08-13-2019, 07:10 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 530px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: .3px; line-height: 1.3; padding: 4px;"]For the first time in what felt like forever, Los Santos was truly quiet, and Abd al-Malik hated it.
Even the dogs seemed subdued. Most had veered around him when he’d walked, and those that had bothered to come closer had seemed confused. The absence of old scents, the arrival of new ones. He understood it, didn’t really feel anything beyond it himself. He just didn’t like the listlessness, the peace, the uncertainty. Change was a loud, vibrant thing, full of the clanging clamour of upheaval. This felt more like water rushing in to fill a hole in the sand. Slightly damp, muffled and utterly anticlimactic.
“Io so,” he told a hulking beast of a dog as she nosed against his palm. She was friendly, calmer than most of the others and bold enough to bother him. In the lull of early afternoon, her presence was a comfort. “È tranquillo. È troppo tranquillo, shit.” She gave a stifled half-bark, as though she understood anything he’d just said, and he rubbed her ear affectionately for her trouble.
His wandering finally took him to his destination: an old piano. It had been a fucking mess when he’d first found it, half-broken and almost entirely unresponsive, but he was good with his hands, and it wasn’t anything he’d never fixed before. Two weeks of “surgery” later, most of it dedicated to finding replacements for unsalvageable parts, and it sounded as good as new. It wasn’t that he intended on seeming like he was proud, but… he was proud. He couldn’t imagine many people appreciating it, but he’d been without music for so long that he was starting to go insane, and Los Santos’ sudden shift wasn’t making things any easier.
So he sat at the piano, fingers hovering over the keys, and began to play. Old melodies, vague memories from long-gone years, melted into something new and unfamiliar, and he realised he had no idea where he was going, but maybe it didn’t matter, because he’d attracted a crowd of curious dogs and if they were enjoying it, then the least he could do was continue.
Even the dogs seemed subdued. Most had veered around him when he’d walked, and those that had bothered to come closer had seemed confused. The absence of old scents, the arrival of new ones. He understood it, didn’t really feel anything beyond it himself. He just didn’t like the listlessness, the peace, the uncertainty. Change was a loud, vibrant thing, full of the clanging clamour of upheaval. This felt more like water rushing in to fill a hole in the sand. Slightly damp, muffled and utterly anticlimactic.
“Io so,” he told a hulking beast of a dog as she nosed against his palm. She was friendly, calmer than most of the others and bold enough to bother him. In the lull of early afternoon, her presence was a comfort. “È tranquillo. È troppo tranquillo, shit.” She gave a stifled half-bark, as though she understood anything he’d just said, and he rubbed her ear affectionately for her trouble.
His wandering finally took him to his destination: an old piano. It had been a fucking mess when he’d first found it, half-broken and almost entirely unresponsive, but he was good with his hands, and it wasn’t anything he’d never fixed before. Two weeks of “surgery” later, most of it dedicated to finding replacements for unsalvageable parts, and it sounded as good as new. It wasn’t that he intended on seeming like he was proud, but… he was proud. He couldn’t imagine many people appreciating it, but he’d been without music for so long that he was starting to go insane, and Los Santos’ sudden shift wasn’t making things any easier.
So he sat at the piano, fingers hovering over the keys, and began to play. Old melodies, vague memories from long-gone years, melted into something new and unfamiliar, and he realised he had no idea where he was going, but maybe it didn’t matter, because he’d attracted a crowd of curious dogs and if they were enjoying it, then the least he could do was continue.