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31_days2011-11-17 02:12 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2011-11-17 02:12 pm
[Nov. 17] [Fullmetal Alchemist] Composer
Title: Composer
Day/Theme: Nov. 17, 2011 "musicality"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee and his younger brother
Rating: PG
He understood how music worked. He could touch the keys of the piano as well as anyone and turn the pages of notation into sound, but it didn't make him feel anything. How did one put oneself into the performance? Perhaps, he mused bitterly, there was nothing in him to put into it. What was copying though anyway? It paled in comparison to the beauty and depth of creation. He picked up a pen and drew a perfect treble clef, pleased by the sight of such a lovely symbol inked in his steady style.
Any elation he had expected over the act of composition was killed in an instant. What note should he put on the page? If he touched the keys he could produce a melody or two from memory, but avoiding the works of others, he could only tap in a manner little less than random. He closed his eyes and listened, but inside he found just as much nothing. Always careful to avoid a wasted move, he found he could not put a single mark more to paper.
He took the metronome up to his bedroom and laid across his bed on his stomach listening to it tick. Music was a language he could read and understand, but could not speak.
Without the courtesy of a knock, his door moved in counterpoint to the fixed ticking of the metronome. He knew the reason as soon as the action occurred. He tried not to look directly into the wide, brown eye peeking in. After his brother's curiosity had been dealt with, the door closed and Lon went away.
The following afternoon, Solf returned home to find his brother tinkering at the piano. He seemed very much at ease with the instrument, not just rolling off a handful of childish scales and exercises as in the past, but moving his hands along with a companionable ease that fit well with Solf's general perception of his character. Sitting up in front of him were a sheet of paper and a pen resting, closed, before it, but Lon's eyes were closed. Through awkward, childish fingers issued forth, on both the page and in the air, a neatly crafted tune- a window to a deep, artistic soul.
Solf listened, enchanted. That tiny boy, whose feet barely reached the pedals, had filled his blank page (he recognized quite well the treble clef he'd drawn and left behind).
"Solf!" Lon greeted him, all cheer and innocence. "Did you hear from the beginning?" He snatched the single page of sheet music off the piano and pressed it into his older brother's hands. "I did it for you."
Though, surely, the words he spoke in reply were praising and thankful, he would not recall them mere moments after they were spoken. He clasped the page to his heart and requested a repeat performance. For the first time, his brother impressed him. ...Yet when Lon expressed his love, Solf was never more aware of the lack within himself.
Day/Theme: Nov. 17, 2011 "musicality"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee and his younger brother
Rating: PG
He understood how music worked. He could touch the keys of the piano as well as anyone and turn the pages of notation into sound, but it didn't make him feel anything. How did one put oneself into the performance? Perhaps, he mused bitterly, there was nothing in him to put into it. What was copying though anyway? It paled in comparison to the beauty and depth of creation. He picked up a pen and drew a perfect treble clef, pleased by the sight of such a lovely symbol inked in his steady style.
Any elation he had expected over the act of composition was killed in an instant. What note should he put on the page? If he touched the keys he could produce a melody or two from memory, but avoiding the works of others, he could only tap in a manner little less than random. He closed his eyes and listened, but inside he found just as much nothing. Always careful to avoid a wasted move, he found he could not put a single mark more to paper.
He took the metronome up to his bedroom and laid across his bed on his stomach listening to it tick. Music was a language he could read and understand, but could not speak.
Without the courtesy of a knock, his door moved in counterpoint to the fixed ticking of the metronome. He knew the reason as soon as the action occurred. He tried not to look directly into the wide, brown eye peeking in. After his brother's curiosity had been dealt with, the door closed and Lon went away.
The following afternoon, Solf returned home to find his brother tinkering at the piano. He seemed very much at ease with the instrument, not just rolling off a handful of childish scales and exercises as in the past, but moving his hands along with a companionable ease that fit well with Solf's general perception of his character. Sitting up in front of him were a sheet of paper and a pen resting, closed, before it, but Lon's eyes were closed. Through awkward, childish fingers issued forth, on both the page and in the air, a neatly crafted tune- a window to a deep, artistic soul.
Solf listened, enchanted. That tiny boy, whose feet barely reached the pedals, had filled his blank page (he recognized quite well the treble clef he'd drawn and left behind).
"Solf!" Lon greeted him, all cheer and innocence. "Did you hear from the beginning?" He snatched the single page of sheet music off the piano and pressed it into his older brother's hands. "I did it for you."
Though, surely, the words he spoke in reply were praising and thankful, he would not recall them mere moments after they were spoken. He clasped the page to his heart and requested a repeat performance. For the first time, his brother impressed him. ...Yet when Lon expressed his love, Solf was never more aware of the lack within himself.