I swear I felt a pulse beneath your keys to urge your hammers along.

[unholey]

CHARACTERS: Fugo & Open!
DATE: Post-Battle - Pre-Mission
WARNINGS: None ATM, will update if that changes!
SUMMARY: After the battle, Fugo helps with some of the clean-up. And comes across a familiar piano!



[When he first came to Oska, during the short, cold days of January, Fugo found himself standing at the end of a hallway stubbornly sweeping up magicked snow. And now, a few months later, he's cleaning up a mess of another sort; what's been left behind from Zymandis' attack. He can't say he knows much about rebuilding or how to repair a building like this. But what Fugo can do, though, is clean.

For the record: sweeping is involved. Unsurprisingly, robots destroying walls leaves behind rubble of all sizes. There's dust, debris, and the occasional broken glass everywhere and, by God, Fugo is determined get the worst of it cleaned up before they leave on their mission. He knows most of the larger pieces of rubble are beyond him-- so he sticks to the countless little messes, armed with a mop and broom, bucket, dustpan, and a constantly-changing collection of dust rags. Are you someone who is just hanging about, not really doing anything? Are you big and buff and can move heavy things? Chances are (especially if he’s familiar with you) that Fugo will appear at your elbow, broom and mop dangling over one bony shoulder with his bucket of cleaning supplies hanging off of them, and insist--]

Hey, I need help with something. You free?

[Alone or with a partner in not-actually-crime, Fugo takes it room by room. If he opens a door and there's a mess within his means to clean up, he walks in (always leaving the door wide open behind him) and makes sure it's thoroughly taken care of. He moves furniture back into place, does his best to scrub away at scorch marks left behind by lasers, sighs, and rearranges furniture to hide the worst of them.

[It is in this manner that he finds the piano.]

[Not the piano: Giorno's piano. Fugo recognizes it, thinks that it can't be the same one, and comes to the quick conclusion that it is the piano from the palazzo when he inspects it up close. Mostly because when he opens up the bench, there is some of the sheet music someone brought back from Milano for him;
all the jazz he memorized, but couldn't quite pick apart to understand.

Part of why he sat down at the bench is that he's made a promise to try and be better about taking breaks and rest. But, well. It's sort of inevitable that once he sits down at the bench, rather than fiddling with his magitek Fugo catches himself stretching out his fingers and wrists. He works through his warm-up routine of scales, arpeggios, and finally, once his shoulders are properly loose, a piece of music he could play blindfolded and half-asleep.

And, well. Since he's already properly warmed up. Why not see if he still has one of his old sets memorized? (This is not really a question. Of course he still has it memorized.) The music spills out through the open door into the hallway beyond; anyone curious enough to peek into the room will find Fugo playing, his cleaning supplies neatly (because it's Fugo) abandoned in the corner for the time being.]

[After that first day, Fugo makes time in his afternoons every few days to come back to the piano; he plays either jazz or the classics. For what reason, he can't really say. It's a familiar task. He likes to be reminded that home is still out there somewhere, in the infinite enormity of the multiverse. It's nice to do something he doesn't really have to think about. He can figure out the whys of it later.]

(ooc: Feel free to run into Fugo cleaning or playing the piano! He’s going to be busy with both. Let me know if you want a unique starter, I’d be glad to write something up!)

Comments

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[The days leading up to their new mission have been wildly enchanting. He has a new body. He has a new boyfriend! A whole world of experiences have opened up to him and Mettaton couldn't fake being any happier if he wanted to. It's all so... exquisite!!

This has, honestly, been keeping him from pitching in with any of the hard labor. He has an excuse, of course - if he wants to get used to interacting with the rest of the world, shouldn't he take it easy? It's completely acceptable to take a vacation, in his case. He may as well have a doctor's note!! So, if he HAS seen Fugo cleaning the castle, he's made no effort to assist. That's none of his business, right now.

It isn't until he hears the piano, hears the jazz, that he changes his mind.

Has Fugo ever seen a man slide onto a piano like it was the hood of a car?

He has now. Mettaton is there, lounged on top of the piano's surface and holding a bowl of grapes (yes, he ran to the kitchen and grabbed some the second he saw the opportunity. Sue him). He's been waiting for this moment. He is ALIVE for this moment.]

You had plenty money in 1941... [He sings before he trails off, chuckling.]

I didn't know you played, Fugi. You're awfully talented, for an "accountant."

[Knowing wink. Yeah. He's aware that one's a lie, by now. That's fine.]

Play us a song, won't you?

[unholey]

[Fugo is trying his best to mind his own business. You know, as you do in a partially forcibly deconstructed magical castle as part of a team of misfits from across the multiverse. Maybe he should have tried closing the door, but--

No. That was never really an option to begin with. And he gets the feeling that a closed door really wouldn't mean much to Mettaton, given how incredibly nosy he is.]

[For the record: he has never seen anyone slide across the closed lid of a piano like a car. It surprises him a little, shoulders twitching together and a chord turning sour under his fingers but his surprise quickly fades into distant, dry irritation. Because, yeah, it sure is like Mettaton to appear out of nowhere... slide on the lid of the piano, with-- are those grapes? Why does he have grapes.]

Because I don't talk about the piano. It's just-- [He frowns, eyebrows pulling together, before looking down at his fingers. From Mettaton's viewpoint, he'll be able to spot how there's no sheet music out; he was playing from memory.] It's not anything worth talking about.

I don't play requests.

[But, after a moment to find his mental "place"-- the music starts up again.]

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Fugo has said a lot of worrying things over the few times they've chatted. Somehow, that flippant statement about his own talents strikes Mettaton the hardest. He deflates, expression falling as Fugo begins to play anew. Mettaton frowns, leaning himself onto the piano and arms barely propping his head up as he quietly watches.

...]

I've always loved the piano, you know. For the longest time, it was the only instrument I could play. [He raises a hand, flexing his fingers.] Made of metal, and all that. Everything else is so easy to break...

Why play at all, if you don't consider it worth talking about? Most people would kill to have enough talent to express themselves the way they want to.

[unholey]

[It would be easy to snap at Mettaton. He can feel the old reflex in him; salt stinging in a wound he didn't realize was still there, let alone hadn't healed after all these years. He wants to push because already, inadvertently, Mettaton has sidled up too close to a part of Fugo that he's not even sure he understands.

But.]

[For some reason, Mettaton is reaching out halfway to him. Everything else is so easy to break. And so, even though it goes hand in hand with anger, all that passes across Fugo's face is a look of hurt when Mettaton brings up talent.]

I don't know. [He really doesn't. His own feelings for the piano are so muddled. Why play at all? Why bother asking Giorno to send for his sheet music from Milano, when he could have just as easily turned his back on the instrument?] It's here, I guess. Familiar. This is the piano from the palazzo-- Giorno's piano. It came with the music I thought I might fiddle around with last time I sat down with it.

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Mettaton listens, quietly. It's a talent of his, despite how much everyone might assume otherwise. He kicks his legs out behind him, back and forth, like a child listening to an interesting story.

Pieces of it are, anyway. Giorno somehow brought his piano with him? And Fugo has been playing for a while...

He stretches his neck out to look over the edge, peering at the sheet music.] You can read this? [Dramatic sigh.] I never got to learn... [That's the truth. Sheet music was rare to survive the conditions in Waterfall.]

When did you?

[longtempered]

[Ironically Shizuo is neither particularly big nor particularly buff, at least not enough to look like a prime candidate for heavy lifting--it's the first critical mistake a lot of people tend to make, when they form their first visual impression of him.

But it probably helps this time around that Shizuo also just so happens to be absentmindedly carrying the bottom half of what was once a disproportionately huge dresser over his shoulder, when Fugo approaches. He slows and turns at the unexpected voice--well, slowly turns, so as to not accidentally whack this guy across the face with this dresser, that'd be awkward--and there's the source, an unfamiliar person at his elbow with a bucket of cleaning supplies.]

Ah? [He blinks slowly at the guy over his shades, and plucks the unlit cigarette from his mouth, since it looks like a conversation is imminent here.] --Yeah, sure. I was gonna put this thing away but I've got another free hand. [Gesturing vaguely at the mass of wood shitting effortlessly on one shoulder....] What's your problem?

[unholey]

[The huge dresser balancing casually over own shoulder really does help. Even though it's at odds with the bartender uniform that this guy is wearing. Doesn't he realize clothes like that are terrible for cleaning and construction...?]

There's some rubble blocking a hallway from a wing of bedrooms to the rest of the castle. There's another way around, but it's roundabout.

[longtempered]

[Excuse you Fugo these are clearly the perfect clothes for cleaning and construction??? (Well, they are if you have literally four more of the exact same suit in your wardrobe...) (And if it's. Almost literally the only kind of suit in your wardrobe--)

Oblivious to whatever judgment happens to be going on at the expense of his fashion sense, however:] Oh, so you need that moved, I'm guessing. Yeah, that definitely shouldn't be a problem. Actually, I bet I could even just kick it out of the way... [This is not bragging, but genuinely thoughtful, and half to himself. But he's turning his complete attention at Fugo now, at least.] Shouldn't take long. Lead the way.

[unholey]

[....... kick it out of the way....... just how strong is this guy?? Well, help is help. Between this casual statement and the easy way he's carrying the dresser, he's probably not lying.]

Yes. [Fugo nods briskly and then starts walking back towards the the offending piece of rock.] Thanks for the help. Although if you can pick it up and push it back where it belongs, the castle will take care of the rest. ... I think.

[He's seen signs of it putting itself back together... but man is that weird. Oska is so weird.]

[hundredths]

[Mob's run into a lot of very strange things in this castle, in the time between his first arrival and this entire robot fiasco. He'd like to say he's gotten used to things by now, maybe...at least a little....but time and time again, things still crop up and surprise him anyhow, when he's least expecting it.

Like the surprisingly normal tones of a...piano, coming from someplace down the hall?

Having not heard a piano being played in the entirety of his stay so far, it's more than enough to catch Mob's attention now; he's just left the kitchens after having a bit of lunch, and was heading to another part of this floor to chip in some more with cleaning up, but the sound has him sidetracked before he realizes it. Following it to the source isn't so hard...and so he ends up discovering the piano room, and the person sitting in there playing on it right now.

The song's unfamiliar, and the face in there is too...overall, it doesn't feel like there's a lot of room to open up a conversation out of the blue, and Mob finds he doesn't really want to interrupt such nice music either. This results in a brief dilemma involving him hovering at the side of the doorway, and starting to take a step back into the hall, one hand absently reaching out to the wall--

Which is still rather more loosely put-together than normal, with the beating it'd taken from its share of robots earlier. Under Mob's hand a particularly unstable stone slips free under his hand, and hits the floor (and his foot, a bit) with a resounding crack.]

Ow-- [This is also louder than he'd intended. Actually, pretty much all of this is extremely Not As Intended. Mob stumbles into the piano room with all the finesse of somebody that's going to be participating in a sophisticated stealth mission on another planet only a week or so from now. .....It's a woefully small amount of finesse, honestly.......]

[unholey]

[What happens next is, sadly, a little inevitable. Crash, goes part of the wall onto poor Mob's foot. Ow, goes the aforementioned woe-begotten child. The piano makes a sound that cannot be described with onomatopoeia. But it's rather sour and discordant, given the way Fugo's fingers slip on the keys when he startles at all this noise.]

Ah-- [Fugo twists in place to see what the hell is going on and ... is confronted by a more open space than he expected to, even though he purposefully left the door open. His heart is hammering in his ears but, startled as he is, he's ... genuinely more concerned with Mob, who might have been hurt when the wall came down.] Jesus, are you okay? Was that the wall?

[hundredths]

[It's all inevitable, to be sure, but it still feels extremely preventable all the same, which is the crux of Mob's embarrassment currently; here he is against the doorway, half inside the room and half out, clutching at his foot with one hand and hearing that discordant note before the music stops completely.

Remorse lines his frame and even the set of his expression, vaguely, as he looks up to meet the man's concerned stare.]

Um...yeah, I'm okay. I just-- [An already quiet voice thins out a little, as he tries to figure out how to even. Explain?? What a disaster...] --broke the wall a bit? On...accident...

[But--the pain is already sort of starting to ebb from his foot a bit, at least. So there's that...and Mob sheepishly sets it back on the floor, the rest of him bending into a sort of haphazard half-bow.] Sorry about that...

[unholey]

[While Mob is apologizing, Fugo has already gotten up from the bench to inspect the damage.]

It's not your fault. This whole place is falling apart. [Fugo shakes his head and then reaches out to touch the place where the loose stone once rested.] It probably got hit by one of those stupid robots during the attack.

[He makes a beckoning gesture.]

Come on in, you probably shouldn't stand on that. Does it still hurt? Does anything feel broken? Can you wiggle your toes?

[digiorno]

[It was irrational and ugly and selfish, the thought he had when they first came back to Oska. It was beneath him. His first thought was: Have they destroyed the piano?]

[That one thing--that was one thing he was looking forward to, even after all the mess of Woodhurst. Even though it could blow up in his face. Even though it could make Fugo unhappy. But there should be music in these halls, he'd thought; there should be something. And Fugo isn't the only one who could make use of a piano.]

[But of course it's Fugo he wanted it for. To spit in the face of Michele Fugo every day the piano rings with music borne of emotion, good or bad. Every time music is used for its proper purpose, Michele Fugo suffers somewhere deep in his heart and his marrow. And he deserves to.]

[Which is why Giorno didn't show it to Fugo. He went and looked for it, and he found it, and he made sure nothing terrible was inside it or leaning on it or scratching it. He cleaned up around it a bit, and then . . . he left it.]

[Sometimes he comes to check on it. Like today. Today, he comes to check on it, to make sure it's still all right, and finds Fugo there, and his heart jumps up and lodges firmly in his throat.]

You found it . . .

[He winces as soon as he hears the words come out of his own mouth. That's--Fugo will stop now. He won't be relaxed anymore. Damn.]

[unholey]

[It's been a few days now, since he found the piano. And he's been thinking to himself: Giorno is the one who asked for it to be brought here. Fugo doesn't believe in chance. It this were just a piano, it wouldn't mean anything. But this is Giorno's piano. When he opens up the bench and leafs through his sheet music, there's a lingering smell of salt and the sea. Of Napoli, a little closer now but still painfully out of reach.

And there's really no one other than Giorno who could have asked for this piano. Fugo hasn't spoken about the piano to anyone. And-- he chooses to believe that Giorno wouldn't share something like that about him without his permission. So it has to be Giorno. Giorno is the one who brought this piano here, but didn't say anything about it. And now that he's found it and is starting to make a habit of practicing, he's not sure what to say about it himself.]

[Even though most of his attention is focused on the piano and his back is to the door, Fugo doesn't startle when he hears the murmur of Giorno's voice. (It helps that he's getting a little more used to people poking their heads into the door.) His playing falters, but he doesn't jump. He turns to glance over his shoulder; there's Giorno, startled by the sound of his own voice and hovering near the door.]

I was wondering when we would run into each other here. [In a way, it felt a little inevitable. Fugo turns back to the keyboard-- and then shakes his head, trying to get his bangs out of his eyes.] You can come in, if you like. I'm just wasting time.

[digiorno]

[His palm is pressed to the doorframe, fingers curling around the edge when Fugo turns around, like he's desperately holding himself back from stepping through the door and into the room. It's more or less true; his shoulders sag with relief when permission comes, and he allows himself to fall forward into the room, smiling soft and crooked and not at all on purpose.]

I was a little worried it would make you sad. Here--

[He comes to stand behind Fugo at the bench, digs in his pocket for a moment until he finds a couple of bobby pins.]

You can't see, that won't do. [In a quick, practiced motion, he finger-combs Fugo's bangs back from his face and pins them carefully in place. Then he ducks around over Fugo's left shoulder, shooting him a questioning look.]

Better?

[unholey]

[Briefly, Fugo's hands still over the keys; he can play through a lot of distractions, but his hair being fussed with is apparently not one of them. It should be strange, he knows. Not for the first time, he catches himself thinking but it's fine, since it's Giorno.]

Better. [He nods, both in agreement and to check how securely his hair's been pinned back. Perfectly, of course; Giorno doesn't half-ass hair constructions, even the little ones.] Thanks.

[And then, because he might as well, he mentally rewinds and starts the piece he's playing over. While he's starting again, he thinks over Giorno's worry: that seeing this piano again would make him sad.]

I don't know how I feel about it, but I don't think it's bad.

[webdesigned]

( it's a few days after the grand piano relocation (haha, grand, get it... no? okay, fine, but that was funny) before Peter has any time to really track down the source of the music he can hear as he works on putting the castle back together, and trying not to think about his double wandering around, or his ex trying to run himself into the ground. it's actually nice, having the music filtering in through the silence his thoughts might otherwise like to fill. it's the morning of a relatively empty day as the castle repairs are starting to show progress that Peter finally indulges his curiosity to find the piano and just who was playing it.

he does recognize the pianist as he wanders closer, knocking on the doorframe before he enters. it's open, he notices, hanging just a little ajar. huh. he doesn't stick on that long, heading toward the piano instead, and not disturbing Fugo until he's through a particularly complicated run to a softer lull. )

You're really good, ( he notes, openly impressed. Peter can play piano, technically well, yet there's no spirit behind the notes, nor joy for the practice when he does. it's just something he can do. ) Where did this piano come from? ( he muses second, running a hand across the polished surface. it's a beautiful piano, and he's pretty sure he'd have noticed it sooner if it were a part of Oska for long. )

[unholey]

[Playing the piano is getting to be something of a habit, again. There's more downtime between missions than Fugo personally cares for and, as much as he'd like to slam his face into a book most of the time he's awake or busy himself with cleanup and repair, he's starting to warm up to the idea that maybe he should take the chance to try and... you know, relax. Recharge. Devote some time to his theoretical hobbies.

By the time Peter enters the room, Fugo is winding down with his practice. It's been a tricky thing finding the right balance: too short and it's almost pointless, too long and he ends up with stiff shoulders and a crick in his neck. So after working on something a little more technical, it's back into jazz. Fugo looks up from his playing at Peter's knock, nodding in greeting before his gaze drops back to the keys.]

Thanks. Though, to be honest, I'm actually pretty rusty. [Six months of playing in a bar does not undo thee years of ignoring the instrument. Especially after another long break after ending up here in January.] I don't know how Giorno did it, but I think he asked someone from ALASTAIR to pull it here from Napoli. This is his piano from back home.

[webdesigned]

( ALASTAIR did it, huh? Peter frowns, conflicting thoughts running through his head. he does his best to put his disquiet with the organization aside, he tries to believe that they're really out there doing their best to save timelines and they're the sort of organization he's willing to work for. sometimes it's easier said than done, though... like the idea they can airlift in a grand piano from a specific place and time, but they can't send people stranded by a haywire machine back to the place they belong.

he's felt the same frustration, opening his wardrobe in his room and finding a suit that he certainly hadn't left in there. a suit from home, with a familiar run of repair in the shoulder, after being torn open a good handful of times. something from home, when he was forced to stay very far from it. )

Funny how they can bring a piano, but not send anybody home. ( he sighs, before doing all he can to shake it off and focus on something more positive. ) Either way, it's nice to know it's here. Maybe I'll give it a shot one of these days. If you call yourself rusty, you don't wanna know what my playing would be like.

[unholey]

[Dryly:] Oh, yeah. It's a real riot.

[Trust doesn't come easily to Fugo, on a personal level or with organized groups; while he has a sense that the other members of ALASTAIR want to do good, the best they can, he also feels that their scope is so grand that they lose sight of the individual. If it's for the good of the multiverse, in all of its infinite possibilities, well. How could the good for a (relatively speaking) handful of displaced people possibly outweigh that?]

You're more than welcome to. Some of my sheet music came along for the ride in the bench. I haven't yet looked in the library, but I'm sure their section on music and music theory has to have something. [It can sometimes be a little hard to track where Fugo is looking thanks to his goofy bangs. But since he's pinned them up for his practice, if Peter's watching carefully, he should be able to spot the sly way Fugo looks away from his shit music without giving it away by adjusting his posture to watch him instead.] You used to take lessons?

[wyvil]

[It was the sound of the piano that got Wylan's attention. There's a lot he should be doing right now- a castle to restore, a new mission to brace himself for, eventually a new life to reinvent that doesn't revolve around the Dreggs- but right now, he can't help but follow it, letting the music lead him to through the castles halls. He stops at the open door, peeking inside, and is surprised to see a piano, the first instrument he's seen since his arrival besides his flute (which is safely tucked in the satchel he always carries).

Wylan listens from the doorway, losing track of time as he listens. Music had always been a refuge for Wylan, something safe and familiar. He's missed it. He doesn't interrupt Fugo, but waits for him to pause before speaking from his spot by the door, his voice just loud enough to carry across the room to Fugo. He still doesn't move to enter the room entirely, just in case Fugo wouldn't appreciate a distraction in the form of company.]

That was really nice.

[unholey]

[Wylan chooses to come in at a good time; Fugo's been practicing long enough that he needs some time to stretch out again. Almost as soon as he's done playing the piece he was working on, he laces his fingers together to stretch his arms and wrists above his head. He turns around to spot who it is-- ah, it's Wylan.]

Oh, uh-- thanks. [Stretch completed, he drops his arms back down so he can stretch his fingers in particular by lightly pulling on the fingertips of one hand with the other.] You can come in if you want. I'm out of practice again, so I'm just messing around with it.

[wyvil]

[Wylan accepts the invitation easily, in part because he's curious about the piano. Instruments don't seem plentiful in Oska, Wylan's looked. He can't help but wonder where this one came from.]

That's your out of practice?

[Wylan makes his way over to see the piano more clearly, stopping just within arm's reach, as if he needs to keep some distance. He reaches out a hand toward the keys, just resisting the urge to touch them.]

We're lucky it survived the attack. This place could use some music.

[unholey]

[Fugo frowns and thinks, trying to find a diplomatic way to explain it. Wylan's sharp: there's no way he won't be able to spot the odd points if Fugo gives him too many details.]

Well, yeah. Skills decay if you don't use them. [He reaches up to touch his shoulder, rolling the muscle underneath his fingers.] ... back home, I stopped playing. For about-- three years, I guess? I only started practicing again in the past six months.

I probably would have kept up with it, except for the whole falling out of the known universe thing. Oska didn't have a piano when I first arrived.

[Woodhurst was, uh. Aggressively terrible. And cats don't understand things like music and art. But, moving on from that-- it doesn't take a genius to spot the way Wylan's eyes are glued o the instrument and the way he's reaching for it.]

Do you play?