con fuoco - chapter one (part one)
Title: con fuoco
first movement, chapter one, 'prima volta'
Info: One Piece fanfiction, around 7000 words
Genre: A bit of friends and family, a sprinkling of (my kind of) humour and a dollop of romance on top
Rating: T...?
Pairing: SmokerxAce and other pairings on the side
Summary: [Alternate Universe] Smoker is a conductor with an ear for talent, and Ace is a gifted pianist that has never played at a large scale performance.
--
FIRST MOVEMENT
"Music is to me the perfect expression of the soul." (Robert Schumann)
--
Prima Volta
the first time
“A painter turns a poem into a painting; the musician sets a picture to music.” (Robert Schumann)
It was all Tashigi's fault.
It had to be. There was nobody else Smoker could possibly blame, except maybe that infuriating Hina woman. However, Hina was not the person who tripped and crashed into his motorcycle yesterday afternoon, possibly damaging something that really shouldn’t have been damaged. As annoying as she was, even Hina knew not to touch his bike. Ever. Therefore it must have been Tashigi because nobody else would even dare go near his bike, a fact nicely demonstrated by the empty parking spaces around his motorcycle every day.
Only Tashigi would break something, albeit unintentionally. With that thought in mind, Smoker resolved to call the clumsy woman and let her drive him away from the-middle-of-nowhere. It was rather unfortunate that his cell phone was very, very deceased due to his dutiful negligence in charging it every once in a while. Besides, he hated receiving calls. Having a perpetually dead phone that he occasionally left at home guaranteed the absence of inane messages from people he didn’t even know all that well, granted he knew them at all in the first place. Smoker took a quick cursory glance over his unfamiliar surroundings and cursed at the lack of payphones. Walking off to find one did not appeal to him, as it meant leaving behind his motorcycle unattended.
Cigars. He needed his cigars. Unfortunately, the pink-haired demon had confiscated them before he left. She claimed that the cigars made him scowl too much. Bollocks. He scowled when he didn’t have his source of nicotine… well, more than he usually did anyways. Idiotic woman.
The situation was made all the more aggravating by the fact that he had no bloody clue where he was. It was supposed to be a fifteen-minute drive. A short delivery trip. Smoker drives there, Smoker drops off sheet music, Smoker leaves and goes home and eats his bloody breakfast or does something equally uninteresting. It was now almost a full hour after he left home because some fool was incapable of giving comprehensible directions. Was everybody he worked with an incompetent idiot?
Smoker’s customary frown deepened. It irked him that he’d have to call Tashigi of all people to drive him someplace more recognizable. The thought of riding in a vehicle driven by a nearsighted and highly scatter-brained klutz set off multiple alarm bells in his mind, but he was not exactly a sociable person and really did not have that many people he could ask for help. The only other options would be Hina and bloody Garp, and he couldn’t stand either of them since one was conniving and sneaky and evil, and the other was the loudest moron in existence. Any doubts about Tashigi were mostly dispelled. All three choices were potentially suicidal, anyways. He might as well choose the one promising only physical harm.
On the other hand, there really was no point in asking Tashigi yet. Firstly, he couldn’t even call her due to the lack of available telecommunications. Secondly, Smoker couldn’t expect her to just magically appear without any directions. Giving her the ones written on the crumpled sheet of paper he had angrily stuffed into his pocket approximately ten minutes ago didn’t seem like a good plan (who knows where she would end up…). He’d have to find out where he was first and foremost, and then he could contact Tashigi.
Another look around gave Smoker a little more information. He seemed to be outside an apartment building of some fashion… it wasn’t exactly new, either, but it was in a fairly good condition. Other than the building there were no other indications of residence along the winding street. With a resigned grumble, Smoker stalked towards the only chance he had of finding human contact that was nearby. Hopefully it wasn’t too early to go barging into people’s homes. A quick glance at his watch cancelled this thought, revealing that it was almost
9:30 in the morning. Well. People would be awake by then unless they were little snotty-nosed brats, lazy layabouts, or teenagers (which were essentially the same things), elderly individuals, or the unluckily sleep-deprived, in which case he didn’t really want their help anyways.
A bright red scrawl caught Smoker’s attention. Turning his head out of mild curiosity, he discovered that it was writing on a paper sign taped sloppily to the wall near the building’s entrance. Being nearly 100% illegible, the note’s only discernable word looked suspiciously like ‘residency’. It was either that or ‘residue’ which was completely illogical. The makeshift sign didn’t appear to be that new for it showed signs of wear and tear, and a rip in the top left corner revealed that there was a plaque underneath. Wanting to know the actual name of the building and possibly an address as well, Smoker peeled off the paper and read the more official sign. He blinked. He read it again to be sure.
‘Grand Line Apartments’.
Hmm.
Smoker cursed under his breath and reached into his pocket for the instructions he had mangled. After carefully smoothening it, he reread the first line. ‘Directions to get to the
Grand Line University: School of Music’. Through some complete fluke Smoker had semi-managed to get to the right place, although ending up at a crumbling high-rise instead of a renowned school didn’t seem like that much of a success. Smoker worried that the two places had absolutely nothing in common, especially since the person who gave him the instructions was none other than Garp. Why didn’t he question the reliability of them sooner…? If he was extremely lucky, students of that school could be living inside the buildings.
A loud brash note effectively halted Smoker’s train of thought. Trumpet? he thought bewilderedly, moving backwards to find out why it was so easy for him to hear. There were many open windows now that he took a closer look. A while later more instruments began to play, confirming Smoker’s earlier suspicions. It seemed like
9:30 was the unofficial wake-up call. Shaking his head a little and sorely missing his cigars, Smoker began to move back to the entrance.
“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHAT A GREAT NAAAAAAAAP!!!!!”
“What the hell?!” Smoker exclaimed.
“FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
The source of the very loud disturbance seemed to originate from an open window on the second floor. Even Smoker, a man not normally shaken by strange loud noises (he was a conductor - loud noises happened, especially when you had to speak with Garp on a daily basis) felt mild trepidation at the idea of entering the building. He did not want to meet mini-Garps. One was more than enough.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAACE!!!! BREAKFAAAAAAAAST!!!”
“GET OUT OF MY ROOOOOOM!!!”
Smoker’s eyebrow twitched at the emergence of another voice. The idea of a building full of Garp clones seemed more and more plausible. The yelling continued but Smoker could no longer make out the words. The other instrumentalists had stopped playing after the second outburst. Smoker guessed that they were probably waiting for the argument to subside so that they could concentrate better. It suddenly made horribly logical sense why the Grand Line Apartments were located so far away from everything else. If the noise level was a constant routine, nobody would want to live anywhere near the buildings.
The prospect of meeting carbon copies of his boss succeeded in preventing Smoker from going near the entrance a third time. I think I saw a restaurant a while back, he thought, sighing. If I move my bike into the parking lot it should be alright. He stomped back to his motorcycle, mentally calculating the amount of time it would take him to reach the restaurant that may or may not have existed.
A quiet, nearly inaudible chord interrupted Smoker’s hypothesizing. ‘Clair de Lune’, Debussy, he quickly identified the famous piano piece. The shouting match seemed to have ended and somebody had started practicing again. Not particularly interested in listening something he had heard dozens of times, Smoker eyed his motorcycle critically. How can I move this without damaging it more?
More notes flowed fluidly from an open window.
Maybe I could… I could push it…
The piano grew slightly louder in volume as the beginning phrase continued to develop.
… but that could break something else…
A low E-flat octave quietly floated out into the air.
Why isn’t anybody else playing?
… oh, the pianist is at the tempo rubato section.
And Smoker promptly forgot about his motorcycle. He knew a good pianist when he heard one, and whoever was playing at that moment was no doubt talented. Granted, the piece wasn’t especially difficult (and Smoker thought back to a time over fifteen years ago when he himself played it back in high school)… but this was a bit different.
It sounded effortless. It was like the player could’ve closed his bloody eyes and still play flawlessly and beautifully. I’ve played this thousands of times, Smoker could imagine him saying. I don’t need to look anymore. I already know this piece. Smoker almost, for a fleeting moment, found it unfair that this person could capture the song more than perfectly while making it sound ludicrously easy.
Moonlight in audible form. And he realized why nobody else was playing… because nobody else could play. They were all listening, just like he was. He couldn’t even move, which was just plain ridiculous. The piece was slowly reaching the end with mere bars to spare… morendo jusqu’à la fin… and he needed to find out who was playing -
“WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING - GIVE ME BACK MY PANTS!!!”
-- and the spell was abruptly broken.
Smoker blinked and then scowled darkly. Other people began to play, no longer having any reason not to. After all, the song had already ended, albeit prematurely. What irked him was that because he had been standing stationary in front of his bike, gaping like an idiot for minutes, he had failed to locate the source of the music. All he knew was that it had been cut off by the yells of a pants-theft victim, which was hardly of any use at all, not to mention a tad disturbing and too much like Garp. It was really a shame he’d never find out. Smoker wasn’t one to give in easily (he called it tenacity, Hina called it him being a stubborn fool) but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. Searching a whole building for a mystery pianist just wasn’t going to work.
“Oh my, Ace sure is lively today,” a gentle voice commented mildly.
Smoker raised an eyebrow and turned around to see who spoke. It was a pretty lady with short black hair pulled back underneath a bandanna, a few bangs framing her kind face. She was wearing a long skirt and an apron, and was carrying a large bag. She gave Smoker a small smile when she noticed him staring at her.
“Hello, my name is Makino,” she said warmly. “I own the little restaurant nearby and visit here every once in a while.”
Aha, Smoker thought dimly, the restaurant does exist. “I’m Smoker. I’m a conductor.”
Makino’s eyes widened. “Wow, that’s pretty amazing! It makes sense that you’re here then, since there are many students from
Grand Line University that live here. Are you seeing anyone in particular?”
“Actually,” Smoker corrected, “I just happened arrived here by accident. My motorcycle broke down and I thought that maybe I could borrow a cellphone because my mine died. Do you have one that I can use for a few minutes?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have one,” Makino apologized. “If you don’t mind, you could use the one back at the restaurant. Unfortunately that means you’ll have to wait a few minutes because I want to drop off some food for the boys.” She tilted her head at the large bag she was carrying. Makino saw the look of confusion on Smoker’s face and realized her small mistake. “Oh, they’re not my children,” she said sheepishly. “They’re these two siblings that go to Grand Line that I’ve watched over ever since they were very little. They could try acting their age though,” Makino sighed wistfully. “Especially the younger one, he’s such a Monkey. At least his older brother has some sense. His piano playing has improved since the last time though… ‘Clair de Lune’ sounds even better now,” she added offhandedly.
Smoker twitched at the casual mention of the song. “Do you know the person who was playing just now?” he asked quickly.
Makino looked at him with a hint of surprise. It seems he really wants to know, she mused. “Yes, actually, I do. He was one of the boys I mentioned. Would you like to meet him? I’m sure it’ll be more interesting than waiting out here for me to come back down. The two of them enjoy company anyways,” she added. Makino smiled when Smoker nodded, and thanked him when he opened the door for her.
“What are they like?” Smoker asked curiously, following Makino up a flight of stairs.
“Er… they’re quite unique,” Makino laughed. “The younger one can be a handful at times, not that his older brother doesn’t have some moments here and there. They’re good kids at heart though… but I don’t think I can call them kids anymore. It seems not so long ago that they were still shorter than me.”
“Do you want some help carrying that?” Smoker pointed to the large bag Makino had slung over her shoulder. “It looks pretty heavy.”
“Oh, no, it’s alright!” Makino exclaimed. “I’m used to lifting around this much food since they both have bottomless pits for stomachs. I’m not quite sure how they manage to eat so much, but I suppose they’re still growing.” She smiled fondly as she left the stairwell and continued cheerfully describing the two brothers. “To be honest, they take a bit of time to get used to, but once you get to know them they’re really very ni -“
A loud crash startled the two of them out of their conversation. Smoker looked around warily but didn’t see anything strange so he assumed that the noise came from within one of the multiple apartments. Not that that made it any more reassuring.
“Well… let’s go visit them now,” Makino said brightly. A little perplexed at the apartment’s tendency for abrupt sounds, Smoker continued walking down the hall with Makino. “They must be hungry now, even if they already ate breakfast -“
Another loud bang made the two of them jump slightly, but this time Smoker could pinpoint the source to a messy-haired boy wearing a straw hat slamming open a door. Before either of them could say anything he had disappeared down the stairs as a screaming red blur. “… the idiot left his door open,” Smoker grumbled, moving to close the front door, missing the look of alarm and small “eep!” from Makino.
“Mr. Smoker, please wait a mome -“
Next