(no subject)
Ghost woke up that morning practically wrapped around a guitar case. Groaning and blinking against the sunlight, he sat up and rubbed a hand over his eyes, blinking away the fog of sleep before he even noticed that his hut had gone back to normal. But the guitar case won over checking out the snow, and as soon as he was awake enough to see clearly, he flipped open the brass latches on the case and carefully opened the lid.
Nestled inside the burgundy velvet lining, was a gorgeous acoustic guitar. A Gibson Hummingbird to be exact, with its mahogany body and mother of pearl fretboards and whimsical hummingbird pickguard. It was beautiful, so shiny he could see his face reflected in the polish wood, and he pulled it from the case gently, reverently, careful of fingerprints and abrasive sand. Inside the case was a note that read only To Ghost, along with extra strings and a various guitar picks. But of course Ghost was much more interested in the guitar itself, and according to the note, it was his.
Hastily throwing on some clean clothes, all of which had returned to their original tropical weather weight, he perched his straw hat atop his head and set off toward the compound, the heavy weight of the guitar case tugging at one arm.
So that is how he found himself sitting outside on the steps, carefully tuning the guitar and plucking out random strings of notes, his white hair falling over his face and mostly obscuring the serene smile gently curving his lips.
Nestled inside the burgundy velvet lining, was a gorgeous acoustic guitar. A Gibson Hummingbird to be exact, with its mahogany body and mother of pearl fretboards and whimsical hummingbird pickguard. It was beautiful, so shiny he could see his face reflected in the polish wood, and he pulled it from the case gently, reverently, careful of fingerprints and abrasive sand. Inside the case was a note that read only To Ghost, along with extra strings and a various guitar picks. But of course Ghost was much more interested in the guitar itself, and according to the note, it was his.
Hastily throwing on some clean clothes, all of which had returned to their original tropical weather weight, he perched his straw hat atop his head and set off toward the compound, the heavy weight of the guitar case tugging at one arm.
So that is how he found himself sitting outside on the steps, carefully tuning the guitar and plucking out random strings of notes, his white hair falling over his face and mostly obscuring the serene smile gently curving his lips.