Garnet had begun to think that The Play was never going to get off the ground. She had a complete cast list, but hadn't gotten around to announcing anything. The score wasn't anywhere close to finished; there were other, more important things to do, but that didn't stop her from feeling disappointed. The tension in the apartment did little to ease her mind -- Hamel kept to himself for the most part, no matter how she tried to engage him. Raiel, presently, had disappeared. Likely, he'd gone one floor up, to where he'd kept his Piano
( ... )
It was empty, is what it was. Perfect - his playing was always perfect once he knew the song - but completely devoid of feeling.
Once he realized there was nothing there, that he was playing his favourite song and there was absolutely nothing to it, he slid his fingers down several keys and just stopped, like a recording abruptly cutting off in a burst of noise. He stared down at the piano while the sound lingered in the air; he was unsettled, quickly growing toward panic.
His music had never just not worked before.
He breathed deep, closed his eyes, and tried to keep his hands from shaking as he started into Firebird instead. The notes began, quiet, almost timid, and grew in strength as he got a few measures in. Firebird had been with him the longest, always came when he called, took hardly any effort to summon and half the time only needed the first few notes of the song to manifest
( ... )
Garnet lingered outside for quite sometime, ear pressed to the door. Discordant notes of frustration, and then a second piece, ending with a resounding thud of the fall board over the keys. She paused, waiting for another sound, but none came. Slowly, the grasped the doorknob, turned it, and eased the door open. The hinges creaked loudly, and she winced, her quiet entrance ruined.
He snapped up at the squeak of the hinges to see Garnet sneaking in the door. It took him a minute to process the image; he just stared at her until what he was seeing made sense.
She'd heard, hadn't she? For some reason, that was even worse than the problem itself.
He turned away, one hand settling over his mouth, the other dropping to the fall board, hand at his opposite elbow. He'd turned his blind side to her; otherwise he still would've been able to see her in his peripheral vision, and she would've been able to see the tears rising to his eye.
Turning the last corner, Harry saw the building in front of him and wondered for about that thousandth time what the hell he was thinking.
Sure, he'd gone out seeking absurdly powerful beings who had done their level best to murder him before. He'd even gone to ones costume party. But generally the fate of the world was at stake, or lives were at risk, or he was getting paid. This was none of those things, so why was he going to talk to the man who had almost killed him and his fiancee and killed a whole lot of other people?
Because he wasn't the one who did it, even if he probably thinks he does, and you know exactly how it feels to have blood on your hands.
Some days he hated having a conscience.
Dismissing the tracking spell, Harry sighed and made his way toward the front door.
It just happened that, as Harry was about to open the front door, it opened on it's own. Standing on the other side of the threshold was Garnet. She stopped short, surprised to see someone on the other side of the door. After a moment, recognition dawned.
"...Harry?" she asked, both because she wasn't certain she remembered his name correctly, and also because she wondered... "W-what brings you here?"
"Hey Garnet," Harry replied with a nod. "Don't worry, I left the lynch mob at home. I told them if they kept fighting I was going to turn the car around, but they didn't listen. Can Hamel come out to play? I think I may be able to help him."
Subtlety was for those who hadn't recently taken head injuries.
Garnet stared at him for a moment, mouth gaping. Her exchanges with Harry had been few, but she would have called him an acquaintance, she supposed. It took a moment for her to pick through what was meant to be serious, and what was intended in jest.
"He's kept mostly to himself lately," she replied, finally. "I can show you in, I suppose, but I can't guarantee you that he'll be willing to talk..."
Threatened to bite off my hand when I offered to make him something to eat, she thought to herself, but dared not share that bit. He'd been at his worst then, surely.
Even after Harry's visit, Hamel wasn't really expecting anyone to show up. It was going on midday and everyone seemed to be out. For Hamel, he found it perfect. There wasn't anyone to ask him if he was hungry, nobody to give him that worried looks as if they wanted to say something, no self conscious thoughts when it came to exercising.
In fact, that's exactly what he was doing right now. After a few minutes of pushing furniture around to make room, he took off his shirt and started his routine. Maybe it was days without actually eating much of anything aside from the occasional bread, but his routine still felt a lot harder way too soon than it should be.
He was somewhere in the 30s in push-ups when he heard the doorknob being turned.
Flute peered inside the room, very shyly, and almost withdrew back out before gaining her courage and opening it fully.
"Hello Hamel," she said quietly. And she wished it wasn't as awkward as it turned out to be, but... well, she hadn't seen him since the time he had his teeth sunk into her jugular vein. A little awkwardness was only natural.
He paused halfway through another push-up, his body tense and his eyes wide. He..He wasn't ready for this, he wasn't ready to handle her very presence around him. At the same time, just hearing her voice brought an instant blush to his cheeks with his heart pounding rampantly. Totally mixed signals and Hamel had no real way to know which he should listen to more; The fear or the attraction.
Still conflicted, He slowly got up from the ground to his feet, eyeing Flute with a blank stare. Small patches of pink rose to his cheeks as he realized that once more, he was caught by a woman without wearing a shirt. At least it was the right one. That's not the point.
"H-Hey." he muttered after swallowing hard at the situation. His eyes gave their distance a careful study, only being slightly thankful that they were suitably enough apart.
It took a moment to stop staring at Hamel's chest, first off. It's not like she'd never seen it before, but it was just so pretty.
Flute snapped out of it and looked up at him, smiling shyly. "Hi," she said softly. There would be no getting around this awkwardness. So in her typical way, Flute decided there was no solution but to attack it head on.
"You look... so much better. I'm glad you weren't hurt worse... and I'm so glad you're feeling better!"
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Once he realized there was nothing there, that he was playing his favourite song and there was absolutely nothing to it, he slid his fingers down several keys and just stopped, like a recording abruptly cutting off in a burst of noise. He stared down at the piano while the sound lingered in the air; he was unsettled, quickly growing toward panic.
His music had never just not worked before.
He breathed deep, closed his eyes, and tried to keep his hands from shaking as he started into Firebird instead. The notes began, quiet, almost timid, and grew in strength as he got a few measures in. Firebird had been with him the longest, always came when he called, took hardly any effort to summon and half the time only needed the first few notes of the song to manifest ( ... )
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She'd heard, hadn't she? For some reason, that was even worse than the problem itself.
He turned away, one hand settling over his mouth, the other dropping to the fall board, hand at his opposite elbow. He'd turned his blind side to her; otherwise he still would've been able to see her in his peripheral vision, and she would've been able to see the tears rising to his eye.
Reply
Sure, he'd gone out seeking absurdly powerful beings who had done their level best to murder him before. He'd even gone to ones costume party. But generally the fate of the world was at stake, or lives were at risk, or he was getting paid. This was none of those things, so why was he going to talk to the man who had almost killed him and his fiancee and killed a whole lot of other people?
Because he wasn't the one who did it, even if he probably thinks he does, and you know exactly how it feels to have blood on your hands.
Some days he hated having a conscience.
Dismissing the tracking spell, Harry sighed and made his way toward the front door.
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"...Harry?" she asked, both because she wasn't certain she remembered his name correctly, and also because she wondered... "W-what brings you here?"
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Subtlety was for those who hadn't recently taken head injuries.
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"He's kept mostly to himself lately," she replied, finally. "I can show you in, I suppose, but I can't guarantee you that he'll be willing to talk..."
Threatened to bite off my hand when I offered to make him something to eat, she thought to herself, but dared not share that bit. He'd been at his worst then, surely.
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In fact, that's exactly what he was doing right now. After a few minutes of pushing furniture around to make room, he took off his shirt and started his routine. Maybe it was days without actually eating much of anything aside from the occasional bread, but his routine still felt a lot harder way too soon than it should be.
He was somewhere in the 30s in push-ups when he heard the doorknob being turned.
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"Hello Hamel," she said quietly. And she wished it wasn't as awkward as it turned out to be, but... well, she hadn't seen him since the time he had his teeth sunk into her jugular vein. A little awkwardness was only natural.
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He paused halfway through another push-up, his body tense and his eyes wide. He..He wasn't ready for this, he wasn't ready to handle her very presence around him. At the same time, just hearing her voice brought an instant blush to his cheeks with his heart pounding rampantly. Totally mixed signals and Hamel had no real way to know which he should listen to more; The fear or the attraction.
Still conflicted, He slowly got up from the ground to his feet, eyeing Flute with a blank stare. Small patches of pink rose to his cheeks as he realized that once more, he was caught by a woman without wearing a shirt. At least it was the right one. That's not the point.
"H-Hey." he muttered after swallowing hard at the situation. His eyes gave their distance a careful study, only being slightly thankful that they were suitably enough apart.
Reply
Flute snapped out of it and looked up at him, smiling shyly. "Hi," she said softly. There would be no getting around this awkwardness. So in her typical way, Flute decided there was no solution but to attack it head on.
"You look... so much better. I'm glad you weren't hurt worse... and I'm so glad you're feeling better!"
Reply
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