There was a grand piano in the lobby of the Admiralty building. It had been appropriated after the fallout of the Lippstadt Civil War. Every afternoon at his lunch break, Admiral Mecklinger would sit at the piano and play a song. Due to the nature of the building, the music would drift and nearly everyone would hear it. Sometimes people would even schedule their breaks with his just so they could go down with him and be closer to the source.
Admiral Fritz Josef Bittenfeld, leader of the famed Black Lancer fleet, loved his mother. She was an exceptionally kind woman, always there for him when he felt awful, usually with a slice of her homemade pumpkin pie. Lately however, she had seemed different. Gone was the bright sparkle from her eyes. She had trouble doing simple things, from slicing carrots to opening her pill bottles. It worried Bittenfeld immensely, because he knew he couldn't be there for her. He vaguely wondered what would happen if he was forced to choose between serving under Reinhard or retiring and helping her. He wondered if Reinhard would even let them.
Well, after Amlizter he probably would. Bittenfeld thought bitterly. These days, during his breaks, he would stand outside the building, smoking cigarettes to help calm his nerves. He wasn't that big of a smoker originally, for obvious reasons, but lately he just couldn't help it. What had been one or two cigarettes a month turned into one or two a week turned into one or two a day. He cursed himself and his bad habits. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Bittenfeld, Mecklinger had seated himself at the grand piano and begun to play. He had picked Chopin's 5th Nocturne today, to the delight of several officers in various wings. When Bittenfeld heard the sound of the piano he froze. The melody seemed so familiar to him some how. It brought back memories of a different time, when he would sit in his mother's lap and she would let him pick songs out of the music book she'd given him. He'd pointed at a title, words he couldn't read, and she had smiled and begun to play. Bittenfeld had loved it as a child, enough so that she had taken to playing it a lot. Well, that's the story she had always told him, when he'd walked in and found her playing that tune on the small piano their family had acquired over the years. Bittenfeld abandoned his cigarette and stormed back inside into the lobby of the building and threw himself down in one of the poshy armchairs that littered the room. The action created a lot of noise and his sudden intrusion started Mecklinger, who stopped playing.
"Admiral Bittenfeld?"
He seemed disappointed.
"Why'd you stop?"
"Why'd you join me?"
Bittenfeld sat up, rubbing his neck shyly.
"Well… that song you were playing. My mom used to play that song a lot but she hasn't in a while. You know, arthritis and all that."
Mecklinger smiled at him.
"Would you like me to teach you?"
"T-teach me?" Bittenfeld sputtered, jumping out of his seat. Mecklinger smiled and waved him over with his head, sending his straight black hair flying. Bittenfeld clamored over and sat with him. He explained the keys slowly enough and soon they were playing. Mecklinger would slowly play out a piece of music and Bittenfeld would copy it. He was poor at first but no matter how horrible Bittenfeld played, Mecklinger never cringed. It was reassuring if nothing else. After a while, Mecklinger checked his watch and frowned.
"I'm afraid I must depart now." He gave Bittenfeld a sorry look and Bittenfeld nodded.
"Thanks for all your help Admiral, this is really gunna make my mom happy."
Mecklinger smiled at him.
"We're both on our breaks. You can call me Ernest."
"Wha.. ah, Ernest, right. I'm Fritz."
They shook hands and then started to laugh over the absurdity of introducing yourself to someone you've already known for ages.