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[theshabbiestofmen]

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[majestyofthethrone]

[She looks down and thinks of how to explain it.]

I don't - think of creation - everything that is, was, will be, it's a song. Sometimes I hear snatches of it. Creation is. So I can sort of hear it, but I have to work it into numbers to understand it. But it doesn't mean that I know everything about him. It means...I hear what he's like.

It takes a lot of time for me to hear it. I don't know what's dangerous or cruel. He's never been that way to me. It's just who he is.

[She takes another moment, and stands up, to get her violin, and opens it. She takes a moment to tune, and plays, and it's Seraphim, it's complicated and shy and hesitant. There's a playful bit about it, a part that is scared and afraid, tones and arching music, like-

Like-

Like Seraphim. And then suddenly, miraculously, is her laugh, her voice, her real voice, except it's all on the violin. When she stops she looks at the bow of her violin and looks back up at him.

This is the most vulnerable she's been. And she doesn't know - maybe this was a mistake]

[theshabbiestofmen]

[He looks pale, his eyes wide, like they always get when he doesn't understand something-- but there's no fear, no disgust or cruel laughter. When she stops and looks at him, he stares back-- and then hesitantly reaches for her, offering his hand.]

I don't know if I understand. I think I do, but perhaps not. But-- but it's beautiful, this, what you can do, and that was . . . thank you for sharing that.

[majestyofthethrone]

[She sets her violin and bow down, and takes his hand, and it's shaking, just a little. She squeezes his hand, careful, before she reaches for her slate]

Only my brother has heard that. And now you. See? Now you hear me, but don't know me.

[theshabbiestofmen]

[He grips her shoulder tightly when she writes, trying to assure her, to make sure she knows-- what? That he isn't frightened by her, perhaps.]

I think I know a little more about you. Perhaps.

[majestyofthethrone]

Well, you know a lot about me. A lot more than most people.

[A lot more than Sirius.]

[theshabbiestofmen]

[He nods slowly, uncertainly. Again, a bit awkwardly:]

I-- I'm honored you've shared so much with me. Truly I am.

[majestyofthethrone]

[She looks down, and shrugs, and goes back to the piano bench to sit, slate in her lap.]

You're easy to talk to.

[theshabbiestofmen]

As are you.

[He curls up a little, hugging a knee to his chest.]

I'm not typically so articulate, to be honest. Sirius . . . James, too, they've known me so long, I don't have to be. Not always. They're good at emotions most times.

[majestyofthethrone]

[She watches him, and she knows, there's always something emotional about this sort of thing. They pair well together, in that regard.]

Do you want to talk about something?

[theshabbiestofmen]

I--

[He shrugs.]

I don't know if I can articulate what's bothering me. I don't know that I even know, really.

[majestyofthethrone]

[She considers it for a moment, then wipes her slate clean and offers it to him, with a piece of a chalk. Sometimes, it's easier this way. With chalk and words. To say something he's been keeping in.]

[theshabbiestofmen]

[He stares at the blank slate for a few seconds, uncertain, before hesitantly slipping the chalk against it.

I'm miserable, he writes, and bites at his bottom lip. I want to go home. I want things to make sense. I dislike most of the people here, and I don't want to think about the future, and I bloody well hate James' stupid kid, and I miss just being at home and worrying about essays. I miss Raven and I miss my parents and I just want to go home.

Which is a silly and childish thing to whine about, because so does everyone else, and there's nothing I can do about it, but-- there you have it.]

[majestyofthethrone]

[She takes it back when he's finished and erases the very last line, and looks at it, and nods, as if she's satisfied with something]

It's not exactly easy for you. I'd like to make it easier.

[She sets down the slate, setting it aside to put her arms around his neck and pull him close. Why he's so easy to hug, she's not sure. Because he's her age, maybe, because he's got that look, like he hasn't had enough hugs in his life, or maybe he just reminds her of Nate, except maybe less pathetically lost than Nate was]

[theshabbiestofmen]

[He sighs softly and leans against her, his hands coming up to hold on to her arm. He doesn't know when or how this became okay-- a girl touching him like this would be unthinkable at home, let alone one Sirius fancied. But it's not a sexual thing, it's nothing romantic-- it's just a hug, a physical way of expression affection, just as he'd do with any of the Marauders.

And maybe it's Raven's lingering influence that lets him relax into it; she'd taught him how to relax and enjoy physical contact, after all. How to not be so nervous. Or perhaps it's Sera herself; that she and he get along so well that they've gotten that comfortable with each other that quickly.

Mumbled:]

I don't know if you can. I don't know if anyone can. But I appreciate it.

[majestyofthethrone]

[She nods, and lets him go, and sits back]

You can come here anytime. I'm not the only person who uses this piano, but I do spend a lot of time playing it, so if you like music, you can sit here while I practice, and just close your eyes and go somewhere else.

[theshabbiestofmen]

I think I will, if it's-- I will. It's peaceful. I would that I could play as well, but I've never had much of a talent for music. But I'll sit, and listen, and that'll be-- that'll be peaceful.

[majestyofthethrone]

[She gives him half a smile, and takes his hands and guides them to the piano, pressing her hands over his fingers, and plays a simple melody with him, just like that.

See? Simple.]

[theshabbiestofmen]

[He laughs softly.]

Teach me something-- go on, let's see if you can make a musician of me.

[majestyofthethrone]

[She thinks about it for a moment, then flips pages in her notebook to a series of notations, and nods.

She arranges his hand a shows him a series of notes - an easy exercise that anyone who was raised in the 80s would recognize as the opening to Guns and Roses Sweet Child of Mine - she remembers this because it was the only song Grigori could play with her, and the only one he really gave a shit about.

Once he's got it:]

Okay, just play those notes, all right? Over and over, on my mark.

[She doesn't mind if he messes up, but once he's got those notes, she plays the rest - albeit an arrangement that makes her play over him a couple of times, but she's quick enough to manage it. She's done this before.]

[theshabbiestofmen]

[He laughs as he plays-- it's not really playing, not really, he doesn't know what he's doing and he's certain he messes up-- but it's close enough that he feels good about it. It's a pretty song, too, one he quite likes the tune of.]

Did you write that yourself?

[majestyofthethrone]

[She shakes her head]

No, it's a popular song in the 1980s - it's called Sweet Child O Mine. My brother likes it, it's the only song I can get him to play with me. Did you like it?

[theshabbiestofmen]

Very much so. Although now I know a bit of the future, I'm sure this will come back to bite me-- but I'll be certain to pay attention when 1980 rolls around.

[majestyofthethrone]

Grigori used to like it when I arranged covers of popular songs, so I developed a knack for it. It was the only way I could get him to sit down with me and listen.

I have a bet with Sirius going. That he can't stump me when it comes to songs.

[theshabbiestofmen]

What, like-- he'll give you a song and you have to translate it?

[majestyofthethrone]

He'll give me a song and I'll play it, yes.

[It's a strange bet but whatever they spend their time doing what they want]