#lukacouffaine zine

[nerdypanda3126]

The Making of a Luthier

This was written for the @lukacouffainezine. Leftover sales are open until Dec. 1, make sure to get your copy! The art for this piece was done by moge_ko_draws (originally posted on Instagram, posted to Tumblr with permission) (go check out her work, she’s a great artist!)  

Luka joins a club for making stringed instruments. Along the way he makes a new friend and learns about the people in his life and about himself.

Read on Ao3

Luka considered the flier in his hand as he walked down the hallway of his school until he came to the advertised door. Other than the bold heading of "Making Music Mean More," it was a nondescript piece of paper with a room number and a vague paragraph about joining a club—but Luka knew better than to judge anything by appearance alone. 

When he peeked in the doorway, though, it wasn't quite what he expected. Scraps of wood littered the small room and strange tools took command of most of the area. His eyes bounced from one work in progress to the next; even pulled apart he knew how to recognize a guitar. 

He knocked on the doorframe, but when no one answered, he took a tentative step in, then another, and before he knew it his hand was lying on an almost-finished piece. 

"You have a good eye," a voice said, jolting Luka out of his train of thought. 

A blonde girl his age was watching him, her soft blue eyes hiding a laugh behind plastic safety glasses as she paused in her work. Although he didn't quite understand what she was actually working on. Something with a machine that shaved bits of wood off the large piece she was pushing through. The heavy leather apron she wore was covered in sawdust, and when she flipped her braid over her shoulder he could see flecks of wood entangled in her hair, too. 

She flicked a switch and the machine powered down. "You here to join our little club?" A quick nod to the paper in his hands made him glance down at it, too.

"I… well… what is this place?" 

"Officially it's the school's wood shop." 

"And unofficially?" 

"It's where M. Carpentier lets me make stringed instruments in my spare time. But the headmaster found out and now I need to recruit enough people to make this an official club before she'll let me continue 'wasting school resources.'" She rolled her eyes and propped her glasses up on her head, pushing her bangs out of her face to level him with a look. "So, what do you say, are you in?" 

He blinked back at her, then looked down at the unfinished instrument under his fingers. It must've been hers. The labor it must've taken to create, the time she'd put into it already, and all alone in this workshop… she must really love it. He'd never thought about making instruments before, but now that he was… 

He needed music in his life. But he never wanted to perform—commanding attention on stage turned his stomach and he liked being home too much for a life of touring. Maybe this was something he could do behind the scenes that would still help others discover their own voices and talents. Maybe this could be something he could do for him. Making music mean more. 

When he looked back up, the girl was watching him with a pleased smile on her face like she already knew his answer but was still waiting to hear him say it. 

"Yeah," he finally obliged her. "I'm in. I'm Luka, by the way." 

Her smile grew. "Allegra. You know, like the musical term? But with an 'a' instead of an 'o.'" She flicked her glasses back down and offered him a spare pair. "Come on, I'll start you off over here on the belt sander. Less chance you'll cut anything off." 

***

It took three months of time stolen in between school and helping out on the Liberty, but finally he was familiar with every machine in the shop and he was ready to try his hand at making his first guitar. 

Before he could start, though, he still needed to choose a type of wood to use. It was surprisingly a more difficult decision than he thought it'd be. Was he looking for a warm sound or a deep resonance? Something light and springy or something more durable? The wood shop had plenty of scraps, but when he ran his hand over them none of them seemed… right. He couldn't explain it. But someday he hoped this instrument would be someone's voice. It felt important that he got it right.

Later that week, while he was still weighing Allegra's advice about prices versus sounds, his sister brought someone new on deck and shyly introduced her as "Rose." He couldn't help but smile as Rose flounced around the houseboat like she'd always belonged there, dragging Juleka along by the hand, her bright pink a sharp contrast to Juleka's preferred black, her effervescence practically contagious. 

Watching them, it was as plain as day in the way their melodies played against each other: his sister had a crush. Not mutual, but… Rose was fond of Juleka at least. It was more than that, though. They fit together.

Contrast. His eyes widened. That's what he needed. Warmth and mellowness contrasted against something bright and springy. Rosewood and maple. The rosewood he'd have to source, but there was plenty of maple around the shop. 

He gave Juleka a jumbled explanation and fumbled with his bike lock in his rush to get to the workshop. 

***

"So after we've soaked it, it goes on the jig," Allegra explained, pulling a dripping strip of wood out of the hot water bath it had stayed in for the past hour. "It needs to be wet, otherwise the second you try to put tension on it, it'll just snap." 

With an air of expertise, she guided his hands to settle the pliant wood into the shaping jig—one of her own design, she'd told him proudly on his first day. It seemed like a delicate process as Allegra did everything swiftly but in a precise order. Once all the clamps were on, she let out a breath she'd apparently been holding. 

"What now?" he asked, still dazed from watching a material he thought would be more stubborn than that bend to her will so easily. 

"Now we leave it alone. It'll air dry and harden all on its own." 

She smacked his hand away when he went to touch the curve she'd helped him make. Once it dried it would be the swell of the body of the guitar, perfectly curved to fit onto the player's thigh. 

Something that should've been too stubborn to bend. His mom's hard-won unyielding independence popped into his thoughts. At some point in her life, Anarka had been in love. Maybe she'd even thought about spending her life with someone. He didn't know anything about his father, but he knew his mother's heart had been broken beyond repair. 

She'd been hardened into her final shape, too.  

And now here he was, exploring a quiet career making instruments. If he hadn't had the upbringing he did… if his mother hadn't been so hurt when whoever his father was walked away from her and her unborn children… if she hadn't had to go it all alone… things could've been different. He could've been different. Maybe Anarka wouldn't have been as focused on raising him to be independent. Maybe she wouldn't have encouraged him to find his own happiness outside of what anyone else thought of him. What anyone expected of him. 

"Hello? Earth to Luka?" Allegra waved a hand in front of his face. He shook his head clear and managed to smile. Her eyebrows furrowed as she frowned back at him. "You can't zone out like that in front of a machine, you know." 

He paused, his fingers hovering over the still-damp wood, before he opened his mouth to ask a question, then closed it again, choosing his words more carefully than normal. 

"Do you ever feel like you're losing parts of yourself when you make these?" he finally asked. 

Allegra considered him, and he almost started to apologize for not making sense when she looked over at the guitar she'd just finished—the one he'd found his first day in the shop. 

"I think of it more like finding lost parts of myself," she answered him wistfully. "And letting them go." 

***

"This is Ivan," Rose announced proudly. Luka smiled at the gargantuan teen, trying to decide whether to trust his instinct or his intuition. When Ivan waved shyly, Luka's intuition won out and he decided then and there Ivan was a friend. 

"He plays drums and writes songs!" Rose was gushing, and Luka just barely caught the worried glance Juleka shot between the two of them. Unneeded, Luka knew, but he couldn't tell her that. Not yet, anyways. 

"Welcome to the band," Luka said, extending his hand. It disappeared in Ivan's grip. 

It took some cajoling on Rose's part, but Ivan eventually—bashfully—produced a wrinkled piece of paper with a poem written on it. Luka smoothed the crinkles out with the pads of his fingers. 

"She screamed and ran away when I tried to sing it," Ivan said, balling his fists in what Luka interpreted as a show of embarrassment rather than anger. "So maybe it's not very good." 

Luka's eyes flicked down the paper, then back up at Ivan. He would never bring it up, but he was pretty sure Juleka had told him about Ivan's akumatization. And what caused it. Ivan was in love. Luka smiled as he handed the paper back. 

"Did you ever try again?" 

By the shy smile that Ivan directed off to the side, Luka figured he had, and had been successful. It was a rare person that was as sensitive as Ivan but as willing to expose himself to rejection more than once. 

Later in the shop, Luka picked up the rosewood intended for the fretboard. Solid, sturdy, able to withstand the cut of steel strings over time, but still softer than it looked. Not unlike his new friend. 

"Are you using that or what?" Allegra asked from across the room. When he blinked back to where he was, she was watching him curiously.

"Yeah. I was just thinking." 

She rolled her eyes at him. "I swear if you start talking in musical metaphors again I'll ban you forever." 

"You can't ban me," he said, chuckling as he moved over to his workstation, rosewood still in hand. "I'm the only one who knows how to sweet talk the bandsaw." 

She muttered something under her breath about how he was lucky he was cute and he shook his head, smiling, as he started measuring. 

***

"What's up with you today?" Allegra asked, her tone bristling. "You're all… spaced out or something." 

He shook his head clear of the melody that was looping through his head before he managed to smile. "Nothing. A new song stuck in my head, that's all." 

She pursed her lips. "By 'song' you mean you met someone new, right?" When he only nodded, her eyebrows furrowed. "A girl?" 

He hummed in response. "One of Juleka's friends. Marinette." 

Clear as a musical note, sincere as a melody. Brave enough to find Ladybug on her own initiative and tell her to help his mom. And something more. He couldn't put his finger on it, but when he'd played those chords for her there was something else hiding beneath the surface. A mystery, or a secret. Something important to her—integral, even. 

When Allegra didn't answer him, he realized he'd continued humming, not quite as 'to himself' as he'd thought. 

"Marinette, huh?" she asked, her tone light but too careful. 

Her eyes darted away from his, and she busied herself by whittling a scrap piece of wood she couldn't possibly be thinking of using as color rose to her cheeks. He looked away, guilty of seeing too much again. 

He focused instead on setting another piece of mother of pearl in place for the inlay around the soundhole, admiring the unique sheen as the colors shifted in the light. He liked the way there was something more to look for in each piece. If he squinted, he could imagine he could see the whole rainbow the stones offered, but it was still barely beyond his grasp. 

"Yeah," he answered softly, smiling to himself as he ran his fingers over his work. "Ma-Ma-Marinette." 

***

"Run the booth?" Luka asked incredulously as Allegra pushed a paper into his hands and started pulling guitars off the wall to show at the fair. 

"Sure, why not? You know everything about this place, right?" 

He stopped her as she reached for the violin she'd made the past year. Seeing it in her hands, finished, he couldn't understand why she wouldn't want to share her passion with others.  

"It should be you," he said. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." 

She paused, staring at his hand on hers. "Won't Marinette be there?" 

He let her implication roll off him. She'd seen him go through trying to date Marinette, breaking up with her, and then worrying about how she was avoiding him. But they were friends again, and Allegra knew that. He’d rather have Marinette in his life as a friend than nothing at all. And the same was true for Allegra. They’d spent two years in the shop together. She’d taught him everything he knew. 

The guitar he’d just finished was as much hers as it was his. She was in every piece of it. 

Instead of telling her any of that, he just shook his head. “I don’t think so.” 

She broke his grip gently and packed the violin and its bow away with everything else. He felt the tension in the air but didn’t know what to do about it. 

Finally, she sighed. “I won’t be here next year,” she said quietly. “We’re moving to London, and I’ll be at another school. So it’s up to you to keep this thing going.” She turned and pressed the violin case into his hands, giving him a brave smile. “So, what do you say? Are you in?” 

***

Marinette was talking to André the ice cream man when he spotted her. Smiling, he walked up as quietly as he could behind her, intending to surprise her. 

“Hello, Marinette,” he said, and his smile grew when she jumped. It was nice being friends with her, teasing her. No pressure on anyone. 

“Luka!” she yelped, then looked back at André helplessly. “Actually, Luka and I are just… uh—” 

“Buddies,” he supplied, sensing her distress. “We’re buddies.” 

“You don’t necessarily have to be in love to enjoy your own scoop of magic,” André said, apparently continuing his conversation with Marinette. He handed the ice cream to Luka, but Luka handed it over to Marinette instead. He’d never cared much for André’s ice cream, funnily enough, but Marinette seemed to like it. As they bid goodbye to André he did steal a bite from the scoop on top, though. 

"I'm surprised to see you here!” Marinette said. “I thought you already knew what career you're going to have."

"I do," he answered easily, "I'm in charge of my school's booth where I tell people about being a maker of stringed instruments." 

He’d led her there as if on instinct. His guitar was on display. Front and center. His hand gravitated to it the same way it always did and he picked it up, mostly to have something to do with his hands. 

"What about you, Marinette? Why are you here? Aren't you on your way to becoming a talented fashion designer?" 

"I don't know anymore. There's so many careers that interest me in the world of fashion, creation, decoration…" She sighed. "You're lucky you know exactly what you want to do." 

"I just listen to my inner voice." He played a few notes on his guitar, listening to the sound it made more than the notes themselves. "This is the first instrument I ever made." Marinette was watching him with wide eyes and he didn't even hesitate. The guitar was in her hands. 

"It took me two years," he admitted. 

Two years in the shop with Allegra. Two years of finding pieces of himself and putting those pieces and thoughts into the wood. Everyone he loved was there, some way or another. 

The inlay he’d created shone in the sun as Marinette admired the guitar, casting a rainbow between the strings for the briefest moment. 

The flier had simply read “Making Music Mean More.” He hadn’t known then that by walking into that room he’d find what he was meant to do—and what he was made of.