This Broken Jaw of Our Lost Kingdoms [Active, Open]
Characters: Machi Tobaye, Jonouchi Katsuya, others?
Setting: Grand Room
Time: Night 8, early
Summary: Machi plays the piano in the dark, Jono joins him
Warnings: Possible monsters, fail OP
The night was empty. Loud, stormy--dark, an oppressive darkness far blacker than his sunglasses had ever made anything, a darkness that smothered everything in the house, even thought--but empty, devoid of the monsters and other terrible things that usually came with the darkness. There was literally nothing but darkness and sound. It made Machi feel strange, hollow, like he was trapped in a vast, uncertain vacuum, the feeling sucked out of him. He was devoid of senses, or at least one of them, but others--hearing, touch, were far more sensitive than he remembered them being. With nothing else to do, no sight, no purpose, he felt his way to the piano, sitting hesitantly and waiting as though expecting something terrible to happen before feeling the keys carefully, finding them just as easy, just as familiar and comfortable as they had always been.
Sighing heavily as though resigned to the unpredictable, he began to play.
The notes swam the darkness, an impossible tide of sound that was drowned out, at least in part, by hammers and rain, but the Bach was important only to him anyway... it has always been like that, with a few rare exceptions: Lamiroir, and Anna... and no one else that really mattered...
Setting: Grand Room
Time: Night 8, early
Summary: Machi plays the piano in the dark, Jono joins him
Warnings: Possible monsters, fail OP
The night was empty. Loud, stormy--dark, an oppressive darkness far blacker than his sunglasses had ever made anything, a darkness that smothered everything in the house, even thought--but empty, devoid of the monsters and other terrible things that usually came with the darkness. There was literally nothing but darkness and sound. It made Machi feel strange, hollow, like he was trapped in a vast, uncertain vacuum, the feeling sucked out of him. He was devoid of senses, or at least one of them, but others--hearing, touch, were far more sensitive than he remembered them being. With nothing else to do, no sight, no purpose, he felt his way to the piano, sitting hesitantly and waiting as though expecting something terrible to happen before feeling the keys carefully, finding them just as easy, just as familiar and comfortable as they had always been.
Sighing heavily as though resigned to the unpredictable, he began to play.
The notes swam the darkness, an impossible tide of sound that was drowned out, at least in part, by hammers and rain, but the Bach was important only to him anyway... it has always been like that, with a few rare exceptions: Lamiroir, and Anna... and no one else that really mattered...