Confrontation in B Flat || Ben & Lev
The piano played on, and Ben couldn’t help but think of a friend back home. Another pianist, or so he called himself. Ben had never liked the sound of a piano the way he liked the sound of heavy drums and a bass guitar, so maybe there was more talent in it than he knew. Either way, it made part of him remember home. Remember his youth. He didn’t find it soothing. He took swig of beer and wiped the foam from his beard, waiting patiently for the man -- Jonathan, right? -- to head towards the bar.
He had seen him in the abbey, but no one seemed to know that it was Ben. He was still greeted with nods on the street, and no witch had come to take him down. Well, try to. It was always so fun to see witches realise they were at such a disadvantage against him. Most of them had never encountered a reflector before. It gave him a special sort of pleasure. Like playing with his food.
The music stopped and he turned back to look at the stage. The target was saying his thanks -- there was something very charming about him. Again, there was something so familiar in the way he moved. The way he behaved. It made Ben wonder what possibilities were in store. In town tracking down genealogy. He wanted to know how much was lie and how much was truth. But then, he wanted to know this about everyone.
Everyone had an agenda. Everyone had an angle. Ben wanted to find out how to use all of them to his advantage.
He drained his beer and made his way to the stage, he leaned against his cane and looked the man over.
“I mus’ say, ye’ve got somethin’ of a talent. How about I buy you a drink, and ye cen tell me how ye learned t’play? Hm?”