She unzipped the case, the strings plucking as the zipper got caught on them. She grinned over at him. "Lovely," she said, tuning the cello. "I'm excited."
"Me too. I've actually been wanting to hear you play for quite awhile now," he said, setting up the sheet music on the piano.
"Oh God," she said, shaking her head. "The pressure is on now." She adjusted her stand and played a couple of notes to get herself accustomed to the piece. Then, she nodded and looked over at him. "You actually have the first couple measures by yourself, so whenever you're ready."
"Okay," he said, turning to the keys. He looked at the sheet music, before beginning to play, the notes precise and on point.
Spoiler: Godspeed. She smiled at him as he began, listening to his opening notes. She entered hesitantly, but her fingers quickly found the notes, and her playing grew stronger as they continued. Her body didn't move much as she played - her size forced her to curve around the large instrument, restricting her movement, and she disliked intense physical responses to music anyways - but due to their familiarity, her facial expressions were able to be read by Francis quite easily. The slightest smile, or the dimple between her brows as she frowned were all indicative of her thoughts as she played. Her fingers wiggled on the fingerboard as she began, her bow slow and steady. The rich harmonies that were born from the combination of their playings were achingly beautiful, and Poppy ended the last note of the first section with a small frown on her face, her eyes locked on the music. (0:00 - 2:34) When her next entrance came in, she listened to Francis' melody carefully, her head cocked ever so slightly, and her shoulders lifted. She played the eighth notes just under his part, providing a steady heart beat for him while he wandered, and although she didn't smile, she seemed lighter and her bow moved more freely. (2:34 - 3:27) She took the melody from him, her fingers precise and quick on the finger board. The part grew more insistent, as if there was an annoyance that was disturbing the previously idyllic scene. It grew louder, and Poppy's brow furrowed. as if she were trying to convince him of something, and he wasn't listening. There was a tension that hid just below the surface and it was about to bubble through. (3:27 - 3:57) All at once, the piece took a turn. It was frustrated, and tired, and scared. Her bow strokes were strong and sharp, and her fingers vibrated with small, short wiggles that made the notes have the same intensity as a bee sting. She accented the final note of the phrase, and no audience member would be able to mistake it; something big was about to happen. (3:57 - 4:07) When she played the next notes, her strings slapped against the fingerboard as she pressed her fingers down. The bow strokes were visceral and angry, and the flurries of notes seemed as if they might come from the heart of a wretched widow. Her fingers flew up the cello as she played the scales, her jaw clenched. and her eyes unfocused. She slowed as she reached the peak of the piece, and she glanced back at Francis before they continued, waiting for his downbeat. (4:07 - 4:28) They landed together, and the next notes were like the first cry after the death of a loved one; the tension had built up and become so great that when the walls broke, one would feel a mixture of relief and despair. Poppy's fingers were sure on the fingerboard, and her cello mourned a loss that was greater than all of them while Francis' part was wild and untethered, searching desperately for some sort of a resting place. (4:28 - 5:14) She listened as his part took over for a couple measures, her brow furrowed in thought. When she entered, she was comparatively quiet. This portion was about introspection, and she ducked her head as she played, not even looking at the music. Her head was cocked, and she bit her lip as she descended into the lower range of the cello, the instrument rich under her fingertips. Francis' part went down with her, the notes hesitant and unsure. Their final notes were together, with Poppy holding her note out while Francis played soft chords that eventually died away altogether. (5:14 - 6:35)
He stared at the keys for a moment after it ended, before turning back to look at her, a bit awestruck. He opened his mouth, but words didn't come out at first. "Ah.. You play really good."
She laughed deeply, the sound breaking the atmosphere. She placed the cello down gently and walked over to him, kissing his cheek. "Thank you," she said, shrugging. "But I've just played it a lot, that's all. You, on the other hand, were incredible. I can't believe that was your first time with this piece."
He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Thanks. It's a good piece. I've listened to it before, but it's been awhile."
"I really love it," she said, returning to her place by the cello. "But I've also listened to it a lot, so I may be biased." She shrugged and leaned back in her chair, considering him. "Is there anything you'd like us to play? Or you'd want to play by yourself?"
"Uh..." He trailed off, zoning out as he watched her. "I can't think of anything that I would want to play anymore," he said eventually, stuttering a bit.
She blushed lightly under his gaze but frowned up at him defiantly. "What is it?" she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.
He raised an eyebrow, before turning back to the keys, tracing his fingers lightly over them. "Oh. It's nothing."
She squinted at him but didn't push it, picking up the cello again and plucking thoughtfully. "Do you have something else you want to do, then?" she asked, picking up her bow. "Should I put the cello away?"
"If you want," he said, looking back at her. "Or you could play something for me." His voice was sly, and he smirked as he said that.
"No," he said, "just something you like to play." He sat on the bench, leaning forward with interest.
She frowned at him, clearly unsure. "Uh," she said, dragging out the sound. "I guess I could play a part of a Bach Suite."
"Well, you don't have to play if you don't feel it," he said. "It is about truly wanting to do it, after all. It is for me, anyways."
