why can't I hold all this indie

[gadjos]

Who: Mirror!Peter & Open.
Where: One of the music rooms
When: Two days after the crossing
Rating: PG
Summary: Melancholy & Pianos
The Story:

On the first floor, down one of the more well-traveled hallways, there is a room adorned with instruments from all over the multiverse. It's the simple sound of piano that fills it now, though, seeping out of the half-open door and invading the hallway.


Rumancek sits at the bench, head bowed and face hidden behind artfully tousled hair, lost in the piece he's playing. Music is different on this side, much less gray and hollow than on Mirror Side. He's not all that interested in puzzling out the answer to the riddle, he's not interested in messing with any Reals, he's just here to feel a little more alive.

It's a vacation, nothing more, nothing less.

Comments

[oversight]

"Doesn't sound much like nothin' if you never forgot it, but maybe you've got an ear for music," Blake reasoned, his voice even and calm. The man at the piano is so pale he almost sparkles and it reminds John a bit of every account of Edward Cullen from the Twilight books, but he internalizes this revelation for fear that it will sound more like an insult than its meant to be. Instead he just wonders if there's much less sun on the Mirror Side these days.

Drifting into the room, the ex-cop loosely crosses his arms and gestures for Peter to keep going if that's his intention.

"Do you play like this when you're on the other side? It's hard to know what happens when the Mirrors are afraid to communicate with us. Used to write back an' forth with a coupla guys but they've long since gone," he explains at length. Mark's Mirror had been very helpful, and for a brief time Blake had enjoyed the back and forth with Dean's Mirror counterpart. They aren't all bad from what he can tell.

[rumantic]

Peter would absolutely take it as an insult, a direct and scathing one, but then again Robert Pattinson would take that as an insult too, and he starred in the damn movies. Nobody wants to be associated with that douche, but Real Peter might find a lot more humor in it than this guy.

At the go on nod, his fingers start up again, softly resuming the melody at a half step down, a little more slowly. He considers Blake's words and the implications behind them, considers why he's even considered a viable conversational partner when they're from two separate worlds.

Blake wants something, he supposes. Information, a tell, insight into the queen. It's fair enough, he's not as loose a cannon as the people he shares a home with, and he doesn't mind so much being used.

"There isn't any point in playing over there," he responds finally after a long beat of silence. His voice carries traces of muted annoyance. "Things are different. Sound is different. It's like... listening through poor quality headphones, in a way. The music's not alive, it's just a reflection of something that's alive."

Hoo, boy.

[oversight]

Blake remembers Mirror Side vividly. He hasn't crossed over since the last riddle, but he has no problem recalling how different things felt over there. Out of order, displaced, confused even. When he'd come back to the Real Side, the colors appeared so much more vibrant, it had taken his breath away at the sight of it. Which reeks of poetry in a terrible sense, but nothing like the stuff Peter's pumping out.

"That's not a theme, though, is it? Hate to think that's somethin' that relates to more'n just music." As soon as he says it, he thinks it sounds forward and maybe a bit cheap. It's not meant as an insult and he doesn't try to come off as an unfeeling prick: he's genuinely curious. Unfortunately, it doesn't always play out in such a way that people understand that.

See, he wants to know. He's always been the curious type. When he was given the choice, he would always take an interview — of criminals, victims, witnesses — over any other part of the job because of an insatiable desire for a better understanding. Running police lines doesn't work for a guy like that, just like skimming the surface won't work for him here.

So, if Peter's willing to talk, to answer questions, to entertain a Real, then Blake's on board. It can't hurt (unless he's really caught of guard, that is — Philip we're looking at you).

[rumantic]

The music trails off again at the question, and after a beat of hesitation, he turns to look Blake in the eyes. He studies the other man's face, gauging, deciding whether or not it was meant to be offensive. He can't tell, ultimately. Blake is too hard to read. Either way, it is crassly abrupt, a little too probing for a man he doesn't know, and he calmly closes the lid over the piano keys.

"Does it matter?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "Really, truly, does it?"

The bench slides out with a loud scraping noise, and he rises. Takes a moment to adjust, smoothing wrinkles out of his shirt. "You guys think we're all the same, and you've only got two reactions to us. Hatred- which I get, I guess, I hate most of us, too. But the second one's worse."

[oversight]

"It's not as much pity as you think, if that's where you were goin' with that," he says in response, his hands sliding into his pockets. "Or even distant intrigue. I know you're not all the same 'cause I've met more'n one that wasn't even close to wantin' to take my head off.

"Everybody's here's got the ability to be what they want, near as I can figure. Maybe it means a mark for you guys, maybe it means deaths for us, but we do choose." Mirror Meltzer had been the first to prove that to John and he wouldn't dare take that for granted. For whatever reason, he felt almost as fond of that man as he was the Real Mark.

Blake tries not to look too bristled. "So, yeah, it matters. Wouldn't ask if it didn't. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the chatty-chatty smalltalk type."