"Oh, that's what your parents did...?" Bashou asked absentmindedly, his hand reaching out to trail silently over the piano's highest keys, as though it had a will of its own. "Sounds interesting..."
It did genuinely sound intriguing - if only because Rocket might have been interested in a place like that. But Rocket was no longer at the forefront of Bashou's mind, and the thought flitted away quickly.
"I've never composed either. Wouldn't know where to start. I doubt I can even remember anything."
Even though he'd told himself he wouldn't, Bashou sat down at the piano. He reached into his pocket and took out some hand sanitising gel, which he tried to be discreet about applying; it was nothing personal, just a habit of his. His hands seemed to roam the keys, as if waiting for his muscle memory to kick in, then a sad prelude began to flow.
[this is too easy for Bashou buuut it's so angsty...bringing down the mood in the music shop...]
It did genuinely sound intriguing - if only because Rocket might have been interested in a place like that. But Rocket was no longer at the forefront of Bashou's mind, and the thought flitted away quickly.
"I've never composed either. Wouldn't know where to start. I doubt I can even remember anything."
Even though he'd told himself he wouldn't, Bashou sat down at the piano. He reached into his pocket and took out some hand sanitising gel, which he tried to be discreet about applying; it was nothing personal, just a habit of his. His hands seemed to roam the keys, as if waiting for his muscle memory to kick in, then a sad prelude began to flow.