(Untitled)

[cheerychaplain]

There is a slight man seated at the piano this afternoon, hacking his way through "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." There are several sheets of crisp music in front of him, which may give away that this is not his normal fare; Father Mulcahy tends to play music that he knows and loves by heart; ragtime, the occasional jazz, pieces that are bright and

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[de_vita_exire]

At some point in the piece, there's a man standing about a yard behind the priest, regarding the sheet music in the way that can't quite be called disapproving, but can't really be called approving, either.

His hands are in his pockets, and his countenance is carefully blank.

For some reason, Hades doesn't often listen to anything remotely resembling what the Father is currently playing.

[cheerychaplain]

He's trying. He really is. But the piece is several levels beyond his skill level, and somewhere around halfway through, during a phrase marked as sforzando, Father Mulcahy sighs sharply and pulls his hands off the keys. Frowning, he reaches for his coffee and the glasses that he'd set beside the mug -- and he sees a reflection in the glasses. He turns around.

"Ah -- pardon me," he says, worriedly. "I wasn't bothering you, was I?"

[de_vita_exire]

"I - no, not really."

There isn't really any point as to asking why the man would have chosen that particular piece.

"You play often?" he asks, gesturing at the piano.

[cheerychaplain]

"Only occasionally," he says, slipping on his glasses. "I'm out of practice, and the piano in the Officer's Club needs more help than I know how to give it."

[hearthethoughts]

Matt did not sleep well last night.

And it shows in the fact that he's two inches away from bumping into the piano, wandering around with a horrible dazed and confused expression on his face.

[cheerychaplain]

Father Mulcahy may be a little oblivious, at times, but it's difficult to miss when someone is only an inch or two from the piano you're playing. The song stops, swiftly, with a startled, discordant crash of keys, as he looks up.

"My son," he says, and he's rising, "are you alright?"

[hearthethoughts]

Matt stifles a yawn, "Huh? Oh-OH! Oh crap-I mean uh-"

Matt's eyes catch on the cross, "Sorry father-I uh, I didn't get alot of sleep last night. I'm kinda stuck here for a bit it looks like."

He rubs at his eyes, backing up a step, "I didn't damage the piano did I?"

[cheerychaplain]

"You didn't so much as touch it," he assures him kindly. "A break from playing would be nice; might I interest you in a cup of coffee?"

[singintheoven]

Music: moth, flame, Hedwig. She is familiar with the piece, in a very general sort of way, but even if she hadn't been, it would still have gotten her attention, and so she strolls pianoward in her fuzzy slippers to listen while she has her morning coffee--morning for her, anyway. It had been a long night.

[cheerychaplain]

Father Mulcahy struggles onward with the piece, doing well on the bit of melody here or there, but struggling with the right hand's rocking, repeating counter-melody.

There may or may not be the occasional muttered, 'Drat!' under his breath.

[singintheoven]

"Are you practicing for a performance, Father?" she asks quietly, sympathetic. "Or for enjoyment, or a sense of... having conquered the music?"

[cheerychaplain]

Glad of the interruption, he lets his hands fall away from the keys mid-phrase, and he turns on the stool. "None of the above, really," he says, ruefully. "The Bar gave me the music, but I think she has a higher opinion of my skills than is reality."

[nothawkingbird]

Kate had gone to Will's world for Christmas mass, but she remembered the services here. And the song was familiar.

She had been staying close to Will as he recover, but stepped downstairs for a moment to bring back some food for them both.

"Need some help, Father?" She politely asked.

[cheerychaplain]

Father Mulcahy blinks at being addressed, and his fingers still on the piano. He looks up. He recognizes the girl immediately, though it'll take a moment yet for him to place her, and he doesn't know her name.

"I'll never say no to assistance kindly offered," he says. "--You attended the Christmas service, didn't you?"

[nothawkingbird]

She nodded, "Of course, Will and I also attended a midnight mass back in his world, but we made sure to make it to the one here. It was very nice."

She added, "I'm Kate Bishop, I know the piece can be difficult. Haven't tried it for the cello I admit. Is it the timing of the notes you're struggling with?"

[cheerychaplain]

"Hello, Kate, I'm Father Mulcahy," he offers, "and not quite; I'm struggling more to wrap my fingers around the right notes and find them in any sort of steady tempo."

Beat.

A rueful smile. "So I suppose the answer to your question would be 'yes.' "

[necessary_child]

Rather like Hades, Sam has little time for the kind of music Mulcahy's currently attempting, but the piano gets little enough use that he wanders over anyway, to see who's playing it.

(He's been sitting somewhere facing the back of the piano, and couldn't see.)

When he gets closer, though, there's an odd, conflicted look, torn somewhere between stubborn pride and a wish for flight.

"...Ah."

It's a very descriptive syllable.

[cheerychaplain]

It's a simple syllable, but it's enough for Father Mulcahy to hear. Enough to bring his eyes up, anyway, face quizzical -- and then the piano goes CLANG! as his startled hands get away from him.

He's a man who looks perpetually worried, sometimes, but this is more so than usual. And here's a rarity -- he's lost for words. He'd said he needed time, to pray and to think and to try to take it in. Well, he's had that time.

It didn't help.

[necessary_child]

Sam shoves his own hands in his pockets, possibly to keep himself from flailing. He's managed to conquer the urge to flee, at least.

"Hello." He attempts a faint smile.

[cheerychaplain]

"Hel--" His voice catches at an unfortunate spot; Father Mulcahy swallows.

"Hello."