It's a pretty good crowd for a Thursday - the regular crowd comes and goes. There's a pale man dressed all in white, sitting down at the piano
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Yrael plays, sending all the sweetness of nostalgia for more innocent times to his listeners, times unburdened and untainted by more recent worries and cares. Though even that sweetness is colored with the knowledge that those times are gone.
Yrael plays, pale lids closed, hiding bright green eyes. The music is moving, the half-familiar melody catching at those half-remembered memories each listener has, calling them to the forefront of their minds, wrapping them in the warmth of those memories. Sheltering them.
There's a woman at the bar listening. She likes the song and is giving it quite a bit of her attention.
Which is saying something since the fact that she's currently changing colors is pretty attention-grabbing.
Right now she's a shade of orange much louder than the carnival-like sound coming from the piano, but that's thankfully darkening to a nicer, reddish color.
She'll applaud when he's done and he'll notice her then if he doesn't notice her technicolor skin before that.
Yrael tends to play with his eyes closed, to better feel the emotions of the listeners, those pulled forth by his music and the recoil responses from the initial feelings. And so on, until the varying shades are mixed and lost, and the tides quieten.
Yrael's fingers are skilled beyond measure, their melodies and counter melodies, their harmonies and rhythms working together to weave feelings out of nothing. The memories called up by the song are sweet, untainted in themselves, but their sweetness is tempered with the bitterness of knowing those times are gone. Nostalgia makes the sweet times sweeter, but those times can only be experienced with the pangs of loss.
The bitterness isn't as bad to a new mother who has the whole future to look forward to for her child's sake. It's difficult to feel nostalgia's sting of loss when there's a new life just waiting to experience it all.
But when she's finished her now-cooled butterbeer, she goes and puts the customary bread in Yrael's jar, assuming he has one.
"It's been a while since I've seen you," she says whenever he has a rest between songs, her skin now darkened from the threatening red all the way to maroon.
Yrael projects emotions to his listeners through his music. He always has - and he plays bitterness, projected with the sweetness. He is of the opinion, from his own experiences, that one can't tell what is sweet, what is joyful, if one does not know its opposite.
And he has no jar, alas, for he does not play for money. Nor for bread, either, since he doesn't eat bread.
"It has been," he admits, when the music pauses, much later. "Though, this place being what it is, I would be hard-pressed to say exactly how long it has been."
Yrael's music is soft, the half-familiar melody sad and sweet - good times past, seen through the bittersweet gaze of the present. Lilting melodies and countermelodies intertwine without thought, like the silhouettes of trees, like fingers as hands find one another.
Yrael can feel the pain coming from Thirteen's direction, feel the sweetness that its bitterness stems from. The music grows, its melodies intricate, precariously balanced on the counter-melodies, like the feeling of walking on eggshells, careful not to push, not to upset the balance, not to crack.
Eventually, Yrael recognizes who it is that these feelings are coming from, and the song shifts, moving to a close.
Comments 52
(ooc: American Honey By Lady A)
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(ooc: Where'd you get that? :\)
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(OOC:Just a guess. I was watching the video and it kinda fit)
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(ooc: Noticed none of the clues in the post?)
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Which is saying something since the fact that she's currently changing colors is pretty attention-grabbing.
Right now she's a shade of orange much louder than the carnival-like sound coming from the piano, but that's thankfully darkening to a nicer, reddish color.
She'll applaud when he's done and he'll notice her then if he doesn't notice her technicolor skin before that.
Reply
Yrael's fingers are skilled beyond measure, their melodies and counter melodies, their harmonies and rhythms working together to weave feelings out of nothing. The memories called up by the song are sweet, untainted in themselves, but their sweetness is tempered with the bitterness of knowing those times are gone. Nostalgia makes the sweet times sweeter, but those times can only be experienced with the pangs of loss.
Reply
But when she's finished her now-cooled butterbeer, she goes and puts the customary bread in Yrael's jar, assuming he has one.
"It's been a while since I've seen you," she says whenever he has a rest between songs, her skin now darkened from the threatening red all the way to maroon.
Reply
And he has no jar, alas, for he does not play for money. Nor for bread, either, since he doesn't eat bread.
"It has been," he admits, when the music pauses, much later. "Though, this place being what it is, I would be hard-pressed to say exactly how long it has been."
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[ooc: Piano Man - Billy Joel]
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Yrael's music is soft, the half-familiar melody sad and sweet - good times past, seen through the bittersweet gaze of the present. Lilting melodies and countermelodies intertwine without thought, like the silhouettes of trees, like fingers as hands find one another.
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Eventually, Yrael recognizes who it is that these feelings are coming from, and the song shifts, moving to a close.
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(The comment has been removed)
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(The comment has been removed)
(As it is, the look on Yrael's face and the tone of the music have a most definite thread of smugness running through them, now.)
"How have you been?"
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