13 Apr 2020, 18:05
Forbidden Voices
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[font=Segoe Print]For some wildly indescribably reason, the very sound of Lydia’s admission had sent a fit of chills down the spine of the young captain, his eyebrow raising in partial shock at the indication of her permission to play – in hindsight, he couldn’t really pinpoint why he’d ever asked her if he could play in the first place. Why did he want to play for her, again? Was it the cause of her smile? Kind words? The stunning performance of her own? He supposed it didn’t matter now, as there were certainly more important things to address in the moment. For instance, why was he frozen, his knees weak and hands shaking within his pockets? Why had his face paled? Why was there a bead of sweat dribbling down his brow?♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫
It was probably the temperature, he deduced, shaking himself from his own dooming thoughts. Because, he was many things – good-looking, athletic, fearsome. Not scared. No, not in the least – what did he have to fear? A pretty girl? Failure? He was better than that, surely! He would prove it, too –the boy shortly steeled his nerves, his grass-stained sneakers carrying him closer and closer to the cursed piano bench, a blank look upon his features as he slipped into the seat, his eyes narrowing in on the delicate piano – a large jet-black grand, Steinway & Sons, to be exact, pristine ivory keys stretching up the length of the monstrous instrument. The best sort of music had been produced on such a piano – Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin – melodies that had utterly captured the mind and ensnared the senses. Surely he could never live up to such productions, but he could certainly try, right?
The subtle hints of fear – his sweaty, twitching hands, tense muscles – slowly drained from his demeanor as his fingers traced the lovely ivory keys, his left foot coming to rest on the sostenuto pedal as his thoughts shortly took control of his body. He’d long since learned that the best piano playing wasn’t out of skill, but of feeling, being in-tune with the melody and story of the song. That is, all songs, told of a story – the opportunity ranged anywhere from the loveliest of spring days, warm, golden sunlight streaming through a break in the morning clouds, to the sorrowful, gray April Gloom that seemed to suffocate the air, the clouds crying out in anger as mother nature’s tears watered the earth. From a mother’s warm hug, to the loss of a beloved family member. Victories, defeats… there was no limit to the manifold tales one could tell, the freedom teeming at the fingertips of a willing musician, on the lips of a well versed lyricist.
What story was he trying to tell?
[Stories, as was quite obvious, had never come easily to the Thunderbird. He’d always struggled with his words – he supposed, that with all the deafening thoughts already reverberating about his head, there simply wasn’t enough room for pretty words and clever tales.]
Without an air of thought, his fingers began moving – a familiar melody, on he’d surely heard before sometime or other. The story of a man who had seen too much, suffered through some hard limes times in his short life – a story in which the Young Captain could relate to greatly. The notes were light, quick, airy beneath his fingertips, before taking a deeper turn, his fingers hitting the keys at just the right contingency, the result of endless hours of application and practice. He could feel the notes, in his very bones, flowing to his very fingertips seamlessly, his eyes shut tight as he grasped for the words to the song.
It had been a moment before his voice had actually pierced the air – his tones sounded alien to him, foreign, much like a long-lost family member, one he hardly knew yet loved dearly. After all, he loved his voice in many ways, as much as he hated it in others. Singing had never been a man’s art where he was from – it was instead for the weak, defenseless. Which was why it felt so compromising, letting that part of him show, especially in the presence of someone else – yet, he couldn’t feel an ounce of remorse towards his actions. It felt so right, satiating the child in ways he’d never known possible. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to take back his actions, nor did he want to –
He continued singing, his fingers flying over the keys without fail, a smile slipping onto his features as the lyrics slipped off his tongue, foreign accent sorely lost in the vocals. No, he deduced, there weren’t many things in the world that could bring someone to peace. But music? Music was perfect, untouchable by opinion, a medicine, a drug he was sorely addicted to, one of the only things on the earth that brought him true peace, Zen, tranquility. He was lost in the moment, with only the keys at his fingertips, the story on his lips – nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing at all.
And, at long last, the moment was over.
Rafael slowly drew his hands away from the instrument, almost self-consciously, as the paleness slowly overtook his features once more, tension creeping into his build. For some reason, he could shake the unsettling feeling slowly weighing down on his shoulders – what had he done? Ruined a reputation? Was Lydia going to tell? He should have known better, than to think that something so perfect could last forever. Nothing ever lasted. A drug, once bringing the boy endless pleasure, now left him hungry, weak, exposed before a mere acquaintance. A pool of dread crept into his gut – this was terrible.
Nonetheless, he would do well to hide his feelings – he swallowed hard, a seamless mask of indifference slipping onto his features as he shifted on the stool, brown eyes gazing down at grass-stained sneakers as he chewed his lip, rubbing his neck in an effort to relieve some of the tension. “So, what do you think?” he asked, a well-feigned chuckle leaving his lips. “Decent enough for company, eh?” [/font]
@Lydia Cooper
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
18 Apr 2020, 23:07
Forbidden Voices
As Rafael made his way towards the piano, Lydia couldn’t help but notice that he suddenly looked kind of pale and tense, and the first thought that came to her mind was that the boy looked scared, almost as if he had stage fright. But if he did, why did he ask her if he could sing? Maybe he expected Lydia to say no, and now the girl had put him in an awkward position.
She had almost voiced her doubts, but then the sight of Rafael there, sitting in front of the grand piano, looked just right, like he was supposed to be there, like he was in the right place. She was so curious to know how good he was, if he just had a talent for it, or if he had studied or both, if he was going to be amazing or if he would have been not that good.
Lydia noticed how the Gryffindor boy looked concentrated as he started playing, and she decided to concentrate completely on the music. She closed her eyes and just listened. She recognised the song, having heard it at the radio from time to time; the melody was nice, soothing, kind of bittersweet; the words were intimate, personal, they talked about life experiences, of victories and defeats and losses. Lydia wondered even more who the boy in front of her was, why did he choose this song, what were his thoughts as he played. She was so intrigued by him; already from the beginning of their encounter, she could tell that Rafael had an interesting point of view on music that resembled hers, and in that moment her curiosity got poked again, as the different amount of pressure given to the keys sent chills down her spine, goosebumps forming on her skin. And in all of that, Rafael hadn’t sang yet, only played the melody on the piano.
And he was bloody good at it.
The moment he started singing, Lydia opened her eyes and stared at Rafael, noticing he had closed his eyes. His voice was beautiful, soft and warm while being light at the same time; it felt a little bit like the warm wind that in the really hot summer days brings you some refreshment, without being properly cold. The Gryffindor boy looked completely immersed in the song, his face now open in a small smile. His fingers were moving with experience over the keys, Lydia noticed, and in her mind even more questions formed: she wanted to ask for how long he had been playing, where did his passion for singing come from.
As the song came to an end, Lydia wished she could just ask the boy to sing it again. She almost asked, but then noticed how quickly the boy if front of her changed his body language; he looked more tense, and definitely paler than before, as Lydia saw him looking down at his sneakers and chewing on his bottom lip.
She let out a small laugh, her eyes warm and sincere as she looked at the boy.
“That was bloody good, Rafael,” she said as she gave the Gryffindor boy a smile. “For a couple of times I had goosebumps all over my skin! Look!” She added and then lifted her arm and showed it to him. “This wasn’t just decent, this was extremely good. I was really tempted to ask you to sing it again when you finished the song,” she said, almost whispering the last part of the sentence, before she briefly shook her head. Lydia smiled again, then looked at the piano, before looking back at the boy, unsure wether to ask or not all of the questions she had in her mind. She decided not to, or at least not the more personal ones, not wanting to look impolite and noisy, even if her curiosity was nagging at her.
“Have you played for long, or took any singing lesson?” She gave in to her curiosity a little bit, as she leaned a little bit on the piano, careful not to accidentally ruin it. “I can’t help but ask that, you were really good. And the way the notes sounded…”
@Rafael D'Spacito
"Everything beautiful is ruined eventually."
|| PART VEELA || ALLURING || LOVELY CREATURE || SCREAM