milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Jocasta is in the bar, at the piano, playing a gentle soothing piece, a love song from a recent Plinge Opera.

The idea, mostly, is to keep her mind off the friend in the infirmary, but also practice and to add to the atmosphere.

She plays well, but is unforgiving when she makes a mistake, heading back to the beginning of a movement and starting again. There aren't many mistakes, though.

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Ahh, that's more like it.

"Ma'am yes, Ma'am."

She glances at him, and sighs.

"There's no need for that."

Mike turns to grin at her with what he thinks is a charming and endearing smile.

Jocasta's gone from wanting to be serious and trying not to laugh, to wanting to find him endearing and trying not to snap at him.

She smiles very very politely and glances back at the keys.

Ooh, the polite-look away-brush off. That's something Mike hasn't seen since he moved out of the sewers and away from Don's workshop.

His smile falls, as he turns back towards the keys.
Mike toes the line of the lesson, any and all flair he may have injected into his playing has disappeared.

That's not what she wanted. Not at all. She wnated him to enjoy it, she just...

She takes him through the rest of the song wordlessly.

"That was very good."

It's not that Mike doesn't want to learn, or is ungrateful to those willing to teach him, it's just that it's hard for him to concentrate sometimes. Why better himself when he could better someone's day? Any distraction is an opportunity for a performance, any witness a potential audience.

"Thanks."

As the song finishes, Jocasta's fingers pick out something lighter, something more complex, and something designed to lighten the mood.

"This is one of my favourites," she says.

Mike sits back, hands off the keys, and just listens. He's able to manage a second or two of sitting still before his foot finds the underlying rhythm in the song and begins to tap accordingly.

"I can see why."

He's imagining the kind of dance that would go with something like this, or if it's the kind of tune that you just have to appreciate.

Jocasta glances at his foot, and smiles. He can indeed keep rhythm when he wants.

"have you been coming to this place long?"

Mike looks around the room, amused at the fact that people seem to him to be moving along with the music.

"Coming here? Year and a half. Living here full time? A couple of months shorter than that. You?"

"About three months?" Jocasta hazards. "I'm Bound."

That gets a cringe.

"Ooh, that's rough. I'm sorry. How's it working out for you?"

"It's..."

She hates it.

"...I'm getting used to it. Keeping myself occupied." A nod towards the piano.

"Heh, yeah I know how that goes. I do a lot of cooking, myself. Helps, you know? To have a lot of little things to think about."

"Yes," Jocasta agrees. "That's exactly it. Lots of little things to fill up the time."

"We are slayers of time. Fear us, for lo' we are mighty. The question is, when does Time come in here and kick our ass?"

Jocasta glances at him, slightly worried, and then at the door.

"Do you think she would?"

Mike joins her in looking at the door.

"No idea, but stranger things have...she?"

"Time," Jocasta explains. "She."

"Huh. Never would have seen that coming. But then again, time waits for no man does make a bit more sense now."

"You didn't know she was a she?" jocasta asks, a little confused. "Is she a he on your world?"

"She's not much of anything back home. Like uh...an idea and not a person."

He thinks of Death.

"But this place kind of does wierd things to ideas."

"I don't know about this place," Jocasta says, looking around. "Ideas have to have form somewhere."

"Yeah, but the tend more often than not to actually form here."

Mike thinks about all his wild ideas, and how many of them have actually come to fruition between these walls.

"Trust me."

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treadingturds.livejournal.com - 2006-06-12 21:28 (UTC) - Expand

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mnt_mike - 2006-06-12 21:30 (UTC) - Expand

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