Dig My Grave [Active, Closed]
Characters: Machi Tobaye, Anna Marshall
Setting: Grand Room
Time: Day 005, late afternoon, before nightfall
Summary: Machi plays the piano and suddenly finds what he's been looking for all this time.
Warnings: Liar Machi, possible sap.
The search underground had turned up nothing. Or relatively nothing; there had been doors, doors they could not get into, and a passageway that actually looped back in on itself, but no Anna. And Anna was all he had gone down there for, when it boiled down to it. At least for now. He wasn't interested--except nominally--in the details of the underground passage. He was no longer focused so much on exploration. His goal was direct and clear and that was to find Anna, to rescue her, to make sure she wasn't hurt and make up for his earlier weakness. He wanted to get her back. That was all.
The frustration from that was part of why Machi was playing the piano now, to be frank, with nothing else to do and no resources to be tapped. The melody he wove was full of his pent-up energy, his frustration and... it wasn't rage, really, and it certainly wasn't grief--though that was there--it was a feeling he was completely unfamiliar with and which consumed him--or grated at him, depending on which was which. The notes from his graceful playing, full of beauty even when he wasn't totally working to make it so, were a natural product of his energy, and they changed and fluctuated with his rhythm. It wove together, however, as a coherent piece, his subconscious doing what most people's consciousnesses would never be able to do
Why hadn't he been able to find her?! He changed to a minor key, pressing down the sostenuto pedal with his foot as he did so.
The idea that she might have left the house had occurred to him, but he was more certain that she had been somewhere behind one of those doors. He was, in fact, all but convinced, and the frustration, the uselessness on his part and their (Zetsu's, Mio's, and his own) collective inability to get into them ate at him. The crescendo of his piece had passed and he continued playing, trying to burn out whatever the angry thing that was eating at him was.
Setting: Grand Room
Time: Day 005, late afternoon, before nightfall
Summary: Machi plays the piano and suddenly finds what he's been looking for all this time.
Warnings: Liar Machi, possible sap.
The search underground had turned up nothing. Or relatively nothing; there had been doors, doors they could not get into, and a passageway that actually looped back in on itself, but no Anna. And Anna was all he had gone down there for, when it boiled down to it. At least for now. He wasn't interested--except nominally--in the details of the underground passage. He was no longer focused so much on exploration. His goal was direct and clear and that was to find Anna, to rescue her, to make sure she wasn't hurt and make up for his earlier weakness. He wanted to get her back. That was all.
The frustration from that was part of why Machi was playing the piano now, to be frank, with nothing else to do and no resources to be tapped. The melody he wove was full of his pent-up energy, his frustration and... it wasn't rage, really, and it certainly wasn't grief--though that was there--it was a feeling he was completely unfamiliar with and which consumed him--or grated at him, depending on which was which. The notes from his graceful playing, full of beauty even when he wasn't totally working to make it so, were a natural product of his energy, and they changed and fluctuated with his rhythm. It wove together, however, as a coherent piece, his subconscious doing what most people's consciousnesses would never be able to do
Why hadn't he been able to find her?! He changed to a minor key, pressing down the sostenuto pedal with his foot as he did so.
The idea that she might have left the house had occurred to him, but he was more certain that she had been somewhere behind one of those doors. He was, in fact, all but convinced, and the frustration, the uselessness on his part and their (Zetsu's, Mio's, and his own) collective inability to get into them ate at him. The crescendo of his piece had passed and he continued playing, trying to burn out whatever the angry thing that was eating at him was.