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Music filled the Elite Four's living complex one evening. It wouldn't have been strange, Alder decided, but it was very different than any of the other tunes those damned kids tended to settle on. The haunting, coaxing tune of a piano being touched like it was adored. Was it a recording? Did they even have a piano here? Those kinds of passions were something Alder never settled for. But he did wonder: was it real? Was there a maestro among the kids?
He pegged Caitlin, if anyone. She always had the air of a patron of the arts. And that Brain of hers...
It got louder and broader the more he traversed down the hallway. So wherever it was coming from, it was close to the private rooms. Rounding a corner, however, he saw the precarious backside of Shauntal sticking out from a doorway, close enough that if he took three steps and reached out his hand-
No, he wasn't going to do that, but her pert butt just out there... From his same angle, however, he could see just inside, opposite Shauntal, Marshal's towering form leaning against the wall, his eyes likely on whoever was playing (or maybe they were closed, or glaring at a corner; who knew?). Well, if it could get that monster's attention, it must be something.
He was quiet in his approach, which was ordinary, and stopped behind Shauntal-
Ah, he thought. It wasn't Caitlin. It was Grimsley.
Which made sense the more he watched Grimsley play the parlor grand into a melody fit for a lover. He was fluid, in tune with his music, and absorbed into his own atmosphere. It sang of not a lost love, or a current love, but the wish for love, melancholy and hopeful. It cried silent want and juxtaposed desires: close and unsaid. Music wasn't Alder's forte (anything for Shauntal, though, and she liked music), but even that was clear enough.
It was unfortunate he seemed to have come at the end, as Grimsley's fingers hit the final notes; he realized the only talents of his four emperors he took note of were Marshal's fighting and Shauntal's writing (and her lovecraft). Oh well, he mused. There was time, in the future. He suspected none of these kids were going to get bumped from their standing any time soon.
Shauntal clapped ("That was so cool, Grimsley!"); Marshal did not. But Shauntal wasn't the only one clapping, Alder decided. There was another, slower applause, and that must be Caitlin somewhere inside. But Grimsley turned in his seat, and only looked faintly surprised when he looked to the doorway. "Master Alder."
Shauntal stood straight and turned her head almost violently ("Mr. Alder!"); Marshal was more casual in looking behind him ("Old man."). Alder scoffed, smirking. "Am I such a rare sight? You play good, boy."
Grimsley folded his arms and gave a smirk of his own. "I'll take that as high praise, coming from a mountain man."
Alder guffawed. "You're fine, Grimsley. Shauntal." He hadn't even been looking at her when her cheeks started burning; she turned full red when he finally did. "Can I take you to my room?"
Marshal's great bulk heaved to his left, while Shauntal babbled some, like she was torn- "I-I-I need to help Caitlin!"
A glimpse to the inside right of the doorway showed Caitlin now sleeping lightly on a cushioned bench. Oh well. Shauntal prompted her to her feet and, in a manly gesture if he said so himself, Alder picked their psychic up and carried her bridal style down the hall toward the private rooms.
"Mr. Alder," Shauntal cried, "you don't have to-!"
"Nonsense. Play nice, boys!" he cried back, and grinned to himself. A good deed is always rewarded.
- e - y - e - s -
"First time he's been back," Marshal murmured, and he pushed himself off the wall, crossing the distance between them. "That the song?"
Grimsley closed the cover for the keys. "Yes. What did you think?"
Marshal frowned, and he put his hand to the edge of the piano's lid. "Sounds like you still love her."
A light laugh escaped Grimsley. "Perhaps, but what is a woman, if not a creature to love?" Though at Marshal's scowl, he amended, "I'm teasing. That flame's long gone. This song...it was more like our childhood than our brief romantic stint. Barely a Pokémon to our names."
Grimsley reached out to him, and Marshal caught the hand in his. "I'm not surprised you play," he said, straightening Grimsley's fingers to inspect close up, "when your fingers are long like this. What's it about?"
"The piece?" Grimsley pushed his captive hand forward, freely, until it cupped Marshal's face. Marshal's hand remained clasped over it. "Were you ever a child who made wishes, Marshal?"
The man stared. "Of course."
"Skyla and I... Mistralton was a busy airport even when we were kids. We lived in a smaller town not too far away. Airplanes always flew overhead, and we would watch them in the night. She said, once, 'Airplanes are like shooting stars. Make a wish every time you see them.' And we did, like kids. I think we still do, sometimes. That's what the song is about. Wishes out of airplanes. Not much else, I promise you."
Grimsley felt lips touch his palm, and smiling up at his giant, knowingly. Marshal looked back at him, nonplussed. "I'm glad you played it for us first."
"She'll understand. Skyla's a big girl. And she keeps asking about you." Two bleached eyebrows go up. "She's my best friend. Her status as an ex doesn't affect that she still wants to know who I'm with." His smile turned wicked. "I get to tell her all the naughty details."
"I'm sure she's thrilled," Marshal gruffed, rolling his eyes. "What don't you tell her?"
"How cute you look in person. Ah, or..." Grimsley looked at the piano. "...the last time I wished on an airplane was the night before I met you."
Looking back, Marshal's face was darkened, and Grimsley rubbed his thumb over a blushing cheek. "I'm not going to believe you," Marshal stated.
"That's fine." Pause. "Come walk outside with me, okay?" Dark eyes glittered with mischief. "See if we can't find you a shooting star."
Of course Marshal followed him into the night.
- l - e - g - e - n - d -
What would you wish for
If you had one chance - B.O.B.