nine o'clock on a saturday

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There were plenty of songs to choose from, but Youta often found himself always transitioning into his own rendition of "American Pie". He found that it wasn't very familiar, which was natural, but the people who listened often said that the western touch was a nice change-up from the usual folk songs that other gigs tended to play. He saw no reason to change anything now.

He would also often find himself speaking with people who approached the black grand piano set at the center of the bar, and Youta had reached a point in his piano playing that he could perform and speak at the same time. He would nod at what they came to tell him, ask if they would like for him to play a song or two for them. Sometimes, they would pat him on the shoulder and say that he was too kind, then go ambling off, and other times, they would drawl the name of a tune or hum some twisted rendition of it for him to catch on. Usually, that was all that Youta needed anyways. He could make something up; the people were typically too drunk to notice that things were different.

So Youta played, as usual, giving both the men and women who approached him friendly nods. His fingers glided over the keys, as if they knew precisely which moments to insert a glissando. There were times when people got a little too close for comfort, hands going where he didn't want them, but the security guards in the area were always kind enough to drag them away so that Youta could continue.

Except, tonight, no one had approached him. He didn't mind too badly. It allowed him to play in peace. Most of the people had already filtered out of the bar by now and were headed home. All that were left were the stragglers who either had no place to go or were too drunk to remember that they had somewhere to crash at.

etc: I hope this works for you!

@eckle

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“

Worrying about the meaning in continuing is useless — I won't even bother being confused! The meaning doesn't need to make sense, anyways. I'll draw the outline of the future; the straight ruler is made of the many braveries of yesterday. Overcoming the high wall that was different from what I imagined, I advanced toward the other side of the vanishing point. It's a long, winding road, but I chose it on my own! I'll burn with my dreams if I have to.

Forehead pressed against the bar counter, arms hanging loosely at his sides; Tsubaki could have passed as any other deadbeat drunkard. His brother had invited him out for a drink and, considering what little free time he had, the young man had been happy to oblige his sibling while he still could. His current state wasn't so much due to his inability to hold his liquor — though, that was definitely a factor — rather, added with the soothing piano music and the warm beverage in his hand, Tsubaki couldn't help but feel...drowsy.

So drowsy, he barely noticed his brother leave him behind. The bastard. Didn't even bother to say goodbye or pay for his drink, ugh. At the very least, the man could have taken off that damned butler suit. It just didn't look right, seeing some pseudo-servant heartily enjoying shot after shot of gin.

"Mm," Tsubaki lifted his head briefly, surveying his surroundings. He zeroed in on the clock hanging above the entrance, squinting as if he could barely see the numbers. "It's not even that late, why'd he have to leave so early?"

"Bartender-saaan, I could use a refill," he called out, only to belatedly realize the aforementioned bartender was attending to someone else. Figuring that the barman hadn't heard him, Tsubaki sullenly took his half-empty glass and swiveled around in his seat.

He needed something to do, someone to talk to. The day was still young at nine o'clock, but it seemed like everyone was preoccupied with winding down in a subdued fashion than in embarrassing excess. Not that there was a problem with that, rather it was better than releasing all of one's inhibitions at once! Still, the day felt empty and restlessness flitted in the pit of his gut.

It was merely on a whim that Tsubaki began to approach the pianist — stopped himself, idling at a reasonable distance away, and sipped his drink. In retrospect, he probably should have said something sooner, but instead the young man let himself watch for a good few minutes. There was something strange watching someone else perform and he could already feel the urge to...do something to catch anyone's eye. A stage was a stage, but so what? It wasn't his.

Besides, the bartender would probably kick him out.

"Hey," he finally started, words a bit sleepy, "you can do ragtime, right? Could use a little excitement."

Not only that, but Tsubaki wanted to remain awake long enough to order another drink.

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GANGNAM STYLE

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Only after he'd played G major chord (second inversion, of course), did he notice a sleepy-looking young man with blue hair leaning over the raised platform of a stage. Nothing particularly impressive, but indeed, a stage was a stage.

"I can, yes," Youta replied, studying the other man for a moment. He couldn't have been any older than himself, but Youta found that plenty of underage people did manage to slip quietly into bars. It was none of his own business, but he was feeling rather impressed that Tsubaki was still able to stand properly. He figured a nearby table or chair would suffice to catch him. Youta had a job to do.

So he allowed his fingers to play the first ragtime piece that came to mind. It wasn't long before the classic, light-hearted tune of Maple Leaf Rag was weaving through the air. His hands were light on the keyboard, almost bouncing each time he hit a note. He swayed ever so slightly in time with the music as a small smile made its way across his face. Granted, it was rare that anyone ever saw Youta with an unhappy expression on, but there were times when the expression wasn't completely genuine.

Youta played the song as if it were on a loop, embellishing it so that the piece didn't get too repetitive. Alternatively, he could have whipped out Tiger Rag from his memory, but that seemed like overdoing it a bit. As his hands moved across the keys, he glanced at Tsubaki to ask, "Sufficient to your tastes, I hope?" No one had approached him to request a song tonight; Tsubaki had been the first.

@eckle