034 || written;

[workaphilic]

[It's some ungodly hour of the morning when a note appears in the journal, for fellow insomniacs or information gluttons who like to read new entries first thing. There's barely any ambient sound recorded; just faint bubbling from a nearby experiment, and the scratch of pen on paper.

(Whether that's out of respect for sleeping residents or something else, well. It's not that hard to say, with him.)]

What are you getting out of this arrangement?

If your first instinct is to say 'nothing,' don't bother. You obviously haven't been paying attention, and I'm not interested in being subjected to your blather. Keep your ignorant bliss to yourself.

The rest of you: there must be something. Paradisa wouldn't bother with you otherwise. If a portal appeared in the lobby tomorrow, ready to whisk you back to your world, your time, your life -- what would be the thing that kept you from stepping through it?

Don't be boring.

SH

((Tags will be slow! Thanks for your patience, everyone.))

Comments

[ofhope]

[ He snorts a little as they enter the library. ]

Fair? That's no fun.

[workaphilic]

Didn't walk all the way out here for you to give me the same paltry answers they did.

[ofhope]

I thought you just needed the fresh air.

[ Sorry, he'll try not to smirk so much. But he won't try very hard.

He'll sit at the grand piano near the corner, though, elbow propped up. ]

You probably got your hopes too high. I have simple pleasures.

[workaphilic]

[He sets his violin case on a nearby table and flips it open. His mouth quirks.]

I was being polite.

[He lifts the bow from the case, taking a moment to lightly rosin it.]

Still, put a little effort in and it won't be a problem.

[ofhope]

[ What you can't make him! ]

Doesn't everyone who's alive have the same answer?

[workaphilic]

[He swings the violin up to rest under his chin.]

Should they?

[ofhope]

[ He just grins, holding out both hands, thumbs and index fingers pressing together to form the shape of a heart.

Shouldn't they? ]

[workaphilic]

[He smirks, tilting his head into the chin rest. He's quiet for a moment--

-- then he sets the bow against the strings, eyes going a bit vacant, and he begins to play.]

[ofhope]

[ And speaking of love, this is exactly the kind of music that resonates best with Joshua. It might not have been so as a child, but some of his tastes had been forced to mature quickly in Aion's care. Good wine and music were not ignored.

Though he does enjoy jazz, this genre of music has it's own rhythm, no matter the song. It all feels the same to him, which is somehow nostalgic, even if he never liked practicing it while at the orphanage. These songs tell a narrative more clearly than any poem might, and he can see the story in his head like a film. He and his sister are always the main characters, of course, even if the adventures or sweet moments differ.

He is still human, and humans are sentimental creatures, as he silently pointed out just before Sherlock played. But maybe nostalgia is different, and maybe his reasoning can't be anything other than that.

There's no movement from him at first, eyes staring straight past Sherlock while he listens, somewhere else entirely. Then, as if compelled by memory, he drops his elbow from the side of the piano and presses a finger to the a key, then another. This story, he's played it before. Joshua's gaze drops down, expression mostly bereft of emotion as he starts playing to accompany, keeping pace easily enough, but softly. He wants to hear Sherlock's music more than his own. ]

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock leans into the music, swaying slightly with the push and pull of his bow. He almost seems energized by the accompaniment, soft as it is. The piece isn't fully complete without all the parts, and it adds an extra element when he has them. If there's one thing he knows well (and there are many), it's music.

The violin is an extension of himself, his earliest coping mechanism. It's calming -- a few minutes of true silence in his mind that's ordinarily so difficult to achieve. He sublimates, reduces the whirlwind of junkyard scrap that has made up his thoughts for the past few weeks to sequences of notes, pulls of vibrato.

He lets the final note linger, a slow drag of his bow against the strings, eyes now closed. The longer it lasts, the longer the noise stays at bay. But not forever.]

/threadjacks???

[heloise]

[ Lucrezia may have underestimated Joshua's social skills. Look at him bringing in another charming friend to entertain!

The music isn't what she is used to. In many ways it feels more emotional, with unexpected twists and turns, more like the mind trailing from one thought to another rather than scripted speech. She knows not to interrupt a train of thought, whether made by words or otherwise, sneaking as quietly as she can to then hover by a doorway and listen.

There was someone who said there can exist no music in eternity, but then this feels like the closest thing to it, when time ceases to matter and the melody takes precedence. Even the silence after it becomes precious, so she lets it hang for long enough before disturbing it with a quiet clap and a chuckle. Certainly the most charming company. ]

[ofhope]

[ The clap would be more alarming if he hadn't sensed her there, or even expected her. Some things are still predictable, which is good, as it's enough to keep him from drifting too far.

And it reminds him to do the same, abandoning the piano keys to applaud his appreciation for Sherlock's music, which was definitely the main event. ]

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock lifts the bow from the violin with a flourish, and inclines his head to the room in a half-bow.

He turns to sit, to take a moment to wipe down the violin, and glances to the door.]

Seems we've a larger audience than I anticipated.

[He sounds more amused than annoyed.]

[heloise]

[ She raises her hands and claps especially for the guest then, slowly walking closer with a laugh. Her eyes are still on the tall man with the violin when she takes her seat next to Joshua. ]

A pleaseed audience, I assure you. [ She turns to Joshua. ]
I never knew you played. What is this called?

[ofhope]

[ Unsure if she's talking about the song or the instrument, he'll start with the more obvious. ]

Never seen a piano before, or just never heard anyone with skill play?

[ Reaching up, he pokes gently against Lucrezia's cheek before looking back to Sherlock. ]

She likes to wander around and get into things. You know, like a cat? Lucrezia, you should introduce yourself.

[workaphilic]

[He studies her, the same careful way he studies everyone else.]

Can't fault good taste. [Another slight tilt of his head; this time, an acknowledgment.] Sherlock Holmes.

[heloise]

[ That is no way to introduce yourself, Sherlock.

She chuckles and moves to stand, but not before trailing her hand along Joshua's thigh, stepping closer now so she can give him a curtsy. Making a show out of it. ]

Lucrezia Borgia. At your service.

[ofhope]

[ The look he offers at watching them is nothing short of entertained, though only lingering on Sherlock long enough to see if he reacts to the Borgia name. Most people don't, really, but it's always fun to see. ]

She lives here now. Her taste is debatable, though.

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't. If there's one thing that didn't make it past the entrance of his mind palace, it's history.

He does, however, smirk at that last statement, settling his violin back in its case.]

Now, that's not quite fair. You did appreciate the music, correct, Ms. Borgia?

[heloise]

[ She turns to smile at Joshua over her shoulder, certainly a way to compliment and insult her at the same time. Bantering is a pastime she is fond of, though. ]

Madonna Lucrezia, if you insist, or simply Borgia.

How could I not appreciate such music? Even if I must say I prefer ciaconna still. Dances.

[ofhope]

[ Whoops, there she goes again with the dances. He stays quiet, giving them a chance to chat. ]

[workaphilic]

Madonna Lucrezia.

[He sets his bow across the mouth of the case, but doesn't move to loosen it yet.]

The initial request was for music for thought. Not much room for that, in a dance.

[heloise]

[ She nods in approval, but she didn't make the request and besides, noise doesn't bother her as much. She turns back to Joshua then. ]

Has he fulfilled this request?

[ofhope]

Why, are you keeping score?

[workaphilic]

No, please, I'd like to hear the answer. I don't make a habit of disappointing expectations.