Alright peoples. I know it's been a while, but I needed to start writing something again, and I just finished up the first time through my game Eternal Sonata, also known as Trusty Bell: Chopin's Dream. My girlfriend and I were talking about this, and I realized that I needed to write on my favorite character to watch in action; Jazz. For the most part, this story is Jazz's alone - depicting his life before meeting the others, his role in the world before the founding of Andantino, so on and so forth. Due to the graphic nature of certain chapters, this story has been labeled "M" for Mature Audiences, and I expect anyone who does not respect my view to leave my fanfiction alone. If you don't like, don't review. I will not accept flames, as I will hunt you down and either burn you via PM or next chapter response. Either way, there's gonna be a barbeque.
So please, be tasteful. And, si vous plaît, tell me if you do enjoy it. I always love criticisms and honest compliments. No flattery, no flames, just honesty. So please, enjoy.
Disclaimer: Eternal Sonata/Trusty Bell: Chopin's Dream and all affiliates belong to Tri-Crescendo, Bandai-Namco and related companies, not me.
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"…" A soft sigh penetrates the deep, heavy breathing in the blackened room. It is night, though the room is less affected by the sun than the glowing crystals hiding just behind the waterfall rushing melodiously past the window. The lamps are diffused, the carved abode barely lit from two portals posing as windows - these allowed not only bits of the fresh water to flow in as streams through the definitely "rustic" home, but crystalline light as well.
"Something on your mind?"
"Hm?" A rustle of fabric and limbs in the darkness, a shift of shadow.
"Is something on your mind?" The question is asked matter-of-factly, despite the tones being hoarse and breathless. Silence follows, heavy and withdrawn.
"No, it's nothing. I was just… remembering something." The second voice rumbled deep and soft, almost a low cry of thunder bound within human form. It too sounded as if it had been through quite the ordeal, yet it held the same content note as the former.
"What? I'd like to know what you're thinking once in a while." Asked almost wryly, it seemed as if the inquisitor were almost laughing at its companion.
"…I was… thinking about us." The deeper of the pair paused, hesitant to continue and making the air thicken slightly in the confusion and slight tension. "How I never thought I'd deserve this, never believed this could happen."
"Being in love?"
"…Yes." A low chuckle padded lightly on the shaded air, not exactly sarcastic or contempt but neither in good humor, and there came a shift of hair against fabric to accompany its dulcet tones. "No matter what I've done, I've never thought myself worthy. Especially not after…" The voice trailed, grief eminent in the words as well as harmony.
"Why not? You're a decent man. More than decent, actually."
"Because… I wasn't always. What you know… it's not everything."
The pause seemed almost irate, adding further pressure to the taut tension in the air. The heavy breathing long since settled into slower, more meticulous patterns, as it always does when resting.
"Then tell me. Everything. From the beginning."
The low chortle resounded once again, amused this time. "It's a long story."
"We have plenty of time. I doubt either of us are getting to sleep now."
"Hmm… Good point." A thoughtful pause, then a soft sigh. "I suppose… you could say it started when I was five. I was the youngest of three, my father dead before I was born. My mother had to be one of the sweetest women I have ever known, even compared to those in our group. I can still remember the way she spoke, even after all these years…" Though the memory is hazy, he can still recall those five and twenty turns of the world before this day. The day he remembered best about his family before it was all taken away forever.
--
The summer sun shone softly, its normally flaring heat tempered by the wisps of clouds fluttering across the sky. With a nose turned up to the sky, slightly flecked with gentle spots of brown and a ruddy undertone, the breeze played pitch bangs across the curved bridge of that raised nose. Dark eyes in wonder stare at the white tufts spreading thin over the azure blanket encompassing the world around him, stretching above the land from the edge of the sea all the way around to the fields on the opposite horizon. Salt touched the air strongly, the sand beneath his legs somehow unmoved by the acts of the mischievous winds blowing not only from the currently peaceful waters but the choral plains reversed of it.
To an onlooker, he was a simple lad - plain, and likely rather uninteresting but for his almost pixie-like features and astonished gaze. Hair black as the space between stars fell in bedraggled clumps about a pale, freckled face tinged with a light summer sunburn. His eyes, though merry in his view of the dashing clouds, showed as much as obsidian-- reflecting outward signs, but nothing inward of it own surface. He was scrawny, though the light chub to his cheeks gained from infancy had yet to fade. Barely a child, and just as amazed with the world as one would a fledgling sailor.
"Jazz, come inside now. Dinner is ready, and your brothers are already washed up." He turned, grinning at the woman who so softly spoke to him. She is dark-skinned, though her hair is fairer than those from a country of endless snow. Her eyes --like his-- are like pitch pools, though far wiser to the world and expectant of everything, all the while accepting and loving of all it has to offer. Almost tripping over himself as he runs to her, he kicks sand into the air with his bare feet, almost flying on the sea's breath into the embrace of her warm arms and soft petticoat.
"Mama, there'll be rain tomorrow, I know it!" He exclaims this with the exuberance of his age, proud of his knowledge due to its newness and lack. "The clouds are coming from the ocean! That means rain, right? Piper said so!"
The woman lets a soft chuckle slip from her bosom as she picks up her youngest son and carries him inside, the daffodil above her ear brushing his brow gently. "Yes, your oldest brother knows much, little one," she agreed, smiling at his joy with the statement. "And unlike Meter, he doesn't like to tease you."
The slight pout looks too cute-- she cannot help but laugh as she sets him down in the modest kitchen. "Don't fret, Jazz; he loves you. He just wants to make sure people do not trick you when you are older. You are far too gentle and believing a boy for a world like this one, but Piper is right-- you should like out being a child for a bit longer." She winked, smiling as his face brightens and he washes his hands thoroughly. In moments he finishes and dries them on a small towel sitting on the counter. So young-- barely five years-- and he could already reach onto the high counter-top. She knows he will be tall, like his brother and the father he never had the chance to know.
With one more bright grin, the boy hugged his mother and hurried into the other room as two elder voices greet him jovially…
He was right, however. There was rain the next day.
Yet… his mother and oldest brother were not there to see it, only to feel it as the youngest son wept at their sides and the other stood unemotionally-- perhaps filled with rage, perhaps grief, but also with an inescapable lack of empathy.
The years only became worse, the days short and the nights horrifically long. And though skies were often clear, it almost always rained to him…
…He never forgot. And the rain nevermore soothed his broken heart.
--
"…Jazz, did you…"
"Yes… Meter kept me quiet as we hid behind a secret wall. But… we saw the whole thing."
"………"
"…" A gentle sigh, more rustling fabric. "If this unsettles you, I… probably shouldn't tell you any more…"
"…No. If I'm going to be with you, I'm going to know everything about you. Including the bad parts. Not all compositions are made with sweet melodies and soft beats-- there are some discordant minors and angry duels as well."
The pause is heavy, but seems to lift slightly with shifting shadows.
"Fine. Just… don't-"
"I won't expect it all to be pretty."
A light laugh ripples through the dark the presumptuous statement.
"Don't expect it all to be tears and blood, either."
"…I won't."
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All right, there it is. More will be up eventually, but let me hear what others have to say first. I do, after all, need to listen to my muses for a while before I write such whisperings.
Also, see if you can guess the recipient. I love giving readers a challenge.