Monday (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sleepchained) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-07-20 08:32 am
sleepchained) wrote in towerofanimus2012-07-20 08:32 am
Entry tags:
open
Characters: Monday and anybody
Setting: Floor 28 (morning), Floor 22 (afternoon)
Format: i will match you! s'all good
Summary: Monday wanders around and reminisces about his home and is generally being melancholy.
Warnings: monday being depressing sometimes i guess
Morning: Floor 28
[ Normally, the floor is relatively quiet. The instruments play by themselves sometimes, but it's no issue.
However, today, floor 28 is filled with music, generated by the grand organ and the person playing it.
He's a little rusty. But quite good, and engrossed in his playing. The piece seems to be strongly reminiscent of religious hymns, and may almost sound familiar at some points - but not quite. It's always, at best, slightly off. ]
Afternoon: Floor 22
[ He's wandering the art gallery, reflecting quietly on the pieces within.
He turns into a side hall, and finds himself facing pictures painted in a stained-glass style.
There are six of them, heavily stylised. But they hold a potent sort of recollection for him, even so.
One is missing, however. A frame leans in the corner, the canvas within rent into tatters. He doesn't bother to turn it over.
He just sighs, stepping back to look at all of them. It's been a very long time since he's seen those faces depicted in this way. ]
Setting: Floor 28 (morning), Floor 22 (afternoon)
Format: i will match you! s'all good
Summary: Monday wanders around and reminisces about his home and is generally being melancholy.
Warnings: monday being depressing sometimes i guess
Morning: Floor 28
[ Normally, the floor is relatively quiet. The instruments play by themselves sometimes, but it's no issue.
However, today, floor 28 is filled with music, generated by the grand organ and the person playing it.
He's a little rusty. But quite good, and engrossed in his playing. The piece seems to be strongly reminiscent of religious hymns, and may almost sound familiar at some points - but not quite. It's always, at best, slightly off. ]
Afternoon: Floor 22
[ He's wandering the art gallery, reflecting quietly on the pieces within.
He turns into a side hall, and finds himself facing pictures painted in a stained-glass style.
There are six of them, heavily stylised. But they hold a potent sort of recollection for him, even so.
One is missing, however. A frame leans in the corner, the canvas within rent into tatters. He doesn't bother to turn it over.
He just sighs, stepping back to look at all of them. It's been a very long time since he's seen those faces depicted in this way. ]
[ floor 28 ]
Oy...!
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He senses their approach a few moments before they speak. Each person amasses time, memories, a record; to him they are processed as flashes of colour and sound. Tick, tick.
He stops playing, letting the sound echo in the vast room. ]
I'm sorry. Was I bothering you?
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[ He rubs the back of his neck before continuing. ]
Don't ya know any happier songs?
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Though I haven't played them in a very long time. And they're not suited for an organ, anyway.
[ he looks kind of sheepish. ]
Do you play an instrument?
Afternoon: Floor 22
Man, some of those animals sure looked real.
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Still, he's curious. It's something that resonates with him. All that lost time, kept in a form that can be seen and touched; the preservation of a life ended.
He walks back to the hall with the stuffed and mounted wildlife, looking at the silent display. After a moment, he lightly touches the moose's antlers, tracing the curve.
There are flashes of sound, brief impressions of memory; birdsong and fresh air. He takes his hand off, and looks around at the other animals.
My, they do look real.
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[ He gestures about to the surrounding area. At the question, his hands settle on his hips as he leans forward. ]
Of course. I sing. Thus, the instrument I play is myself. Surprised?
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...her nose itches.
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Perhaps he's just being paranoid. He does stop and look at the wolf for a long moment, though, patting it carefully on the head. He's always liked animals. Perhaps that's why he doesn't enjoy stuffed and mounted ones.
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Ahh, sweet relief.
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[ he looks kind of fascinated, really ]
Really? I'm terrible at singing, honestly. How long have you been doing it?
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[ He tilts his head slightly. ]
I dunno. I just do it. There ain't nothing that I can't do so long as I put my mind to it.
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"Oh, hello. Where did you come from?"
He might seem odd, to Amaterasu; there is the noise of a quiet, constant ticking where a heartbeat would normally be, words and numbers in scripts of languages both living and dead shining occasionally under his skin. The facade is nowhere near perfect, for those who have the power to see through it.
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She yawned widely as he petted her, then bumped against his leg. What was he doing around this creepy art gallery, anyway?
Floor 22
Yeah that stuff's pretty cool, but I'm a much bigger fan of their earlier work.
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It's not the artist I'm particularly interested in, I'm afraid. More the subjects of these pictures.
[ he glances briefly at the painting in the corner, canvas tattered. he knows whose that is; he doesn't need to turn it over to confirm it. ]
It brings back...memories.
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It's not like he can understand her if she doesn't actively communicate with him, and he's kind of distracted because of the whole 'oh gosh an animal i like animals' thing.
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What are they? Posters of your favorite boy band back home?
[She's actually kind of curious as to what they are, sarcasm aside.]
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That kind of music isn't quite to my taste, actually. I prefer what would commonly be called classical - but, well, considering my nature, I suppose they had their own boy bands back then.
[ that laughter fades very quickly, though. ]
But, ah...no. They're depictions of my...siblings, I suppose. But it's been a long time since I've seen them like this.
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How were they the last time you saw 'em? I mean, unless you're related to stained glass transformers...
[stop making stupid jokes self stop stop--]
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he sighs, looking up at the paintings again. He's silent, for a moment. How to explain? ]
Less than they were, I suppose. Twisted, would be a better word.
They were much better, once. We were much better once. But, as I said. It's been a long time.
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[Suddenly not... in a joking mood at all anymore...]
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But it's been a terribly long time, since then. A pity, really, but in hindsight, it was inevitable. The wishes of our mother conflicted with our own.
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What kind of stuff did ya build?
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[ he seems pretty happy to talk about it. ]
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So you basically built like, libraries and stuff? [Academics was definitely not her strong point.] How do you "build" music?
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Though I admit, it's a bit more entertaining when you can make time bend to your whims now and then.
Oh, my brother was terribly innovative with that. He built entire caverns that served as natural instruments - though admittedly also because he liked the acoustics. It was grand, really.
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That's... Dude...! That's amazing! [The normal bored tone she tries to affect in her every day speech was basically punch in the face and brushed aside now.] And I thought the acoustics in my room were good, but that's...!