. Even without knowing what the thing meant to her dad, it was the nicest thing she owned. It was hers. Without it, she feels like she is missing a limb.
So, she walks by this shop as often as she can, gazing in the window to admire, occasionally broaching the doorway to have a quick look around. She has seen instruments there before: pieces of a drum set (never at the same time), the occasional tambourine, a maraca or two, always set out against a backdrop of fine china that with tragically depreciated value and family heirlooms of unknown origin. Being in a place with such delicate things makes her feel deeply anxious - an energy bull in an actual china shop, but today, she doesn't even have to go inside.
There, on display in the window, is a truly gorgeous violin. It's a little beat up and the strings have seen better days, but it's hers the moment she lays eyes on it. This feeling was the closest thing she had to powerful before she knew the truth about herself. Her fingertips rub together at her side nervously, like she's judging that the callouses there have gone too soft to justify this purchase. She doesn't even know how much it is or if she has enough. As she stands there staring into the window, all she knows is that - in a life devoid if stuff - she has never wanted anything more. All she has to do is talk herself into going inside.
Vanya's been walking by this second-hand store for weeks. It's on the way to the grocery she likes. As long as she can remember, she's liked consignment and antique shops. Maybe it's the part of her that spent so much time wishing she could have what her siblings did. That wasn't just about powers or love. The rest of the Hargreeves' bedrooms were rich with things. Posters, trinkets, jewelry, gifts from adoring fans. Whereas Vanya's room was bare walls, a few pairs of shoes and one gorgeous (second-hand) violin. Even without knowing what the thing meant to her dad, it was the nicest thing she owned. It was hers. Without it, she feels like she is missing a limb.
So, she walks by this shop as often as she can, gazing in the window to admire, occasionally broaching the doorway to have a quick look around. She has seen instruments there before: pieces of a drum set (never at the same time), the occasional tambourine, a maraca or two, always set out against a backdrop of fine china that with tragically depreciated value and family heirlooms of unknown origin. Being in a place with such delicate things makes her feel deeply anxious - an energy bull in an actual china shop, but today, she doesn't even have to go inside.
There, on display in the window, is a truly gorgeous violin. It's a little beat up and the strings have seen better days, but it's hers the moment she lays eyes on it. This feeling was the closest thing she had to powerful before she knew the truth about herself. Her fingertips rub together at her side nervously, like she's judging that the callouses there have gone too soft to justify this purchase. She doesn't even know how much it is or if she has enough. As she stands there staring into the window, all she knows is that - in a life devoid if stuff - she has never wanted anything more. All she has to do is talk herself into going inside.