Friendship is Magic

Cricket

Oh, look. A lull in the conversation. How long had we been talking, anyhow? Couple hours?

...And nobody died! That was an accomplishment.

"Now what?"

Mr.Face:

"Honestly I was about to ask you the same thing. You're the... expert here, I suppouse." I stated, quite unsure as to how one proceeded with this type of thing.

Cricket

"Ah. Well, that might be a problem, because I 'ave absolutely no clue whatsoever." I shifted again, sinking lower to the floor in thought. "See, if you were one o' my actual friends, say...Marley's one, this is about where one of us would burst int' some spontaniously nonsensical bantering dialogue or some other improvised entertainment, like... music's one, singing is a favorite, or we'd...ah...well, but see, I 'aven't a clue because you don't seem th' nonsensical fun type at all. Or th' fun type. Unless you count th' unmentionable torture and such you start grinning at like a mad fool whenever it's brought up, which, pardon my bluntness, but no way in 'ell are we doing that. Let's see, ah...most would do something of common interest, or th' like. You get th' picture, aye?"

Mr.Face:

...Something of a common interest. And hold the torture. And preferably entertaining. Which of course ruled out going through the tax files...Not that I would suggest that to an illiterate anyway... they were ridiculous enough to read already. Music actually was something that would make sense in this kind of situation. "I could take you to the piano." I suggested, uncertain as to whether or not the piano housed enough spontaneity to qualify for such an activity.

Cricket

"You play?" I couldn't remember if I'd known that already. "That sounds quite a'right with me if it's a'right with you."

Mr.Face:

"Of course I play. What do you like? ...I manage quite a lexicon of classical pieces and experimental drones." I stated. I got on exceptionally well with piano music. In addition to sounding fantastic, it also complied with logarithmic construction, so one could build music mathematically if they so chose.

I got up from my desk and walked over to the door. We would again be descending to the unlit section of my house. I prepared a completely different route for us, just to keep him from getting familiar with anything. Could never be too careful with that.

Cricket

"Classical's fine, though... you 'ave anything a tad more upbeat?" I pushed myself off the ground and hurried to catch up. At the same time, I kept my distance. Just close enough so I could follow, plenty far enough that I wouldn't run into him in the dark. I guessed we were going to be in the dark again for quite some time.

Mr.Face:

"Upbeat how...? Because I have things with a tempo of 200 on the metronome... at least." I asked, not sure exactly what he meant by his question. It could have been a major or minor key he was talking about...or just the tempo... or... any number of things.

I noticed that he kept a few feet away at all times, and that was fine with me. As long as he didn't get lost.

Cricket

"Upbeat as in lively. I mean, classical's interesting and all, but I don't 'ear it much is all." I found myself encased in darkness once again. It wasn't all bad, but it was harder to get around. Felt like I was going in circles, but I decided to trust in the faint sounds of Mr. Face nearby. "You've got yourself quite th' maze 'ere..."

Mr.Face:

"...Then perhaps we'll take the experimental route this evening." I said, grinning at the thought of some of the more...bizarre modern pieces I'd worked on. Though some of the more technically challenging ones had really repetitive instrumentation, which meant they were only enjoyable for playing when one needed to show off. And just to be able to state: Oh yes. That? I can play that.

"It is only as labyrinthine as you make it, My Pris---I'm going to get that right one day. Cricket." I stated, deciding to take one more turn off somewhere prior to actually taking him to the piano. Make sure he wasn't counting left turns or whatever.

Cricket

Experimental.

That had to be interesting.

And I will probably never get used to you saying my actual name one day, Edgar. As for said maze, I had to wonder. "You've either got th' most winding, inefficient 'allways I've seen since th' Bell Tower or you're making th' way winding on purpose." Everything else in the building was so straightforward. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't want the halls to be simple in his own private corner of the world, but I doubted he'd not have shortcuts for himself for the times he was alone anyhow. Which was most of the time, I'd think.

Mr.Face:

"I could never take the risk of you memorising your way anywhere." I explained briefly, and that was all the more explanation that was necessary, I thought.

With that we arrived in the piano room, and I pushed open the door and walked in. I had a grand piano sitting in the middle of this room, and not much else. It was almost like a theatre. One could argue I had two acoustic theatres in this place. Here, and downstairs. Very different kinds of music though.

"Alright. I preface this thing by informing you that the original score was composed electronically, and according to the composer, needs five hands to play properly. At least." I began. "...I then did some work on it myself and am now giving you four and a half of the eight or so different melodic lines throughout the piece. I find it a bit repetitive for everyday amusement, but it does put on a good show. ...Any questions?" I asked, sitting down at the piano. It was kind of... pleasantly different to play for something that wasn't an empty room. Granted, he'd be screwing up my acoustic landscape... but...still.

Cricket

Now, that's what I thought. It's not as if I would get into some mischief somehow if I knew my way around, now-- Actually, that didn't sound like too bad of an idea.

Then we were in a room. I'm proud to say I could pick up that it was a room and not some other hallway, not just because of the door but because of how things sounded. It just sounded more spacious. I didn't know how much so, but I could tell that much if I really tried to listen. It was bigger. I'd had practice hearing that when I walked in the dark from a hall to the Bell Tower's theatre, though here it wasn't as drastically obvious. It was a bit wider than the hall, and it was built for sound. HAH.

Then Mr. Face started saying something or another about what he was planning on playing. "Pft. Showoff," I muttered, letting a smirk tug at my mouth. Not quite sure if it was good-humored or not, but it was something. I had to wonder if he'd ever had anything resembling an audience.

Mr.Face:

"I won't outright deny it. ...Not this time." I said, with a bit of a grin. "And... off we go." I stated, immediately throwing both hands down into the base notes, and hammering away at breakneck speed. Picked up two melodies in the right hand, leaving all the base parts to my left... which was actually ridiculous, because even with about two octaves of flexibility in one hand, there was no way to rearrange this to fit all the notes in. It was almost an irritating song to play because I knew how it should all sound together from doing it and recording with the OS to get all the sound balances completely right... And here I was basically hurtling through it while leaving out half the song. Granted, I was leaving out parts that were arguably extraneous, and wouldn't really change anything if you didn't know you were looking for them... but still.

I dragged one hand up the piano, while dragging the other one down, and then played my way back to the starting points of both hands, picking up and dropping melodic lines as I saw fit. It was all about the bigger picture, not the minutae. Hit all the runs. Hit the octaves. Meddle around with speed and intensity as called for. Crescendo dramatically. Decrescendo immediately after. Do one in one hand while reversing the other. Reverse that while doing three instantaneous glissandi in the other hand. To try and actually articulate some of this stuff is more nonsensical than trying to play it. Honestly.

Cricket

My smirk slooowly faded. It was quite a bit faster than I'd anticipated. Actually, it sounded like my ears were having a stroke. A quick sort of . . . not unpleasant stroke . . . I'm actually having trouble trying to describe it in actual words that aren't DUMBUM-DUM-DAHDUM-BA--you get what I'm saying. It was a bit . . . ah . . . a lot . . . ah. Oi my my. It was a bit oi my my. I kind of liked it. Actually, I particularily liked it, but--HOLY SHIT. That sound was interesting. Had to wonder what his hands looked like doing that. The guy had to have some ridiculously long fingers. That . . . That. Ah. Aye. . . . Holy shit. Hell. The sound was . . . it was . . . the sound . . . in the room, with the . . .

Snap out of it, idiot. I was grinning at this point like none other.

Alright! I've got this. Words. How often is it that I have trouble making words, anyhow? Alright! So, as I was saying. The sound crashed and tiptoed and nipped and zipped and sprung and crashed again through the room, encased it, surrounded everything and swallowed it whole, then spat it back out and danced on its grave.

. . . Shit. Alright. Alright.

. . . Was I on drugs?

. . . Was he on drugs? Hell!

. . . And then it was quite. "'OLY SHI--" I was cut off by another note. There was this haunting little tune that held on like it'd come loose and had been left behind from the rest. Quite honestly . . . that sent a shiver up my spine. It was lovely. But haunting.

Now, keep in mind that all of this was in pitch black. That made it more so.

I waited a small moment more in the silence, trying to blink myself back to reality. After that I found myself bounding straight up to the piano, slapping a hand on top to steady myself, trying to wipe the grin off my face and keep from laughing, letting the grin and laugh happen anyway . . . " . . . 'oly SHIT you . . . magical BASTARD whatwasthat! Ha! What th' 'ell--where th' 'ell did that come from? Ha! That's--" I slapped my forehead to keep myself from babbling, but ended up chuckling instead. "Oi my my."

Mr.Face:

...Ah. Right. ...I had guests. A guest.

...And I'd forgotten to breathe. That was awkward. So, while he was showering me in expletives of disbelief or whatever, I caught up on my oxygen intake. I don't think I'd actually consciously breathed since somewhere about measure forty. So I sat there, payed slight attention to his statements, and actually payed more attention to the still firmly resonating walls while remedying my lack of air. There were still wonderful eddies and whorls of vibrations floating around...which... while they weren't my favourite-- so much repetition of the same couple melody lines-- Were still worth their own merit...and just as distracting as any other abusive mishandling of the piano that I was capable of.

"That, Is called the The Death Waltz... and it... Basically is what it is. Keep in mind you only heard like... half of it... but I doubt you'd notice a tangible difference anyway." I stated, once he'd stopped his ranting and I'd caught up on my breathing.

"I am guessing that that was sufficiently upbeat?" I asked, after another moment of silence. I could still hear the last keyboard slam resonating vaguely off the walls. It was very odd to have had an audience... and especially odd to be called a ..."Magical Bastard"... but, I suppoused it was a good thing? So... I didn't ask.

Cricket

I slapped the other hand on the piano top. "Sufficiently upbeat, pft, sufficiently upbeat that was amazing! Th' 'ell! Your fingers must be as long as th' piano for 'ell's sake, what, were you playing with your toes as well? 'ow is that even . . . I mean, honestly." I ran a hand through my hair and leaned on an elbow. "Honestly."

Mr.Face:

...I was actually highly unaccustomed to any sort of praise. Well. This... this was a bit awkward. I mean, I knew it was quite good. I wouldn't play it if it wasn't good after working on it for an allocated period of time. But... Still... actually hearing praise... that ...That was a whole different scenario there. "I get two octaves in each hand, and more if I reach. So... that only leaves four octaves uncovered..." I explained.

"...And if you could please stop slapping it... you're making weird noises... ruins the whole... ending resonant effect." I wasn't exactly certain as to how to explain the notes that came back after hitting walls. They were different notes. They changed pitch in their voyage because hitting the wall changed the speed of the vibration. Hitting the piano kind of sent out a muddled mess of vibrations which just nullified the whole thing.

Cricket

"Pardon, pardon," I said, and kept leaning on the piano. He hadn't said anything about leaning on it. "Waitpardonwhat, two octaves? . . ." Some whistle of exlamation flew out on its own accord. That explained a bit. "Oi my my, you 'ave enormous 'ands. But honestly now. Honestly. 'ow long did it take t' even learn that, I mean-- wait a moment, do they even make music in braille? Honestly."

Mr.Face:

"They don't really make music in braille, no. One can find it...but I can't read notes, actually. I learned it through YouTube. Took about... a year and a half. Not counting actually...memorising it. ...And... yes, I have large hands. It's kind of... to be expected, I would think." I answered shortly.

"And don't whistle. At least... not here. Especially not here. Actually... if we'd like to discuss this further, can we leave this room? ...The acoustics... Can be distracting." Distracting was a very light word for it. Every word we spoke bounced off the walls and was like... I couldn't really explain it if I tried. I suppouse the closest explanation was colour, because I'd gone through the trouble of labelling all the sounds with a colour. So... yes. In theory our voices bounced off the walls and produced a colourful mess that was particularly exacerbated in this room.

Cricket

"You learned all that by ear. . . . A'right, I knew you were going t' show off, but honestly. Honestly! And aye, but two octaves? And aye, but it's just . . ." Alright. I admit, it takes skill to accidentatally whistle while trying to think of a way to not whistle. But I did. ". . . Don'tkillme. A'right, a'right a'right a'right. Different room. Aye. Get it, on it, fine." I set off in a direction. Which direction? . . . I don't know. Apon that realisation I stopped in my tracks. "Which way's th--" Whoops. I probably should have waited until he lead to even ask. Way to look like an idiot, Cricket . . . way to go. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, figuring that if I was going to look like an idiot I may as well go all out and finish the question. "Which way's th' door?"

Mr.Face:

...He whistled again, and it was my turn to unintentionally bring down a hand on the piano, inadvertently sending some kind of angry minor seventh across the room. If he didn't need to be alive so I could befriend him...

He then proceeded to look like an idiot. I got up from the piano and walked over to the door, holding it open for him. "You really need to work on that." I stated, noticing that he was some thirteen feet away along the wall.

Cricket

That chord sounded not very pleased.

Oops.

I heard him walking for a while, and then . . . Huh. His voice was quite a ways away. " . . . Well, t' be fair, you're th' one concerned I'm going t' find my way around this place. And I know, I know, you've mastered th' art of 'click and don't run int' things', I know, and I 'aven't, I know," I said as I passed through the door. "Pft. Showoff."

Mr.Face:

"Oh, I don't want you to find your way around, certainly... but that brand of idiocy is not even on any level that I would consider imposing at all. Congratulations. You are non-threatening on a level on par with that of Mr.Namechov when he's running late." I said, following him out and shutting the door behind us. There was something about this blunt redistribution of true information that wasn't overtly threatening, possibly even... invoking some kind of sarcasm. And yet he was being stupid. Admittedly, I understood what induced this particular variety of stupidity... but I shouldn't have been tolerating it for that. Should I?

I took the lead and went on a five minute detour to arrive to my living room.

Cricket

"With less ellipses," I added. Wait a moment, he'd almost alluded to work things. Should I have been alright with that? Well, it didn't sound like he was grinning about it. I suppose I didn't feel like nitpicking. It was only a quick comment. I knew my opinion on it, but it wouldn't change his even if I said anything.

I have to admit, I did try and count hallways as we walked. About this long this way, one up this way, going on and on and on. Why? To see if I could. On the way back I might be able to compare and figure out a bit more of the layout. If I could remember what I'd come up with originally for that long, that is. I didn't have too much faith in that. It was hard to tell exactly how long it'd been before a turn, so if I did come up with something it would be a very good way to get myself lost. I had faith in that.

"What's this room?" I asked once we stopped.