The official first chapter of my story. I decided that if people occasionally comment on it I'll post a new chapter. It would also help if you could point out spelling mistakes... Except for Guitar's horrible accent. XD Anyways, the story, characters and plot belong to me. I do not own any songs used in the story.
Chapter 1: Classical meets Rock
Music reverberated around the large room as pale fingers danced over equally pale piano keys that contrasted with ebony colored keys. Light gray eyes scanned the white sheets of music from behind square glasses as another hand flipped the page for him.
“Thank you, Score.” He said with a warm smile as he looked up at black eyes and a soft smile on the girl’s face; white hair framed her own sheet white skin as black clips held back her long locks.
The song itself was a soft and slow piece, one that soothed the ears with softness and brought a sense of peace upon the soul.
The pianist cast a glance over to an old man who sat on in a wooden chair; deep wrinkles in his face spoke of experience, but his eyes were soft as he watched him play with the adoration that a grandfather would cast towards their grandchildren.
He smiled and pushed a lock of hair from his black ponytail that lay on his shoulder as his other hand danced over a reprieve of bass notes. Fingers skipped over the keys as the final notes reverberated through the room. The old man clapped quietly as he slowly stood from the chair.
“Well played, Piano.” He turned his gaze to Score, who smoothed out her white and black dress; lines of music ran diagonally over her dress with individual notes. “I rather like this piece; perhaps you have another piece as a reprise to this one?”
She bowed to the old man, as she rose a small smile crossed her face. “I have not thought of one yet, Maestro. But, I will work on one for you if you wish.”
He nodded while Score looked over to Piano, who was glancing back at his instrument. It always happened whenever he was in the room, the music beckoning to him, to play the constant rhythms that echoed in his head. His fingers twitched at his sides.
“Piano?” The Musican in question jumped; looking back to the old man he quickly bowed.
“I hope that you enjoyed the music.” He said quietly, rising up slowly as the old man laughed and walked over. Their Maestro patted him on the shoulder and began to leave the room. Piano and Score followed after him quickly.
In the year 2023 the government passed an act that censored music to the point where any music that was not to their standards was to be erased from the country. It put many musical groups out of business, but allowed the government to sponsor their own causes through music. Only four months later, Musicans began to appear. They were created from music, quite literally. Every instrument and piece of music had a ‘spark of life’, which allowed certain humans; called Maestros, who could create these new beings.
Musicans did not age, they did not need to eat or drink. All they needed to function was sleep; although it was possible for them to die they were far more robust than humans, able to survive most diseases that would kill a normal human.
Piano and Score moved towards the kitchen while their Maestro went into the living room. A frown crossed Piano’s face as he looked at the kettle sitting on the stove-top. He had put it on before he left to play for his Maestro.
“Score, would you mind setting up the tea bags while I handle the water?” Piano looked over his shoulder to find Score already at the cabinet, she gave a small nod and went back to rummaging through the various containers of tea and hot chocolate.
A frown creased over Piano’s lips as he glanced at the door that led into the living room. The old man had been distant as of late, he often spent his nights glancing over at the telephone or glancing out the window. Something was on his Maestro’s mind, and Piano did not enjoy not knowing what was bothering him.
“Piano! Pay attention!”
The pianist was jolted from his thoughts as he realized that the kettle was whistling rather loudly. In a rush he reached for the handle; not a very smart idea on his part.
“Ow!” He yelped, shaking out his hand (which turned a bright red) as he stumbled back. Score was instantly at his side as she examined his hand with a frown on her face.
“And you complain that I space out a lot. Honestly, you are the older one, and I am more responsible.” She sighed as she looked up at him, Piano bowed his head; he felt like he was being scolded like a child. “Go take care of that burn, I will finish with the tea.”
The girl shoved him out of the kitchen and in the direction of the bathroom at the end of the hall. He pushed open the mahogany door and had to blink a few times as the bright powder blue bathroom hurt his eyes. After blinking a few times he made his way over to the sink and opened the medicine cabinet above the sink. He snatched a bottle of anti-biotic cream and a bandage.
Piano flinched as he ran the cold water under his injured hand. Turning the faucet off, he dabbed some of the cream onto his hand, a much better feeling that the stinging water. To finish it off he placed the bandage over his palm; examining his work before putting everything away and leaving the bathroom.
By the time he reached the living room, Score and his Maestro were already sipping away at their tea. The old man looked to him with concern. “Ah, there you are, Piano. Is your hand all right?”
Piano bowed his head as embarrassment crept over his face. “I am fine Maestro. I hope my incompetence has not disturbed you.”
But the old man shook his slowly as he motioned for Piano to sit across from him. “Of course not.”
A smile crossed the Musican took his seat next to Score and reached for the teacup in front of him. The aroma of earl grey tea wafted from the mug and he gave an appreciative sigh as he took a sip of the bitter liquid. He caught the faint aroma of a jasmine tea coming from Score’s cup of tea.
The comfortable silence between the three of them was broken as their Maestro kept glancing out the window, then to the clock before taking a sip of his tea. Piano kept sipping at his drink and didn’t say anything… At least, not until the third time the human repeated the action.
“Forgive me for prying, Maestro, but why do you keep looking out the window?” The old man’s dull blue gaze shifted to Piano briefly before flickering back to the window again,
“I am sorry for worrying you Piano, but… I’ve been expecting company.” Score jumped up quite suddenly, almost sending her cup to the ground as she grinned happily.
“Really? Why did you not tell us?” She said with a little anxiety. “We will not have to hide upstairs again, will we?”
He shook his head, his thin gray hair staying neatly in place and a wry smile crossing his face as Score squealed happily and clapped her hands together and she sat back down on the couch. “Actually, they are much like you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Piano saw the hedge outside rustle. He stood slowly and squinted his eyes against the mid-morning sun. “Wild animals? Well, I would not be surprised since it is spring.” His shoulder jerked when his Maestro suddenly laughed and shook his head. He stood up slowly; Piano walked over to help him but the man raised a thin, withered hand to stop him.
“They are not animals, Piano. Though they are quite late, our guests have finally arrived.” The man said as he walked to the patio.
At first Piano opened his mouth to ask what the old man had meant, but he got his answer in the next moment.
Dozens of Musicans fought their way into the yard, all of various different musical backgrounds; never had Piano seen so many Musicans in his entire life (seeing as the only people he ever knew were Score and his Maestro). Within a few minutes, the yard outside had become covered with them as they all looked around and talked to each other.
“Look at them all!” Without hesitation, Score bolted through the crowd; Piano instantly lost sight of her.
“There are so many of them…” Piano murmured in astonishment. “But why are they all here?” He asked as he looked to the old man for answers.
He glanced over at Piano as they stepped out onto the stone patio, looking over the throngs of Musicans that turned their attention on them. “They are looking for a safe place to settle, somewhere they cannot be followed by humans that would do them harm.”
“Does such a place even exist?” The ebony-haired male never got his answer as the whispering among the crowd died down. They parted as a single Musican wearing a blue base-ball cap and lighter blue t-shirt walked down the aisle, behind him was a girl wearing a brown beret supporting another Musican. The leader glanced back at the obviously injured Musican before addressing the old man.
“Are you the owner of this mansion?” He asked coldly, his face shadowed slightly by his baseball cap, but that did nothing to hide his icy stare.
“I am. I presume that you are the leader of this group of Musicans?”
“Sure as Hell I am.” Piano glowered at the man; how dare he address his Maestro in such a manner! “With your permission, I’d like for my group to settle here for a day or two until we’re at our full strength for the journey ahead.”
The old man laughed before giving the callous Musican a reassuring smile. “But of course, stay as long as you like.”
The tension was instantly gone as the blonde released a sigh of relief and smiled back at the human. “Thanks, we’ve been having trouble getting here.” He looked behind himself and motioned to the girl supporting the male.
Piano made a face at the Musican being supported by the girl’s shoulder. His hair was messy with a particularly long lock of brown hair covering part of his face, he flinched at the three golden earrings in each ear the Musican sported; it had to hurt getting those. The brunette’s sleeves were ripped short and a yellow stripe ran diagonally through his yellow shirt. Not only that, but he wore a spiked belt that didn’t even go through the belt loops of his faded jeans, and three studded black leather bracelets adorned his wrists. To top it all off, he wore a dark red scarf around his neck. He looked utterly ridiculous.
“Guitar was wounded by a shot to his shoulder and leg; do you have anything that could help him?” Squinting his eyes against the sun, Piano could make out dark brown stains in the yellow shirt on his shoulder, and brown patches of dried blood on his pant-leg.
“But of course.” Those gray-blue eyes were instantly on Piano, he felt panic well up in his chest. He looked for Score, and spotted her speaking with a girl with gray hair. “Piano, can you tend to his wounds while I give them supplies?”
Grimacing, but not willing to go against his Maestro’s orders, he bowed to the old man. “Of course, Maestro.” He said quietly. He looked back at Guitar, who pried himself away from the girl before limping after Piano into the house.
Truth be told, he only wanted to be able to talk with the new guests before they left, he never had any socializing with others besides Score and his Maestro.
He looked back, and felt a twinge of guilt run through him when he saw that the strangely dressed Musican could barely keep up with him and had to use the wall for support. With a sigh, he turned to him and grabbed his arm, hoisting it over his shoulder. “Let me help you.”
The other looked up, and for the first time Piano noticed the strange color of his eyes. They were a vibrant gold.
He guided the limping Musican to the bathroom and sat him down on the edge of the bath-tub as he moved away to rummage through the medicine cabinet. Piano managed to find the anti-biotic cream he used earlier, along with cotton balls, an alcohol solution, and plenty of gauze.
“All right, let me take a look.” Guitar lifted up his sleeve, and even Piano had to flinch at how painful the wound looked. It had turned a yellowish color as puss had formed around the wound. With a frown, he abandoned his shoulder and looked at the wound in his leg; it was in the same state. “Did you get any treatment after you got these? Are you trying to make yourself sick?” Piano said in irritation. He returned to the wound on the shoulder and dabbed some of the alcohol solution onto the cotton ball and pressed it abruptly against the flesh.
“Ow! Tha’ stings!” The other yelled, flinching away from contact. Despite being startled by the sudden yelp of pain, Piano glowered at the other and pressed it against the wound.
“Do not act like a baby; if it is hurting, then it is working.” The other male didn’t argue, but gritted his teeth as he forced himself to sit still. He did the same treatment on the leg; happy to find that the bullet had cleanly exited through the other side so he would not have to pull out the metal with tweezers. Pale hands rubbed in the cream into the wounds; he caught a smile on the other’s face, no doubt happy that it did not hurt as much. Piano swiftly managed to wrap his arm and leg with the gauze bandages before surveying his work with a smile.
“There, you should be fine. Just don’t stress out your muscles too much and you should be fine.” Piano brushed off his pant-legs from the dirt on the floor as he stood.
“What’s your name again? Didn’t catch ‘t.” Guitar said, looking up from his seat on the cold porcelain.
“It is Piano.”
Guitar kept a blank face, and then suddenly moved forward and grabbed Piano’s hand, forcing the palm open where his burn was from earlier that day. “How did ya’ hurt your hand?”
At first Piano didn’t know how Guitar could have known about it, but then he realized that the other Musican must have felt it when he was applying the anti-biotic cream. Piano pulled his hand out of the other’s grip and began to put all of the supplies back into the wooden cabinet. “It’s nothing; I just burned my hand making tea this morning.” A burst of laughter made Piano jump, looking in the mirror he could see Guitar going into hysterics behind him. Turning on his heel, Piano bristled. “What is so funny?”
“Wow, an’ ya’ call me a baby! A little burn an’ ya’ go and make a big fuss ‘bout ‘t!”
Piano’s face burned in embarrassment and anger. Quickly losing his temper, he hit Guitar over the head. “Ow!”
“I cannot believe I felt bad for you! Not only that, but I also patched up your injuries!”
“Yeah, an’ ya’ did a pretty half-assed job ‘bout ‘t.”
“You are insufferable!”
