Jotaro Kujo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
starmark) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
prismatica2020-03-31 06:13 pm
starmark) wrote in prismatica2020-03-31 06:13 pm
audio, un: nevercrywolf
[It's pretty rare for Jotaro to resort to using audio for a network post, all things considered; he tends to be a lot more comfortable with text for a variety of reasons, and he's usually not particularly talkative just in general, barring the handful of people he's comfortable around.
But today, when the feed snaps on, there's soft jazz music playing in the background, turned down enough to be audible but without being overpowering when eventually, much closer to the microphone, Jotaro's voice comes in.]
You know what's kind of weird? My dad's music is in these Birdboxes.
[He pauses a minute, his silence drawn and sort of thoughtful.]
It was weird at home, too. That I could hear him on the radio, or put in a cassette tape and...there he was. There was Dad. Weird to think that he'd write songs about my mom, and people who'd never even met my mom would listen to them. Or that people would listen to some other song he wrote and not know that he wrote the bridge the way he did just to piss off a manager he didn't like. For other people, they were just songs. Not Dad's songs.
[He goes quiet again, and this time in the space between words, there's the sound of acoustic guitar strings absently being picked along with the song.]
I guess I've just been thinking lately about the things that make you who you are. The people you're related to. The shit that's happened to you. [A pause.] But for my dad, it's his music. I don't think he'd be my dad if he didn't have his music. I sure as hell can't imagine him without it. So...
[His playing stills, and he whistles to his Birdbox to make it cease playing and fall silent, still mulling over his own thoughts.]
Dunno. That sort of thing...it seems like it ought to be more about what you decide for yourself. Not something somebody else gets to decide for you.
[He lets out an audible breath, like he'd been holding it while making the herculean effort of trying to work through his thoughts, and the guitar strings twang again as fabric rustles near the microphone in the seconds before the audio ends.]
But today, when the feed snaps on, there's soft jazz music playing in the background, turned down enough to be audible but without being overpowering when eventually, much closer to the microphone, Jotaro's voice comes in.]
You know what's kind of weird? My dad's music is in these Birdboxes.
[He pauses a minute, his silence drawn and sort of thoughtful.]
It was weird at home, too. That I could hear him on the radio, or put in a cassette tape and...there he was. There was Dad. Weird to think that he'd write songs about my mom, and people who'd never even met my mom would listen to them. Or that people would listen to some other song he wrote and not know that he wrote the bridge the way he did just to piss off a manager he didn't like. For other people, they were just songs. Not Dad's songs.
[He goes quiet again, and this time in the space between words, there's the sound of acoustic guitar strings absently being picked along with the song.]
I guess I've just been thinking lately about the things that make you who you are. The people you're related to. The shit that's happened to you. [A pause.] But for my dad, it's his music. I don't think he'd be my dad if he didn't have his music. I sure as hell can't imagine him without it. So...
[His playing stills, and he whistles to his Birdbox to make it cease playing and fall silent, still mulling over his own thoughts.]
Dunno. That sort of thing...it seems like it ought to be more about what you decide for yourself. Not something somebody else gets to decide for you.
[He lets out an audible breath, like he'd been holding it while making the herculean effort of trying to work through his thoughts, and the guitar strings twang again as fabric rustles near the microphone in the seconds before the audio ends.]
no subject
W-well it ain't like you got to the point super quick! What was the point, anyway?!
[ the answer to that is a resounding yes. ]
no subject
[HE'S NOT SAYING ANYTHING BUT HE'S SURE THINKING IT]
no subject
[ okay hold on give him a second to do his anger management breaths. he can do this. ]
...So s'just about bein' homesick?
no subject
[There's a lot more to it than just that, but now he's being difficult just for the sake of being difficult. Because that's mature.]
Why, you don't get homesick?
no subject
[ look he's gonna take it at face value if that's what you tell him... ]
Been travelling fuckin' outer space for almost three years now. Never really gets easier.
no subject
[squints...]
Or were you doing something else before?
no subject