Room 303, Friday afternoon
Leto was tuning the baliset, relieved that the instrument now seemed to have adapted to a colder and more humid climate. And after all, this was more what it had originally been used to. Caladan was nothing like Arrakis.
Satisfied that the intrument was now in tune, he began to play a slow and melancholy tune that came from somewhere in his memories, bringing thoughs of grassy plains that his eyes had never seen. He just let the memory linger with the song, and eventually it dissipated like the notes fading into silence.
[expecting one, but door and post is open. ETA: NWS, yes.]
Satisfied that the intrument was now in tune, he began to play a slow and melancholy tune that came from somewhere in his memories, bringing thoughs of grassy plains that his eyes had never seen. He just let the memory linger with the song, and eventually it dissipated like the notes fading into silence.
[expecting one, but door and post is open. ETA: NWS, yes.]