Originally written as a blurb on a photo of mine-I expanded it a bit and fixed it up to be a proper drabble. Nothing much-Just a few hundred words, but that's all it really needs to be.
Disclaimer: Honestly? If I owned Sailor Moon I wouldn't be writing fanfiction would I? I'd be reaping the benefits of an awesome series. That being said-I own nothing.
It's not often that Michiru isn't in the music room after club activities. I grumble...Geez-I just got out of track...I'm tired darn it-I want to go home and relax-and the more time Michiru spends lazing about the school-the less of a chance I'll get to relax.
"Maybe she's in the art room..." I muse, and glance at the corner of the piano. Ah, her violin case-so she wasplanning on coming back...I sit myself at the piano-a grand. Yahama? Not too bad-but you'd think that a school like Mugen would have a better one...maybe this is just the practice one? I know that the one I've seen on the school stage is nicer...
I tug the cover off the keys and my fingers find an opening chord easily. B in the center-balancing it out. No dissonance...I could easily cause the notes to sour-a flat or sharp thrown in this chord would easily turn the phrase ugly. But I play the B chord again-enjoying the sound, the full sound of my left hand joining the right on the keys.
I don't often play at the school-most times, if not all, I'll play at home, only for Michiru-or at whatever joint concert she drags me to next. But it's been a long day, and the breezes and winds are ripe with the sound of the chords that I can't help but lose myself in the music-Adagio at first-pleasant and simple-but quickly I find myself running into a phrase of Capriccio, the tempo picking up-I'm running, the calm of the previous music fading into a normal pace for me, quick and short notes.
Now a consonance, a respite-I'm slowing again, relaxing into an expressivo , a reprise of the opening, easing slowly into full chords. The air in the room has changed, and I know why, a soft current of mystery and salty sea water swirl in the rafters. I greet the newcomer with a set of staccato notes, high and clear, and catch them on the down fall with the drone of a small, deep chord below. The tempo slows and I fall from the trance of the keys with the repetition of the opening B chord.
"You are late." I announce, turning my neck to greet the cause of my playing. She gives that smile-the one that is hardly there, but is so definitely there that it means something. The one that says that she has words for me later.
"And you told me that you refused to play the piano at school," she answered in rebuttal. Touché Michiru, Touché. Graceful as the sea, she bends over and captures the handle of her Violin case in hand, "Now, shall we?" she tucks a few errant strands of aquamarine hair behind her ear, but almost as soon as she does the breeze is back and tugging at it, pulling out from under her fingers carelessly. She gives me a slightly frustrated huff, unamused by my shenanigans and her eyebrow raises almost in perceptively in a sarcastic comment that I'm sure is dying to leave her lips. I grin, knowing that at home I'll surely be in trouble, and forced to practice tonight. But that's alright. The air is full of music, and suddenly I'm not so tired anymore with her at my side with the breeze caressing my cheek. And the music rises inside of me, swelling and cresting like a sea breeze. My afterschool dulce.
Dulce is the Spanish word for 'sweet' or 'delight' depending on how it's used. So for once, my Spanish language education in school helped me for something out of school. Reviews are lovely, as always and forever, since they make me feel : 'gee-I did something good! Let's do something like it again!' But anyways-Thank you for reading.
~konaxookami