Chapter 22
The memory of lost careers! Enter Pheonix the blonde girl!
The next day, Ari takes some time to unwrap the bandage around her head and inspect the wound. It's not completely healed, but there's a neatly formed scab, so Ari figures she can go without the ridiculous-looking bandage. She promptly throws it in the trash and carefully brushes her hair as to not scrape the newly-formed scab on her scalp.
Afterwards, Ari makes her way down to the dining room for lunch and takes a seat at the table. She's the first one there so she takes a moment to bask in the peaceful solitude. A peaceful, quiet solitude that is pleasantly interrupted when she hears music coming from the ballroom in the next room: piano music. In order to not be seen, she wanders to the back of the dining room and exits through a door that leads to a small servant's hall. The hallway is so small that only one person can pass through it at a time. It was designed that way on purpose so that maids stay in a single-line formation. This way, when they enter into a room they look orderly and professional. She cracks open another door in the hall, and viola! She's now looking in on a solo piano performance. She squints up at the stage, trying to determine who the pianist is, but the lights in the ballroom aren't on. Whoever is playing clearly doesn't want to be seen.
The melody plays in time with Ari's heart song. She taps a hand on her thigh, as in tune with the tempo as a metronome. Duh, duh, duh. Duh, duh, duh. Duh, duh, duh. Duh, duh, du- her tapping is disrupted when someone tries to slide past her, bumping into her from behind. She groans and turns around just as the person is directly behind her, bringing her face-to-face with her interruption.
She musters up her best glare, though it's rendered useless and unseen in the dark hallway.
"Uh-sorry. Didn't mean to bump into ya."
She starts at the sound of his voice and reaches back to steady herself on the door behind her, but since the door is open she loses her balance completely. Right before she hits the ground, a strong hand folds around the small of her back, steadying her. Their faces come close and their noses touch. Crap! Now I'm even closer to him than I was before! Her thoughts go around in panicked circles, unsure of what to do. Here she is, yet again, just one inch from kissing a certain swordsman. Ari doesn't dare move, save for blinking.
Zoro doesn't dare move either. I don't want to screw up… I've always been too busy training to worry myself about this stuff… Hell, I've never even kissed a women before, let alone anything else! He sighs. I'm better off playing it safe for now.
He gradually comes up to a stand, bringing Ari to her feet with him. He means to remove his hand from the small of her back as soon as she's no longer in danger, but finds the task is much more difficult than he originally would have thought.
Finally, Ari backs up, forcing his hand to slide away from her and back to his side. The pianist stopped playing… She sighs. She looks over her shoulder to attempt a glimpse at whoever was playing, but is unsuccessful yet again due to the poor lighting.
Zoro hears Ari's disappointment and he thinks that it's because they're no longer touching, but his curiosity is cleared and his own disappointment deepened when he sees her look for the musician that was playing just now. "Brooke," he pipes up, without thinking.
Ari glances back at him with her questioning gaze and for reasons unbeknownst to him, his stomach flutters.
"Brooke," he repeats. "Our musician."
"Oh, I see," she confirms. "Though I must admit, I've never heard him play Sonata number fourteen."
He shrugs. "He's old. Knows a lot of pieces I guess."
She nods, but is still haunted by the familiar tune of Beethoven's song. It is a tune she used to hear often, back when she was aboard her old ship, with her old crew. It appears as though the ghosts of her dead crewmates still manage to haunt her, even with these brick walls around her, and even with one of the strongest men in the world right next to her. It is then she recollects the conclusion that she came to last night: Zoro rescued me from the swamp. Should I… say something? I should thank him, right?
"Well, I, uh," he stutters, "I'm off to eat." He turns to leave down the hall as he originally intended, when a small hand catches him by his bicep. He pauses.
Ari's hand falls back down to her side. "Thank you," she says, "for saving me."
He smirks and leaves it at that.
After Zoro is long gone down the hall, it dawns on her that he might have mistaken her thanks as appreciation for saving her from falling just now, not for what it was. Oh well, I said thank you. That's what counts.
After lunch comes to a close, Ari opts to tour back to the palace ballroom the same way as before. The room appears to be unoccupied, though there's no way for her to know for sure since it's so dark. She wanders through the darkness, blindly trying to find her way to the stage. She climbs up the stairs and accidentally bumps into the massive curtains on one side. A cloud of dust rains down from them, landing on her, unfortunately enough. She coughs and waves at the air, trying to clear it. This room must not be used very frequently. Or cleaned frequently for that matter. She takes off her cardigan and uses it to cover her mouth to prevent her from inhaling any more dust.
She continues walking blindly on the stage, keeping to the walls to get an idea of how big the stage really is, when she accidentally flips on the lights. She puts a hand above her eyes to block out the brightness. In a little time, her eyes adjust and she is left with the breathtaking view. The lights only shine onto the stage, leaving the rest of the ballroom in darkness. She pads along to get a better look at her surroundings, when her foot accidentally catches on an object on the ground.
The silver object rolls along, making a light dinging noise, until it reaches centerstage and stops. Ari freezes, eyes wide. Her hands drops the cardigan to the floor. Her feet carry her on their own accord and she slowly makes her way to the object, one foot in front of the other. It shines right by the microphone. The hollow cylinder gleams at her, tempting her to touch it. Another step. The keys glimmer a piece of her past and she steps on towards centerstage. The lip plate—it calls her. She takes one more step. She pauses. She looks down. One small musical muse, sixteen tiny keys, a thing more tempting than sex and more satisfying than food. A musician's drug. Her fingers twitch as she impulsively reaches down and lifts it off the stage. The muscles in her hands instinctively ease the instrument home. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. Inhale, then exhale. She opens her eyes and welcomes the view that only a soloist can capture and claim as her own. As if moving on their own, her fingers breeze along the silver keys into their respective positions. Inhale, then exhale. And as if all caution had evaded her, she inhales one last time. Her lips pucker, and she exhales once more, breathing life into the flute before her. And alas, she creates a note.
A shock wave of sorts, judges fall, people fall, families fall. Her world, reborn and shattered. In the background, she hears someone scream, a ding as something hits the floor, and a much louder, more pronounced thud as something much heavier does. All other sound is drowned out when that voice continues screaming and sobbing desperately. It spirals up higher and higher until it reaches a whole other octave. The unpleasant sound rakes at her ears and threatens her eardrums. She turns to tell whoever it is to shut up and calm down, but then it hits her: that voice is her own.
Everything is dark. She isn't sure why, but then she realizes that her eyes are shut tight. She opens them and at first glance, all she notices is the shiny flute freshly fallen to the floor. Her long hair hangs in strands, shielding her face from the terrors that lie in the audience. Cautiously, she peeks through the veil and recalls how she fell to the floor and why the audience is no longer seated. The people in the audience are sprawled over the seats, their bodies tossed back like ragdolls.
Ari shakily comes to a stand, disregarding her flute for the time being. She wobbles over to the stairs. She grips the railing and goes white-knuckled as she steps down one step at a time. She stops as she comes to the judge's table and hefts the table back up from where it fell over, freeing up the previously-pinned judges. She inspects one of them and accidentally crumples something on the ground in the process. She looks to the floor to see what it is.
It's a… nametent. These judges were people… What… did… I do this? I played and… they all fell.
She looks back at the judge she's inspecting and frantically pokes and prods, desperately trying to find a pulse. Nothing. The woman stares back at Ari, her gaze completely vacant, yet Ari feels like the woman is watching her. Ari backs away out of instinct, but instantly regrets it. Now, hundreds of vacant gazes bore into her. Their spirits whisper to her, demanding to know what happened and why everyone around them is dead. Ari squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, convinced that the voices are her imagination, but the voices remain.
Why is everyone around me dead?
Who are you?
What happened?
Danger.
Death.
Why am I not dead?
Ari begins to panic, not knowing if she's going crazy or if there really are voices. A seat creaks in the audience. She may be unsure if there are voices, but there definitely was a creak. She freezes in place, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to herself. She holds her breath, waiting for something to happen as her heartbeat pounds in her ears. The seat creaks again. Ari scans the deceased audience, trying to see what's making that noise. She eyes the auditorium again and again, but doesn't find anything. Then, she spots someone. Someone Alive. Suddenly, the doors to the auditorium burst open, revealing marines at the ready on the other side. There's a flash of blonde and Ari's carried off her feet and outside within seconds.