milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The Master of Ceremonies keeps a vampire's hours, so it's almost evening when he's up and about. He is still Bound and he is still annoyed about it.

So, he's finding ways to keep himself busy, ways that don't necessarily involve going to bed with people, but he's not against that.

No, today he's practicing the piano, a simple but pretty classical piece with the help of sheet music he requested from the Bar. It's obvious that he knows the piece but is a novice at playing, even if his hands seem to be made for it, slender and graceful with long fingers. He falters at some parts, and has to stop and restart others. However, he's got the main melody down, and it's nice when he gets all the way through it.

For motivation, there's a large glass of red wine on the piano that he constantly sips from. The ashtray next to it is already filled with cigarette stubs, as the cigarette pursed between his painted lips dwindles.

Botherable, listenable, assistable.

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"Well, thank you," he says modestly, sitting comfortably with Wine if next to him. "I can handle the main melody quite all right, it's just the bits in the middle that constantly trip me. I am not a musician, so this really isn't my forte."

(Forte. Piano forte. Ha ha.)

Sinric smiles, "I can play the harmony if you wish to play the melody?" He offers, setting the flute down very carefully.

He misses the joke but only for lack of modern musical language.

"That sounds like a good idea," he says brightly. "I do the same with my friend back home who's teaching me this piece. How did you learn it?"

"The good doctor Hannibal taught me how to play there," He rests his slender fingers on the keys. "And how to read notations. Although, I confess, I just as often ask the bar for a recording of the music and learn it by playing along." He gestures to the little music player at his belt.

The good doctor Hannibal.

Emcee's eyebrows go up.

"Oh, Dr. Hannibal Lecter?" he says with a note of pleasant surprise. "Yes, I've spoken with him before. Not as frequently as I might wish, for conversations with him are terribly stimulating."

In that he just wants to see if they can fuck with each other.

"And yes, I'm borrowing a similar device, too. Ever since the party I can't get enough of music from the future. Anyhow, shall we?"

He also rests a hand on the keys.

Edited 2016-01-16 01:49 (UTC)

"He has been a great patron to me and a kind friend in my hours of greatest need." He answers without reserve and with obvious affection. "He has a gift for healing that transcends the physical and speaks to the scars of the spirit." Oblivious Sinric is utterly oblivious.

He smiles and stretches his fingers over the keys. "As you lead, I will follow."

Oh, darling, no.

Emcee holds his tongue, and nods with an effortless smile.

"He sounds lovely."

He turns to the keyboard at hand.

"Right, then..."

He starts playing the melody, as softly and gently as it was meant to be played. The beginning is easy, and he's more confident with it, even letting some emotion through in the way his fingers press the keys. The middle part, however, is more difficult, but as he glances up at the sheet music, and over at Sinric's hands, he doesn't make as many mistakes as usual. He trips a little here and there, but it's nothing that he can't play through. And once he gets past those parts, he feels the music again, enjoying how it's all passionately coming together, leading up to the quiet, very quiet, almost whispered, final notes.

In Hannibal's defence, he had been very good Sinric. With only the odd spot of manipulation which Sinric is deeply oblivious to. On the balance, Hannibal's actually been a good influence.

Sinric keeps pace with the harmony, adapting to Emcee's confidence and passion as smoothly as a dancer answering a partner's lead. Through the middle section, he stretches out, playing with more confidence and passion of his own. In a way, he takes the lead where Emcee needs to follow.

As the final note fades, he sighs warmly. "Wonderful!"

Emcee beams at him.

"Yes, that was rather wonderful. You are very easy to play with, darling. I appreciate that in a partner," he adds a bit wryly.

"As are you." He smiles warmly, reaching over to cover Emcee's hand with his own. "You play like a dancer. It's beautiful to share in."

"Oh, flattery will get you everywhere," he says with a twinkle in his eye as he gives Sinric's hand a brief squeeze.

"How about we try it with your flute now?"

"It is truth, however flattering." He smiles back, taking up his flute. He runs his fingers over it lovingly before positioning them ready to play. He gives Emcee a little nod.

Emcee returns the little nod before placing his fingers on the keys, and after the briefest of pauses, he begins to play.

He envisions Herman's hands, large but gentle and gracefully masterful. And Autor's hands, even more slender and delicate than his own but sure and capable. What Emcee's hands lack in expertise on a keyboard, they make up with feeling.

And somehow, the middle part seems easier to get through this time. He concentrates on what the music is saying rather than what the notes are or where his fingers should be, and everything follows. When the melody surges, so does he, moving and swaying to it as a smile curves his lips.

Sinric plays quite a different song this time. Not the same as the piano plays but complementing harmony. It rises and falls, playing counterpoint of Emcee's passion. Not unlike two lovers dancing for the first time - both with their own desires but touching and feeding from each others.

After the swell, the music slips back into an easy, flowing rhythm, like the gentle ebbing and flowing of the tide. Sinric's song dances among the foam, dipping in and out of the water, swirling with the bubbles. Emcee sways back and forth with it, lifted by the flute's breathy notes. Until once again they meet at the end, with a quiet bow to each other.

Emcee stills his fingers, resting on the keys until the notes fade away.

"Oh, now that was lovely."

Sinric lays down his flute with a sigh, smiling warmly. "Very lovely, thank you. I haven't played with another so passionate for some time."

"Thank you, darling," he gushes. "It is always a pleasure to make music with someone as naturally talented as you are."

Sinric blushes a little, ducking his head. "You are very kind. Shall we... may we play another?"

Adorable.

"Another song? Well, let me think... Like I said, I am not a musician, so I don't know that many songs on piano, but here is a tune that the Kit Kat Klub band sometimes plays during quieter moments..."

And he starts to play a rather sweet waltz, slowly in an attempt to get all the notes correct, and to get a feel for actually playing the song.

Sinric listens, head cocked and quiet until he finds the tune. He picks up his flute and plays a counter melody, and easy rocking thing that would lead a dance beautifully. He sets it down to sing instead at one point, flowing Greek that tumbles along with the piano.

Once Emcee becomes comfortable with his own playing, he starts to hum along with the melody, even moving it up an octave to add variety. He smiles at Sinric's accompaniment on the flute, admiring his ability to improvise. And then when he sings in a language unfamiliar to him but beautiful nonetheless, he infuses his playing with even more feeling, wistful, longing, affectionate, hopeful.

Eventually he brings the song to a gentle close, and again, it feels like two dancers bowing to each other.

Sinric's smiles as they fall silent together holds all the hope and longing and wistful affection of their song. Not perhaps directed at Emcee but encompassing the joy in their shared moment.

He rests his head on Emcee's shoulder a moment, still smiling. "Thank you."

Emcee can't help a soft, warm chuckle when Sinric rests his head on his shoulder, and he turns to briefly press his cheek against the top of his head, reaching over to sweep his fingertips along his delicate jaw.

"Anytime, darling. And once again, thank you. What did you sing about?"

He purrs softly at the touch, his skin smooth and warm. "It was a song my brother and I wrote after our master's birthday. It's about shepherd prince and little flock, living simply in the wild places where no trouble can reach them."

He smiles and lowers his eyes. "My Master hated getting older. As emperor, his birthday celebrationd always turned into grand and expensive festivals which he hated even more."

"So one year, when I was younger he took his little birds, and half his personal guard and we all ran away together into the forest."

"It was splendid week. We found a little river to swim in and decorated our tent with wild flowers. Constantine and Castor hunted game and we cooked over open fires. We sung and danced naked under the moon, like the children of some pagan God. And we played make-believe we were all free and could stay like that forever."

He smiles at the story, listening quietly, but there is a sadness to it that always comes from looking back on a time that cannot be relived.

"What wonderful memories you must have," he says. And that's really all they are now, just memories.