[ Verso. A man with haunting beauty at his fingertips and the faintest hint of slyness to his smiles. The name is as utterly unfamiliar to Gustave as the song had been, and just as compelling. ]
I'm Gustave.
[ Introductions complete, it now feels as though something has slid into place. They're no longer two strangers sharing a piano bench and a song; not entirely. It's strange, now that he's getting a better look at the man: Verso's eyes are as clear as water, but though Gustave spends a few long seconds studying them, the deepest parts remain unreadable.
He thinks Verso doesn't mind the company, but there is something here, isn't there? Some reluctance, some reticence. It could be that he's used to performing for large audiences that nevertheless feel so much more anonymous, shrouded in shadow while the stage lights paint only the piano into existence. Even Gustave knows the audience isn't supposed to join the artist on the stage, at the instrument, so close their shoulders almost brush with every movement.
His glance falls away from Verso's face, to the fingers that linger on the keys, light and expectant. When he glances back up, the corner of his mouth flickers upward again. ]
You might not be able to tell, since I'm being so subtle, but I'm hoping you'll decide to play another song.
Would it help I promise to be just as effusive in my praise when you finish?
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Date: 2025-05-22 05:55 pm (UTC)I'm Gustave.
[ Introductions complete, it now feels as though something has slid into place. They're no longer two strangers sharing a piano bench and a song; not entirely. It's strange, now that he's getting a better look at the man: Verso's eyes are as clear as water, but though Gustave spends a few long seconds studying them, the deepest parts remain unreadable.
He thinks Verso doesn't mind the company, but there is something here, isn't there? Some reluctance, some reticence. It could be that he's used to performing for large audiences that nevertheless feel so much more anonymous, shrouded in shadow while the stage lights paint only the piano into existence. Even Gustave knows the audience isn't supposed to join the artist on the stage, at the instrument, so close their shoulders almost brush with every movement.
His glance falls away from Verso's face, to the fingers that linger on the keys, light and expectant. When he glances back up, the corner of his mouth flickers upward again. ]
You might not be able to tell, since I'm being so subtle, but I'm hoping you'll decide to play another song.
Would it help I promise to be just as effusive in my praise when you finish?