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"hey there, mate."
ႮႽპRႶႩოპ // steamplonk
a beige viscet stands next to you, his breath smelling of cassia spice.
ႶႩოპ // tobias
"i wanna tell you a story." he says in a thick irish accent.
ႺპႶმპR // male
"see this bag? i bet you can't guess what's in it."
iႠპო ტႶპ ႩႶმ პჯႲlႩႶႩႠiტႶ // a harmonica
oh boy, do i got a story for you, mate. take a seat, there. yeah, like that. no need to be fancy, no siree.
back in the old days, my poppa could play like mad on his accordion. he could play anything you named, and he played it good, too. nothing could tear him off that accordion- not even when mama died and we needed money more then than ever. that old thing was his life.
an my mama- she died when i was a real lil pup. i still remember her, though- she could play the flute like nobody else. notes clear and crisp as day.
my parents were bound to music. and if yer a poor, vis'ct livin on the streets, and you have an illegit child, whatcha gonna do other than teach 'im to play?
so i got myself a sweet noisestick- a hohner marine band, c key. i saved up for more than two years to get that baby, and i sill use 'er today.
mama n papa n i, we all played together on the streets. not like i'm tryin to brag, but we were dang good. the best that belfast ever seen, in fact.
my mama and papa... they didn't last too long once the famine struck. they got real sick and never got better. mama went way before papa, but they never stopped lovin each other.
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iႠპო Ⴀwტ ႩႶმ პჯႲlႩႶႩႠiტႶ // a miniature chess set
ah, chess. a classic. what better way to kill time, make friends, and work your brain?
it's got a bit o' wear n tear, but ey, it's got sentimental value to it.
when the famine struck, nobody was safe. my family fled to the streets, and we earned our food money by performin. i slept in the corner of a cobble alleyway, covered in ivy. the stuff wasn't that bad, actually.
i met an old man once, he went up to me when i was cryin cause o' the hunger pains. he told me if i tightened my belt, they wouldn't be so bad, and he offered to play chess with me.
i said yea, and he taught me how to play. from then on, he came three times a week with some bread and played chess with me.
he gave me this chess set when he immigrated to america. he told me he didn't need it anymore, because it was only fun with me. i still wonder where he is today.
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iႠპო ႠႬRპპ ႩႶმ პჯႲlႩႶႩႠiტႶ // a dead mustard flower
ah, yes. this old thing.
he begins playing with it in his paws.
this... my mama gave this to me. it was on her deathbed. i keep it to remember her.
she helps me ta keep on, ya know? when we were livin on the streets o belfast, every day she'd tell me i needed to keep doing what i needed to, what i wanted to do, music. she told me that i'd be okay one day.
she got real sick from the famine fever that the people from the east were bringin.
i remember one day, we were takin a walk out in the country. i remember she had wraps 'round her arms and she used sticks as crutches, since that's all we could afford. she collapsed on the dirt road and i yelled for er- what else could i do? she told me it was fine, it's okay. she asked me to pick some o' the flowers growin' around us, and i did. i had to put it on her chest, she told me, and to leave one for myself. i did, and i held that flower tight in my paws as she smiled at me and when the light went out of her eyes, i was sobbin' all over her.
i remember tellin ' my papa that she was gone. that was the hardest thing i ever had to do.
we made a song in memory of her, and we called it flowers and flutes, on account of her likin' plants and music.
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