polychromatic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
polychromatic) wrote2013-05-28 10:38 pm
polychromatic) wrote2013-05-28 10:38 pm
Entry tags:
nodame cantabile is my forever-love
Nodame Cantabile
Encore
Chiaki Shinichi, Noda "Nodame" Megumi
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic
Posted here.
Prompt: Nodame Cantabile, any, encore
530 words
When Chiaki walks through the door of their apartment (...no, it’s his apartment! His! Singular possessive!), the stench nearly bowls him over like the blast from an overzealous trumpeter in an ill-advised solo. The apartment had been spotless when he’d left last week for an impromptu trip to Spain and now it was, quite simply, an assault on the eyes in the worst possible way. He should change the lock, throw away Nodame’s key, or finally leave this cramped, crowded house of crazy personalities behind once and for all in exchange for some proper peace and quiet!
And then a lazy, streaming melody drifts across from her window to his, a wistful sigh of longing, her notes clear and pure even when strung together just a little loosely. He can picture that guy fervently painting upstairs in the attic, piecing together an image on his canvas that's reflective of her playing. Something like a messily constructed mobile hung with lovely things of sentimental value all glinting in the sunlight.The second of Schumann’s Three Romances, F-sharp major, for the solo piano, says one half of his brain as he closes his eyes. She missed me, says the other half, and of course she did because Nodame is essentially an over affectionate stray cat with no survival skills that requires constant feeding, bathing, and cleaning up after. But with all her crazy tackles, disturbing habits of sniffing his clothes, and absurd proclamations of undying love, this delicate wisp of music floating through his apartment is her one way of expressing emotion that he can understand almost viscerally.
Nodame slips in a trill of notes here, a little staccato hop-and-skip there, and a forte where he knows it should be piano. She remembers, for once, that I’m coming home today and she’s happy that she’ll see me soon, he nods with his eyes still closed, soaking in her music.
The tempo picks up a bit and the notes jumble against each other hurriedly. And she’s hungry! He almost groans inwardly, but he can feel the corner of his lips quirk a bit in spite of himself.
The music winds down and he can start to hear a bit of Auclair’s influence on her; the consideration she’s giving the notes now, how she carefully plucks them out and releases them into the air with careful intention. He imagines the calm silence left in the wake of her performance filled instead with thunderous applause as she curtsies in her clumsy, bemused fashion. Bravo! yells out one of these imaginary patrons.
“Encore,” he says out loud at the window.
There’s an awkward thunk of startled piano keys accompanied with a graceless squawk of “Sempai!” and he knows she’ll be bursting through his door at any second to turn his disaster site of an apartment into a nuclear war zone while bodily tackling him into a pile of moldy laundry, probably. Then he’ll have to peel her off somehow and dig out the strongest disinfectants in his arsenal to start the cleaning process, but he knows he’ll have musical accompaniment, at least. And maybe that’s a small price to pay for the privilege of hearing Nodame’s encore.
Encore
Chiaki Shinichi, Noda "Nodame" Megumi
Written for
comment_ficPosted here.
Prompt: Nodame Cantabile, any, encore
530 words
When Chiaki walks through the door of their apartment (...no, it’s his apartment! His! Singular possessive!), the stench nearly bowls him over like the blast from an overzealous trumpeter in an ill-advised solo. The apartment had been spotless when he’d left last week for an impromptu trip to Spain and now it was, quite simply, an assault on the eyes in the worst possible way. He should change the lock, throw away Nodame’s key, or finally leave this cramped, crowded house of crazy personalities behind once and for all in exchange for some proper peace and quiet!
And then a lazy, streaming melody drifts across from her window to his, a wistful sigh of longing, her notes clear and pure even when strung together just a little loosely. He can picture that guy fervently painting upstairs in the attic, piecing together an image on his canvas that's reflective of her playing. Something like a messily constructed mobile hung with lovely things of sentimental value all glinting in the sunlight.The second of Schumann’s Three Romances, F-sharp major, for the solo piano, says one half of his brain as he closes his eyes. She missed me, says the other half, and of course she did because Nodame is essentially an over affectionate stray cat with no survival skills that requires constant feeding, bathing, and cleaning up after. But with all her crazy tackles, disturbing habits of sniffing his clothes, and absurd proclamations of undying love, this delicate wisp of music floating through his apartment is her one way of expressing emotion that he can understand almost viscerally.
Nodame slips in a trill of notes here, a little staccato hop-and-skip there, and a forte where he knows it should be piano. She remembers, for once, that I’m coming home today and she’s happy that she’ll see me soon, he nods with his eyes still closed, soaking in her music.
The tempo picks up a bit and the notes jumble against each other hurriedly. And she’s hungry! He almost groans inwardly, but he can feel the corner of his lips quirk a bit in spite of himself.
The music winds down and he can start to hear a bit of Auclair’s influence on her; the consideration she’s giving the notes now, how she carefully plucks them out and releases them into the air with careful intention. He imagines the calm silence left in the wake of her performance filled instead with thunderous applause as she curtsies in her clumsy, bemused fashion. Bravo! yells out one of these imaginary patrons.
“Encore,” he says out loud at the window.
There’s an awkward thunk of startled piano keys accompanied with a graceless squawk of “Sempai!” and he knows she’ll be bursting through his door at any second to turn his disaster site of an apartment into a nuclear war zone while bodily tackling him into a pile of moldy laundry, probably. Then he’ll have to peel her off somehow and dig out the strongest disinfectants in his arsenal to start the cleaning process, but he knows he’ll have musical accompaniment, at least. And maybe that’s a small price to pay for the privilege of hearing Nodame’s encore.