Categories > Games > Animal Crossing > From Avon on Stratford
Piano in the Dark
0 reviewsThe second in a set of POV pieces focusing on the humans. This is Raven's. Illustrated by Mayura Nacht.
0Unrated
Portrait of Raven: http://kashuarashi.deviantart.com/art/AC-08-Raven-92562417
Piano in the Dark
By Kashu Arashi
Dark has long been acknowledged as the best partner to music. Brass bands have blared in parks on sunny days and armies have marched under the noonday sun to the sound of drums, but these are loud melodies played to underscore the activity around them rather than to showcase the music itself. Concerts featuring the work of the classic masters, the light filled shows of rock idols, the soaring arias of the opera singer, these are all witnessed on stages at night or in darkened halls. Here the music is allowed to take on a life of its own and, loud or subtle, holds the complete attention of both the audience and the musicians.
Here, music is a god.
Raven has always believed in the coupling of music and darkness. He memorizes pieces so that he can play them by memory and feel, closing his eyes and blocking out the light. However, he's taken the partnership one step further and found a third member for the partnership - the weather.
Tonight, it's nearly midnight. The sky outside is clear, the moon and stars casting the world in blue and silver, spilling through the drawn curtains to throw shadows across the keyboard.
On a normal night he'd have to take care of what he played. Kitty's house is, after all, less than twenty feet away. On a normal night the sound would carry through the walls and the closed glass up to her bedroom. It would wake her and while she might appreciate the melody, she wouldn't have appreciated the perfection of the timing.
Tonight it's different. Tonight it's snowed.
He hasn't figured out yet what it is about snow, but it both amplifies and mutes sound, permitting him to play whatever he wishes without fear, yet allowing the music to ring truer than darkness alone.
He still closes his eyes. His long fingers glide over the ebony and ivory of the keyboard by feel, depressing the cool keys in a series of slow caresses. His entire body moves with the notes, forward into the chord, backward away from it, left as he reaches for a lower bass, his feet moving rhythmically over the pedals. This is one of the few times he leaves his hair loose, the strands slipping down over his shoulders to hide his face from the moonlight.
He lets his mind pick the music, moving from classical to contemporary at random. The notes sink into the dusty corners of the room, settle between the books on their shelves, and hide in the leaves of his plants. In its tank the coelacanth drowses, the melody filtered through the water to form a sort of lullaby.
There's not a partner for dark and music like snow. Rain is, perhaps, a close second. Like snow it helps form a separate world, a little kingdom of chord changes and runs, but it lacks the amplifying power of the white powder. If it comes too heavy, it can ruin the rhythm. For this reason, Raven has always loved snow.
When he was in university, living with Wolf, he used to stay up alone on winter nights while the silver haired boy was out, his cello cradled in his arms. Wolf would come home at any odd hour - midnight, one am, sometimes as late as four in the morning - and he'd still be sitting there, filling their rented house with auditory dreams. He'd always interrupt, ask why Raven wasn't in bed yet, complain that the music was going to keep him up and he was tired.
Raven had always secretly wondered if he was jealous of the music. In the end, he'd found out though, hadn't he?
Poor Wolf.
It's six am when he stops. Despite the fact that the sun won't rise for another hour at this time of year, it feels like dawn. Blathers is expecting him in for work at nine.
There's no reluctance as he closes the lid over the keys. It's time to stop. He stands, the heavy velour of his dressing robe hissing against the silk of his pajamas, and turns for bed.
Solstice isn't for a week. The nights will only get longer. He can only hope the snow continues to fall.
Piano in the Dark
By Kashu Arashi
Dark has long been acknowledged as the best partner to music. Brass bands have blared in parks on sunny days and armies have marched under the noonday sun to the sound of drums, but these are loud melodies played to underscore the activity around them rather than to showcase the music itself. Concerts featuring the work of the classic masters, the light filled shows of rock idols, the soaring arias of the opera singer, these are all witnessed on stages at night or in darkened halls. Here the music is allowed to take on a life of its own and, loud or subtle, holds the complete attention of both the audience and the musicians.
Here, music is a god.
Raven has always believed in the coupling of music and darkness. He memorizes pieces so that he can play them by memory and feel, closing his eyes and blocking out the light. However, he's taken the partnership one step further and found a third member for the partnership - the weather.
Tonight, it's nearly midnight. The sky outside is clear, the moon and stars casting the world in blue and silver, spilling through the drawn curtains to throw shadows across the keyboard.
On a normal night he'd have to take care of what he played. Kitty's house is, after all, less than twenty feet away. On a normal night the sound would carry through the walls and the closed glass up to her bedroom. It would wake her and while she might appreciate the melody, she wouldn't have appreciated the perfection of the timing.
Tonight it's different. Tonight it's snowed.
He hasn't figured out yet what it is about snow, but it both amplifies and mutes sound, permitting him to play whatever he wishes without fear, yet allowing the music to ring truer than darkness alone.
He still closes his eyes. His long fingers glide over the ebony and ivory of the keyboard by feel, depressing the cool keys in a series of slow caresses. His entire body moves with the notes, forward into the chord, backward away from it, left as he reaches for a lower bass, his feet moving rhythmically over the pedals. This is one of the few times he leaves his hair loose, the strands slipping down over his shoulders to hide his face from the moonlight.
He lets his mind pick the music, moving from classical to contemporary at random. The notes sink into the dusty corners of the room, settle between the books on their shelves, and hide in the leaves of his plants. In its tank the coelacanth drowses, the melody filtered through the water to form a sort of lullaby.
There's not a partner for dark and music like snow. Rain is, perhaps, a close second. Like snow it helps form a separate world, a little kingdom of chord changes and runs, but it lacks the amplifying power of the white powder. If it comes too heavy, it can ruin the rhythm. For this reason, Raven has always loved snow.
When he was in university, living with Wolf, he used to stay up alone on winter nights while the silver haired boy was out, his cello cradled in his arms. Wolf would come home at any odd hour - midnight, one am, sometimes as late as four in the morning - and he'd still be sitting there, filling their rented house with auditory dreams. He'd always interrupt, ask why Raven wasn't in bed yet, complain that the music was going to keep him up and he was tired.
Raven had always secretly wondered if he was jealous of the music. In the end, he'd found out though, hadn't he?
Poor Wolf.
It's six am when he stops. Despite the fact that the sun won't rise for another hour at this time of year, it feels like dawn. Blathers is expecting him in for work at nine.
There's no reluctance as he closes the lid over the keys. It's time to stop. He stands, the heavy velour of his dressing robe hissing against the silk of his pajamas, and turns for bed.
Solstice isn't for a week. The nights will only get longer. He can only hope the snow continues to fall.
Sign up to rate and review this story