(Fic) FN - Equipment 8
Story 08: Piano
Summary: In which Peter and Charley display the proper, and not so proper, use of the standard tools of a vampire hunter. Peter/Charley
Word Count: 1,454
Warnings/Rating: T for language, implied sexual content and adult themes.
Disclaimer: Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie
Author's Note: (peeks out) Oh! Hello there, Gentle Viewers! I know it's been... nearly eight months since you last heard from me. Um...
I bring fic?
---
He had known about the piano for some time, of course. After Jerry had demolished their home nearly a year ago, Peter had offered Charley and Jane a place to stay while they worked things out with the insurance company and bought a new place. During that first week staying with Peter, he had been quick to explore the rest of the penthouse. That was when he found the piano, tucked out of the way against the wall in Peter's library.
It was not an beautiful thing, just a small, cheap, upright piano, with old, scratched oak finish and worn keys. The sustain pedal stuck if held down too long, and one of the legs on the matching bench was slightly too short, propped up on a battered copy of Carmila.
If it had been a grand, Charley may have just written it off as one of Peter's drunken midnight impulse buys, but the piano was clearly nowhere near that expensive. It was not some professional, quality instrument with glossy black finish and perfect ivory keys. It didn't even match the rest of Peter's sleek modern and pseudo-Victorian styled furniture, looking ridiculously out of place among the built-in bookcases and classy, elegant furnishings.
It didn't look like much, and to be honest, it was not very good quality at all. But it was obviously well-loved and well-cared for. Although Charley had never seen Peter so much as look at the instrument, it was always clean and tuned and ready for play.
Charley himself had not played in years - not since he quit lessons in freshmen year. He hadn't particularly loved piano, or been especially good, but he had some fond memories and was itching to sit down at the bench and give it a try, see if he had retained any of his mediocre to begin with skills. He always held back though, uncertain whether or not Peter would mind him touching the worn instrument. The magician was usually very laid-back about his belongings, even when they were ridiculously expensive or ridiculously antique or both, but this seemed different.
Occasionally, when he was stuck waiting for Peter and bored with homework and video games, Charley would go to the library, perusing the books and stealing glances at the silent instrument. Charley could not help but wonder about the piano, if it was an heirloom, or if it really did have sentimental value, but he never asked Peter about it. It was more fun to speculate, to make up reasons for it, stories about its origin and significance.
Sometimes, he liked to think maybe it belonged to Peter's mother. Perhaps that was why, despite being lovingly tended, no one played the piano now, leaving it a sad, lonely reminder of the music it had once brought forth.
Perhaps, Charley thought, she taught a young Peter to play on that piano before she died. He liked that thought, enjoyed picturing a little brown-haired waif with too-big-for-his-face eyes sitting at the piano bench, maybe swinging his feet since his legs aren't long enough yet to reach the floor. And a slender, sloe-eyed woman, so like her son, sits next to him on the bench, working the pedals with her feet while her elegant hands guide small child's fingers over the keys.
Or, sometimes, he imagined a moody preteen Peter sitting at the bench alone, stalling on his practice, the same way Charley had so often done himself. This Peter would glare at the sheet music, whining and moaning when his mother scolded him. And then he might grudgingly play a few notes, and Peter's mother would smile, and he would feel less bad about it, and play a few more.
Or, with a still-older Peter, he would play a few grudging notes, but there would be no mother there to smile at him anymore, and he would feel even worse and play a few more, melancholy and a bit lost. Or perhaps this Peter didn't know how to play at all, and might stand at the piano all forlorn, long fingers tracing over keys that his mother's hands had so often and so joyously caressed.
Those imagined scenes weren't so sweet or happy, so Charley stowed them away and avoided thinking about them again.
Charley wondered if maybe Peter did play sometimes. Perhaps, he speculates, he never sees or hears Peter play, because he only does so late at night when he can't sleep and the Midori and cigarettes aren't helping. And one would think, with a mood like that, he would play something dark and moody and melancholy. But instead, he plays cheery, bouncy, jazzy, 50's rock-and-roll-esque music until he feels a bit better, then goes to bed, slipping back in beside Charley without his lover ever being the wiser.
The idea of Peter playing dark, moody, melancholy piano music stirred up another scenario, though.
He spent a long time chuckling over the image of Peter hunched over the piano in full Fright Night regalia, mwahaha-ing his way through some dark and sinister piece of music while rain and thunder pound out a rhythm against the windows. For some reason that image wouldn't go away, and seemed to pop up at the most random times, like when Peter was slumped in his favorite chair with some cheap Chinese takeout after a show one night, or when he was driving the pair of them out to a newly discovered vampire nest.
It was absolutely hysterical every time, but the best was when Peter walked in one day from rehearsal, still in full costume and royally pissed off at his stage crew. He was snarling and muttering to himself in dark tones and swooping around the penthouse like an overgrown bat for nearly an hour, still wearing the ridiculous coat and wig. Charley couldn't help it; the image just popped into his head, and he ended up laughing so hard and Peter was already in such a terrible mood that the illusionist very nearly strangled him.
---
The first time he heard Peter play... it might have been a dream, Charley wasn't sure. It went as follows:
Charley wakes one night when Peter gets up from bed. Peter's been sleeping really bad all night, and keeps getting up to get a drink, or another cigarette. The other man is keeping Charley awake, but he doesn't mind; he's mostly worried. Charley lays still as the bed shifts under him, waiting silently for his lover to return so he can wrap Peter into one of those hugs that the magician never asks for, even though it's obvious how much he craves the contact, and they can hopefully drift off again. That's the plan, but he doesn't hear Peter head to the bar or to the bathroom. Instead, his footsteps fade away, deeper into the penthouse, and Charley waits only a brief moment before he follows Peter.
As he is approaching the library, he hears a few faint notes and freezes, then realizes it's the piano. He wonders for a moment if he should give Peter some privacy, then edges closer to sit by the foot of the wrought iron staircase and listen. He watches Peter tinker a bit on the keys, smoking a cigarette and wearing nothing more than his skimpy robe. He looks tired and moody and ethereal, and Charley is utterly shocked when Peter starts to play some actual music - something soft and delicate that sounds familiar but Charley doesn't recognize.
He stays and listens to Peter play for a while, pausing only to light up a new cigarette. Charley gets a bit lost in how good Peter is, and he starts to fall asleep where he sits, the music some gentle lullaby soothing away the worry. He almost doesn't notice when Peter stubs out his third cigarette and close up the piano. Then Peter comes over and tugs Charley to his feet, wordlessly wrapping his arm around Charley's shoulders for support (for Charley or himself is unclear), and steering them back to bed. They fall in and snuggle up together and pass out cold for the rest of the night.
When he woke up in the morning, Peter was already at the bar, three shot glasses turned over on the counter in front of him. He looked at Charley with dark smudges under his eyes that were definitely not eyeliner. But he seemed no different than normal, and Charley couldn't be sure.
---
End
Soooo explanations. I had several half-complete chapters of Equipment on my computer. Then RP distracted me. I'm terrible, I know. There will eventually be another blurb about the piano, one that will be quite a bit more cheerful than this. But I figure I've kept you waiting long enough. Also, I'll try not to make you guys wait so long for the next part.
Summary: In which Peter and Charley display the proper, and not so proper, use of the standard tools of a vampire hunter. Peter/Charley
Word Count: 1,454
Warnings/Rating: T for language, implied sexual content and adult themes.
Disclaimer: Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie
Author's Note: (peeks out) Oh! Hello there, Gentle Viewers! I know it's been... nearly eight months since you last heard from me. Um...
I bring fic?
---
He had known about the piano for some time, of course. After Jerry had demolished their home nearly a year ago, Peter had offered Charley and Jane a place to stay while they worked things out with the insurance company and bought a new place. During that first week staying with Peter, he had been quick to explore the rest of the penthouse. That was when he found the piano, tucked out of the way against the wall in Peter's library.
It was not an beautiful thing, just a small, cheap, upright piano, with old, scratched oak finish and worn keys. The sustain pedal stuck if held down too long, and one of the legs on the matching bench was slightly too short, propped up on a battered copy of Carmila.
If it had been a grand, Charley may have just written it off as one of Peter's drunken midnight impulse buys, but the piano was clearly nowhere near that expensive. It was not some professional, quality instrument with glossy black finish and perfect ivory keys. It didn't even match the rest of Peter's sleek modern and pseudo-Victorian styled furniture, looking ridiculously out of place among the built-in bookcases and classy, elegant furnishings.
It didn't look like much, and to be honest, it was not very good quality at all. But it was obviously well-loved and well-cared for. Although Charley had never seen Peter so much as look at the instrument, it was always clean and tuned and ready for play.
Charley himself had not played in years - not since he quit lessons in freshmen year. He hadn't particularly loved piano, or been especially good, but he had some fond memories and was itching to sit down at the bench and give it a try, see if he had retained any of his mediocre to begin with skills. He always held back though, uncertain whether or not Peter would mind him touching the worn instrument. The magician was usually very laid-back about his belongings, even when they were ridiculously expensive or ridiculously antique or both, but this seemed different.
Occasionally, when he was stuck waiting for Peter and bored with homework and video games, Charley would go to the library, perusing the books and stealing glances at the silent instrument. Charley could not help but wonder about the piano, if it was an heirloom, or if it really did have sentimental value, but he never asked Peter about it. It was more fun to speculate, to make up reasons for it, stories about its origin and significance.
Sometimes, he liked to think maybe it belonged to Peter's mother. Perhaps that was why, despite being lovingly tended, no one played the piano now, leaving it a sad, lonely reminder of the music it had once brought forth.
Perhaps, Charley thought, she taught a young Peter to play on that piano before she died. He liked that thought, enjoyed picturing a little brown-haired waif with too-big-for-his-face eyes sitting at the piano bench, maybe swinging his feet since his legs aren't long enough yet to reach the floor. And a slender, sloe-eyed woman, so like her son, sits next to him on the bench, working the pedals with her feet while her elegant hands guide small child's fingers over the keys.
Or, sometimes, he imagined a moody preteen Peter sitting at the bench alone, stalling on his practice, the same way Charley had so often done himself. This Peter would glare at the sheet music, whining and moaning when his mother scolded him. And then he might grudgingly play a few notes, and Peter's mother would smile, and he would feel less bad about it, and play a few more.
Or, with a still-older Peter, he would play a few grudging notes, but there would be no mother there to smile at him anymore, and he would feel even worse and play a few more, melancholy and a bit lost. Or perhaps this Peter didn't know how to play at all, and might stand at the piano all forlorn, long fingers tracing over keys that his mother's hands had so often and so joyously caressed.
Those imagined scenes weren't so sweet or happy, so Charley stowed them away and avoided thinking about them again.
Charley wondered if maybe Peter did play sometimes. Perhaps, he speculates, he never sees or hears Peter play, because he only does so late at night when he can't sleep and the Midori and cigarettes aren't helping. And one would think, with a mood like that, he would play something dark and moody and melancholy. But instead, he plays cheery, bouncy, jazzy, 50's rock-and-roll-esque music until he feels a bit better, then goes to bed, slipping back in beside Charley without his lover ever being the wiser.
The idea of Peter playing dark, moody, melancholy piano music stirred up another scenario, though.
He spent a long time chuckling over the image of Peter hunched over the piano in full Fright Night regalia, mwahaha-ing his way through some dark and sinister piece of music while rain and thunder pound out a rhythm against the windows. For some reason that image wouldn't go away, and seemed to pop up at the most random times, like when Peter was slumped in his favorite chair with some cheap Chinese takeout after a show one night, or when he was driving the pair of them out to a newly discovered vampire nest.
It was absolutely hysterical every time, but the best was when Peter walked in one day from rehearsal, still in full costume and royally pissed off at his stage crew. He was snarling and muttering to himself in dark tones and swooping around the penthouse like an overgrown bat for nearly an hour, still wearing the ridiculous coat and wig. Charley couldn't help it; the image just popped into his head, and he ended up laughing so hard and Peter was already in such a terrible mood that the illusionist very nearly strangled him.
---
The first time he heard Peter play... it might have been a dream, Charley wasn't sure. It went as follows:
Charley wakes one night when Peter gets up from bed. Peter's been sleeping really bad all night, and keeps getting up to get a drink, or another cigarette. The other man is keeping Charley awake, but he doesn't mind; he's mostly worried. Charley lays still as the bed shifts under him, waiting silently for his lover to return so he can wrap Peter into one of those hugs that the magician never asks for, even though it's obvious how much he craves the contact, and they can hopefully drift off again. That's the plan, but he doesn't hear Peter head to the bar or to the bathroom. Instead, his footsteps fade away, deeper into the penthouse, and Charley waits only a brief moment before he follows Peter.
As he is approaching the library, he hears a few faint notes and freezes, then realizes it's the piano. He wonders for a moment if he should give Peter some privacy, then edges closer to sit by the foot of the wrought iron staircase and listen. He watches Peter tinker a bit on the keys, smoking a cigarette and wearing nothing more than his skimpy robe. He looks tired and moody and ethereal, and Charley is utterly shocked when Peter starts to play some actual music - something soft and delicate that sounds familiar but Charley doesn't recognize.
He stays and listens to Peter play for a while, pausing only to light up a new cigarette. Charley gets a bit lost in how good Peter is, and he starts to fall asleep where he sits, the music some gentle lullaby soothing away the worry. He almost doesn't notice when Peter stubs out his third cigarette and close up the piano. Then Peter comes over and tugs Charley to his feet, wordlessly wrapping his arm around Charley's shoulders for support (for Charley or himself is unclear), and steering them back to bed. They fall in and snuggle up together and pass out cold for the rest of the night.
When he woke up in the morning, Peter was already at the bar, three shot glasses turned over on the counter in front of him. He looked at Charley with dark smudges under his eyes that were definitely not eyeliner. But he seemed no different than normal, and Charley couldn't be sure.
---
End
Soooo explanations. I had several half-complete chapters of Equipment on my computer. Then RP distracted me. I'm terrible, I know. There will eventually be another blurb about the piano, one that will be quite a bit more cheerful than this. But I figure I've kept you waiting long enough. Also, I'll try not to make you guys wait so long for the next part.