Don't go on the beach... Realize the lions have come in...
When Ghost was a boy he'd taken piano lessons with a kind old lady who lived down the street from his grandmother's house on Burnt Church Road. She'd taught him proper finger placement and how to read music and the difference between forte and pianissimo. She'd come by quite regularly to visit with Miz Delieverance, were it for advise or herbal remedies or maybe even some more advanced magicks. Whatever it was the old woman wanted, Miz Delieverance had never paid for Ghost's lessons with money.
While he hadn't turned out to be a wonderful pianist (he'd always been partial to the guitar), as he sat himself at the piano in the rec room of the compound, his fingers lay gently and expertly on the ivory keys. The first few notes of one of the practice pieces he'd learned as a boy tinkled out from the instrument, blending smoothly into a tune he'd worked on recently, huddled in his newly finished hut as he scribbled out notes on a wrinkled scrap of paper. Soon, he moved on to something different, something familiar that he'd heard and performed a thousand times before, but had perhaps never played on this particular instrument. It wasn't quiet the same without Steve's guitar or Steve's voice to help him along, but Ghost plucked out the odd, chiming melody of "World" anyway, the song Lost Souls? closed every gig with. His pale, thin fingers moved gracefully over the keys, his soft, raspy drawl as he sung the words barely audible over the sounds of the piano.
He missed The Yew and being able to perform in front of all the lost children who flocked to the tiny club to be amongst kin. He missed their cheers and their passion and their energy. Above all, he missed standing alongside Steve on that little, careworn stage.
Still, he'd decided, this piano on this island... would have to do for now. Fate wasn't something you questioned. It was something you accepted.
We are not afraid... Let the night come...
[OOC: Open to all! Other musicians perhaps... or anyone who just wants to hear the little pigmently-challenged boy play... And he wouldn't mind chatting with Arthur, of course.]
While he hadn't turned out to be a wonderful pianist (he'd always been partial to the guitar), as he sat himself at the piano in the rec room of the compound, his fingers lay gently and expertly on the ivory keys. The first few notes of one of the practice pieces he'd learned as a boy tinkled out from the instrument, blending smoothly into a tune he'd worked on recently, huddled in his newly finished hut as he scribbled out notes on a wrinkled scrap of paper. Soon, he moved on to something different, something familiar that he'd heard and performed a thousand times before, but had perhaps never played on this particular instrument. It wasn't quiet the same without Steve's guitar or Steve's voice to help him along, but Ghost plucked out the odd, chiming melody of "World" anyway, the song Lost Souls? closed every gig with. His pale, thin fingers moved gracefully over the keys, his soft, raspy drawl as he sung the words barely audible over the sounds of the piano.
He missed The Yew and being able to perform in front of all the lost children who flocked to the tiny club to be amongst kin. He missed their cheers and their passion and their energy. Above all, he missed standing alongside Steve on that little, careworn stage.
Still, he'd decided, this piano on this island... would have to do for now. Fate wasn't something you questioned. It was something you accepted.
We are not afraid... Let the night come...
[OOC: Open to all! Other musicians perhaps... or anyone who just wants to hear the little pigmently-challenged boy play... And he wouldn't mind chatting with Arthur, of course.]