![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flickerflash) wrote2012-09-21 11:49 pm
[Accidental Video]
Some nights are a little worse than others. She's let it go on too long.
Katie is so tired. And worried. And sick of being away from human contact, and wondering why she should bother trying to avoid them anyway.
And hungry.
She's trying to ignore that last part.
It's very easy to let herself into a house full of pirates, because she is a ninja. Eternally at war with you lot, she is. It's just a matter of scaling the side of house #6 and opening her own private door through the brick wall. It swings shut behind her, no harm done.
This was Brook's room. He's no longer here, of course, just like Sigmund and Edward and Svala, all gone. Katie is so, so tired of people leaving. Brook left twice. It's not very fair. She wonders what she would do if she saw him on the street again today. He rather deserves to be hurt just as much, she thinks. (But that's not fair either, and really the only reason she's snuck into his room like this is she misses him. Brook was her first friend here. He carried an orchestra with him wherever he walked. It was marvellous...)
Jack's still here.
Jack hasn't left. But if she stays in the attic, he'll get involved, and not in a good way. And Norrington-- well. If she stays, she'll kill him. Or he'll kill her. That's the way of such conflict. It feels like a betrayal, really. She's just not sure who's doing the betraying. (And then, of course, these are silly notions altogether, and some days she wonders what on earth she's thinking. Today is not one of those days.)
Katie-the-kitten winds her way around the legs of Brook's bed (is it still too short for him?) and through the adjoining door into the music room. All the instruments are still here. No skeleton, but you know. These were precious to him.
Maybe she should break them.
She changes, human hands reaching out for the guitar. She could smash it on the ground, lots of little pieces, spell out welcome home in chips of wood and warping strings. From there, she knows, she won't stop. Sanji would be so disappointed. But he wouldn't hurt her, would he? Because Sanji's--
Sanji feeds her fish all the time, and he knows her. And he didn't run away. He's still here.
It's not fair. She's not being fair.
Her hand hovers over the neck of the guitar, and then fingers close gently and she pulls the instrument into her lap instead as she sits down.
She knows how to play. She had a guitar at home. Still has, in the attic. It's a child's guitar, nothing like this one. This one's a little too big for her to handle properly. She plays, anyway. Bink's Sake, for Brook; he taught her to play it, but she's heard it since the very day she arrived in Luceti. Maybe when she's done, she can just pretend he congratulates her on a job well done.
She doesn't intend to be overheard. But her much-battered journal is at hand, and in taking the guitar she's let it fall to the floor. At least it won't pick up her image. Just the music.]
[Accidental Video]
[The journal switches on to show...nothing. Well. Some carpet and what might be a music stand by a window, and a whole pile of sheet music off to one side. Nobody is visible, but someone can be heard tuning a guitar. It hasn't been played in a while. Poor thing.
When the guitarist switches to playing, it's clumsily picked out by rusty fingers, but the music itself is probably highly recognisable by a handful of people. The piece gets more fluid the longer she plays, until a couple of minutes into the song, when her fretwork first slows, and then trails off completely.
When she starts again, it's this piece instead, played through to the end.]
...twice more. [The voice is young and distant and distinctly Irish, and she giggles.] D'you think he'd come?
[And she starts playing again. Faster.]
Page 1 of 12