[timed to some weeks before christmas]

[funny_herman]

It was that time of the day when the Kit Kat Klub was at its emptiest and quietest, like a cold mausoleum containing the remnants of the revelries from the previous night. The only source of warmth and light that remained in it, though, was Herman, steadfastly working on musical arrangements to occupy his long hours of (mostly) solitude until evening.

As he worked away, wayward thoughts inevitably seeped in, his concentration becoming misty at the edges until a dense fog forced him to put his pencil down and stop what he was doing. He blamed himself for this relapse into semi-hermitism. If he would only relax and not keep to himself so much, this sort of thing would probably be easier to handle.

Those dreams about Fritzie had been waking him up again lately. They weren't unpleasant -- far, far from it -- but he could never seem to finish them without waking up. He wondered why they always ended so abruptly before the climax, and so he would have to finish the job himself. It was beginning to annoy him, in a petty, amusing way.

This is what he was contemplating at the piano instead of writing music, replaying dreams in his head and creating happy endings.

Quite engrossing.


[OOC: Plotlocked for Fritzie.]

Comments

[hot-lil-fingers.livejournal.com]

Fritzie giggles girlishly. "A torrid tornado of turgid torment, as the Victorian smut writers would have said. They were very fond of alliteration, you know." She bends to retrieve a sheet of music that had flown further than the others.

[funny-herman.livejournal.com]

"I believe they were also paid by the word, so I'd say that was a prime motivator behind the abundance of alliterative adjectives." He taps the edge of the stack of sheet music on top of the piano, straightening it out, and smiles at her over his shoulder, eyeing her shapely form as she bends down.

[hot-lil-fingers.livejournal.com]

"Mmm, as unromantic as it is, money motivates above all else." Standing upright, she glances over the music thoughtfully before passing it along to him. "This is what you were working on, before you were so brazenly interrupted?"

[funny-herman.livejournal.com]

He takes the sheet and looks it over, frowning a bit. "Actually, I'm not sure what this is. It might be part of another piece. Or just a product of my subconscious."

[hot-lil-fingers.livejournal.com]

She raises her eyebrows, looking interested. "Is that so? Quite intriguing. Your fingers must have reached an entirely new level of cleverness, to be able to work without any conscious direction." Leaving off teasing him, she peers over the edge paper, looking more closely at it. "Seems like it could be a very pretty little number..."

[funny-herman.livejournal.com]

He smiles wryly, though it grows softer when she peers at the music. Shrugging lightly, he returns the sheet to the stack and holds it to his chest like a schoolboy with his books. "Perhaps. I'll look at it later with fresh eyes. Besides, I don't think I can work at all now -- too distracted. But in a good way."

[hot-lil-fingers.livejournal.com]

Fritzie, in another fit of helpless affection, charmed by his unwittingly defensive stance, slides a forefinger under his chin and kisses him again, her teeth lingering at his lower lip when she pulls away. "You really are unfairly lovely. But I'm afraid we should part ways for a time now. I promised myself a couple of hours of sleep before the show tonight, and I know you must have something important I'm keeping you from, besides your music."

[funny-herman.livejournal.com]

Her kiss is like a sip of tart wine, and he wants another drop of it but he knows he shouldn't.

"Yes...yes, you're right," he says, nodding agreeably. "I'll see you later tonight, then. I hope you have a pleasant nap."

[hot-lil-fingers.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I believe I'll have very pleasant dreams." With a sly look at him over her shoulder, she leaves him onstage, disappearing into the wings on her way to the dressing room she sleeps in.

[funny-herman.livejournal.com]

Herman watches her leave, easing himself down on the creaky piano bench. He sits there for a few moments, lost in a contemplative reverie. The utter silence of the room is deafening, just as the noise was only a few minutes ago.

He turns in his seat and stares at the keyboard. Middle C and its surrounding octaves. Right there. He reaches out a hand, it hovers over the keys -- he can almost feel some kind of warmth radiating from them like a blush.

It's then that he notices a line of white film on the dark wood panel, dried and flaky. It's his turn to blush. He doesn't know if it's his or Fritzie's, but he rubs it off with his thumb. Though he can't help smiling in a secretive way as he does it. And as if closing the book on this particular chapter, he slides the lid down over the keyboard.

He sits there a while longer.

Then he decides it's time for a hot shower.

He gets up, sheet music tucked under his arm, and after a glance back at the quiet piano, he leaves the stage.