Friendship is Magic

Cricket

Finn's only reaction to that was, "So, what's dial-up?"

Mr.Face:

And again I was shocked by how little these people knew. "Perhaps not then...If you don't know what dial-up is then I don't think that you'd have any reason to converse with the elder gods in that way." I stated as a preface to my explanation of dial-up. "Dial- up is an old and inefficient way to connect to the Internet, by way of using phone lines." I summarised.

Cricket

"What's a phone line?" He asked.

This may take a while, I thought. "Technological something. We don't 'ave it 'ere."

Mr.Face:

It was strange to me precisely how many things they didn't have here outside of Auda. How did they even manage to live like that? Without the Internet, or wifi, or even the ancient method of dial up. "I still really don't know how you all manage without any of the things we have in my world. I mean, no Internet? It's baffling." I stated in lieu of their little exchange, shifting my arms around to try to find a way to get them to rest more comfortably.

Cricket

"People tend not t' miss what they never 'ad, I suppose," I said. "I didn't know internet existed until I ran int' you Audian people."

Mr.Face:

"...That makes sense." I replied after a short moment of thought. These poor unfortunate people, living their lives devoid of any internet access. That must have been horrible.

Finn

The conversation continued for an hour or two, perhaps, and for most of it I sat back and only listened. It strange hearing them talk like that, casually, occasionally giving some jeer or smart remark, but not quite at odds. Now, they were also obviously quite different, but . . . not quite at odds. Which was odd considering the stories I'd heard about Mr. Face. It's not often you see your best friend sitting around and laughing with their own murderer.

Develyn kept getting fussy after being held for so long, but if I let her go hell knows she'd have flown right at the faceless dictator again. I eventually left them to their talk and slipped back to the piano room, and let her go there. In the midst of all this insanity, at least I had my guitar and an old piano. They might not count as real friends what with the inanimate object title they had going for them. Even so, pianos and guitars make some amazing friends, who never run off and get themselves wrapped into crazy predicaments or disappear or lie or anything of the like. What I suppose I'm trying to say is they're awful reliable.

And it felt nice to sit at the piano, and so I did, and before I knew it I was playing something. It was fun, y'know. A bit of a faster song, but not obnoxiously so; only enough to get into it.

Mr.Face:

Eventually, standing had become a thing that happened, as well as the audible departure of the third wheel. This had then led to the production of faint piano music from somewhere, which had indirectly lead to my current status. I was going to go find that music, and perhaps live vicariously through the pianist, who I was figuring, by process of elimination, was the boy with the pronoun issues.

I dismissed myself shortly from Cricket's presence, merely stating that I had to go find the piano, and started walking towards the melody. It wasn't anything I actually recognised, but it was interesting, hearing what I could as it softly bounced across the stonework in the halls. It was a bit of guesswork to find it, having to go nearly halfway down a hallway before I could determine whether it was getting closer or farther away.

At any rate, I finally happened across the room that the music was emanating from, somewhat out of breath from the pressure I'd been apparently exerting on my ribs, and went inside.

"So this is where the music was coming from." I stated, more to myself than to him. It would be rude to interrupt. It wasn't as acoustically perfect as my room... and there was excess stuff all over the place, muddling the sound further. At least it was in tune. I continued standing there, listening to the piece.

Cricket

And suddenly, Mr. Face was wandering through my home to find a good friend of mine who he didn't like, leaving me sitting upside down in the auditorium, alone. Alright then.

Should I be concerned that they might get into some terrible argument situation?

. . . Nah. I'll just sit here.

Finn

My gaze shot in the direction of the voice. My fingers were still playing, mind you, despite the surprise . . . but it was still a bit of a surprise, looking up from my music to see a . . . well, him. I shouldn't say 'that'. I honestly shouldn't. Cricket was a 'that' to a lot of people.

Ah well. He wanted to stand there watching, he could stand there watching. Listening, is more like it, since he couldn't watch at all. I tried forgetting that he was even there, as a matter of fact, because . . . fine, to be honest, it was creepy. Not 'it' as in him, but 'it' as in the fact that he was simply standing there watching. This guy kept an enormous jail full of people either dying or waiting to die horribly. He'd killed my friend and my friend's friends a multitude of times, and he'd--

Igh, messed up a chord. Well, that had gone well. If I couldn't ignore him . . . perhaps I should talk to him. "So . . . you like music?" I asked as I slowly picked up the pace from where I'd left off.

Mr.Face:

I winced as he hit a chord-- minor instead of major... perhaps a B instead of B-flat. It didn't seem to deter him, however, and he simply picked back up and continued.

"Like is one word that you could use for it. Perhaps a bit mild...actually. I particularly enjoy music, as well as a multitude of other noises. I like sounds, I suppouse you could say, and just use that as a blanket expression." I replied as he went on with his quick little melody. "And how long have you been playing?" I asked, stepping further into the room, and closer to the piano.

Finn

"Few years," I replied, though trying to keep my thoughts on the notes rather than the conversation or the fact that he was getting closer. I can't say I didn't mind him there, but I can say that I was determined to deal with it. It was only seven days. I'd told Cricket I wouldn't make waves. If he was going to spend those seven days standing over me because I played piano and he liked sounds, so be it. It was only seven days. "Give or take. It was 'ere when we took th' place over . . . not much else t' do around 'ere."

Mr.Face:

"Hm. If it was here when you took it over... do you do the tuning yourself? Because, for something that had been left behind, it doesn't sound bad at all." I asked, pressing my face closer to the bridge, inspecting the thing. Certainly wasn't constructed at all like mine, but.. it had been kept in good shape, and you could hear it. I allowed a small grin to plaster itself on my face, just content that I wouldn't have to go without for the duration of my stay here. ...Even if I couldn't actually play anything at the moment.

Finn

"Aye. It was worse of a mess th' first time I tried messing with it than it 'ad been originally, but . . . I figured it out eventually."

I happened to glance up and notice that he had the largest, sharpest grin I'd ever seen.

Anyhow. Back to playing.

Mr.Face:

I should have brought my tuning forks, and we could have double checked all the keys... Ah well, if my house hadn't been locked down it would take a while to locate my whole set anyway, as I tended to use them for multiple purpouses. "I see." I stated, and went back to my inspection of his piano, and trying to get all of the extra things out of my soundscape. "You know, it would sound much better if you got all the extra crap out of this room. Interferes with the vibrations." I informed him as he continued with the piece. I really had to wonder what exactly he was playing, because for me to not be familiar with it... is exceedingly unusual.

Finn

"I'd rather be playing around with this old thing or th' other old strings I play around with than moving 'extra crap' around all day." His face and his talk were a bit distracting, but ah well. He seemed to know quite a bit about sound. Cricket had told me that much, at least. "But, 'ey . . . per'aps next time Crick complains about being bored I'll put 'im t' work," I said, a bit of a smirk stealing its way onto my face.

Mr.Face:

"Excellent idea. And I suppouse that you might not notice much difference, being that you have eyes and whatnot. People with eyes tend to not notice all that much with regards to the finer points of acoustics, I've noticed." I stated. I was a bit envious of him at the moment, sitting at the keyboard when I was unable to do the same. "What all do you play exactly?" I asked. Perhaps I could make some requests...since I was without my own arms and with no wifi to access Pandora. Though requests would be useless if he didn't know how to play anything I knew.

Finn

My smirk cracked a little wider at his response to that. I doubted I could actually convince Crick to spend a day moving stacks of paper and what else was in here from one room to the next . . . Could I?

Anyhow. I stopped playing for a bit to gesture to to stacks of paper. "This." I shrugged. "Couldn't tell you much else. Though I suppose piles o' music paper wouldn't mean much t' you, aye?"

Mr.Face:

So he sight read his music... how strange. " I can't read in two dimensions, no. Though I am well aware of the existence of sheet music. It's just near impossible to find it in braille. I play by ear. And, knowing that Cricket is illiterate I'm going to go ahead and assume that you are too, and wouldn't know titles even if I just listed them for you. Correct me if I'm wrong." I replied. It was kind of interesting to have someone with whom to talk about music and whatnot...outside of the OS. Most Audians were downright incompetent at anything outside of Guitar Hero.

Finn

"You're not wrong," I said, wondering whether or not to start playing again or to just keep talking. Try both at once, then, perhaps? . . . Alright. I started up again, something slower that wouldn't need so much thought. "You play, then? I shouldn't be too surprised, I mean . . . you've got th' 'ands for it, in th' least. Or, you look like you might 'ave."

Mr.Face:

"Correction- I had the hands for it. I currently have hands that would only suffice as ways to kill someone from blunt force trauma. Hopefully the musicality will return...in some six to eight weeks. But, short answer, yes. I do play. ...Did. Technicalities." I replied. I didn't really like being forced to think about that particular situation...considering that piano required practice. If I didn't touch it for an excess of six weeks... My technique would be a mess. It was yet another conundrum to add to the "List of things that are wrong now that things have exploded". I'm sure that list could use a better name...but, for now, that would work.

Finn

"Were you any good, then?" I think I might assume so, what with the way he sniffed out the piano room like a hungry dog going after raw meat.

Mr.Face:

"I could assume so, since I was given the honourary title of "Magical Bastard" by your friend when I played for him. You should come over in six to eight weeks and I'll show you my Fazioli Grand...Well, actually you probably couldn't actually see it... since I don't believe in lighting my personal quarters... but the sentiment still applies. You could listen." I replied, walking around to stand over his shoulder and listen to his fingers.

Finn

"Pft, wait a moment, title o' what? 'e never told me about that." Now he was really standing over me, which was . . . alright, do I have to repeat it? Psychopathic, sociopathic murderer. There. If there are questions in the future of why I don't particularly enjoy being near him, simply refer back to that.

Mr.Face:

"I played the Death Waltz for him... Or rather... well arranged melodies of the Death Waltz. It resulted in much swearing and the title of "Magical Bastard". I'd play it for you, but...I'm rather... indisposed at the moment." I answered. "And next time you play that arpeggiated chord, perhaps you want to avoid hitting the F with your pinkie... as it needs more force behind it." I commented idly. He may have sounded good, but his technique was all over the place.

That was the other thing I quite liked about music-- it tended to make everything very bright and easily interpretable, as opposed to utilising voices or breathing, which provided very dim acoustics for which to see by.

Finn

"Does it?" I almost paused to try to correct myself, but then . . . he was speaking a language I apparently didn't know. All I knew was that the notes on the page went up or down, and the lines told me how far, and . . . most everything else was a bit of a guess. "Which one's th' F?"