11/21 Instance: Classically-Trained Doofus

[tears~fall~like~glass]

timeline: current


Miles: Miles had become tired of the "Full House" marathon and wandered around the mansion, looking for something to do. He had gotten it into his head that he should find the music hall, and he did. He found his way over to the piano and smiled at it, lifting the wooding covering over the keys to inspect them. He remembered being eager to play piano when he was younger, but the classical training made it a drag.

Miles: He began to plink away at the keys he could remember. Mostly the "Simpsons" theme.

Rachel: Rachel had grown tired of... Well, it felt like everything, but it was more dwelling on being alone. After a while of debating, she'd decided her liver would thank her if she didn't go out to Vito's again and wandered down to the piano, not quite sure why she hoped to find a distraction in it. It was most likely to be a reminder. However, she hadn't really expected Miles to be there.

Rachel: Biting down on her lip, she eventually spoke up with a small grin, "That's not too bad."

Miles: He didn't jump, but there was a slight start and his heels pumped up. He quickly closed it. "Yeah, it's nothing." he said, scratching the back of his head. "It's uh... just some stuff I learned at my previous place of education."

Rachel: "It can't be nothing..." Rachel rolled her eyes as she moved further into the room, coming to a stop at the other side of the piano.

Miles: "Yeah, it definitely is nothing." He said sternly. "Look, I know our prank war is great and fun and all... but, whatever the hell you did to my bed?" His grin turned toothy and wild. "I thought it was hilarious. And I'm going to be getting you back, big time. I have a big one in the works... You won't even see it coming."

Rachel: "I can't wait, and it was condensed milk," she stated as she took a seat at the piano, giving a more genuine smirk. It dropped as she looked down at piano, and she let out a sigh, deciding to press her luck once more, "So, what is it definitely nothing?"

Miles: "I definitely don't play piano that well. That's what." he said, figuring the red-head was really pushing her luck.

Rachel: Uncovering the keys again, she gave him a critical look and nodded to them, "Prove it."

Miles: "Prove what? I can't play, I shouldn't have to be forced to. I learned some keys back in my school, I don't even remember 'em."

Rachel: "You're lying to me," Rachel replied simply, shaking her head, "There's nothing wrong with being able to play... I mean, I can."

Miles: "Uhm... I don't want other people to know?" he replied rather flatly.

Rachel: "I won't tell anyone if you don't want anyone to know," she shrugged.

Miles: He eyed her. "Appreciated... I guess?" He sat down next to her. "I learned some small things, I wasn't terribly fond of my skills... especially 'cause I got made fun of a lot by kids on the street."

Miles: "A guy who plays piano and knows how to dance and goes to a rich 'white-boys' school... tends not to do well in the Bronx."

Rachel: "Yeah, I sort of know how that is..." she made a face, "I learned how to play here, and I've started practicing again. I'm not entirely sure how well I do anymore, though Fabian seemed to survive my playing."

Miles: He rolled his eyes. Fabian, again. Did every damn chick here hang out with this guy? "Okay, so here's what I'm thinking... I'll try to play piano again if you're not going to make fun of me... and we're going to start simple. Right?"

Rachel: Rachel considered that and nodded, repeating, "Right."

Miles: "... Seriously. I'm like... a chopsticks kinda guy."

Rachel: "I promise I'm not going to make fun of you... for playing the piano, anyway," she shot him a slight grin.

Miles: "Yeahuh..." He put his fingers on the keys in the right position and began to play the basics of chopsticks.

Rachel: Rachel supposed it shouldn't be too surprising that he didn't believe her as she picked a spot on the wall to stare at while she listened. He didn't really give himself enough credit, but she didn't exactly give herself much either. When he finished, she pulled her gaze from the wall to him, "I still say it wasn't too bad."

Miles: "It was chopsticks." he grumbled. "It's not exactly Vincent Van Gogh, or whatever." He went over to the guitars and things on the various instrument stands. "Lot of stuff in here." he picked up the little guitar and plucked at it. "Look! I'm Deliverance!"

Rachel: "Except Van Gogh was a painter," Rachel pointed out, snorting at him with the guitar, "I can play guitar, too."

Miles: "Really? Well aren't you super-well-rounded-awesome-pants? Why don't you prove it?" he asked, mocking her as he picked up the guitar and brought it ot her. "Show me what to do."

Rachel: "Pfft, I'm not that well-rounded. After this and bass, I'm pretty much out of instruments," she answered as she took the guitar, experimentally strumming some strings to see if it was in-tune.

Miles: He plucked at his mandolin... thinger... "Hey, I think I just played something..." He hadn't, but to untrained ears, it sounded like it.

Rachel: Rachel didn't look up from fiddling with the guitar. "Or you just accidentally did something."

Miles: "Can't let a brother have a moment..." he said, shaking his head. He plucked again a few more times.

Rachel: "So, you learn anything else from that school?" she asked, glancing over to him as she plucked some strings herself. This was nice. More familiar than the piano.

Miles: "Yeah... Dance and stuff I suppose." He admitted, starting to trust her a little more.

Rachel: Rachel started in on a song, hoping she didn't mess up horribly as she spoke, "I'm not really big on dancing, but that's cool. They didn't teach, like, any of that stuff where I went to school. Except here, and Howlett was slightly terrifying with all his glitter and shit."

Miles: "Yeah well... I had a sorta... classical education." he admitted, sensitively.

Rachel: "Nothing wrong with that," she stopped playing and gave a shrug, setting the guitar aside as she admitted herself, "I've... slowly come to appreciate classical things..."

Miles: "Yeah, classical things are ... okay I guess..." He wasn't really sure what else to say to that. "Look, what is going to happen to you once you've recovered from your trauma?" he asked with a shrug. "I mean ... like you ever going back?"

Rachel: "My husband loved classical music," Rachel sighed, worrying her lip for a few moments. Her brow furrowed at the questions, and she glanced over to him with a puzzled expression, "Ever going back to what?"

Miles: "The City?" he retorted with an expression that exclaimed 'duh'. "I mean... what're you really doing here? You're not seeking help, I see you drinking a lot, and you're not working. You're sorta taking up space, don't ya think?"

Rachel: "Ah... Right..." she shifted a bit uncomfortably as she considered answers. She did feel like she was taking up space some of the time, but that wasn't really something she could entirely control. "I don't know... I mean, I'd like to, but I don't know that I'm allowed. Plus, no one's going to let you stick them with needles if they're worried about you killing them. Most people getting tattoos are anxious enough without having a known terrorist as an artist."

Rachel: Rachel gave another shrug, "The idea of a teaching job's been thrown around, however I'm hardly suited to pick up any classes with all my drinking." The drinking bit was mostly sarcastic, and she wasn't getting into the seeking help part. "What about you? What are your future plans?"

Miles: "My plans are to become a respectable mutant in the world of computer technology and politics... so respected they trust me. Then I'm going to change the world with my cracking skills right under their noses and give mutants their rights before they even knew it happened..."
Miles: "They'll never know what hit 'em. That, or, a web designer. I dunno yet."

Rachel: Rachel laughed. "Well, that seems like a pretty great idea. Mutants could definitely use the rights. However, I'd say web designer is a pretty good option to fall back on."

Miles: "I thought so, yeah. Also, want some smoke?" he whipped out his pipe. Not too cheaply crafted and far from crude design, the glass pipe had only a little resign left in it. He shook a bag of weed. "You're not staff, right?"

Miles: He winked.

Rachel: Rachel considered the offer and eventually grinned, "Definitely not staff."

Miles: "That's what I thought." He placed the bag on the piano and began to pack some into his pipe. "Don't worry, I get straight stuff. Right from Afghanistan. It's great."

Rachel: "I'd hope so because it'd really suck if it was bad," she made a face. Bad weed would just be disappointing. "By the way... You're far more awesome when you're this chill. ...Less like an annoying younger sibling."

Miles: "Well, here's the thing... I'm working on being, as you say, chill. The dilemma there is no one really appreciates how hard it is for me to interact with people who are, at the very least, two years older than me."

Rachel: "Yeah... I have that problem with people that are, like, twenty years younger than me..." she joked, offering him a light. "But, seriously, I appreciate it."

Miles: Taking the light, he smiled. "Being chill is difficult when everyone around here couldn't be chill if they were stuck in the Arctic for two weeks with just their underwear." He thought about some of the girls shivering in their panties. "...Hmm..."

Rachel: Rachel snorted, giving him another questioning look, "Hm?"

Miles: He blinked, snapping out of his fantasy. "Bwah? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about some of the girls at this school." for some reason, be it the weed or Rachel's down-to-earth-nature, he had no problem confessing things to her. I'm gonna regret this later, I feel...

Rachel: "Ah." She wasn't quite sure she wanted to press for more information there because she definitely did not want too much information. Holding a hand out for the pipe, Rachel wasn't exactly sure this was the greatest choice to be making, but she could, if it came to it, regret it later.