[ Two of a kind, then, the piano and its player, orphaned by the ravages of time and a cold reality that had left them both behind. The piano sings with every affectionate, enthused note, sings as it hasn't done in so very long, as if overjoyed by the attention it's receiving. Memories flowing from fingers into keys and filling the air with a pleasant medley, like something out of a fairy tale.
Ordinarily more alert, Casval would've stopped the moment he heard the scuff of sneakers, but he's too absorbed in the music. Too absorbed in the past. Only when he reaches the natural end of the piece, when the grip of nostalgia fades and the invisible weight on his shoulders lifts, does he turn towards his quiet visitor. ]
A boy?
[ A library was an odd place for a teenager, these days. Then again, a library was an odd place for a washed up soldier, too. Exhaustion wipes away any ire that might've resulted from being intruded upon, replaced by a curiosity he can't quite explain, and he blinks once, twice, slow and steady. Who are you? ]
no subject
Ordinarily more alert, Casval would've stopped the moment he heard the scuff of sneakers, but he's too absorbed in the music. Too absorbed in the past. Only when he reaches the natural end of the piece, when the grip of nostalgia fades and the invisible weight on his shoulders lifts, does he turn towards his quiet visitor. ]
A boy?
[ A library was an odd place for a teenager, these days. Then again, a library was an odd place for a washed up soldier, too. Exhaustion wipes away any ire that might've resulted from being intruded upon, replaced by a curiosity he can't quite explain, and he blinks once, twice, slow and steady. Who are you? ]