8609/Picking up the Harmony

Picking up the Harmony
Date of Scene:	01 August 2019
Location:	Music Room - Xavier's Mansion
Synopsis:	Shannon and Mason meet and play some music together in the X-mansion
Cast of Characters:	Mason Steele, Nightingale

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Mason Steele has posed:
    The second floor of Xavier's is alive. In the music room, someone is playing the piano. Normally, it's something pop and modern that students are known to play, but today? Today it's not. Today it's Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. Echoes sound off the wooden walls, giving them life in music from the hidden sight of the piano.

    Inside the room, a blond-haired young man sits at the bench, the eighty-eight dancing with his fingers as he staccato's through the second movement of the piece. Barefoot, his toes are dirty, as if he had been walking the day without shoes. A saggy white collared shirt hangs off him, and a pair of baggy khaki shorts cover his upper legs. Blue eyes don't watch the keys, but unless a person already knows that physical detail, it won't be visible, because they are shut casually as he listens to the sounds of the great American composter.

Nightingale has posed:
     The music room is a sanctuary for those who seek refuge in the company of works of composers past and present, perhaps even adding their own in the course of their studies. Sometimes it was quiet, solitude allowing for uninterrupted study of the arts. Today was evidently not one of those days. A young woman with long, pale gold hair stops just inside the entryway to the music room, her arms full of books that look as if they've seen much use and love. Her wings, snowy-feathered and of considerable span like the paintings of angels from days of yore, wrap around her like a shield, leaving her to peer over the top edge with sparkling azure eyes. She's wearing a cream cotton poet's blouse with long sleeves, modestly laced at the front, a well-loved, well worn pair of blue jeans with ribbon embroidery near the cuffs, and a quirky pair of flip-flops with a daisy on the toes. Tilting her head, she watches and listens the as-yet unknown musician at their craft. "Wow... you're really good."

Mason Steele has posed:
    Mason continues through the piece, opening his eyes when he hears a voice other than his own. He lights up a smile, as if something that should be done when another person enters the room, though it seems genuine enoungh. He doesn't stop playing as he answers.

    "Well, I must be," he says, "Now I know for sure, I've never summoned an angel before." Of course, he times it just as it enters the next softer movement. Somewhere between a shameless flirt and bold confidence, he doesn't seem to shrink from his own statement, both giving himself and her a compliment in one blow.

Nightingale has posed:
     Just as there is no hiding those wings, it's equally impossible for Shannon to hide that blush as it turns her cheeks a delicate shade of rose. Her voice has grown a little softer, as if loath to disturb him further. "Are you sure you weren't looking in a mir..." Then it hits her. No way. There was no way it could be... could it? Not only does she bear the color of roses in her face, but it's complimented by the color of the sky as her eyes widen with recognition. "Oh, my..."

Mason Steele has posed:
    "I'm Mason," he says, if he realizes that she recognizes him, he pretends that he doesn't. Of course, he's not known among many youth for more cultured music. He's known for rock'n'roll, sometimes pop when the label demands it. "What's your name?" he asks. "I don't think we've met, you must be new."

Nightingale has posed:
     Nodding, Shannon smiles, allowing her wings to relax slightly, lowering them away from her face. "Shannon. I just got here this week." She's not really known in many circles for much of anything, not yet anyways. She shifts the books to her left arm, and steps just a little bit closer, intrigued to see another musician playing. It was always fascinating to see someone else who loved music, and it was a great piece, too. "Wish I was even half as good as you. That's not a very easy piece to play."

Mason Steele has posed:
    "It gets easier over time," Mason comments. "I could play it in my sleep by now. Whenever I just want to unwind and not think about things, this is what I play." He lowers his playing, continuing during the conversation. "And I'm sure you could do it as well if you put your mind to it. Do you think I just woke up one day and could play like this? Do you play? I won't hog the piano if you wanted a turn."

Nightingale has posed:
     "No, it's okay, I can wait." Since Mason didn't seem to mind the company, Shannon finds an extra chair in the music room and pulls it over, settling down to listen to the maestro. "I know... it takes a lot of work. Some pieces, I still have trouble with." She closes her eyes as she listens, letting each note wash over her, and humming the melody softly in some spots where an alto might perhaps be able to. She's holding the books she was carrying in her lap; one rather thick volume seems to be a compendium of classical pieces, another holds works by Elton John, and one apparently well-loved book bears the title 'Moonlight Sonata'.

Mason Steele has posed:
    Mason brings up for the fanfare. "Do you know the finale?" he asks? "You could join me!" He scoots to the side of the bench, removing his left hand from the keys as only to play the right, holding the high point at the intro of the closing. He broadens his smile, as if the smile itself was a question regarding whether she would accept the offer.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Not as well as I should... but I can try." Sometimes that's all it takes, right, is to just try? Even when one is uncertain of exactly what they are doing, what can it hurt? Shannon slides onto the bench with Mason, drawing her wings in close to her body so as not to accidentally jostle him about while playing--or trying to play. Her fingers, when she plays those first few notes, do bear a curve to them that suggest she is no stranger to the instrument. They are, however, a little shorter than some, making some notes a little difficult for her to play, but she adapts. And adapt she does, somehow managing to not flub too many notes in the process of turning a solo piece into a duet.

Mason Steele has posed:
    Mason leads the way through the finale, taking it a little slower at first. His fingers dance nimbly across the right side, many of the finale notes mirroring for both hands. Of course some chords go farther to the left, and some to the right. On Mason's part it's effortless and casual, a simple good time. He doesn't seem to be fearful of wrong notes that might be played, and makes it all the way to the end happily, presuming that Shannon doesn't stop somewhere along the way.

Nightingale has posed:
     The smile that lights up Shannon's face as they both play is priceless, her eyes twinkling with every note. While it does take a little more effort on her part, by the time the pair reaches the end of the song, she's definitely more relaxed. So what if she fouled up? It was still fun, so who cared? "That was great! Thank you!" The simple joy of the music is mirrored in her eyes and her smile, as she glances over at Mason, the last notes fading into silence.

Mason Steele has posed:
    "Thank you," comes the return from Mason. "You seem plenty capable to me." He glances back at the books. "Elton John, good stuff," he says approvingly. "So what do you play the the most?" he asks.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Oh, a pretty wide range of stuff... musicals, movie soundtracks, classical. I love writing my own stuff, too, but it's really not all that great." Shannon's blush brightens by a shade or two, and she ducks her head. "Do you have a favorite piece of Elton John's? If I know it I'll play it, if you like."

Mason Steele has posed:
    Mason smiles. "Please! I play the entertainer more than my share, I'd love to hear something," he says, scooting off the bench and to his feet. He leans up against the side of the piano at the starboard side, "How about "Your Song"? Do you know that one?"

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon smiles brightly and nods. "It's a beautiful song, and from what I heard has a beautiful story behind it." She doesn't even bother to reach for her book of Elton John songs as the opening notes seem to roll off her fingertips. "It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside / I'm not one of those who can easily hide..." She glances up at Mason and smiles brightly now, nodding in encouragement for him to join in if he wants.

Mason Steele has posed:
    "And she sings, too!" Mason says with excitement. He watches intently, not taking his eyes away. "You really might be an actual angel," he decides. "Came to visit the wrong guy, I'm no good at being a saint."

Nightingale has posed:
     If Mason were a painter, he would be able to discover new shades of pink in Shannon's face, the hue seeping even into the tips of her ears. She stops singing for a moment, though she continues to play the music. This is definitely a song she is comfortable with. "No, that name's already taken. I'm sometimes just called Nightingale." While her voice had gone soft and shy when speaking to him, it picks up overtones of confidence as she picks up the chorus of the song. "I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words / How wonderful life is when you're in the world..."

Mason Steele has posed:
    Mason continues to smile. "Well, you still earn it," he comments casually. He moves over to one of the chairs, and sits down , folding his hands in front of him as Shannon plays. "So how long have you been at it?" he asks.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Playing the piano? Maybe about three years. I started the summer before my... change. It was something to hold on to afterwards." While Shannon's voice and expression have turned somewhat thoughtful, perhaps even pensive, she still plays on, the last few notes of the song fading as she reaches the end. "I used to have dreams of maybe playing with the Boston Symphony, or even writing silly little songs that just kind of reach people where it counts, you know? But dreams change." She looks down at the piano keys, quiet for just a few moments longer before intense minor chords with a powerful, driving beat beneath them like some demonic heartbeat fill the room. "In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came / That voice which calls to me and speaks my name..."

Mason Steele has posed:
    Mason seems a little sad with the story that Shannon shares. "Yeah," he says. "Isn't fair. Should be that if you have the gift, you have the gift and people let you use it. Shouldn't matter whether you're a mutant or not." Of course, he's never come out as a mutant, as far as the rest of the world knows, he's just a regular human. He listens as the Phantom begins. "Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet...'

Nightingale has posed:
     "And though you turn from me to glance behind / the Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind...." Oddly enough, Shannon's voice sounds far better as the Phantom, than it does as Christine. "No, it shouldn't matter. Maybe one day, it won't." Holy hell, Mason really -was- good. It felt good to just play for a little while, and as she hears him sing, her smile returns. Right where one would least expect it, on the next key change, she seems to improvise, slowing the tempo of the piece and modulating to a gentler, sweeter tune. "No more talk of darkness / Forget these wide-eyed fears / I'm here, nothing can harm you / My words will warm and calm you..."

Mason Steele has posed:
    Mason changes with her, unexpecting, but his years of performance have taught him how to adjust. He smiles at the unique take on the transition. "Let me be your Freedom, let daylight dry your tears." He seems happy just to be in the middle of making music. "You really could go places," he says, "Maybe if people get less...well, like people."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Maybe... I'll never give up on music. But there's another reason for 'Nightingale'. It's for healing." Shannon let's that sink in, while her fingers dance over the keys, and gentle music fills the room. For just a moment, she could dream again, as she listens to Mason singing. He really was quite good, and seemed to have a kind heart, besides. She scoots over on the bench to make room for him if he wanted.

Mason Steele has posed:
    Mason slides onto the bench next to Shannon. "Healing, huh?" he asks. "I guess we can all use a little of that," he says, "I don't think anybody at this school had this in mind when they were like, eight and stuff," he says. He's taking the healing to be on an emotional level, clearly. "I just keep playin', would be happy not to have any mutant powers," he says. "Just let me be me." He glances back at Shannon's wings. "Sorry, I'm a jerk. I don't have anything to complain about. I'm sorry."

Nightingale has posed:
     Now that does get Shannon to stop playing, her hands gone still on the keys. She just looks squarely at Mason for a moment, her brows furrowed. "See, that's the thing. You -are- you, with or without any mutant gifts." Leaning over, she wraps her arms around him in a gentle hug, and soon, her wings as well. "You're not a jerk. You're a really kind person, who also happens to be incredibly talented and ummm... well... talented." Way to keep her foot out of her mouth, at least for the moment! Oh, is she ever blushing!

Mason Steele has posed:
    "Thanks," Mason laughs at the slightly awkward statement. "You don't really know me, though. So I'm going to have to abuse that fact as long as I can get away with it," he says with a tease, returning the hug. "Really, gotta get going," he adds, standing up. "I have a class over at Julliard to go to, but it's been great to play with you some, Shannon, I hope we do it again soon." He reaches to take her hand, with a very old-fashioned style, he lifts it up to give a gentleman's kiss to the hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and not a dated practice at all.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Surely you can't be all that bad?" Oh, sure, people in the limelight were rumored to have their fair share of quirks, but still... there isn't much time to think about that, though, rational thought processes temporarily shorted out by such an old-fashioned, courtly gesture. She can't help a smile, squeezing his hand gently. "So do I. I should get some flight practice in. Come find me, when you want to play again."