Sonata's Requiem

by Beyond An Anomaly

To fall, you must either trust that you'll hit the bottom or rise farther from the nothingness you once had. Whether it be death or life, a dying star in winter or a blissful melody on a Tuesday, you must trust in something to make a decision that can alter the way you see the world itself. Submission for SS One Shot Contest.

This is for Sheppard's One-Shot Contest!

This is the first thing I've written for this fandom in, like, a year. I hope to write more, because this piece was wonderfully challenging to write. Character origin stories are simply fascinating, especially for a fandom whose lore is overall rather barren.

I hope you all enjoy this piece! And Panther/Star Wolf, in a sense, is my character of choice. :)

Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

-BAA

P.S. For the sake of creating mood, I suggest looking up "Eternal Sonata" by Chopin. Excellent work and huge inspiration for the writing.

---

Not much tended to happen on Sargasso Base on Mondays.

My eyes wandered as two brutish meat-heads fought over who won that particular billiards match. Smoke danced around the two shuffling against the creaky pool table, as they were surrounded by the howling and screeching of fellow meat-heads who would probably still be enthralled by jingling keys while still old enough to have children of their own. Money from betters flew around like confetti, and teeth shot through the air and landed just inches from my feet. I sighed.

Slow night.

I was the "bouncer" that night, if you will. I spectated. I took notes of any suspected of having blue blood. I made sure the pool sticks tossed to the side by the brawlers weren't to be sharpened and shoved into someone's jugular. And, well, much to my dismay, I would have to put matters into my own hands and kick them out if it came to that point. No pictures or helping with murder, Wolf said.

This base was a boring one. Hell, this whole job was a boring one. After kicking out two members of our team, Wolf and I weren't up to far too much. We found this base, we found some drunken ruffians easily led, and we took charge. Simple, really.

Too simple.

"I WAS STRIPES!"

"NO, I WAS!"

Oh GOD, who could, in any way in hell, care? I wanted to kill a man. Play chess. Something riveting. I glanced at a sole piano at the very back of the bar, away from the action.

Something riveting.

Turning from it, I sprung from the wall I leaned against, pushing from it with my foot. With a swish of my tail, I swept around the unfolding debacle to leave the slurred rants and disappointingly not-fatal punches be.

This was only a small section of the base I so promptly exited, but it was really the only part these ruffians scuffled and happily resided in: the bar. A small compartment, but prominent. Not a single gangster would be here without their vast array of beer and games of billiards to knock teeth out over.

Spacecraft lined the aisle leading to the exit of the vast base. It was almost like there was that small bar, and the rest of this base was a parking lot. That's all it really was, really.

I strolled to the center elevator and peered up to the ceiling. Three floors of nothing but parking lot. And I knew I was to keep watch, but there was no point to it, as there didn't seem to be a point of this base, let alone being a part of a broken mercenary band created by a man we never believed in.

The elevator played cheap musak consisting of a sad acoustic guitar and random chimes that were supposed to be some type of piano.

Eyes widened, I remembered something.

(*)

"So, what did you say your name was?"

"Just call me Panther."

He didn't give me eye contact as his fingers flowed across the ivory keys soaked in beer and God knew what else. He was what he said he was, and according to the signs that didn't exist, he performed on Tuesdays. Needless to say, it didn't stop the molars flying across the perimeter of the bar, but he did draw in a crowd.

On the edge of his piano stood three things: on the far left was a tip jar that was reasonably filled with coins, peanut shells, and used napkins, the right a glass half-empty with scotch that was covered with droplets thanks to osmosis, and in the middle was a tall vase with a rose. A dying rose, yes, but a rose nonetheless. From its stem, a tied slip of paper quivered with the tune.

"Is that your real name?" my arm rested next to the glass of scotch, and I watched him intently. Head bowed, he nodded slowly, letting the melody follow him along.

"Yes." he responded with a dry tone. I huffed.

"You're shitting me."

"I like to think my last name compensates for it."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Slightly less arbitrary than Powalski."

He didn't even blink, and, somehow, I found myself grinning. I couldn't believe something that classy rolled into this bar. Not many of the patrons were paying attention, but some made a point to be a little less obnoxious than usual to create some type of an ambience. People knew of his presence, and I barely knew him at all.

But I didn't mind somehow.

"You tend not to care about a musician's identity, but rather," he purred softly, "You care about his music. You want to know how it goes and when you may hear it again."

The profoundness and pretentiousness of the statement made me think of motivational posters in waiting rooms for therapy. I snickered again.

"And who said that quote?"

He grinned with, "I did."

For a few more seconds, he continued with the melody of the piece, adding, "This piece is Chopin's. 'Raindrops.' It's from the 'Eternal Sonata' collection. Wonderful work."

It echoed across the scape every Tuesday.

It was sad, and it made me feel like everything was falling ever so slowly. It made a very small section of this shithole Wolf and I called a base a peaceful stage of its own. As for the pianist, I never knew when exactly he first showed up to that bar, but I remember that the piano was for any patron who wanted to slam his fists on the keys.

Darting through the cracks and the two missing keys, Panther went.

"So wonderful," he whispered softly, "Music is wonderful, Powalski. It makes you think that something in your life is more alive than you are, and when you love a piece so much…" he slowly began to end, lifting his keys from the piano and sighing, looking up at the flickering lightbulbs above with, "You wonder when you may see her that lively again."

He was what happened on Tuesday nights.

(*)

The view was vast here.

Lighting a cigarette from my coat pocket, I inhaled the end, puffing out smoke to mingle with the rest of the empty atmosphere and make the stars outside bleak for a second or five. I let the cigarette dangle from my fingers, flicking off ash precariously as I did.

I didn't even think about the piano when I was patrolling the bar.

It was in a far corner away from everything, against the walls and on the opposite side of where the pool table was.

Just a glance.

Somehow, I found myself humming what he played during that encounter. Everything was falling, and the ash clashed against the floor. So sad. Beautiful.

He was to come again tomorrow. I was thinking of how I should put something in his tip jar this time and actually give him that courtesy, as he was one of the very few organisms on this base that deserved any. It made me wonder at times why he thought Sargasso would be the perfect venue, and how he could appear so classy with his cuffed shirt and dress pants. Did he not get the memo that no one here could do anything legally?

I took another inhale, letting the smoke hit the window softly with a hum accompanying it.

Vast.

(*)

"His name is Panther."

"Yes."

"He…" Wolf raised a brow, inquiring while gesturing around his 'office.' If anything, it was an artillery supply closet, machine guns mounted proudly on the walls, with two slightly cushioned chairs and a table, along with a metal plank for a bed in the far corner away from everything. "Plays piano here?"

"In the bar on the ground floor, yes." I answered, looking down at his table. He was writing notes, but I didn't feel to ask what for. He chuckled.

"Damn," he remarked with a smirk, "Didn't know someone thought this joint was classy enough for that shit. Do we have to, like, pay him?"

I shrugged while shaking my head.

"He has a tip jar," I noted, "But it's normally filled with peanut shells."

"Is he good?"

"Better than us."

"And do you know anything about him besides his name?"

"Nope," I replied, "But he seems harmless. All he wants to do here is play piano, it seems. He's been coming every Tuesday for weeks just to play some of the same pieces."

"Oh?" he tapped his claws against the table, resting his head across the knuckles of his other hand. "I think I may want to see him. If he's a regular around here, I think we should know him better."

I nodded with a hum in agreement.

As I gave my captain a brief status report of the base, he glanced down at his notes once more, and, skimming, I came across three distinct words.

Seventeen.

Oikonny.

Aparoid.

(*)

Turning my head slightly, I saw the office door. Wolf practically locked himself in every night those past few weeks to do research. It was surprising, really, how a man of action was so adamant about source material. And it was funny; he never tended to do background checks of the thugs that came in and out of the joint. This was why this place was a haven; if you weren't a pig or a baboon, then the tabs weren't kept on you.

He did, however, keep watch on other things. The regulars, for instance, along with what they knew about this place.

About us, especially.

Since we were down two members due to conflicting moral codes and wavering loyalty, he became wary of who to welcome. One interrogation session with a kidnapped member threw him a tizzy. I remembered it. Something about aliens that were more powerful than any of Corneria's forces, meaning that even Star Fox could very well have their hands tied.

As for just us two finding something to use against the supposed end of the galaxy, well.

Like how Wolf knew nothing about those aliens no matter how much was screamed at him and how much he jotted down, I really didn't know much about Panther no matter how many Tuesdays I leaned my arm against his glistening piano.

He never replaced his rose, was all too talented for any goon here, and came from nowh-

DUN.

My head perked up from the dwindling, vengeful ring of a key down the opposite corridor. I turned towards it and walked briskly, cigarette still flaring with embers.

(*)

"Revolutionary Etude," he rasped, "Chopin."

Nostrils flaring, Panther's fingers pounded against the keys with purpose. They rolled down opposite ends, and his fingers clashed so hard against the ivory I wondered if the keys or the fingers would crack in half first.

"Why-" I was thinking of the gracefulness of the piece he would play every time I saw the man, but this time, he seemed as though he was ready to kill every being here with his fingertips and claws alone.

"Chopin wrote this song when he left the country he loved," he huffed, head bobbing with every forced note, "Because it became his worst nightmare. Amazing how something you love"-pause for slam against the keys-"Can become torture."

The ice in his glass jangled, and the quivering rose lost a petal, along with some of the murky water inside its vase. There was nothing in his tip jar.

When he was finished, he bowed his head and stared down wide-eyed at his knees. Even the poor, wavering lighting didn't hinder me from seeing tears fall and clash with the floor.

(*)

I quickened my pace with the crazed rhythm of the piano down the hall. I dropped the cigarette at some point, and part of me wondered if the base ever would burn to the ground with it.

The sound got louder, trapped in speakers, and my eyes widened when I turned the corner. At my feet, there was a sole wireless CD player. I didn't even know those existed anymore. Blaring the angry notes of a sorrowful piano, the CD player, rugged and ready to explode, really, skipped over one of the slams against the keys.

"R-Revolution…Et..."

Hiccupping. I looked up.

"Cho…Chopin."

DUN. DUN. DUN. DUN.

Perched on the metal railing of the balcony, the man gripped the metal railing like it was very well the last thing he had. His knuckles turned white even within his ebony fur.

"Panther?"

He turned to me, head swerving around precariously. Bags under his eyes, his eyes strained and reddened and ready to pop out thirty feet below. He was a swiveling, withered leaf ready to float off its branch and never be heard of again.

"I'm…" he started with a mumble, words sloshing like ice in a formidable glass. I looked over a few feet away to find a trail of glass and brown liquid. Scotch, of course. "I'm gonna do it thitime…sadon't stop…"-hic-"stop me."

The track kept skipping the same ten seconds I walked into. He wobbled, swaying back and forth and letting his arms twist with the motions, still clenching onto the railing. His eyes couldn't stay in one direction.

I had to think of something.

DUN. DUN. DUN.

Slowly, I walked towards him, hissing, "I can't let you do that, and neither can you."

Turning to me with a graceless flick of his neck, he shook his head with an immature-sounding, "Yeah ya can."

With a growl, I demanded, "Get off the railing. You don't want to do this."

"Oh I'M sorry," his voice grew louder, rising and falling with octaves, "I di'nt realize ya knew me! Do ya?"

"I-"

"Do ya REALLY?" Hic. He winced, rubbing a part of his temple for a second before latching his palm back to the railing.

DUN. DUN.

I shrugged.

"Well, you're right," I sighed, "I don't know you. In fact, I know almost nothing about you."

"So juss…juss lemme be!"

"You should know enough about yourself to know this isn't what you want."

He remained staring at me, but this time, his grip was slightly more loosened. His feet shuffled more from the three-story drop below. I didn't even know what he was doing here off-schedule, but of course what he was doing was worthy of questioning.

I couldn't inquire anything at the moment; I could very well do that after his performance the next night.

(*)

"Cigarette?"

Very few ever came up here to peer into the infinite space. Everyone was too busy leaking their brains out through their swollen, boxed ears two floors below. He left an impression this first time, and he could very well get lost in the toxic air with me.

Panther took one from the box, lighting it quickly and sticking it delicately in between his lips. After a heavy inhale, he left the smoke flow through the caverns of his nostrils, afterwards giving a nod of gratitude.

The two of us, without a word, looked out the window. Flicking my eyes over, I could see Panther hold the dangling cigarette in his left while fiddling with a hidden, silver chain around his neck with his right. Or, well, at least he figured it was hidden.

At no point did we say anything, but seeing his finger go through a loop latched onto the chain, I felt like I learned enough. I didn't feel terribly lost, and it was harder for him to take inhales and find his way.

(*)

"You lost someone."

With eyebrows furling and wrinkling his ruffled face, Panther huffed, "Huh?"

I nodded.

"The chain. The rose. Talking of music in such a way," I hummed, "Can I assume it's a girl?"

"A…" Before he asked me to repeat, Panther growled, "Shut…shaddup! Just lemme go!"

"Panther," I stepped a foot closer with, "You really don't want to lose your life, do you?"

There was a second of silence, along with a silent step forward.

"You…" he trailed off, "You juss…"

"Get off the railing, Panther."

"Er what?" he rasped with another hiccup, "You'll kill me?"

DUN. DUN.

The shriveled leaf ever swayed. I pulled out my switchblade.

"Sure." I huffed bluntly. "If you're willing to fight me and ultimately lose."

With a raised brow, Panther, amazingly, stepped off the ledge. I couldn't understand for the life of me how it was that simple. Hidden under his coat, he pulled out an epee; I couldn't help but smirk at it.

His posture staggered, and he flayed his weapon in my direction.

"Thi"-hic-"Is your lass warning. You better sta-"

I quickly maneuvered around the epee and struck him with the blade. He howled in pain and let his weapon clink against the cold ground, gripping his eye and sinking to the ground like I gave him the fatal blow I promised. Coupled with a groan from drinking too much and being unfamiliar with what he was even doing, Panther lifted his palm from the gash under his eye, He saw the blood.

And fainted.

Maybe I did know him after all.

DUN. DUN. DUN. DUN. DUN.

I turned off the CD player, sighing with relief that the beautiful melody could come to a halt. Pulling out the disc, I nodded. Permanent marker.

LUKA.

*()*

After a series of coughs, the girl gestured at the door. She clenched her chest, a droplet of water trickling down the end of her swollen eye socket, cascading down her pale, freezing cheeks.

Then again, he was persistent. Every song was so particular to him, every melody, every moment involving emotion; this, surely, rejecting him as the final farewell, was no exception.

"You have to leave."

"I can't."

"Now. Please. Just…please let me go."

*()*

"After…one cut."

"Yes."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No."

Wolf stared down at the passed-out Panther on his metal plank of a bed. He had a bandage under his eye, and all that came from his reeking mouth was the occasional moan. My captain sighed as I looked at the rugged CD player I placed haphazardly on his table; the epee was leaning by in a lone corner of the room.

"What was he even doing here?" he huffed, "Wasn't he supposed to be here tomorrow? This IS the piano guy, right?"

"Well, if he was playing, then yes," I replied, "But he obviously didn't come to do that tonight."

Pacing the room and making sure the door was locked, Wolf was trying to take in what had happened those past fifteen minutes. He muttered to himself, "Who in the hell faints from one cut like that?" He then turned to me, asking, "Did you know that would happen?"

I shrugged.

"Well," I started, "He wasn't here for the violence. I'm frankly surprised by how fast I lured him off, along with how I did."

"Fainting at the sight of blood isn't terribly surprising if you've faced trauma in the past, I guess," Wolf hummed in thought, "But still."

I nodded silently in agreement. Leaning against the wall, I turned to look at Panther, who was practically dead to the world.

"Do you…" Wolf trailed off, failing to finish. I decided to answer before he could.

"Yes," I gave him another nod, "I think he would have."

Quickly snapping back from the trance of a question, Wolf gave a rebuttal, "Did you find anything on him?"

I walked over to Panther, pulling at the silver chain tucked beneath his collar. The ring's diamond glistened against the fluorescent lights above us.

*()*

"No, Panther. I can't."

"Please let me help you. I'm begging you…please."

"I don't deserve you."

"Lu-"

"Get out…I-I-"

*()*

"And what are these?" I gestured at the papers littered on Wolf's table, and my captain let out a breath, rolling his eye back. I figured now would be my window of opportunity to ask about it. He walked to the table, picked up few of the papers, glanced at them, and let out a huff.

"So you know the interrogation we had with Pigma."

"Right."

He leafed through some of the notes and threads and leads.

"I believe it's not much of a lie."

"So you think…"

"That the Aparoids are being used for conquest by Oikonny?" he finished with, "Yes. But…"

"But what?"

"They're ridiculously over-powered, as you could guess."

"Right." I said, "Did they not tear through an entire Cornerian fleet seventeen years ago?"

Wolf nodded.

"So Star Fox is hopeless, then."

"So is Lylat, if you ask me." Wolf added, "They can control technology when latched onto it, and if someone is operating it from within the said mech, they can control them, too. They can fuse the passenger and machine together to practically make a demon."

"Well," I peered at more of the notes, looking at an article with a picture of the proud Cornerian fleet unaware of their eventual plight. I hummed, "Looks like someone did their research."

"They colonize quickly," Wolf continued, "They could very well talk over this damn base and it would be too late for us to notice."

"God."

After a brief pause, Wolf stepped over to Panther's limp body.

"What God?" he sputtered, looking at Panther's diamond ring latched around his neck. It wasn't his, needless to say.

Or, at least, it wasn't meant to be.

*()*

"Here. You…you need to take this back."

"I can't."

"You'll have to."

"Why? Why are you-"

"Because you can't see me like this! You can't be around me like this! You can't!"

"Of course I can! I love you. You know that."

"If you loved me…you'd let me go. What's the point in giving our lives to each other if I'm going to just die? What's the point of a vow that will mean nothing when I'm gone?"

*()*

Wolf gingerly took the bandage off Panther's face. Dabbing it with the sole cloth at his disposal, Wolf sopped up the miniscule amount of blood left. A scarlet line under his eye remained.

Panther whimpered.

"He'll be fine in a few." Wolf nodded. A few what was anyone's guess, but yes, he would be fine. "In time, he'll be-"

I didn't think much of the CD player, but, quietly, I turned it on nonetheless. I chose the first track.

And everything fell.

Slowly turning around, Wolf's mouth slightly opened. I turned up the volume, slightly, being wary of where the scratch was. He stepped towards the CD player, peering down at it.

"Raindrops." I stated, "He plays this song in the bar."

It was silent in Wolf's office. It was a moment the two of us shared where we stared and sat across from each other, feeling the same pang. We didn't know what it was of, exactly, but it was as if we had the same desire to watch stars fall where we stood. When we as children wanted the love we couldn't have and the freedom laced with discord. For two minutes of time, we forgot about Apariods but remembered what we were.

We were falling. Forever. Just getting lost.

Just what we were meant for.

Wolf whispered, "Is this him? Him playing?"

The keys were swift and slow.

"I wonder myself." I then noted, "It says, 'LUKA,' on the disk."

"Lulu…"

We both whirled around to hear that wince again. Panther whimpered, reaching for what he couldn't have.

*()*

"I just want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Well, I hope you're ready to die soon, love."

"Don't say things like that."

Cough. Her hands silenced it.

"H-How can I not? Trust the fact that it will be soon…"

Her hands were extended. Scarlet.

His eyes were scarlet, too. It had been weeks since they had that familiar, warm hue of yellow. The girl did miss it, as she would miss all of him. She flicked her weakened eyes to the left. Blurred white. Snow. They were to get married in snow.

She made a promise they'd be wed somewhere else. Memories were less crowded.

He just had to trust in it while she could never believe it would be okay.

"L-Lulu…"

*()*

"Where…"

Panther, with a groan of agony, rubbed his swollen temple. He tried to lift his neck an inch, only to collapse back on the metal plank with a low groan. Wincing at the bright light above him, he extended one of his palms.

"God," he muttered, his voice not sounding as silky as a normal encounter but instead gruff and laced with whiskey, "Someone turn off the sun."

Wolf got up, and I followed. Panther turned to me, his right eye swollen, and I held up to him my switchblade.

"Apologies," I stated, "I do hope the cut didn't alter your physical state too harshly."

"Did…" he inquired softly, almost innocently, "Did you do"-wince as he touched the wound-"…this?"

I nodded.

"It was one of the only ways I could stop you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"From-"

"Jumping." Wolf replied bluntly, "You were close to jumping off the balcony on this floor."

Panther's eyes widened, or, at least, as much as they could before he winced again at the gash under his eye. A droplet of blood was visible, but he was fine. Just not as fine as he wanted.

He was silent, afterwards repeating with a stutter, "J..Jumping."

"Do you not…" I began to ask, but before he could, Panther was sitting up straight from the metal plank, eyes closed, fiddling his fingers in the air. Wolf and I simultaneously remembered the CD player was still on.

A tap was a key. An invisible melody.

"I used to play this song. Tristesse," he noted, almost to himself, "It was her favorite."

*()*

"You know I'm not leaving you like this, Luka."

"…Fine. If you're going to be that way, then…"

"I'll…I'll play you the song."

"And a-after that…" she whispered with a cough, "You leave me here."

Back turned. He played. He looked out the window to see the snow outside. Four winters did they spend in this sickly home, twenty times were they confined in such snow. Luka was one for snow, just not for one for being in it.

He would bring her back a hot chocolate from their favorite café, or have them wear socks and glide down the waxed, oak floors like they were kids again and they could feel like they could live forever.

With every tear that clinked against the ivory, she coughed. Every time that the song raised an octave, she let out a groan. They were just as cold as snow, hard as the ice Luka would dart across as a schoolgirl that came to every recital.

Blood dancing from her lips with the melody, hands cupping the escaping performers, she took one last bow with a final cough. The curtain call.

One last note. Back turned. Not looking down. The angry notes marched on as Panther quietly shut the door as if the lying girl was sleeping, taking the last rose to live for the winter with him. The perfect bouquet, really. Scarlet.

Like its petals, as per her wishes, he got lost with the wind and left her. Memories were less crowded that way.

*()*

Panther ignored us both, and it didn't take long for the captain to get agitated.

"Look," he let out a huff, growling, "I hate to ruin your recital, but you did almost off yourself in my base. Who are you, anyway?"

His fingers paused to let the notes flow on their own, even for a moment, and slowly turned his head up to Wolf with, "Panther Caroso. I promise you I'm no one important to you."

"Then why did you come here?" I inquired, "How did you find this place?"

"When you lose everything, you tend to find other things in the hopes it fills empty spaces," Panther explained, almost as if Sargasso Base could fill a void in anyone's soul. "Needless to say, I found this place after wandering around Lylat."

"Where are you from?"

"Corneria, like everyone else you trifle with."

"And you left why?"

"I wanted to find something else."

"Find what? A home? A job? Money?"

"Purpose." Panther answered.

"Purpose for what?" Wolf hovered over him, now, investigating Panther's body language.

"Playing." he let out a breath, muttering, "And I tend to lose it. And I suppose that, since this is your base and was to be your mess to clean up if I was to jump like you said I was to," Panther peered further into Wolf's eye, seeing part of his distorted reflection in Wolf's eyepiece. He folded his arms and still slightly wobbled his head with, "You deserve the courtesy why I lost it in the first place."

*()*

You really don't think of terribly much when you're ten.

If you have no siblings and ample money to bathe in every night, there really isn't much reason to worry about anything. Aristocratic parents. Friendly community. Delectable coffee shop that gave out scrumptious macaroons in a vast array of colors.

Life was pretty good for a ten-year-old.

Piano was enticing, too. If you're parents of a child, making them a star in something is the capital thing to so do. Need something to talk about over broken champagne bottles and tipped-over bottles of whiskey while ruffling their hair in pride, after all.

There were some days where the father would play and the mother would sing, other days where screams could be muffled three floors above for the sake of being considerate. Songs would echo down halls and around corridors, bouncing down the waxed oak floors and perching atop window sills and chandeliers and upon the ears of anyone who was enticed to listen to a prodigy.

Placed on the pedestal, the prodigy ever played, the song cascading down endless rows of hypnotized patrons. Hypnotized patrons.

And her. Ten-year-olds think about days in winter such as her.

It was a sad song, and tears sheened her blue irises. She was in a spotlight, packaged with a bow on top and lace on the bottom. Hair falling like a waterfall. Tail swishing and nose crinkling. Blue.

Macaroons were nice to share afterwards and for several years afterward.

More recitals meant more money prizes, and more money prizes meant more macaroons. The performer got flowers for his audience as if she was always more interesting, and, well, she was.

She was what happened on Tuesday nights.

When the parents silently crumbled, the boy's mansion so stood. Tuesdays became every night, and the two grew stronger on their cold little stage.

Stars tend to burn out. The sun will die some day, you know.

Everything grew red.

Everything grew quiet.

Perfect storms, better nightmares. Faint candles in the chandelier and trembling leaves on the branches.

Luka was cold. I burnt out.

You know what happens next.

*()*

"I want to take pride in something again, see," Panther was looking at no one in particular, or, at least, no one we could see. He fiddled with the silver ring around his neck, whispering, "Wonder when I may find that peace again."

"Do you not realize you're in a war zone? This is a base filled with ruffians, and you fainted at the sight of your own blood," Wolf clucked his lips once, adding, "I highly doubt this is the best place for a musician soul-searching."

"Perhaps not," Panther shrugged, "But it's something. I sold my home, bought a craft with the money, flew it, and crashed here. My wonderful parents died with whatever else they had, so I figured I could take what I had and actually put my piloting license to use."

Cocking a brow at him, I questioned, "That's…a thing?"

Reaching under his long coat, he pulled out a small, concealed card. His picture. Everything checked out. According to the Cornerian registry, he was willing to donate his lungs if he was found hovering around some idle corner of the universe and they were still in tact so blood wouldn't leak from another's lips.

"Caroso?" Wolf pondered for a moment, repeating the name.

"Correct." Panther gestured at the license, while I twiddled with the rainbow hologram of the Cornerian crest that certified authenticity. "Let me reiterate that I mean no harm to either one of you and shall not sell out anything I may or may not have learned from this base as a simple pianist for money I don't need and women that will fill desires for six hours."

"Then join us." Wolf stated.

"Excuse me?" Panther retorted.

"What?" I also retorted, ceasing the hologram merriment.

Panther and I shared a moment of perplexity, as Wolf nodded.

"If we can truly trust you with being here and staying this long in my quarters," Wolf noted simply, as if it was meant to be simple at all, "Then surely we can trust you with our lives."

My mouth opened a little. My captain was off. He was always off, yes, and he was now requesting a blatant pianist aboard our broken band of mercenaries to potentially ward off alien gods. And, amazingly…

"Sure."

I whirled around to Panther, arms folded, letting the CD skip again. Oh, right. The scene was so weird we forgot about one of the sensible details of it. They shook on it. They discussed our debacle. We dispersed. Before any further description is asked of me, that is literally what happened.

I needed at least twelve cigarettes.

(*)

The next night, Panther performed, appearing as fresh as a daisy with a pink stripe along his jawline and having a brand new rose in his vase. I flipped a coin in his gradually filling , with Wolf ordering him a somehow available mug of tea for any pangs in the head Panther still had. Leaning against the bar, Wolf, bemusedly of course, watched brutish grunts duke it out over who hit that damn 8 ball in.

Meanwhile, perched on my bar stool, I watched Panther's fleeting yellow eyes and ebony fingers across the keys in the midst of the smoky air. Neither one of us looked at each other.

I was still theorizing why Wolf did it. Perhaps Panther was part of his strategy; no one would suspect a pianist as a ruthless killer of scandalous alien slime. Maybe we were just that desperate and we had to rake up some type of force if we wanted to shield our universe's ass or at least say we made a valiant effort to. Or maybe…

"He wants that trust, Leon."

"Hm?" I flicked my eyes towards my captain, while he lit a strong cigar. He took a large drag like it was good for him. Perhaps we all just want to just kill ourselves while hiding in our own smoke.

"He wanted that girl to trust him with her life and that all would be okay, and couldn't bear that she wouldn't," With a curve of his lips, Wolf let the spherical smoke bounce with the tune. He continued with, "And getting off the ledge by your luring only shows that he's weak for it. Weak to have people trust him. Admire him again."

"Where did you pull that from?"

"You…DO know the only reason why we're still alive is because of each other, correct?"

I quickly flashed to two children who had nothing and were destined to have nothing but questions and guns and hatred and each other. Falling forever. Trust in something. Fear in everything, and then nothing all at once.

"We both trusted in the prospect that we would never have to be in Venom again, never have to work for Andross another second of our lives, never have to pretend we trust in him," Wolf, after another drag, rasped, "And look at us now."

"We're wrecks."

"We're alive."

"Do you think…"

"I honestly can't tell you how he'll be," I clasped my lips shut before I could even answer, as Wolf flicked off some ash and let it flutter aimlessly downward. "But we need to at least trust in something if we're going to-"

"Fight God again?"

Andross was dead now. We trusted he would.

"And win." Wolf finished, "We need support like this, Powalski. We've lost too much without it."

Two team-mates and any notoriety.

After a few seconds, I nodded in agreement as Panther played his final song of the night before he retired to Wolf's office and went over our first objective in a newer lifetime.

(*)

Looking out from where he trembled, Panther stood. He made a point to thank me later for both saving his life and how his new scar brought wonders to his complexion. Entranced by the bright lasers, the barking adversaries, the danger, the purpose in the fight, he was called. The fox. Biting pheasant. Desperate frog. Vixen that reminded him of why he played and where to place his pieces.

She called for him.

We barked a little louder.

The music skipped.

He jumped.

And with a clink of a key, he went to fly into our eternal fray.

---

And there you have it. This fic was very interesting for me to write, as, again, I haven't delved in this fandom at all for what feels like forever. Eternal Sonata by Chopin was a very large inspiration for this piece, along with the excellent anime Your Lie In April in terms of mood. I've always pictured Panther as a somewhat washed-up musician that was from millions and ended up having nothing. It just felt right. :P

Also, Pigma's interrogation refers to my other one-shot "Mutiny and His White Walls," just for the sake of context.

Feedback is always appreciated, and I thank you for reading Sonata's Requiem!

Good luck to all the other entrants in the contest,

BAA