Scott, inspired by crying while watching Sara at the harp, tries to apply himself to a creative endeavor to become, one day, even a tenth as proficiently expressive as she was. Mr. Adrien interrupts with a few pertinent questions.
There was a reason why arts were not so well funded as, say, sports. Or the sciences. They could be tested and quantified and finally summed up by a number. Which meant that people could compare scores.
Art… was subjective. As Sara would say, it was an agreed-upon illusion of worth. But then, she also said that about money.
Conversations with Sara could lead to a person wondering how the hell the universe still fit together so well by the time they reached the other end of them.
He had not been creative, because creativity had not done anything to up any particular score in the rank and file of his self-evaluation. Hell, everyone else under the age of twenty referred to him as “Mister Military.”
He didn’t know where to start. How to evaluate his work if he did start. What to do with himself.
But the memory of that tune. The aching loneliness and desperation to get somewhere -anywhere- away from a place of boredom and enuii… If he could do one thing even half as well as Sara did - he’d probably stop doubting himself and be able to make miracles.
Instead of asking Sara, who might laugh at him, he tried the internet. It was no help. His searches inevitably lead to some guy in a green robe waxing lyrical about the creative spirit while moving film cans of all things… or the super-weird _Don’t Hug Me, I’m Scared_. When he wasn’t busy being rickrolled.
Next, he fetched up in the Adrien library, trying to find what the hell motivated Sara between the expensive leather covers. He skipped the books on law and found a few treatises on art.
Damnit. It was about appreciation, rather than performance.
“Those are Jacquelline’s,” said Sam.
Scott reacted like a cat. Leaping into the air with flailing limbs and a yowl of surprise that he thankfully stifled into a brief yip. “Sorry for the intrusion, sir… I was just… um…”
Sam quirked an eyebrow.
“Have you heard Sara play _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_?”
“Heartbreaking, isn’t it?” Sam recovered the tome on art appreciation and caressed a notation in pencil from a long-ago reader.
Yes. He knew about heartbreak. “So did I. And I thought…” words failed him.
“That you needed a break from being Mister Military?” Sam prompted.
Scott nodded gratefully. “Yessir. Only. I have no idea where to start.”
“My best advice? Go see and hear art. Wait for that moment when your heart sings, ‘Oh, I want to do that’ and then study the how-to’s.”
“That’s… a little… um. Unregulated.”
Sam grinned a very Sara grin. “So’s art.”
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