(no subject)

[herr_bookman]

It's mocking him.

Autor is sure of it. The piano has been lurking in its corner, waiting, its teeth bared. He hasn't played in over two years, and, for some reason, he can't stop thinking about running his fingers over the white and black keys.

Not since the dream, anyway. Not since his nightmares were given a respite by a wonderful dream of his playing flawlessly in a packed concert hall.

Now that he's out of practice, he can't play Chopin's Fantasie-Impromptu, opus 66, the song he worked so hard to perfect. The cross-rhythms, with the right hand playing sixteenth notes against the left hand playing triplets--and the ceaselessly moving note figuration--are lost to him.

But not forever.

Today, he slinks over to the piano, skittish, as if afraid he'll be spotted. He settles on the bench, his knee jiggling, and draws three deep breaths. He has to look away from the ivories to place his hands on them, as if he's afraid the keys will bite him.

They're cold to the touch.

He starts with Erik Satie's Gymnopedie no. 1, his favorite from childhood. The melody of the piece uses deliberate, but mild, dissonances against the harmony, and once Autor hears the familiar chords, his hands relax into their movements.

He missed this.

Comments

[is_the_motion]

Bonnie is nearby listening, with Billie sat on her knee bobbing along to the music.

[herr_bookman]

Autor finishes the first song and then a second before he notices them. He glances up from the piano and adjusts his glasses. "Hello, Bonnie. Billie. How are you?"

[is_the_motion]

"That was beautiful, and we're doin' well." Bonnie says, setting Billie down on the floor. She runs over to give Autor a hug.

[herr_bookman]

Being surprised by the hug, Autor barely reacts in time before Billie crashes into him. He wraps his arms around her and offers her a squeeze. "Glad to hear it, and thanks for the compliment. Hello, Billie. How old is she now, Bonnie?"

[is_the_motion]

"She'll be two in July." Bonnie says. "Growin' like a weed."

Billie climbs up to the piano stool and mashes the keys.

[herr_bookman]

Autor winces. "Here, Billie, like this," he says, gently guiding her hands to press the keys.

[is_the_motion]

Billie presses a key very delicately. And then mashes the next one. BANG BANG BANG.

"Gently, Billie!" Bonnie says. "Let Autor guide you."

Billie complies a little better.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric in sitting by the fire, listening quietly. When Autor takes a break he comes over with his flute. "Would you like accompaniment?"

[herr_bookman]

Autor glances up from the keys. "Sinric. Hello. Accompaniment would be lovely. Do you have any particular song you want me to play?"

[thewidewideworld]

"Whatever you wish. You know more of this music than I, and I am happy to play along with whatever you may choose."

[herr_bookman]

"All right, then," Autor says, tilting his head. He turns back to the piano and starts working his way through the six Gnossiennes. Each has a mild melody, and in Autor's head, he's running through the rain.

[thewidewideworld]

They're not pieces that Sinric knows well but to picks up the ebb and flow of them. He lifts his flute, winding and crafting a melody around Autor's music.

He closes his eyes, letting the sound flow over him.

[herr_bookman]

Autor moves on to Chopin's Nocturne op. 9 no. 1 in B-flat minor. The piece is has a certain rhythnic freedom. His left hand has an unbroken sequence of eighth notes in simple arpeggios throughout the entire piece, while his right hand moves with freedom in patterns of seven, eleven, twenty, and twenty-two notes.

[wayward_sun]

Someone is listening.

Someone tall, dark, and handsome in an expensive suit and with a drink in hand.

But he is actually listening. He appreciates disharmony when it is well executed.

[herr_bookman]

Autor knows he's being listened to. But he doesn't address the listener, not yet. The boy starts on Satie's Gnossiennes, which are also disharmonious.

[wayward_sun]

Lucifer settles in, half closing his eyes.

[herr_bookman]

Autor works his way through all six of the Gnossiennes, and then starts in on Chopin. Raindrops, Nocturne Op. 9, no. 1, in B-flat minor, Nocturne Op. 9, no. 2... Autor plays them all. Next is Debussy, with the Arabesque. He finishes with Debussy's Girl with the Flaxen Hair, and then turns to the listener, shaking out his hands.

"Hello."

[wayward_sun]

Lucifer never gets impatient when music is concerned.

He slowly opens his eyes and gives the musician a slow smile.

“Hello. You’re good.”

[herr_bookman]

Autor almost counters with that he's not as good as he was, or could be, but that's looking a gift horse in the eyes, or whatever that English idiom is. He'll have to look it up later.

"Thank you," he says instead. "Do you play?"

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee has missed this, too.

He is curled up in an armchair by the fire, idly flipping through a magazine, when the first notes of Autor's playing wafts through the room. He looks up and watches, and listens, and smiles faintly to himself.

He won't go up to him just yet. Not until Autor seems relaxed enough and confident enough. And when he is, Emcee slowly unfolds himself from his position like a stretching cat and wanders over to the piano, arriving just in time as Autor plays his last notes.

"You still play beautifully, darling," he says, leaning on the top of the piano on folded arms.

[herr_bookman]

Are those tears? No, of course not.

Autor offers Emcee a tentative smile. "Thank you. I... I thought playing was lost to me. But I seem to have held on to the basics. How are you?"

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee notices the slight glisten of Autor's eyes but says nothing, though it's touching to see.

"I don't think anything like this is ever really lost -- not if you truly want it back," he says with a warm smile, resting his chin on his hand. "I'm well, darling, and yourself? What inspired you to come out and play today?"

[herr_bookman]

"I had a dream," Autor says wistfully, looking back to the keys and resting his fingers on them without playing. "A wonderful dream, where I was playing in front of a concert hall packed to the gills."

[i_am_your_host]

"That sounds like a lovely dream indeed," Emcee says, still smiling. "Perhaps some day it might come true. You never know..."

A thought strikes him, and he tips his head to the side as if rolling that thought around in his brain.

"Would you like to come play for an audience at my nightclub? It's not a concert hall, but it is often packed."

[herr_bookman]

"Really?" Autor says, brightening with a smile. "I'd have to learn jazzy songs. Or at least brush up on my old ones. But thank you, Emcee. I'd love to play at your nightclub."