ARGH.
So, I promised myself I would never write Saiyuki, because I couldn't do it justice. Then I said "what the hell" and tried anyway.
There are no hookers. There is barely a bar. In fact, the inn is in such a small village that the owner is tending while his preteen daughter serves. Other than the locals- obvious by the way they sit at tables chatting like old women- the place is empty.
There is, however, a very old piano in the corner.
Gojyo doesn't really notice the music until halfway through his second beer, when it stops. Only when the serving girl offers the player a drink does he realize it's Hakkai.
He starts again. The music is ridgid and refined, Gojyo can't figure out the tune, it's a boring piece. Hakkai's long fingers flow across the keys; not precisely, but with feeling. His face is blank but he is happy.
It would have been nice to know. Gojyo hadn't even had a radio in his apartment, music had never interested him.
Of course he wouldn't have bought a piano. He's not maudlin like that. But he might have thought about it, coming home to someone practicing music he dislikes, telling him to be quieter because he couldn't think with that nosie going on, secretly regreting it when the novelty wore off and dust covered the keys.
Hakkai finishes the piece and glances at him. He turns away, feeling stupid. He's angry at his friend for not telling him he played the piano because he wishes he could have daydreamed about getting one for him. There isn't even a *word* for that.
A few days later, when Goku is snoring and Sanzou is buried in the paper he didn't finish at breakfast, he leans forward in his seat. "I didn't know you could play the piano," he says.
"I didn't think you liked music," responds Hakkai, glancing back at him, mildly surprised.
Gojyo slumps back into his seat. "I don't." A chord strikes inside him, painfully out of tune.
There are no hookers. There is barely a bar. In fact, the inn is in such a small village that the owner is tending while his preteen daughter serves. Other than the locals- obvious by the way they sit at tables chatting like old women- the place is empty.
There is, however, a very old piano in the corner.
Gojyo doesn't really notice the music until halfway through his second beer, when it stops. Only when the serving girl offers the player a drink does he realize it's Hakkai.
He starts again. The music is ridgid and refined, Gojyo can't figure out the tune, it's a boring piece. Hakkai's long fingers flow across the keys; not precisely, but with feeling. His face is blank but he is happy.
It would have been nice to know. Gojyo hadn't even had a radio in his apartment, music had never interested him.
Of course he wouldn't have bought a piano. He's not maudlin like that. But he might have thought about it, coming home to someone practicing music he dislikes, telling him to be quieter because he couldn't think with that nosie going on, secretly regreting it when the novelty wore off and dust covered the keys.
Hakkai finishes the piece and glances at him. He turns away, feeling stupid. He's angry at his friend for not telling him he played the piano because he wishes he could have daydreamed about getting one for him. There isn't even a *word* for that.
A few days later, when Goku is snoring and Sanzou is buried in the paper he didn't finish at breakfast, he leans forward in his seat. "I didn't know you could play the piano," he says.
"I didn't think you liked music," responds Hakkai, glancing back at him, mildly surprised.
Gojyo slumps back into his seat. "I don't." A chord strikes inside him, painfully out of tune.