Your rhythm, my rhythm, same ol', same ol'...
Funny how a spur of the moment takes you down memory lane. Funny how finding the old music room, and the old, neglected piano just sitting there all on it's lonely lonesome would turn Sunday afternoon into a piano tuning bonanza. The suit jacket's hung over the back of a nearby chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up, he whiles away over an hour of finding tools, chatting with the darling Madeline about her sister, who got the piano as a yule gift from her husband, 'but she was unfortunately nowhere near as good a pianist'. If there's one thing he adores about the doll, among all the things he loves about her, it's her ability to talk and talk and talk. He's found his match, and he'll be damned if he isn't a happier demon for it.
All the keys tuned, all eighty-eight of them, he takes a seat and places his fingers on the ebonies and ivories. At first, just testing them, getting a feel for the voice and character of the old dame, and he can't help but hum along with her. She's a beauty; distinguished, elegant, so different from the old piano in his bar - the one he never really got to use - but not entirely dissimilar.
And slowly, the testing takes the shape of a melody, something to accompany another. It's not often the demon gets to sing, himself, but when he does, it's with a whole lot of heart, and a great deal of soul.
"No one on earth could feel like this; I'm thrown and overblown with bliss; there must be an angel playing with my heart, yeah.
I walk into an empty room, and suddenly my heart goes 'boom'! It's an orchestra of angels, an' they're playin' with my heart."
((Going afk and then some, board meeting ahoy! Later, 'gators!))
All the keys tuned, all eighty-eight of them, he takes a seat and places his fingers on the ebonies and ivories. At first, just testing them, getting a feel for the voice and character of the old dame, and he can't help but hum along with her. She's a beauty; distinguished, elegant, so different from the old piano in his bar - the one he never really got to use - but not entirely dissimilar.
And slowly, the testing takes the shape of a melody, something to accompany another. It's not often the demon gets to sing, himself, but when he does, it's with a whole lot of heart, and a great deal of soul.
"No one on earth could feel like this; I'm thrown and overblown with bliss; there must be an angel playing with my heart, yeah.
I walk into an empty room, and suddenly my heart goes 'boom'! It's an orchestra of angels, an' they're playin' with my heart."
((Going afk and then some, board meeting ahoy! Later, 'gators!))