Title:           Hope's New Instrument
Author:          aaronamethyst
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/3E7MhgrQ
First Edit:      Saturday 6th of September 2014 03:15:53 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Saturday 6th of September 2014 03:15:53 PM CDT

>you are Hope
>you've been watching your mom play instruments for years now
>your earliest memories are of you plucking at harp strings and listening to the odd vibrations they made
>you remember mom walking in on you and smiling, cooing happy words and playing a song for you
>by the time you were 5, every night was full of music
>mom had sat down and taught you everything you ever wanted to know about music history and culture
>at age 7, you were starting to strum the strings on mom's lyre when she was away
>when she'd come home, she'd offer advice and tips about your work
>you could feel yourself getting better by the day
>then, mom left
>things were oddly black and white from there
>without the music every night, you had trouble sleeping
>although dad always apologized about what happened, you couldn't help feeling depressed
>even bird watching seemed lacking
>at the age of 10, your love for music was rekindled
>a pony named Fiddlesticks had put on a show in Ponyville, and watching her go to town on that fiddle brought you back to your childhood
>that night, you couldn't stop crying
>dad came in and tried to help, but ultimately was sent away
>nearly a week later, on your eleventh birthday, dad came into the room toting fig pancakes
>"Hey sweetie. How are you feeling?"
>you shrug, putting your bird log off to the side
"Nothing to report."
>he places the plate down and folds his hands in his lap
>"Hope, we're going out as soon as you're done eating. No need to rush, but I'll be waiting for you."
>you smile softly and pick up the plate
"Yeah, those crosswords can't finish themselves."
>he messes up your hair before leaving, shooting his finger guns at you
>you can't help but scarf down the delicious breakfast
>I mean, fuck man. Fuckin figs
>satisfied, you splay out on your bed, sighing
>you didn't really want to put clothes on, but dad had outside rules too
 
>running downstairs, now wearing summer shorts and a tank top, you bump your dad with your shoulder
"Come on, dude. Let's go."
>he gets you in a headlock and swings around a bit
>he always roughhoused with you, so you didn't mind
>exiting the house, dad began a string of uncomfortable conversation
>"Do you think about mom a lot?"
>you slow to a stop, eyeing him
"I think about her every night."
>you see him trying to think of his next move
>"Do you remember when you used to play stuff together?"
"Of course. Best years of my life behind me."
>he recoils, but stands strong
>"Well, I was thinking maybe you should try again."
"Huh?"
>he points at the shop you stand in front of
>Instruments and Scrolls
"What are we doing here?"
>"Hope, for your birthday I'm going to buy you whatever instrument you'd like."
>unconsciously, you begin to bounce on your hooves
>could this really be happening?
>trying to get your voice back, dad only nods
>"Yes, really."
>with that, you can't hold yourself back from charging into the shop like a bull
>swiftly making your way to stringed instruments, you nearly knock over another satyr in the store
>she angrily shouts at you, purple stuff leaking from her eyes, before going back to testing the flutes in front of her
>you don't even care
>they have everything here from sitars to sanxians
>calming yourself, you pick up each one at a time, feeling the weight in your hands and the positioning of your fingers
>you weren't interested in most, although giving each a few plucks satisfies you
>you lift up an odd looking one with a lot of weird buttons
>it also has strings and a bow
>this one might be hard to learn
>you want this one the most
>you glance at the name
>Nyckelharpa
>what a silly name
>as you bring your purchase up front, dad seems genuinely shocked
>"That was faster than expected. What is that thing?"
"It's what I want."
>he smiles and takes it from you, heading towards the counter
>the pony smiles at your dad as she checks him out
>in more than one way
>surprisingly, it wasn't the most expensive instrument in the shop
>now with songbook in stand, you attempted to hold the darn thing
>after a lot of confusion you put it down
"I can teach myself tomorrow."