(Untitled)

[mogget_cat]

The sounds of winter, chill and soft, sing from the piano this evening. The lilting melody is quiet, slow, frozen-over with the year's darkness. But still, it already holds the seeds of the new year. Soon the cold notes, falling like drops from the ends of icicles, gather strength and warmth as though the sun had suddenly risen from behind a cloud

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[thefirststark]

Howard listens at a nearby table. He's not an expert on playing any musical instrument, but enough visits to Carnegie Hall for this and that fundraiser (and listening to far too many recitals by his sisters) have given him something of an ear. And can tell good musicianship when he hears it.

[mogget_cat]

Yrael smiles slightly as he plays, calling out the cold and darkness of winter, singing it through its birth and life and eventual death in the face of the returning spring, coming in with a rush that could uplift the most forlorn spirit. For no matter how dark things get, spring will end winter's cold. The sun will return, and what once seemed dead will live again.

[thefirststark]

Hard not to feel oddly cheered, he thinks. The grimness of war, the horrors of the Nazis mere hundreds of miles away, all seems out of sight, out of mind. He wonders what the player is playing.

[mogget_cat]

Eventually, the rush of color and hope brought by spring fades as the song draws to a close. The pianist, the albino young man all in white, stretches and yawns once the echoes of the piano have finally fades from hearing.

Perhaps he was aware of his audience, because he offers a grin in Howard's direction.

[katyafeline]

Katya shivers, and makes a face at the piano and its player while she huddles in one of the deep armchairs. Sure, she is from Moscow. Sure she is used to winters where a coat is never, ever optional.

But that doesn't mean she likes listening to it.

So when he's off being rapturous, she twists her fingers, sending a bit of this at the higher registers of the keyboard. Seymon taught her that trick, a long, long time ago. Gesar taught her how to be quick at it, by being horribly inventive with punishments when she got caught.

[mogget_cat]

The music cuts off in the middle of spring bursting into warmth and color, the rag on the higher registers continuing on for a few bars by itself, as the not'cat turns to glare in the general direction of the perpetrator.

If Katya finds herself under a sudden, extremely localized snow-storm, it is her own fault.

[katyafeline]

She dives for the Gloom the moment the first flakes start to fall, re-emerging halfway across the barroom. She takes this opportunity to give the piano stool a nudge, granting it the freedom to sidle away from the piano it's been stuck standing by for so many years.

[mogget_cat]

The floor is not so smooth that it doesn't have imperfections - perhaps imperfections that might catch the leg of a sliding piano bench and cause it to tumble over.

Thankfully, the one who had been sitting on the aforementioned piano bench has the catlike reflexes and balance necessary to keep his feet. Though his sudden motions may accidentally put anytiger nearby in danger of having their feet swept out from under them.

Accidentally.

Yes.

[seat_five_girl]

Ako listens. Mostly listens.

Fine, she's asleep leaning against the side of a couch where she was trying to figure out the correct cords to go with the piece. She really only meant to close her eyes to concentrate better.