Piano Man (open)

Kenny wandered the university halls, twiddling his wand between his fingers. It was probably a dangerous thing to do--he might accidentally explode something--but he didn't care all that much, and neither did Scott. The university was a large building, and his focus at the moment was getting the lay of the land, creating a mental map as he walked.

He looked to be in the arts wing of the building. He peeked into open classrooms, taking note of the easels in one room, and various musical instruments in another. The hall was basically empty, with only a couple of classrooms in use at the moment. He ventured further down the hall until he found himself in a completely isolated corridor, with a door slightly ajar on his left.

He pushed it open to find a small classroom, empty except for a baby grand piano in the middle of the floor. He stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him.

He hadn't had the chance to play the piano in months. Scott didn't play. Or at least, he didn't intend for Scott to play. Details like that were sort of arbitrary, he supposed, but in his mind, Scott was not musically inclined.

Kenny, on the other hand, felt himself drawn to the center of the room. He itched to play something--it was one of the only things he genuinely took pleasure in. He weighed his options. The hallway had been empty when he'd entered the room. The door was closed. He could play quietly, maybe. There was only a slim chance of being caught...and even if he was, what did it really matter? He'd never publically confirmed that Scott couldn't play the piano. He could just add it to the character if need be.

He strode slowly toward the piano, brushing the keys lightly with his fingertips as he took a seat on the bench. His hand automatically strayed toward middle C, and he pressed down, testing it out. The piano was in tune, and the note had the rich sound that came with an expensive instrument.

Without thinking, his left hand began to play a series of chords and arpeggios that naturally rolled off his fingers. He wasn't really sure what he was playing at first, and then he fell into a waltz-like rhythm and remembered where it was from.

"Piano Man," by Billy Joel. He'd learned it when he was fourteen. With this realization, he shifted his hands and started from the beginning.

As the music swelled, he decided it might be worth it to make Scott a pianist, at least as a hobby.

Kenny heard the faint thud of the door behind him, and he started a little. He quickly recovered his composure, hiding his initial reaction. He skipped half a beat in his playing, but that was the only discernable sign that he had noticed the intrusion. He was on the last few measures anyway, so he played it through to the end, held the last note for a few beats, then placed his hands in his lap, and slowly turned his upper body to face the newcomer.

His eyes briefly flicked over the young man, subtly sizing him up. Handsome. Fashionable. Heavy looking satchel, wonder what's in that...good posture, respectful behavior...ah.

Rich kid, was the first thought that came to mind. The young man who had entered the room was obviously wealthy--he had the sort of self-assured air about him that came with money and high social status. From the way he carried himself, he was probably a pureblood from some powerful European family--all prim and proper, and a little stuck up. Kenny couldn't pull any names from the top of his head. Being a muggleborn from America, European wizarding politics were not something with which he'd had many chances to familiarize himself. He was satisfied with this assessment though. His quick glance, no more than a second or two, gave him enough to work with for the moment.

"Hello," he said, with a small, bashful smile and a jaunty, little wave. Inwardly, he held back a resigned sigh at being caught--this was not his ideal situation. He'd have to amend his plans. Oh, well, no going back now. He'd just have to roll with it. He quickly assessed all of the opportunities that were open to him now, and decided it certainly wasn't the end of the world.

He swung his legs around to the other side of the bench, and turned the rest of his body to face the man completely. His face conveyed the appropriate level of modesty and embarrassment at having been walked in on during something that had clearly been meant to be private.

The man was French, and his smile was insincere. As Kenny created a file in his mind for the newcomer, he vaguely wondered what the stranger was doing in this classroom, and it occurred to him that perhaps he himself was the intruder. The young man looked as if he'd come here for a purpose, and, perhaps he was imagining it, but Kenny got the vibe that his presence was not welcome.

Well that was interesting. What business might young Mr. Fancy Pants have all alone in an empty classroom? Kenny was willing to bet that bulging satchel had something to with it. It was looking quite suspicious.

Then again, perhaps he just came to play piano. That would be the most likely explanation, after all; though it was also the most boring. Kenny found himself rather hoping there was more to it. He would be slightly disappointed in the man if there wasn't.

"Thanks," Kenny responded with a half smile to the man's comment, rubbing the back of his neck as if he wasn't sure how to take a compliment and was feeling a bit awkward. Scott was humble, and also at least a little bit attracted to the fashionable young man. "Piano Man, by Billy Joel," he answered the man's question, acting slightly aghast. "You've never heard it? It's a classic."

"Do you play?" he asked, nodding slightly toward the piano.

Kenny hummed his understanding as the other man explained his musical tastes. He could respect that--he himself had started out learning classical pieces, and he enjoyed them just as much as anything else.

He'd started learning piano at the age of four, taking lessons until he was nine, when he fell out of favor with his godparents. When he'd first moved in with them, his godmother had even roped him into playing hymns for church once or twice. Of course, even when he no longer took lessons, he still played. By that point, lessons were unnecessary--he knew how to read music, and could pursue whichever pieces he wished on his own time. He had a keyboard in his room, and he could plug earphones into it and play whenever he wanted to without disturbing anyone. He even had a few compositions of his own.

He shrugged at the explanation. It made sense. European purebloods were weirdly old fashioned, for whatever reason. He turned halfway in his seat and absentmindedly drifted his hands over the keys behind him, playing a few measures from the beginning of one of Chopin's Nocturnes, his eyebrows raised at the other man as if to say, "like this?"

As the Frenchman admitted that he was not a pianist, Kenny perked up, his interest piqued. Though the only outward sign he gave was a small nod--musical talent was not for everyone--inwardly, he returned to his previous line of questioning. If the man was not here to play piano, then what business did he have in this room? He was now willing to bet that the answer would be quite intriguing--and he was itching to know what was in the man's bag.

He nodded at the man's question. "Fifteen years now." No sense in lying about a trivial detail like that. With details, he found, it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible, to make things easier to remember. Otherwise, he would have to keep track of every word he said, and that was far too risky.

"I'm Scott, by the way. What's your name?" The introduction was innocuous, but his gaze lingered on the other man's face in way that could perhaps be construed as too interested, if one was attuned to that sort of thing. The man was wealthy and attractive, after all, and Scott would be testing the waters right about now.

Jacques Clement. He felt he should know that name. At the very least, he felt that Jacques felt he should know that name. It sounded...familiar, but then, French names all tended to run together in his mind. He hadn't had a reason to do much research on French houses. Whatever he may know about the Clement family came from passing remarks and rumors, nothing that he could distinctly recall. He'd already guessed, of course, that the young man came from some important pureblood house. That was probably enough information to go off of for now. Specifics didn't seem necessary.

"Nice to meet you, Jacques Clement," he said with a slight smirk. Specifics or not, he knew one thing: Jacques Clement was quite a pretentious name.

There was a slightly awkward silence for a moment as the two men faced off across the room from each other. Jacques had obviously wanted this room for himself. Tough. Kenny didn't feel like leaving. Not until he knew what the other man was doing.

"So," he started. "If you don't play, what brings you to this fine room, notably devoid of anything except a piano?" His tone was joking, but the question was genuine, and laced with something akin to a challenge.