The sun, the summer, and everything involved in it has never been your favorite. Sage’s Island, for example, is way too bright and loud for you to even think. Much to your dismay, that’s where you are now, working a humble churro stand during the biggest festival of the year. At least you get to stay in the shade, watching the crowds chatter and pass. The sun is up in full force, and the sky is an almost unreal shade of blue. There’s faint jazz playing in the background, enriching the soundscape even further. Thankfully, the lunch rush has passed, and now you can finally breathe. Premade churros sit spinning in the warmer, covered in an obsessive amount of cinnamon. All you have to do now is count your money and keep an eye out.

What you catch out of the corner of your eye is your next door stand mate, Rook. His bob obscures his eyes as he sits down, crossing his legs as he gets comfortable on his stool. The smell of warming shrimp po boys wafts into your nose, mingling with the tangy remoulade lightly simmering in its pot. But his eyes aren’t on that. Instead, he’s looking down at his shiny golden trumpet- assigned by Ruggie for the group’s musical ambush. His lythe fingers lightly fiddle with the buttons. The white collar of his sailor’s shirt reflects on the surface. His red scarf- somehow tied in a bow on the left, flickers in the wind as a breeze rolls in. He starts to play slowly and tentatively, reminding you that you should probably practice, too.