Pianist by Night
It's late, past midnight, and Alcuin's nightmares have driven him out of bed, wandering the corridors with the lazy curiosity of the insomniac, half asleep and looking for something to distract him from his troubles. He stops in the library, having gravitated there without realizing it. The library reminds him of Delaunay--books, languages, knowledge, and he runs his hand over a shelf, inhaling the smell of leather, paper, and dust. It brings a smile to his lips, and he could be mistaken for a ghost by moonlight, pale hair shining, beautiful as a sylph.
He stops at the piano and sits down, lifting the cover and running his fingers over the keys. Delaunay had never kept a piano, and he'd never been given the opportunity to learn music. A spy didn't need music, and a courtesan had other things to worry about. One finger presses a key, cheeks flushing at how loud the sound is in the empty room, but there's no one to hear his stumblings, so he presses on, choosing a few more keys.
When he finds the damper pedal, he uses it, pressing each key softly so as to create the quietest sound possible. Entirely untaught and with a natural ear for music, he is free to explore and make mistakes, his fingers picking out a D'Angeline tune, delicate and sweet.
If anyone else can't sleep, feel free to bother him, especially if you know anything about music. Alcuin would love to arrange himself some lessons.
He stops at the piano and sits down, lifting the cover and running his fingers over the keys. Delaunay had never kept a piano, and he'd never been given the opportunity to learn music. A spy didn't need music, and a courtesan had other things to worry about. One finger presses a key, cheeks flushing at how loud the sound is in the empty room, but there's no one to hear his stumblings, so he presses on, choosing a few more keys.
When he finds the damper pedal, he uses it, pressing each key softly so as to create the quietest sound possible. Entirely untaught and with a natural ear for music, he is free to explore and make mistakes, his fingers picking out a D'Angeline tune, delicate and sweet.
If anyone else can't sleep, feel free to bother him, especially if you know anything about music. Alcuin would love to arrange himself some lessons.