…
Thud.
Thud. The last platter of food came to rest on a place mat and three pairs of blue eyes accompanied by one pair of green eyes, gazed down at the spoons, while red eyes stared at all of the food. Green flicked over to the pale boy and Rodriguez wetted his lips hesitantly.
"Thanks for setting the table for me."
Vincent smirked at the teen and then gazed down at his placemat. "No problem. I did it all right…right?" Red blinked expectantly at Rodriguez who couldn't meet his eyes. Finally Rodriguez, despite William' frown, admitted that the spoons were mixed up with the forks. No one mentioned that this was the wrong set of silverware and the wrong set of plates. Changing the spoons was enough.
After grace, food began to make its way to the empty plates, filling them in a matter of seconds. Other than Rodriguez's question the only other time Vincent was distracted from the food that was being passed around, was when he realized that Richard was wearing a women's suit. Richard noticed when Vincent began to stare at it, and she smiled and tossed a bread roll onto his plate, snapping his head up. Vincent turned his attention to eating his portion of the amazing feast, already drunk on its intoxicating aroma. Ham, corn, green beans, bread ball things, other bread thing that came in a loaf and smelled sweet, fancy mashed potatoes, gravy, red berry sauce stuff; there was enough to explode five Vincents. Vincent snickered at the thought, attracting the old man's attention, as well as Rodriguez's.
Rodriguez looked at him for a bit. "What's funny?"
"Nothin'. I just decided that I'm going to eat until I explode. I think it'll be fun." A smirk went to Rodriguez who scoffed at it and began to eat again. Vincent inspected his food, tasting a bit of all of it and mixing some of it together, acting the part of a chemist in a lab. Corn in mashed potatoes, good. Red berry sauce in mashed potatoes, not so good. Red berry sauce on ham, not so good. Red berry sauce on bread ball thing, not good. …I think I don't like the red berry sauce, period. Next…green beans and potatoes, good. With gravy, eh…okay. With the sweet bread and potatoes, …cannot waste food by spitting it out. Vincent examined the sweet bread that had been cut off of a mini loaf, and then he looked over at Rodriguez and pointed at it.
"What's this?"
Green went to the bread while Rodriguez's mouth was occupied. He swallowed. "Pumpkin bread."
Vincent stared at him with blank eyes, and then looked at the bread he was still pointing at. Never heard of it. But the boy ate some of it anyway and checked it on the good list, and went on, exploring the food. His head popped up when a conversation was started between William and…everyone. It was a random subject, Vincent guessed, having missed hearing it. He continued to eat while the family talked, looking around curiously from time to time.
Finally the topic turned to Vincent when Richard took advantage of a break of silence. She asked him, smiling, "How is your uncle doing?"
Um. Looking around, Vincent hurriedly gathered his thoughts together. He eventually looked at the woman. "He's doing pretty good, I guess. Just…sleeping…" Red dropped to the plate when pity touched Richard's expression. He didn't want her damn pity. Couldn't he just answer something like that and expect to get a normal, emotionally detached response? Well…no…that would be weird…now that he thought about it. Vincent filled his mouth with corn, not noticing when Richard asked him something. She had to ask him again before he noticed.
"Oh uh…" What was I going to do for Christmas before she made me come here? "Nothing, I guess. I don't really celebrate holidays. No reason though. Just don't…not really interested in them."
"Oh?" Richard was holding her wineglass full of bubbling champaign, distracting Vincent who looked for his glass. Golden, carbonated liquid…what had Female Rodriguez called it again? He'd forgotten. Vincent lifted the thin fragile glass awkwardly and tried to get used to holding it before he took an adventurous sip. It was…really sweet but pretty good. He took another sip and then put it down with a hint of a grin as he saw all the food and the people that had carried on with another conversation around him.
Red wandered towards the aged blue eyes and then settled on them, eating and sipping at the sparkling apple cider. With time, the aged blue eyes found the red gaze and the two looked at one another for a moment. Vincent's lips smirked and he looked away to take a sip of his cider, glancing back at the old man when blue didn't move. The teen put his drink down. "So Grandpa, I gave you my name, I'm just wondering when I'll get to know yours."
Not the politest way of asking, several blonde minds noted without real disapproval. It was just Vincent, it was part of his personality. How could they really disapprove right now? The old man read their thoughts as his daughter across from him did not comment on the boy's lack of reverence. Now the aged cobalt orbs sparked with renewed curiosity, finding Vincent's gaze unmoved. The man smiled. "I don't see any harm in telling you." The smile warmed a bit, the eyes growing brighter with humor when he saw the boy return the smile. "My name is Abraham Van King, but my telling you does not give you permission to call me by my first name."
At first awed by the name, Vincent took a moment to hear the rest of the man's words. When he did, the teen chuckled and scooted his chair closer to the table, suddenly unsatisfied with how he was sitting. "I call people by nicknames, mostly, so you might get stuck with me calling you Grandpa, if that's okay with you."
Abraham kept his smile and nodded, still thoroughly amused. He lifted his champaign. "That I don't mind at all, boy. I'm old enough for that." He drank, inserting a pause. Vincent's mind found more questions before the old man was able to set his drink down again. By the time the wine glass had reached the table, two questions had been piled on the man.
"Do you come out here every Christmas? Do you live around here?"
Abraham smiled knowingly, allowing his eyes to pick out the place he was lowering his glass. Then, patiently, they returned to the expecting teen, with a warm smile. "I come for the holidays, but no, I live in Holland."
There was a pause in which Vincent stared without an apparent response. Then his face lit up, curiosity erasing the presence of the food for a moment. The others watched, each with their own curved smile, eating their 'feast' and basking in the full radiance of the Christmas holiday. A few sparsely strewn curses only made them wince slightly as conversations rose and ebbed away. Even when their stomachs were content, their plates relatively bare, with plenty of the rich aroma of food pervading the air, the family continued to talk, recount stories, listen, laugh, and accept the black sheep in their midst as their own. The stream of gold was not ruined by the ebony presence, the healthy pallors unblemished by the pale, thin delinquent.
And as for the pale, black sheep, he fit in with this flock, oblivious of the feat he had accomplished.
With dinner coming to a close, Richard and her reluctant son began the task of relieving the dining room of the source of its thick fragrance, the food disappearing into the kitchen to be wrapped, foiled, and lidded and then tucked safely away in the refrigerator. Vincent offered his assistance but the offer was refused, though Rodriguez grumbled a protest. As a response, his mother gave him the duty of rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher…with the privilege of wearing, for the sake of his nice clothing, a pink apron that thoroughly entertained Vincent and William, as well as the adults, heating blood that burned in Rodriguez's cheeks. The jock had a chronic scowl pulling at his lips as he worked, one that split with an angry growl of outrage when he realized his darling sister had taken several pictures of him. Memories, she explained, that needed to be thoroughly documented and shared with the masses. Rodriguez didn't care much for the masses and threw suds at the girl's red camera heating her own blood so that she blushed with fury. Before total warfare could commence, Richard guided the girl out of the kitchen to give her 'sister' some peace and quiet for 'her' agitated nerves.
With giggles and chuckles, Vincent and William were given the duty of entertaining Abraham who claimed th
at he had no need for so much attention. The wisdom of the old man was ignored and he resigned himself to following his granddaughter as she gave him a tour of the house, stopping by important monuments, such as the statues of academic achievement on the shelves of Richard's home office, and strolling down memory lane as she took Abraham to see each of the picture frames that littered the house. Vincent followed, sharp eyes finding each object the girl's authoritative finger pointed out and he listened to the stories she recalled from the depths of a recent past. Abraham was obviously quite familiar with most of the past that William recounted and his attention wandered back to the pale boy that was in his company. Several glances went to Vincent's face during their journey, but the boy only returned a few of them.
The journey failed to last as long as Odysseus' Odyssey, and within minutes the trio found themselves reaching a destination only William had been aware of being at the end of their path. The towering Christmas tree, sparking to life as the girl plugged in the Christmas lights, reflected as a large, twinkling mass in the wide red eyes. There were still presents beneath it, which William informed Vincent, as her Grandfather had been present when the gifts had been opened that morning, would be opened later. Two a day, until they all ran out, was the tradition in their family. One on Christmas Eve, to kick-start it all.
"Is it cool? I decorated it, mostly." William smiled proudly, circling the grand tree as Vincent stared at it. Her finger indicated a few specific ornaments. "These gingerbread cookies are real, though they're mixed with paste so that they'll last longer. Alex and I made them in second or third grade. And these ones are pictures of us from kindergarten. And this one is mine from fifth grade. The reindeer, yes it's supposed to be a reindeer, not a fuzz monster, is Alex's. He made it in fourth grade, I think." The girl led Vincent about the tree, rarely looking at him until she had finished. She beamed at his dazed look, taking as a response to her superior work.
"That's got to be the biggest damn tree I have ever seen." Vincent stared at it, his mouth remaining open for a moment after he spoke. William blinked away the 'bad-word' and heard only the 'clean' statement from the boy. It made her smile, while her grandfather's mouth eased to a faint frown, thoughts containing the boy producing the expression. I think it would be best to move on, he decided, and brought a smile to his mouth to request that William take them somewhere where they could rest. The girl responded energetically, giving a light laugh that radiated from her cheerful mood, her face glowing as she took them into the white room where the piano was. She instructed her grandfather and Vincent to sit where they liked as she prepared to play some holiday music. She lifted up the seat of the bench and rummaged through the stacked music books until she found a slightly faded one with a green, decorated Christmas tree on it.
Silent Night flowed through minds, causing King to close his eyes for a time while Vincent gazed at the wall with clouded eyes that blinked lazily. William had a charming style that reflected her own personality. Strong, sometimes meek, but if necessary, bold and harsh, as was heard in Deck The Halls and Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer. Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree…the music sang as William sometimes added a hum of the tune with her own voice. Rodriguez eventually wandered into the room, accompanied by his mother, and they sat together with Abraham on a white, soft leather couch. Vincent was sitting in a chair, a cushion on his lap, and he glanced at the newcomers that commented on the rather passive way the trio had been enjoying the holiday on their own.
It was dark outside because of the pittering weather that fell upon the roof.
William had finished, and was turned about on the bench to participate in what her family was talking about. They were trying to decide what they would do next or if they would stay here and talk while listening to William on the piano, but William said she didn't feel like playing for too long. Rodriguez's head lifted suddenly, as if confronted with a revelation, and he grinned at Vincent, confusing the teen for a moment and then pausing the voices in the room with his idea.
"Vincent… Vincent you should play." The blank response he got from the boy prompted Rodriguez to put his hands together in mock prayer, a slim smile overwhelming his act. "For Christmas' sake?"
Vincent mouth opened to respond, but he hesitated when Richard grinned and cut in before him.
"Would you?"
"Um…"
Red wandered for a moment, ruffled by the request and the staring eyes.
"You play the piano?" The old man's questioning look received a nod, an acknowledgment that seemed to obligate the boy to play. So he rose from his seat, going to the piano as William hopped up excitedly and plopped down in another chair. With awkwardness, Vincent seated himself at the bench and rested his fingertips gingerly on the keys, glancing back at the blondes.
"Should I play Christmas music or just anything?"
Richard shook her head, cheer in her face. "Anything you like."
Alright. Vincent took a breath as his eyes went to the keys, flicking to the music book in front of him. He didn't want to play one of the songs in the book at the moment, but he figured that he should play holiday music because of what day it was, so his hands crept closer together, finding their positions, and the boy exhaled gradually, closing his eyes and then opening them. Auld Lang Syne. Soft, light, gradual and building like his breath, faster and slower, melding together with the generous use of the pedals, never dulling the notes to preserve their crispness as much as possible. He played and a small smile moved his lips, shifting ever so slightly with the music. The ending built and then eased like a final graze of snow, red eyes closing for the last two notes. Then they opened and, for his curiosity, he looked back over his shoulder to see if it had been acceptable, and the teen received several content smiles and some surprise from William and her grandfather who both said the music had been very nice. Rodriguez and Richard knew though, that the easy level of the song had dulled the wow-factor of the performance, so they were keen to convince the boy to go on with another song, hopefully one that would make the others realize his skill. Vincent committed himself to the piano once more. Silver Bells. Pleasant, beautiful in its grace and bordering on simplicity in its rhythm, but without the factor of amazement the mother and son wanted. Rodriguez cut in abruptly when Vincent finished, hoping to satisfy himself. "Can you play Silent Night?"
Eyes blinked at Rodriguez, though he tried to ignore them. Vincent's brow crinkled a little. "Female Rodriguez already played it."
Shrugging in a way he hoped was convincing, and feigning sincerity in his tone, Rodriguez sighed. "I didn't hear it, I guess…" Did that sound disappointing enough? Apparently it had been enough for Vincent, because the teen shrugged as well and consented to play the song. Abraham and William perked up, caught by the difference between William' version and Vincent's. Vincent added notes and the flow of the music was…almost romantic, and there was never a time when a note expired without another one to prevent silence from ever cutting into the composition. Abraham glanced at his granddaughter as she stared, confusion scrunching her forehead as she tried to make sense of it and ward off the feeling of jealously that touched her for a moment. But it passed and the song ended. None of them realized that they were supposed to be listening to the music to have something in the background as they talked amongst one another. They were completely focused on the dawning mystery.
Richard's wit came into play as she smiled and complimented the music indirectly and then asked if Vincent would play a song he favored, to surprise them. Vincent nodded with an okay and a grin, enjoying himself now as he took advantage of the requests and the presence of the instrument. At that moment, he believed he could play forever.
Op. 39, No. 16 – Old French Song. Slow, like the voice of a spirit, but not haunting, just…reminiscent, a voice of its own. The listeners were swallowed by the brief composition, watching the pale hands flow as a functioning part of the instrument, like its very heart and soul that gave it its purpose and life. And yet, it did not
have the complexity that Richard and Rodriguez knew could only bring the full scope of Vincent's ability to be seen by the others. Once the song was over, much to their surprise, Abraham distracted Vincent from playing again with a question the others then pondered as well. The man was leaning forward thoughtfully gazing at the teen that looked at him.
"How do you have all of these songs memorized?"
All eyes were focused on Vincent, but he didn't notice as he watched the old man's face. "I just do. I don't remember everything…and it's not really memorization…it's more like…the…the familiarity of the music so that I'm not really sure exactly what note follows until I reach that point. My fingers memorize the music, not really my head."
There was a pause as the family digested this concept, but their backs straightened when, unexpectedly, Vincent began to play…or…really, as it first seemed and the way their hearts raced at the shock, he seemed to suddenly pound the piano because of the volume of the notes. His handling of the keys never reached violence. Bang, bangbang, bang…and then a lighter ting…and then his hands came together and played a series of drawn out and nimble notes that rose like a wave and then ebbed, and then lighter notes suddenly made themselves known, creating the focus of the fluctuating melody. Chopin piano sonata No. 2…the porcelain fingers flying with the notes, touching and melding with the keys and then breaking away…then the music slowed at another part and became something else entirely.
Peaceful…and complex. It turned Abraham's eyes to his daughter, a gaze that told her he realized at least some of the boy's superiority. His eyes held amazement.
After six solid minutes, Vincent felt faintly aware that he should move on to another song, so he ended at a place that seemed acceptable, and then positioned himself to begin another song.
"That was great!"
Vincent jolted at the loud exclamation, and his eyes swept towards the girl that beamed, clapping as her white teeth shone. "Do another one! A really, really, really, just awesome one! Please?"
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