literature

Music Lessons

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“Why do they make them so barking huge?”

Alek raised an eyebrow. Deryn was glaring at the grand piano shoved into the corner of the small parlor they were in. Despite being pushed to the side, she’d just stubbed her toe on a leg in her pacing. Deryn did not like to wait.

“It’s so the music sounds right,” he said, but didn’t elaborate because in actuality he wasn’t at all sure of how exactly the size mattered.

Deryn huffed and sat down on the bench. “I don’t see why they even need it. It’s covered with dust.” To illustrate her statement, Deryn lifted the lid to the keys and let it drop; a cloud of dust burst out and the thud echoed oddly, despite the numerous cushioned couches.

Alek smiled and slid onto the bench next to Deryn. She was impatient, but he was enjoying these few moments of peace. Gently, he opened the lid and touched one of the keys. The note rang high and pure. “But they keep it tuned.”

“Do not tell me you know how to play the barking piano now, too,” Deryn groaned. Her feet pounded on the carpet, her inability to sit still making Alek turn away to hide his smile.

They were waiting to speak with a retired boffin in the hopes of procuring some information Dr. Barlow was interested in. She was supposed to be there with them, but had fallen mysteriously ill. Apparently, two new members of the Zoological Society were not enough to ensure an immediate audience. They’d been waiting for half an hour and Deryn was about ready to explode.

Alek grinned at Deryn. “I had lessons until I was ten, but then I began fencing so they became weekly.”

“Barking princes,” Deryn said.

“But I’m not a prince anymore,” he said softly. “Remember?”

Deryn squirmed a bit, a smile playing at her lips. “Of course I do, you dafty.”

Alek reached over and played a few notes, maneuvering awkwardly around Deryn, who was leaning against the keys. She shifted, listening for a bit. Alek let the music fade away.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Beethoven. ‘Fur Elise.’ My father preferred Mozart.”

Deryn touched a key. “I never really thought about music much. It didn’t really compare to flying.” She grinned.

“In Austria, music is….” Alek paused, unsure how to describe it. Vienna was a city of music, it had always seemed to him, and to be Austrian was to have music in your soul. “In the streets of Vienna, I’ve heard that people simply live out their lives playing music on street corners. All the nobility frequently patronize the opera, or some other form of concert. It’s just something that’s….everywhere.”

Deryn swiveled around on the bench. “Teach me something.”

“What?” Alek sputtered. “Now?”

Deryn rolled her eyes. “Aye, now, you ninny. Unless there’s something much more pressing that needs doing?”

Alek hesistated, but Deryn’s look of murderous impatience convinced him. He did not want to have to deal with a very bored Deryn Sharp. He sighed. “We’ll start with the basics. Put your hands here….”

                                           ***

An hour later found Alek and Deryn arguing and tangled up in notes.

“You’re Austrian, you’re supposed to know this—“

“Just because I’m Austrian doesn’t mean that I know everything about music—“

“No, but you did have lessons until you were—“

“But that was six years ago—“

“Stop shoving me, this is my half—“

“I’m fixing your position—“

“I thought you didn’t remember!”

“I said I didn’t remember the transition to the second part of the exercise!”

Deryn gave an exaggerated huff of annoyance. “Can’t you just teach me that thing you were playing? Fur—“

“But you haven’t had any proper training,” Alek said, scandalized.

Deryn snorted. “But we don’t really have years, do we? Unless, of course, they’ve forgotten us. Do you reckon they have?”

Alek glanced at the door. Their tea had gone cold half an hour ago, and it had been nearly an hour since they’d arrived. “I wouldn’t say that. Yet,” he added.

“Come on, Alek,” Deryn complained. “That practice piece doesn’t matter. Show me something interesting.”

Alek sighed. “Alright, alright.” He nudged her fingers into position. “Is there any certain type of music that’s favored in Scotland?”

Deryn shrugged. “Bagpipes? Always seemed too barking hard to breathe to me.”

“I suppose it would. Repeat this.” Alek played the first few notes on his half of the piano. Deryn copied, somewhat clumsily. Her fingers were long, but rough and callused, used to knots and not ivory keys. Still, they made Alek’s stomach do ridiculous little flips. His own fingers fumbled on the keys.

There were other things that seemed like they would make breathing harder, and did, but it didn’t really bother Alek, and—

“Gods wounds,” he muttered to himself, but Deryn heard him.

“What’s that, your princeliness?” she asked, teasingly nudging his shoulder.

In response, Alek found himself doing something quite improper: he kissed her.

He didn’t think she would be surprised, but she was, and she was frozen for a second, just like when he’d kissed her topside after telling her about Tesla. Then she was returning the kiss with a distinct fierceness that made Alek dizzy. He held her face between his hands, pressed his lips more firmly against hers. She sighed happily.

Alek began to pull away, to apologize, but Deryn seemed to have other ideas. She fisted her hands in his jacket and pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his again. “Much. More. Interesting,” she muttered.

Alek couldn’t agree more.
(Submitted April 14, 2013. Written summer 2012?)

So, I was going through my Deryn and Alek file and I found this. I wrote it ages ago when I was in the mood for meaningless fluff, so here you go. It wasn't as bad as I remembered it being, which is the only reason it's up here. By the way, why are pianos different sizes? I don't know. I took keyboard lessons, but only until second grade. I used to be able to read music, but can't anymore. I can just count it, since that's essential to dancing. Sorry if I made some huge mistake. And on the bit about Austrians--I don't know. That's just how I feel. I read a book on Austria in which they were talking about how you can legally be a street musician and how much music has influenced the country's personality, yadda, yadda. Plus, I'm one of those girls who read those Royal Diaries books, thus learning "The further you get from Vienna, the worse the music gets" from Maria Theresa (to Maria Antonia). I'm biased. But those Marias were Hapsburgs. :D

This is also sort of an "I got into Alpha! I should put something on dA since I haven't in MONTHS!" thing....Doesn't mean I don't have a barking ton of homework.

So, there you go. Bye.

Characters belong to Scott Westerfeld. (Where's Bovril? I don't know--I'm so sorry!)
© 2013 - 2024 MidshipmanK
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Lissa-Molloy's avatar
Ah! I loved this :) I've been needing some Dalek to balance out all my HTTYD fangirling.