Prelude, Op. 10, No. 6, in B minor
The last thing House really expected to discover when he entered the bar was a piano sitting in the corner. He was in between waiting for his next dose of Oxycontin from Cuddy, he was bored, he was in pain, he was aggravated from pretty much everything, he wanted a drink. Or two. Maybe three. Or, hey, maybe even four. Enough drink to take the edge off everything that was bothering the hell out of him; the whole thing with Cuddy was bothering him like an infected itch that he couldn’t reach to scratch.
Truthfully, the moment he saw the piano, he couldn't remember if it had never been there before now, or if it had always been there and he’d just never noticed because every other time he’d been in the bar he’d been thoroughly distracted with other things. It didn’t really matter either way; House was getting used to things just turning up in this place… which he didn’t really like. Complacency in this creepy, luxurious hellhole was something he really didn’t want. Well, that was another reason to get drunk, then -- to forget for a while that he was becoming complacent about being stuck in here and complacent towards the strange goings on as if they were every day occurrences.
After he downed a Firewhiskey, he ordered another straight away and then took it across to the piano. No one else was in the bar, just him and the bartender who was paying him little mind. It was a Steinway concert grand, which made House’s eyes go wide. Beautiful pianos, Steinways were; incredibly expensive, too. After he set his drink down, he ran his hand over the polished Ebony finish of the lid before flipping it back carefully to reveal the keys. He sat on the stool and adjusted the height before he started to play a few random chords to test the tuning, closing his eyes and listening to the rich sound.
He warmed his fingers up with an F# chord pattern, depressing the damper peddle a few times and listening to the sudden swell in the music filling the room. Opening his eyes to look down at the keys, he began to play quiet, improvised blues, the music already having a calming effect on him. The alcohol no doubt helped with calming him, too.
He tinkered for a little while, until he found himself starting to play Chopin’s Prelude, opus 10 no. 6 in B minor. House liked Chopin for how passionate the composer’s music was; the expressive depth of it. He played the opus slowly, his eyes closed, feeling the muscles in his shoulders slowly unwind and the tension in his body ease off. Playing music, especially the piano, was one of the very few things that made House drop his guard because he often became so caught up in playing that he’d forget about everything else for a while.
[OOC: BECAUSE I'M A BIT OF A MUSIC FREAK - I share with you Chopin's Prelude, Op. 10, No. 6, in B minor. Yessss.]
Truthfully, the moment he saw the piano, he couldn't remember if it had never been there before now, or if it had always been there and he’d just never noticed because every other time he’d been in the bar he’d been thoroughly distracted with other things. It didn’t really matter either way; House was getting used to things just turning up in this place… which he didn’t really like. Complacency in this creepy, luxurious hellhole was something he really didn’t want. Well, that was another reason to get drunk, then -- to forget for a while that he was becoming complacent about being stuck in here and complacent towards the strange goings on as if they were every day occurrences.
After he downed a Firewhiskey, he ordered another straight away and then took it across to the piano. No one else was in the bar, just him and the bartender who was paying him little mind. It was a Steinway concert grand, which made House’s eyes go wide. Beautiful pianos, Steinways were; incredibly expensive, too. After he set his drink down, he ran his hand over the polished Ebony finish of the lid before flipping it back carefully to reveal the keys. He sat on the stool and adjusted the height before he started to play a few random chords to test the tuning, closing his eyes and listening to the rich sound.
He warmed his fingers up with an F# chord pattern, depressing the damper peddle a few times and listening to the sudden swell in the music filling the room. Opening his eyes to look down at the keys, he began to play quiet, improvised blues, the music already having a calming effect on him. The alcohol no doubt helped with calming him, too.
He tinkered for a little while, until he found himself starting to play Chopin’s Prelude, opus 10 no. 6 in B minor. House liked Chopin for how passionate the composer’s music was; the expressive depth of it. He played the opus slowly, his eyes closed, feeling the muscles in his shoulders slowly unwind and the tension in his body ease off. Playing music, especially the piano, was one of the very few things that made House drop his guard because he often became so caught up in playing that he’d forget about everything else for a while.
[OOC: BECAUSE I'M A BIT OF A MUSIC FREAK - I share with you Chopin's Prelude, Op. 10, No. 6, in B minor. Yessss.]