(c) Play Me A Memory [G]

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(c) Play Me A Memory [G]

Post by gloria- on Thu 04 Dec 2008, 3:26 am

Title: Play Me A Memory
Author: me, of course
Rating: G - nothing serious here, not even any swearing!
Fandom: Harry Potter, though he doesn't appear here and won't appear elsewhere for a while. And doesn't involve magic here.
Type: Oneshot/complete. Of the Music Is My Girlfriend universe, but can stand alone as well.
Note: The other language is Spanish. If you don't understand, I thought most of it was made clear in other spots, but if you need any translations, ask me.
Her hands, elegant and long-fingered, skated across the curve of the piano. It was big, black, and shiny, and seemed to hum as she touched it. As her fingers made the leap from the lacquered jet lid to the contrasting ivory keys, she placed pressure, causing a confident stroke to resonate from within. Gleefully, she pressed another, and another, an arpeggio of little precious jewels, all twining and falling into one another without rhythm.

She made her way down the row, pushing here and there upon the pearly white teeth until each note was indistinguishable from the next, a babble of so many voices all jostling to be heard. When she reached the end, her fingertips hung for a moment upon the last key, letting it sing solo for a moment.

She turned and smiled, lighting the room with the sheer elation. “Entonces? Te gusta?” her grandfather asked from where he was seated upon the bench of another, lonelier piano.

Sí, Bueli, me gusta mucho,” the girl replied, “es perfecto.

Vale,” the elderly man clapped his hands together and stood, walking to his granddaughter and placing an arm around her shoulders. He turned to the salesman: “that one.”

The balding man in the blazer nodded and smiled, squinting slightly through his Coke-bottle glasses. “If you’ll just follow me,” he motioned for the pair, and led the way towards a cluttered counter over in the corner near the door. Beside the cash register, there was a spear to hold receipts, a coffee mug that said If music be the food of love, play on full of pens, two boxes labelled Tuners, around six packages of guitar strings, a metronome, three boxes of bass clarinet reeds, and four shiny paper-bound books of music for beginner flutes. Before he began ringing in the price of the grand piano, the myopic manager shifted most of these items off the counter and onto the stool behind, already laden with a large box with FRAGILE printed on the side in big fat letters.

Bending over the till in order to read the numbers, the squat man punched in a few numbers off a laminated sheet pasted to the glass top of the checkout. He straightened up while reading the price, missing the one at the beginning of the sequence, and took the plastic card that the white-haired man was holding out. He smiled again, a weak, watery thing, and swiped the magnetic strip.

Having set a delivery date, the pair exited the music shop, both beaming brightly. Hooking her arm into her grandfather’s, the recently-sixteen-year-old girl skipped up and planted a kiss upon his cheek. “Gracias, Bueli!

Denada, denada, mi cariño,” the man chuckled, “Y entonces, quieres de hielo?

The teenager pranced beside her Bueli, cheering in time to her hop-jump-leap. “Ice cream!” she squealed, clearly not needing sugar to enhance her already sky-high mood, “Sí, sí, de hielo!

Laughing again at his jubilant companion, the tall man took hold of her hand and led her, still giggling, down the sunny street towards her favourite ice cream parlour.

Last edited by Smashed Pumpkin on Tue 30 Dec 2008, 7:24 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : checked: SP)

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