milliways_bar | (no subject)

( last night: poetry in motion )

The songs he likes most have no lyrics. Only melodies that tell stories of their own. It's his considered opinion that his life has enough stories to tell, but he doesn't necessarily want to commit them to words. Instead, he commits them to song and as long as he knows what tales they contain, he's perfectly happy.

The song he's playing now, for instance, is called Goodnight Julia. It tells a story of war and innocence and intrigue, of manipulation and spying and betrayal, of confidences won and confidences destroyed. Of chance meetings and unexpected friendships and unexpected loss. It's so rich with content, in fact, that his eyes are closed; the notes drift out over the water of the lake and while the night's a little chilly, he's not. He hasn't been cold since he landed here for good. So far that's served him well, but he wonders how long it will last. He remembers how cold Julia was all the time: was it just the difference in the circumstances of their death, or was it something else? What made death so sad and painful for her, but so enlightening and beautiful for him?

He doesn't know. What he does know is that all journeys are individual ones, regardless of who's along for the ride. People, he thinks, are like satellites. They revolve around each other, attracted to one another like the most powerful magnets imaginable. Irresistable in some cases -- he's thinking about Faye right now, with her legs that go on forever and the brilliant green of her eyes and the swanlike curve of her neck, the way she smells like honey and bergamot -- and if a person is lucky, he gets his own personal orbit with the object of his affection for however long the mutual attraction lasts. Ultimately, though, human beings really are alone.

He was on his way to Titan one last time when the universe hijacked him and let him land here. While he's never claimed to be the smartest person he knows, he's not the least intelligent either and because of that, he shakes off any melancholy and lets the song change, lets it start to tell a different story. This one is all about I think you should stay and ruby necklaces and impromptu seductions and letting go of stereotypes.

That's much better. It's hard to smile and play saxophone at the same time, but he's managing to do just that.

[tag: Wanijima Akito]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well.

He knows what that's like: he remembers the disbelief on Julia's face when she was on the receiving end of his story: that was the first time he'd ever told it to a soul. He knows the mix of disbelief and pity, of sorrow and anger, and even if he doesn't know a single detail of Akito's story it doesn't matter: privacy is still privacy, even when it's masked by cautious disregard.

"Fair enough." His job here is done, he thinks: he's gotten Akito to the piano safely and without anyone having to divulge any secrets. Empathetic though he feels he often is, he's certainly not one to pry. Instead, he backs off: he'll listen to Akito play, one musician to another, without judgment and without expectation.

(deleted comment)

There are a number of ways for a person to appreciate music. First, there's technical expertise: how well does the musician play his instrument? Are there flaws? Is he confident? A second way is a little more emotional: how well does the musician understand and convey his music? Do strong feelings come across? And there's a third way: how much of an entertainer is the musician? Does he captivate the audience, sell them a story, get them invested in his performance?

Gren knows he's been judged in all these ways countless times by an unending parade of patrons over the course of his career. It's something he expects, seeing as how he's a professional musician. Akito, on the other hand, is just a kid and his music... well, it definitely comes from the heart.

When the song starts he busies himself: turns to the bar, orders a cup of Callisto blue tea, listens with his ears instead of his eyes: when he's keyed in to music the sound is hard to lose, even in a crowded room. By the time Akito's done, though, he's watching again. It's kind of an amazing song and when it's over he gives Akito a small nod of solidarity before toasting him with his teacup.

Nothing needs to be said: mission accomplished.

"My pleasure."

He means it, too: whatever playing that song means to Akito, that's great. Music is a strong equalizer, a valuable tool, an even more priceless gift. All he did was point out a piano.

"You... want a cup of tea or anything? I wasn't sure."

It's good: his job here is done. And it wasn't much of a task, really.

"That piano's pretty much yours for the taking. Open to whoever wants to play it any time it's free, so remember that. And... you play well."

That's what he has to say to Akito: whatever else the kid wants to do, that's his own business. As far as he's concerned, he'll just fade off into the crowd, finish his tea, and head back upstairs. He's got a very beautiful lady to see, after all, and she might appreciate a private serenade.

"Take care, Akito." It's old habit, his standard farewell from Blue Crow, and he's comfortable with it. "I'll see you around."