Dietre Henrich Abendroth (sonataind) wrote in repose, @ 2019-05-02 21:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, dietre abendroth, liam roberts |
log: Dietre & Liam
Who: Dietre Abendroth and Liam Roberts.
What: Dietre can see ghosts, you know.
Where: The carnival.
When: Time fuzzy.
Warnings/Rating: A for Angst.
In the past few weeks Dietre found himself spending more and more time at the carnival. The reason was Aleksi, of course, and it was easy to come up with excuses. Spending the night was becoming a regular thing, it just seemed logical to sleep over after the burlesque shows were done rather than trek across town to Adrian’s, and he saved money on ubers too. The only downside to being away from Adrian’s was that it meant he was away from his piano. His real piano. Yes, he had his keyboard, but, call him a snob or elitist, it just wasn’t good enough. Little speakers couldn’t make notes so rich he could feel them in his bones. So, he had taken to staying behind after the shows to play the little upright that lived in the burlesque tent on his own time. Just a few pieces to satisfy the itch, and then he could join Aleksi, contented. A show had ended, the performers and audience soon deserted the tent and Dietre was at last left on his own. He still wore his ‘costume’; white shirt, waistcoat, black armbands like an old saloon pianist, his sleeves casually rolled up. He played short, well loved pieces like Fur Elise and Moonlight Sonata before going on to something a bit more contemporary. As he played, he began to feel something. Something not right. ...A presence. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end, his skin breaking out in goosebumps. It had been a while. At Quite Home this had been a daily occurrence, but these days not so much… He had almost gotten used to not having to deal with this part of his life (aside from Pippin’s adventuring,) so why did this have to happen now? His fingers tripped up as they moved across the keys, began to slow, notes trailing off to uneasy silence. He knew there was something behind him, something only he could see, something he did not want to see. Still, just like when he was a child, he found himself compelled to look despite the mounting dread in his gut. He began to turn, slowly, a hair’s breadth at a time, reluctant and wary, to face the unknown. |