(no subject)
Sometimes, Charlie just likes to play along with the jukebox. He wakes up with a headache, say, or his hands ache (his Mom used to fuss about premature arthiritis, but Charlie's pretty sure there are other explanations). Sometimes, he just misses his Mom. The piano always makes him feel better. Back home, he had a full-sized grand that his Dad used to play while his Mom sang, and they cradled Charlie between them. Later, he'd sit and play on his own and, sometimes, his Mom would come and sing. Now, mostly, he plays on his own, or with Ed and Luna.
He tries not to miss his piano too much.
Missing home doesn't help any of them.
His playing jazz, something with no words (which means that, for once, he isn't singing), just noodling along and letting his hands tumble, and he can feel his headache receding, and his heartache...well, it sort of settles into itself. Music's always done that for him. He feels sort of sorry for people who don't get it. Across the room, the jukebox segues into a version of a Rolling Stones song that Charlie's never heard before, but he likes it, and he idly picks up the tune. He's always had a good ear; could sight read music, yeah, but he could pick up a tune from just listening to it.
So he sits there, and he plays the Rolling Stones, and he doesn't think about home or stiff fingers or anything else.
Eyes closed, he just lets himself get lost in the music for a while.
ooc: I'm attempting to be back. Excellent time to meet him!
He tries not to miss his piano too much.
Missing home doesn't help any of them.
His playing jazz, something with no words (which means that, for once, he isn't singing), just noodling along and letting his hands tumble, and he can feel his headache receding, and his heartache...well, it sort of settles into itself. Music's always done that for him. He feels sort of sorry for people who don't get it. Across the room, the jukebox segues into a version of a Rolling Stones song that Charlie's never heard before, but he likes it, and he idly picks up the tune. He's always had a good ear; could sight read music, yeah, but he could pick up a tune from just listening to it.
So he sits there, and he plays the Rolling Stones, and he doesn't think about home or stiff fingers or anything else.
Eyes closed, he just lets himself get lost in the music for a while.
ooc: I'm attempting to be back. Excellent time to meet him!