[Sol’s fingers itch to touch Monty’s guitar, to feel out the instrument and let it speak to him, but for now he ignores the chairs, leaning against a bare spot of wall.]
Can’t say I have. Don’t imagine it’s too different, other than being shit for playing rock on.
[A disappointment that, to be certain, but not the end of the world. Or not surprising for being at the end of the world.]
[It's a little awkward to sit while someone else is standing, but he also finds it mildly difficult to play while moving around. Father had danced with his guitar in hand, but Monty isn't quite at that level, yet.]
It's excellent for playing other things.
[There's a touch of defensiveness there as Monty takes up the guitar and seats himself. Sol wants something invigorating on the guitar? Something high energy? Monty can certainly deliver on that.
He adjusts the guitar in his lap and begins to play. The music starts out deceptively slow and gentle. When Monty reaches a little more than half a minute in, he can't help looking up at Sol.
'Call this something poorly, then,' the glance he casts at the other man says.]
[Maybe if Monty hadn’t sung Queen for Sol the last time they’d met, he would be a lot more impressed by his command of the guitar. As it happens, it’s still not Sol’s style, and he’s a man who has had rather a lot of time to consider what sort of things he likes.
Perhaps Monty will be pleased that his reaction this time is nowhere near as intense as his last time had been. And Sol can appreciate the technical skill necessary for the way that Monty is playing.
[The fact that Sol doesn't seem the slightest bit moved by a song that Monty's father would have been proud to hear his son play is more than a bit of a blow to his ego. The gentleman doesn't quite sulk but he comes close to it, looking down at his guitar and tuning one of the strings for a moment.]
[It wasn't really that Sol wasn't impressed, he just didn't impress easily and he showed that he was impressed even less frequently. Monty's understanding of that was probably...skewed, given the last time.
Still, when Sol looks at the guitar, even if it's not the right kind, even if it won't do what he wants, something like longing passes over his face for a minute before he shuts it down.]
[Monty's not sure what to make of Sol. The man might be made of fire inside, but there's more coolness coming off of him at the moment than a glacier. At least in Monty's eyes. Granted, this makes resisting him far easier than Monty had been anticipating.]
Is that a yes or a no, sir?
[There's a firmness and command in Monty's voice as he stands. If Sol's going to be noncommittal, then the young gentleman will be bold and decisive.]
You came to play, I believe. If you require another instrument, you'll need to describe it for me.
[Is that a challenge? Monty sets down his own guitar.]
If you'll wait a moment, please.
[He steps out of his bedroom to the common area and sees a guitar sitting there, like the one Charlie had. Exactly like Charlie's guitar, in fact. Perhaps she left it here. Who can say? It's a standard guitar, though, and Monty heads back into the bedroom.
[Monty has already seen more by way of expression of emotion -- even if that mostly comes from expression of desire -- than most people do, but the look of longing that crosses Sol's face is easy to spot.
He reaches out, takes the instrument and holds it to himself, running his fingers over the strings as he starts to check the tuning.]
[Now the man has him confused. He seems so unmoved by what Monty thought was a very good performance... but he's practically reverent once he has a more familiar instrument in-hand?]
Would you like to play something for me in turn, sir?
[Sol doesn't know that he'd consider it playing for Monty, but with the instrument in his hands it seems impossible not to play it, at least once he has it tuned.
He might be a little rusty, but he's also been playing on and off for eighty years, so when he plays it's not as rough as it could have been.]
Everybody's looking for something... [It's only muttered, the words coming into his head as he listens to Sol play. Monty doesn't interrupt or join in, though. He'd really wanted to let the man show what he could with the thing. They certainly do have very different playing styles and general tastes. But that doesn't mean Monty particularly dislikes Sol's musical selection. It's just something to get used to. A bit like the music that he hears Mari hum and sing on occasion.]
[Sol shrugged. Too long, certainly, but not in the context of his life. But it was good to have the guitar in his hands, good enough to make him want to start another song as soon as he finished the first.]
I beg your pardon, sir. I'm unfamiliar with a numerical system that includes 'Tch.'
[He imitates Sol almost perfectly, even going so far as to mimic the other man's typical posture. It's probably horribly rude, but the man is being difficult and really. Is he embarrassed?]
[Monty cocks his head, expression growing ever more intrigued.]
Someone... made you like this? Or... your own research?
[It's a little difficult picturing Sol as an academic, but he's heard of stranger things, and he knows the man is intelligent, in spite of his looks and gruff demeanor.]
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Can’t say I have. Don’t imagine it’s too different, other than being shit for playing rock on.
[A disappointment that, to be certain, but not the end of the world. Or not surprising for being at the end of the world.]
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It's excellent for playing other things.
[There's a touch of defensiveness there as Monty takes up the guitar and seats himself. Sol wants something invigorating on the guitar? Something high energy? Monty can certainly deliver on that.
He adjusts the guitar in his lap and begins to play. The music starts out deceptively slow and gentle. When Monty reaches a little more than half a minute in, he can't help looking up at Sol.
'Call this something poorly, then,' the glance he casts at the other man says.]
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Perhaps Monty will be pleased that his reaction this time is nowhere near as intense as his last time had been. And Sol can appreciate the technical skill necessary for the way that Monty is playing.
Instead it’s a nod and muttered,]
Not bad.
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Would you like to try it, then, sir?
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Still, when Sol looks at the guitar, even if it's not the right kind, even if it won't do what he wants, something like longing passes over his face for a minute before he shuts it down.]
Whatever.
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Is that a yes or a no, sir?
[There's a firmness and command in Monty's voice as he stands. If Sol's going to be noncommittal, then the young gentleman will be bold and decisive.]
You came to play, I believe. If you require another instrument, you'll need to describe it for me.
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Impulsive kid.]
Can y'do a classical guitar, or not?
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If you'll wait a moment, please.
[He steps out of his bedroom to the common area and sees a guitar sitting there, like the one Charlie had. Exactly like Charlie's guitar, in fact. Perhaps she left it here. Who can say? It's a standard guitar, though, and Monty heads back into the bedroom.
Silently, he holds out the thing to Sol.]
Will that suffice, sir?
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[Monty has already seen more by way of expression of emotion -- even if that mostly comes from expression of desire -- than most people do, but the look of longing that crosses Sol's face is easy to spot.
He reaches out, takes the instrument and holds it to himself, running his fingers over the strings as he starts to check the tuning.]
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Would you like to play something for me in turn, sir?
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[Sol doesn't know that he'd consider it playing for Monty, but with the instrument in his hands it seems impossible not to play it, at least once he has it tuned.
He might be a little rusty, but he's also been playing on and off for eighty years, so when he plays it's not as rough as it could have been.]
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How long has it been since you played?
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Years slip away to an old man like me.
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And how old is that, sir?
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Tch.
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I beg your pardon, sir. I'm unfamiliar with a numerical system that includes 'Tch.'
[He imitates Sol almost perfectly, even going so far as to mimic the other man's typical posture. It's probably horribly rude, but the man is being difficult and really. Is he embarrassed?]
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Over a hundred.
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You're not human.
[It's more of a statement than a question.]
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Instead he just shrugged.]
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What are you, then? A fire spirit?
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Science experiment.
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Someone... made you like this? Or... your own research?
[It's a little difficult picturing Sol as an academic, but he's heard of stranger things, and he knows the man is intelligent, in spite of his looks and gruff demeanor.]
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That's enough.
[Monty isn't off with either guess, but that's not his business.]
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My apologies, sir. I'd just like to know more about you.
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Y'don't need ta.
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