[ It's remarkable, really, the difference between the way Verso talks and teases, and when he turns back to the piano, the focus that overtakes him. His shoulders are relaxed, his spine straight without being stiff; he settles into the bench, the keys, like this is the position his body was always meant to take.
And then he begins to play.
Slowly, at first, picking his way along as if trying to recall an old and overgrown path. The notes sound as individual clear tones, a little uncertain. They pick up, though, and soon enough Verso is playing with both hands widespread and rapid, fingers flitting over the keys with what seems to Gustave to be impossible speed and skill, and the music follows in his wake like a river released from a dam.
It seems to fill this whole auditorium, this single piano with its dedicated soloist, and as Verso plays, Gustave can almost feel his own happiest memories come flooding back. The day he and Emma brought Maelle home. The day he first kissed Sophie. The day he and his apprentices perfected the first iteration of the left arm he now wears.
But joy and grief are inextricably intertwined in Lumiรจre, and he hears that, feels it, too, as Verso's song rises and falls; sometimes settling low into a minor chord before brightening back up again, andโ
Who is this man?
The last notes ring out and fade away back into the silence, and it's less that Gustave waits until Verso lifts his hands from the keys than that he's struck almost speechless until the man turns to him and that mischievous smile shiunes out again, like they're already sharing a joke only they know. Maybe they are. ]
So you were.
[ He takes a breath and clears his throat, then brings his hands up to applaud once more, shifting on the piano bench until he can get to his feet to give a standing ovation. After the piano's waterfall of sound, his applause sounds tiny even to his ears, but he only has the two hands. ]
Marvelous, monsieur le pianiste. Exquisite. I was transported, delighted. Truly you are the most brilliant jewel in this theatre's crown.
[ Bombastic, a little. Ridiculous: certainly. But there's sincerity, too; he means it, even if the words themselves aren't what would come most naturally to him. That was beautiful, he might have said, were he only speaking for himself and not in pursuit of a joke they're both in on. And it was beautiful, and playful... and sad. He doesn't think he'll ever hear anything else like it ever again. He doubts he'll ever forget it. ]
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Date: 2025-05-23 01:24 am (UTC)And then he begins to play.
Slowly, at first, picking his way along as if trying to recall an old and overgrown path. The notes sound as individual clear tones, a little uncertain. They pick up, though, and soon enough Verso is playing with both hands widespread and rapid, fingers flitting over the keys with what seems to Gustave to be impossible speed and skill, and the music follows in his wake like a river released from a dam.
It seems to fill this whole auditorium, this single piano with its dedicated soloist, and as Verso plays, Gustave can almost feel his own happiest memories come flooding back. The day he and Emma brought Maelle home. The day he first kissed Sophie. The day he and his apprentices perfected the first iteration of the left arm he now wears.
But joy and grief are inextricably intertwined in Lumiรจre, and he hears that, feels it, too, as Verso's song rises and falls; sometimes settling low into a minor chord before brightening back up again, andโ
Who is this man?
The last notes ring out and fade away back into the silence, and it's less that Gustave waits until Verso lifts his hands from the keys than that he's struck almost speechless until the man turns to him and that mischievous smile shiunes out again, like they're already sharing a joke only they know. Maybe they are. ]
So you were.
[ He takes a breath and clears his throat, then brings his hands up to applaud once more, shifting on the piano bench until he can get to his feet to give a standing ovation. After the piano's waterfall of sound, his applause sounds tiny even to his ears, but he only has the two hands. ]
Marvelous, monsieur le pianiste. Exquisite. I was transported, delighted. Truly you are the most brilliant jewel in this theatre's crown.
[ Bombastic, a little. Ridiculous: certainly. But there's sincerity, too; he means it, even if the words themselves aren't what would come most naturally to him. That was beautiful, he might have said, were he only speaking for himself and not in pursuit of a joke they're both in on. And it was beautiful, and playful... and sad. He doesn't think he'll ever hear anything else like it ever again. He doubts he'll ever forget it. ]
Effusive enough?