A/N: New chapter! Finally. Vacation, getting sick, getting back into the swing of life... Yeah, things get busy. But hopefully, I can get everything updated again.
Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! I hope you continue to enjoy the tales. :)
~Penelope
Theme: My Inspiration
"My inspiration?"
Elliot nodded, lounging back against the armrest of the sofa. Not that that worked too well, considering he had long since rested over his face the novel he had been attempting to plow through. Boring thing. Too philosophical, not enough action and depth. It was all preaching, and he hated being preached at. He liked drawing his own conclusions from fiction. Hence why he had given up reading it, and simply used it as a shade over his eyes while his mind paid rapt attention to the song Leo had been playing. He had listened critically to every scale and arpeggio, mentally tallying every well-executed maneuver and ever stumbling note.
It never ceased to amaze him how well Leo was, being only self-taught. Note pages and books only did so much, and they simply taught you how to mimic other composers, taught you the notes, and then threw you to the wind. And that's how Elliot had learned.
"Your inspiration; what is it?" he muttered, mostly trying to make conversation, as he was extremely bored and when he was bored, he thought too much and that always ended in trouble.
"For…?"
Frowning, Elliot tipped the bottom corners of the book up so he could make a face at his valet from under its rim. "Architecture. What do you think, genius?"
Not even fazed, Leo glanced at the piano beside him as he swiveled to sit on the piano bench sideways. "Hm…" He tilted his head in concentration. "I don't know… Memories. Nature? Weather? I-I don't know; I've never actually thought about it. I usually just… sit down and write it down as it comes."
With a long arc of his arm, Elliot pulled the open book off his face and practically flung it onto the small table between the sofas with reckless abandon. The thing hit the tabletop, and snapped shut. The Nightray scion propped himself on his elbow. "Do you realize just how dang lucky you are to be able to do that?"
"You can do it too," Leo snorted, "I've heard you do it. I've watched you do it."
"That's rare! Like, once every blue moon."
"Bologna."
"Okay, whatever, but still!" Elliot sighed, swinging his legs out, managing to avoid kicking the table, and sitting up. He rested his elbows on his knees, talking with his hands flying in wild gestures. No, he couldn't just talk with his big mouth; it was an unfortunate habit that his hands had to join in on it too. "It's like raw, untainted talent. It hasn't been screwed by stingy methods and-and steeped tradition. It's just you and whatever inspires you."
"I draw from other composers; they have some good ideas, you know. Might be the reason why they're famous."
"Yes, but you get to incorporate them into your own style, rather than make a habit of just… copying them."
Leo gave a short laugh as he played his fingers over a few high notes in a trilling, Celtic scale. "You definitely have your own style, Elliot, if that's what you're worried about."
Dang it.
He huffed, and shot his valet a glare that flew completely over the noire's head. 'Course, that might've been because Leo wasn't looking at him. Stupid idiot; if it was between him and a piano, Leo chose the piano every stinking time.
"I'm not worried about anything!" He flopped back against the sofa with a scowl, folding his arms over his chest, making the stiff fabric of his black vest rustle uncomfortably. He hated this thing; why did he even wear it? Oh, right, Vanessa had bought it for him and had been 'dying' – so she said – to see it on him. "I just… Wish I could do the same sometimes, is all."
Leo glanced back over, and it was one of those moments when Elliot really wished he wasn't so darn determined to keep his eyes hidden. It would sure make decent conversation a whole lot easier if he could actually see Leo's full expression.
"What, are you…" He actually looked a bit surprised. "Are you jealous of me?"
"Shut up."
"That's not a denial."
"Shut up!"
Leo chuckled – no, he laughed. He actually laughed, and that made Elliot scowl harder, even though his cheeks flamed.
The major con to having a personal servant: after spending every day with him for an extended period of time, the valet got to know his master. Very well. This included the best ways to embarrass him.
"Well, I must admit, that's surprising." Leo offered him a smile. "You really shouldn't be."
Elliot didn't stop glaring.
"Because you're just as good, if not better at playing than I am. You've been at it longer, and you've also had tutoring, which definitely comes through in your style. You don't hesitate before hitting a note or a chord, which is what I do."
Elliot cocked a brow. "Doesn't sound like it."
"Ever wondered why I play slower most of the time?"
…Well, that made sense.
"I don't need you to boost my ego, Leo."
Again, Leo laughed. "Nooooo. Never. Bad idea. You don't need one."
"Shut up."
"But sometimes, you could use a boost of confidence."
Elliot frowned again, watching Leo turn back to the piano and ready his fingers over the keys. "There's no difference."
"Sure there is." Leo played a few soft chords. "Your ego's always high as a hot-air balloon – that's what I'm here for. But being in the position you are as a noble and the son of a duke, confidence can buckle under all that pressure – that is also what I'm here for."
"Besides doing my laundry and cleaning my study and getting my horse when we go out…"
Leo sighed, and Elliot could hear the eyeroll in his voice even as he himself suppressed a smirk. "Not the point, Elliot. The point is, you shouldn't judge your ability to play by the talent of other composers, the talent of your tutors, or even what your family says about it. If you don't feel you did a good job, then you didn't do a good job. You know that you could've done better. But if you feel good with a composition… Let yourself feel good about it."
Elliot listened to the chord progression Leo was laying out as a backdrop to their conversation for a moment, before sighing, staring at the back of his servant's head. "But we all have blind spots."
"That's also what I'm here for." Leo began to play the same Celtic scaling melody that he'd played before, to the soothing strokes of the base part.
With a huff of exasperation, Elliot dragged himself to the other side of the sofa, closer to the piano. "Like that! How do you do that? What gave you the idea for this particular piece? I've never heard you play it before, and you were only just experimenting with it a minute ago. Do you just pull these things out of the air?"
Leo didn't look up from the keys. "This? Well… I was actually just thinking about the apple blossoms on the tree back in the garden and that Scottish girl we met the other day, and it just sort of…"
"You do just pull these off the top of your head."
