[OTA] I'm sure I used to be so free.

[i_machiavellian]

Jack of Spades. That's going to take some getting used to. Maybe it was slightly less demeaning than being called a number, even though he's had plenty of time to get used to that. But he has a feeling that they'll change his name from Michael to Jack whether he likes it or not

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[maidenthespade]

Katya's orders were to send word as soon as Michael arrives, so it is not long after a Two comes running in to her outer office, out of breath and triumphant, that she follows her ears.

She leans against door jamb and waits for last strains of piano to die on air.

"I hope someday you feel comfortable enough for happy Mozart instead of torn Beethoven." Almost she would feel bad for doing this to him, but Spades are needing someone of his sensibilities, and Spades must always come first.

[i_machiavellian]

Her voice has him turning his head around and smiling to greet her. His attention is momentarily drawn back to the piano. The velvet is smoothed over the keys and the lid to his reopened Pandora's box closed softly over the long strip of cloth.

"It's nothing personal. Mozart is harder to play." Or so he says. And yet that smile might say something else.

"Come in. There's room for two." And plenty of other old chairs lying around if she doesn't want to sit next to him on the bench. The room has been regularly cleaned and well taken care of despite the aging piano that will need a bit of tuning. One would expect nothing less from a well-maintained Castle.

[expluribus]

This? This was big news, wasn't it? Not challenging for the spot of Jack but being appointed by the Queen. One would think it was news worthy of sharing with someone one had known for almost their entire life before it became semi-public knowledge. One would think one might hear it from the man himself. Surely, that wasn't too much to ask?

Lasse didn't think so but what did Lasse know, eh? He didn't hear about it from Michael but from one of his cute little kitchen minions, a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Two of his own Suit ('Chef, Chef! Did ye hear? Mista Brennan's been made Jack o' Spades!') who'd enquired excitedly if they were going to cook up a feast for Chef's friend. He'd smiled and told the boy that a newly appointed Jack probably had better things to do than indulge in debauchery but he could ask him

[i_machiavellian]

He had been too entrenched in Beethoven's frustration and depression to notice Lasse's arrival. The last note was cut a quarter of a second short as melancholy gave way to surprise and a creeping sense of uneasiness.

Lasse. In this Castle. In this room. Why? How did he know to come here?

Oh.

"Don't you start with that," he said as he got to his feet. Oh. No.

"I'm sorry. I was going to tell you." Tonight. Never.

[expluribus]

"'That' being what, my lord? Behaving myself according to the rules of this magnificent-" shithole "-house?"

He hadn't started anything. He was a guest in this castle and guests behaved regardless how said guest felt about these halls or the people inhabiting them.

"I'm sure you were." Liar. "But now the cat's out of the bag, we should celebrate. I've brought champagne."

Lasse held up the bottle and the champagne flutes - delicate, long-stemmed glassware - and his smile widened. Setting the glasses down on the polished piano top, he uncorked the bottle. Not with a loud pop and fizzy wine spraying everywhere the way amateurs liked it. No, it was a very quiet 'plop' and all in all a rather dry affair.

"Not your preferred choice of drink, I know, but this fits the occasion better, does it not, Lord Michael?"

Piss in a flute Michael had once called it, causing the blond man to snort it out of his nose, back in the day when they didn't know better. When they cared less.

[i_machiavellian]

Michael's shoulders sagged as his hands retreated from the keys. Lasse had every right to be unhappy about this situation they found themselves in. Rubbing it in was cruel, though. He didn't have to rub it in

[bitchwithabite]

Amy hasn't heard Piano in this hallway...ever. Not since she was a child, anyway, and it can only mean one thing. There's a new addition to the Castle's Spades, and she needs to go see him. Now. It isn't even bad, she just hasn't spoken to him much lately and she misses him.

So when she finds Michael's things outside the door and sees him inside the room, well, she's at least polite enough to wait for him to finish playing before she closes the door and settles onto the bench beside him.

"I thought you'd never move back in," she hums, poking at a key or two. "Thought you hated it here."

[i_machiavellian]

"I do hate it here," he confirmed with a few nods and a chuckle. God, what the hell was he doing in this room? Medea would be

"I uh... Chives wasn't going to let me stay in Town anymore." He entwined his fingers and rested his hands in his lap, letting her do the playing.

"Why are you down here?"

[bitchwithabite]

She bumped him with her shoulder, pressing down three keys that did not harmonize at all before her own hand fell away.

"I heard you," she answered simply. "You're the only one I've ever heard play this, and this hallway never has music in it. Your stuff outside just sorta confirmed it. Why're you here?" And what would justify Chives forcing him into the Castle?

[i_machiavellian]

"I uh... well. Technically I am procrastinating moving in." And procrastinating telling her the answer to the question she was really asking. And he could keep on procrastinating by telling her about Beethoven and how he must have been feeling at the time he composed this music. What it must be like for a musician to grapple with the fact that he was going to become completely deaf and never again be able to hear his creations

[acethatmatters]

Michael had never exactly made much in the way of a splash. He didn't tend to draw people's attention the way other high-ranking members of the Suit did (or certain low-ranked members, for that matter, not that he'll be naming names). But that, in Julien's opinion, wasn't a bad thing in a Jack. It may have been the problem with one of their more recent Jacks, even.

So of course, he will have to seek the older man out to give his congratulations. He does not, however, expect to find Michael playing music, that is for sure. And still, he'll stand in the doorway and listen without interrupting until it appears the man is finished.

And then Michael will hear the Ace of Spades' applause.

[i_machiavellian]

Michael had always found it awkward having someone walk in on him while he was playing. He was fine if he knew they were there all along, but he played differently when there was an audience. There was just something a little intrusive about having someone steal a part of your soul while you laid it bare between black and white keys.

Especially if that someone happened to be his son. All at once the catharsis left him feeling relieved and vulnerable and uncomfortable.

If he had been given the opportunity to raise Julien he would have taught him how to play. Now it is merely a broken promise. An unfulfilled dream.

"Thank you." Michael's voice almost cracks beneath the strain. He'll need a moment to collect the unseen shattered pieces of himself off the floor.

"Good afternoon, Lord Ace. Didn't think you would find me here."

[acethatmatters]

Julien smiles slightly, steps further into the room, and shrugs. "I would hardly be so very good at my job if I couldn't find someone I was looking for in the Castle, now would I?"

A poor hunter he'd be, indeed.

"Have you got a few moments, now, then?"

Now that you've been found, that is.

[i_machiavellian]

"Looking for me?" he asked with furrowed brows. The piano was abandoned as he leaned back and put enough distance between the bench and the keys to stand.

"What can I do for you?"

[headfollowheart]

This would mark the second time she found herself in a Jack of Spades' employ, Zoe thought with an amused sort of smile as she knocked lightly on the door. She had every hope that Michael would be better than Sieben - who, perhaps, would have eventually grown into it if he hadn't committed suicide first.

"I hear congratulations are in order." Or sympathies. But Christmas cookies were good for both, right?

[i_machiavellian]

"You can leave your congratulations at the door. Only condolences are accepted here," he joked. No, it won't be so bad. Will it?

"Ah. You've found my weakness." One of several, he mused. Apart from diabetes there was also lung cancer and liver failure.

"Come inside. What happened to the avant-garde baking?"

[headfollowheart]

"I pawned it off on small children and Diamonds," Zoe said dryly as she set the plate on top of the piano.

"I use this room sometimes," she added. "Playing piano is surprisingly good for thinking." She preferred Gershwin when she wanted to think; Liszt when she wanted to have to concentrate too much to.

[i_machiavellian]

He stood and covered the piano so as to not get any crumbs that might stray out of the plate falling in between the keys. He slipped out from between the bench and the piano and folded his arms over the wooden top of the instrument, eyeing the cookies. They looked too well-adorned for Michael to want to destroy them so soon.

"I haven't been in here in a long time," he confessed. His gaze wandered from the corner of the room to the ceiling before falling back down upon Zoe again.

"Good to know it is still in use." Music had been one of the very few things that made sense in his world before he left the Deck.

"I think you should sit and play a piece," he said with the most innocent smile. Clearly just a suggestion.