Don't criticize me (Open)

David casually set down his instrument and checked the clock. He had been practicing for half an hour, and had just five minutes to spare before the performance. Deciding he should get going, he stood and grabbed a black button down jacket. It was a pretty nice one, to normal people's standards, but David's dad was kind of loaded and he always received a steady income. It was a deal that they had worked out just to keep the boys away from home and stay at camp. David grabbed the scarf off of the same coat rack what his jacket was on and twisted it around his neck neatly. Then, he picked up his guitar case with his guitar neatly inside and set out.

David ventured over the grass, which was brown and crunchy beneath his feet, making his way to the amphitheater, where a tiny crowd had already gathered, each with their own instrument. As he did so, his cheeks became a little flushed from the wind. He hastened his pace and quickly entered the Amphitheater, trotting down the stone steps to the center where a lone wooden stool awaited his performance time. He gave a small shiver, slightly from the cold and slightly from nervousness.

Once David had taken a seat, he glanced around. Mostly unfamiliar faces, but they wanted a good show, and he hoped that he could give it to them. He unpacked his guitar and set it on his lap when he sat on the stool. He knew he had to give some sort of introduction so he cleared his throat.

"Uhm, hey. I'm David, and this is just a small acoustic song I wrote just for the fun of it. It's got a nice meaning to me, so I hope you can find some enjoyment in it." After that awkward intro, he bowed his head and began to pick at the guitar before strumming a steady chord progression. After about two repeats, he began to sing. He'd been told that he had a nice voice before, but he underestimated it by a lot, because as soon as his notes filled the Amphitheater, people found themselves instantly engrossed in his song. After a few minutes, the song faded to an end. What few people there had been in the theater clapped lively, and even a few stragglers from the outside overheard and gave him a round of applause.

David returned a smile to the applause, a small blush rising in his cheeks, but not much. Performing was something that he was used to and that he'd forced himself to deal with all the time, so nerves weren't a big thing to him. But, he always found himself smiling shyly when people gave him applause or compliments or something of the kind. As people began to leave the theater, David slipped of his little stool and began to pack his guitar away carefully in its case. Once he'd flipped down the latches to secure it, he heard a small voice from above him, and he lifted his head. A girl stood over him, looking down with a kind smile.

David stood to meet the girl at eye-level, and the small blush on his cheeks intensified slightly at her kind words. He brought a hand up and rubbed it over the back of his neck, trying and failing to keep a smile from spreading across his face. "Thank you, very much," David said, eyes darting to the ground.

Pointing out nervousness does nothing except inflate the nerves. David's face flamed an even brighter pink, if possible, when the girl pointed out his embarrassment. He really just wanted to cover his head with a bucket, or grab his guitar and make a mad dash for his cabin. But that would in no way be a polite or kind thing to do, and David Paris Martin was one-hundred percent polite and kind. He was known around camp for being one of the most genial and caring people out there. It was as if he didn't even have a bad side, or at least nobody had ever seen it before. He always offered compassion to anyone who wished for it.

"It's okay, it happens a lot," he chuckled, with a small shrug. In order to keep his hands from dangling, he stuck them in his pockets and rocked slightly on his feet. "I've been singing for as long as I can remember. I picked up guitar when I was nine, though. I just had this affinity for music, it's really hard to explain. But I've been doing musical stuff ever since." Wow, David's mind snickered. What a lame story.

"Anyway," he continued, trying to just push that awkward little tidbit about himself to the side as if it hadn't happened. "I'm David." Soon after he said that he realized he'd already introduced himself to the crowd, before the song. Quickly, he added, "It's nice to meet you, Fallon."

David wasn't usually insulted by people. He was known around the camp as an infinitely good-natured spirit who was always smiling, always ready to lend a hand, and always polite. Even when people did jest with him, it was often good-natured and he didn't ever mind. On rare occasions when someone lashes out, David is likely to keep his cool and go the peaceful and kind route rather than the react-in-return route. Whatever the case, he always had a level head about him, and offense wasn't really something he knew, unless it came to his brother who always seemed to be chipping away at the shell David had around him. He in no way was taking any sort of offense to the girl's words, though, and quite oppositely was gratified to be recognized by her for being talented.

"Oh," David chuckled, cheeks still rosy from his naturally bashful demeanor. "Well, I can kind of play oboe, too, if we go down the woodwind path. But I don't practice it all too frequently. My dad, uh, he used to hate the sound of it," he chuckled. At the girl's question, he gingerly touched his hand to his cheek, rubbing along his cheekbone. "Well my mom is one of the Muses, so... that's probably where I got all my musical talent from," he said, dropping his hand and smiling again. "My dad isn't musical at all, so there's no doubt that I didn't get anything from him."