[Abandoned and lonely is, unfortunately, not a vibe he's unfamiliar with. Verso's a wanderer and has been for years; his streak is not to be broken just because he's found himself in a strange world, in a stranger land. And despite the lone wolf nature that's been foisted upon him by necessity, he still drifts in and out towards... people.
(Loneliness, in many ways, still requires a balm to ease its nagging presence.)
And this time, the twang of music notes pierces the air. He'd call it the resonating sound of a piano, except much smaller. Much cheaper. Much more honky-tonk.
A toy piano, the sort a parent would gift their child. How funny. Verso wanders closer to find Wanda crouched down next to said toy.]
Ough. [Yes he said ough] Could use a little tuning, hm?
( wanda is, of course, not unawares that someone is approaching her. it's impossible not to notice, for past the heaviness of his steps and his otherwise lack of attempt at hiding his presence, heโlike most othersโhave his thoughts echo towards her and back. the park, being abandoned as it is, gave wanda refuge for the incessant thinking of others.
[He hitches his hands on his hips, affecting casualness as she responds, happy to do so since she doesn't respond with fear or wariness.]
Might explain it, yes.
[What a strange little thing to find amid this place. Looking at it is like looking at an old, faded memory โ did he own one of those, a long, long time ago, or was his room only ever adorned with a full-size piano back when things were simpler? Sometimes, even though halcyon days feel fuzzy in his mind.]
Though... [He reaches out, waggles a hand.] It also might have something to do with the notes you're playing. Would you like some help with that? I've been known to tickle the ivories now and again.
( she feels like there's a depth of some amount of innocent teasing here, about her playing the wrong notes (she definitely was). wanda does not pretend to be a professional, or even practiced at this, so she shrugs. )
I don't think you should say that again.
( 'tickle the ivories'... sounds weird.
but she does stand, motions at the piano with her hands as if to say all yours. )
Don't immediately play a masterpiece and make me look bad.
[He says. Again. To be fair, that is not an odd turn of phrase for him, a relatively common term when it comes to playing the piano โ but musicians are weird like that.]
And I don't know if anyone can play a masterwork on a toy piano, though maybe that just means I'm not skilled enough. Ah, well...
[He considers bringing out his grand piano from his pictos hammerspace, but Verso tosses the idea aside. That might be overkill, and it would seem like he's trying to flex his skills over hers. So, instead, he crouches down next the piano, reaching out to plonk out a few notes.]
Here. You were off just by one note at this part...
( and yet wanda is an esl speaker, for all intents and purposes, so the turn of phrase sounds odd to her ear, given that in sokovian the notes on a piano aren't quite referred to as 'ivories'. or perhaps they are, her music studies never went beyond being ten years oldโhardly taught by an aline mother-type, too.
they exchange positions; he crouches down as she stands, wanda watching with some sense of interest and curiosity as the tall man moves about with surprising intent over the hilariously-tiny toy piano.
slow and simple, he plays, and the way he intones it makes wanda return back to crouching down beside him. there's an itch, about wanting to get the notes right, after trying for a few minutes to no avail, frustration rising despite her best efforts. it's just one of those things she feels she should have remembered, something her mother taught her, almost two decades ago. after watching him play the notes and repeating them a few more times, wanda reaches hesitantly with her right hand, as if asking for permission to set her fingers down on the keys.
'tickle the ivories', she muses, trying to imitate the soft elegance by which he pressed his fingers onto the keys, plunking out the melody to the best of her ability, counting the rests and the beats under her breath, the way a child would (or a beginner, really) after several practiced attempts before. it might be clear to verso that she was taught, at some point, but lost most of the knowledge but for the muscle memory. )
Mm.
( she draws her hand back, letting it rest over the curve of her knee alongside her other hand. her gaze flits up towards him, a gesture of gratitude in the lack of a stoic expression on her face. )
Sounds like how I remember it, except a little less tuned.
[Of course he lets her play, relinquishes the keys so she has room to fit her hand to play. It is clear that she was taught, yes, simply by the way she counts the beats. Granted, even children are taught that much outside of those who pointedly pursue music, but thatโs neither here nor there.
He nods, settling back on his heels, elbows resting on his knees.]
Youโve clearly had some experience. If youโre interested, you should keep it up โย not like thereโs a lot worth pursuing in this place.
[In terms of fun hobbies, as opposed to scraping out survival.]
( it comes out unprompted, sudden, almost like she wishes to express the pride she feels in the fact that this is something that her mother taught her as a childโthat she retains some of that knowledge still, even if through muscle memory.
finally, she stands, hands at her hips, and looks at him. )
Do you really think this place might have a working real piano to keep at it?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
(Loneliness, in many ways, still requires a balm to ease its nagging presence.)
And this time, the twang of music notes pierces the air. He'd call it the resonating sound of a piano, except much smaller. Much cheaper. Much more honky-tonk.
A toy piano, the sort a parent would gift their child. How funny. Verso wanders closer to find Wanda crouched down next to said toy.]
Ough. [Yes he said ough] Could use a little tuning, hm?
ough
at least for a while. )
I doubt a toy has the mechanism for tuning.
( she glances up, fingers still on the keys. )
Might explain why my playing's off.
( yeah, blame the faulty toy piano. )
oueux as the french would say
Might explain it, yes.
[What a strange little thing to find amid this place. Looking at it is like looking at an old, faded memory โ did he own one of those, a long, long time ago, or was his room only ever adorned with a full-size piano back when things were simpler? Sometimes, even though halcyon days feel fuzzy in his mind.]
Though... [He reaches out, waggles a hand.] It also might have something to do with the notes you're playing. Would you like some help with that? I've been known to tickle the ivories now and again.
shut le fuck up aopwiejfwioj
I don't think you should say that again.
( 'tickle the ivories'... sounds weird.
but she does stand, motions at the piano with her hands as if to say all yours. )
Don't immediately play a masterpiece and make me look bad.
no
[He says. Again. To be fair, that is not an odd turn of phrase for him, a relatively common term when it comes to playing the piano โ but musicians are weird like that.]
And I don't know if anyone can play a masterwork on a toy piano, though maybe that just means I'm not skilled enough. Ah, well...
[He considers bringing out his grand piano from his pictos hammerspace, but Verso tosses the idea aside. That might be overkill, and it would seem like he's trying to flex his skills over hers. So, instead, he crouches down next the piano, reaching out to plonk out a few notes.]
Here. You were off just by one note at this part...
[He plays the melody for her, slow and simple.]
no subject
they exchange positions; he crouches down as she stands, wanda watching with some sense of interest and curiosity as the tall man moves about with surprising intent over the hilariously-tiny toy piano.
slow and simple, he plays, and the way he intones it makes wanda return back to crouching down beside him. there's an itch, about wanting to get the notes right, after trying for a few minutes to no avail, frustration rising despite her best efforts. it's just one of those things she feels she should have remembered, something her mother taught her, almost two decades ago. after watching him play the notes and repeating them a few more times, wanda reaches hesitantly with her right hand, as if asking for permission to set her fingers down on the keys.
'tickle the ivories', she muses, trying to imitate the soft elegance by which he pressed his fingers onto the keys, plunking out the melody to the best of her ability, counting the rests and the beats under her breath, the way a child would (or a beginner, really) after several practiced attempts before. it might be clear to verso that she was taught, at some point, but lost most of the knowledge but for the muscle memory. )
Mm.
( she draws her hand back, letting it rest over the curve of her knee alongside her other hand. her gaze flits up towards him, a gesture of gratitude in the lack of a stoic expression on her face. )
Sounds like how I remember it, except a little less tuned.
no subject
He nods, settling back on his heels, elbows resting on his knees.]
Youโve clearly had some experience. If youโre interested, you should keep it up โย not like thereโs a lot worth pursuing in this place.
[In terms of fun hobbies, as opposed to scraping out survival.]
no subject
( it comes out unprompted, sudden, almost like she wishes to express the pride she feels in the fact that this is something that her mother taught her as a childโthat she retains some of that knowledge still, even if through muscle memory.
finally, she stands, hands at her hips, and looks at him. )
Do you really think this place might have a working real piano to keep at it?