Dazed, Autor lurches into the main bar from the stairs. He's calm--calmer than he has been in a while--and pale, withdrawn into himself. The overwhelming emotions he'd rationalized have fled him, leaving him blank and neutral. The other patrons don't exist in his sight as he makes his way to the piano.
Once at the bench, Autor sits and straightens his blazer. As carefully as he would be with any lover, he starts to play. His face is serene and his hands are steady, but the instrument seems to grieve under his touch.
The song is Erik Satie's Gymnopedie 1, his favorite from childhood, and the song he associates with her. With Rue. Autor should have resisted the Story's forcing him to fall in love with her, but he didn't. She rejected him--made out that she believed him, and then laughed in his face--so he walked away. And he needs to walk away again.
He's in the process of quietly laying his dreams to rest. Dreams about Rue, and dreams about his being a Spinner. I don't know what to do. This is all he knows, all he has ever known. His fingers jerk on the keys, and he rests his shaky hands in his lap. The boy can't even bring himself to finish the song. Like a book with no ending.
He doesn't know what to do, he tells himself. But he does know. Autor has to go back and finish his part in the Story. To end his life in a way, for the greater good of someone else. I'll have to train Fakir. I'm the only one who can.
There's nothing left for him at home. He might be even hurt more than he has been. He might hurt more people than he has. But he has to do his part. Figuring out what he wants--and can even have, now--can come later, provided he lives through his task.
Autor doesn't know what will come afterward or what he's to do with himself. Thoughts of war loom, and he shoves them away. But he has to try to fulfill his role, at least. Autor hopes no one mistakes his acceptance of the facts for happiness. He doesn't feel happy. He doesn't feel anything.
The boy sighs, slowly getting to his feet. He crosses to his door, and rests his hand on the handle. He closes his eyes as he opens the door, and opens them to see his world just as he left it.
Autor straightens his shoulders and crosses the threshold.
[OOC: Reaction tags only please!]
Once at the bench, Autor sits and straightens his blazer. As carefully as he would be with any lover, he starts to play. His face is serene and his hands are steady, but the instrument seems to grieve under his touch.
The song is Erik Satie's Gymnopedie 1, his favorite from childhood, and the song he associates with her. With Rue. Autor should have resisted the Story's forcing him to fall in love with her, but he didn't. She rejected him--made out that she believed him, and then laughed in his face--so he walked away. And he needs to walk away again.
He's in the process of quietly laying his dreams to rest. Dreams about Rue, and dreams about his being a Spinner. I don't know what to do. This is all he knows, all he has ever known. His fingers jerk on the keys, and he rests his shaky hands in his lap. The boy can't even bring himself to finish the song. Like a book with no ending.
He doesn't know what to do, he tells himself. But he does know. Autor has to go back and finish his part in the Story. To end his life in a way, for the greater good of someone else. I'll have to train Fakir. I'm the only one who can.
There's nothing left for him at home. He might be even hurt more than he has been. He might hurt more people than he has. But he has to do his part. Figuring out what he wants--and can even have, now--can come later, provided he lives through his task.
Autor doesn't know what will come afterward or what he's to do with himself. Thoughts of war loom, and he shoves them away. But he has to try to fulfill his role, at least. Autor hopes no one mistakes his acceptance of the facts for happiness. He doesn't feel happy. He doesn't feel anything.
The boy sighs, slowly getting to his feet. He crosses to his door, and rests his hand on the handle. He closes his eyes as he opens the door, and opens them to see his world just as he left it.
Autor straightens his shoulders and crosses the threshold.
[OOC: Reaction tags only please!]

