(no subject)
There is a slight man seated at the piano this afternoon, hacking his way through "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." There are several sheets of crisp music in front of him, which may give away that this is not his normal fare; Father Mulcahy tends to play music that he knows and loves by heart; ragtime, the occasional jazz, pieces that are bright and cheerful and peppy. This is none of those things, and it is difficult. That much can be seen through the care with which he picks out the notes, through the way that he's leaned forward toward the sheet music and how he frowns at it.
Bar had supplied it with his coffee (the coffee that is now resting, on a coaster, on the small sort of shelf down at the low end of the keyboard), and so he'd taken it to the piano to give it a try, but it is rather advanced, and as Mulcahy will gladly point out himself, he has never been more than a mediocre pianist. He plays for the joy it brings him, despite the notes that he misses and chords that are mashed.
This is, quite possibly, even worse than normal. The tempo seesaws back and forth as he hits parts that he can play more easily than others, and when he strikes wrong notes, he has to try one or two more times before he finds the right ones. It's all very well, though, as he wasn't feeling particularly inclined toward bright, cheerful, or peppy, this afternoon.
You may have seen him at the handwaved Christmas services, or have noticed a sign still attached to the noticeboard. He is unmistakably a priest, wearing Army khaki greens, but with a collared black shirt and the ever-present white hat, and the cross hanging around his neck.
[Tag: Hades, Hedwig]
Bar had supplied it with his coffee (the coffee that is now resting, on a coaster, on the small sort of shelf down at the low end of the keyboard), and so he'd taken it to the piano to give it a try, but it is rather advanced, and as Mulcahy will gladly point out himself, he has never been more than a mediocre pianist. He plays for the joy it brings him, despite the notes that he misses and chords that are mashed.
This is, quite possibly, even worse than normal. The tempo seesaws back and forth as he hits parts that he can play more easily than others, and when he strikes wrong notes, he has to try one or two more times before he finds the right ones. It's all very well, though, as he wasn't feeling particularly inclined toward bright, cheerful, or peppy, this afternoon.
You may have seen him at the handwaved Christmas services, or have noticed a sign still attached to the noticeboard. He is unmistakably a priest, wearing Army khaki greens, but with a collared black shirt and the ever-present white hat, and the cross hanging around his neck.
[Tag: Hades, Hedwig]