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Notes - (?)xNanaba - Agape Songfic

OOOOH, A SONGFIC! Gee, how could I mess this one up? *sarcasm sarcasm* This is NOT an OCxNanaba, but it's a canon character. He's a surprise that'll be revealed at the end XD.

This one's lovely and long and took me forever to make.

I obviously don't own Annabel Lee, it's a poem by the legendary EAP. The music is by the ineffable MerlinsGrass on Youtube. I'm not going to answer all pending requests for oneshots as some are really tiring (and others I just don't ship at all, like). Oh, I just LOVE AUs. I might be doing a TenRose (Doctor Who) one if you're all really good and behave.

Just kidding. I'm going to do one anyway.

A semibreve lurks in between the alleys like a gangster waiting to mug me. Its accomplice, a dotted minim, like a perky loyal husky, stands crouched at the ready, patiently hearkening to the sound of my footsteps on the rain puddles. I really must find that piano. I’m almost soaked to my skin, and I bet my phone won’t be working any time soon either. Despite the maddening thick fog and heavy rain at the sheer time of 13 o’clock PM, I am able to see them very, very clearly. The fat semibreve rolls over to attempt getting at me faster. The dotted minim tries its best to copy its owner but fails because both his hovering dot and longish spine come in the way of a good roll.

I can read the notes in my head. They ARE in my head.

There is no dotted minim hound-husky chasing me; no semibreves loading their guns with bullets; certainly no marching crotchets and minims armed with treble rifles and bass muskets preparing for battle. The streets are completely empty, really- even humans have the sense not to come out in a time as ominous as this. They are annoyed by this particular rain, while I utterly despise it.

 My head feels light. My tuxedo is weighing me down, but I’m floating. My fingers twitch, imagining a keyboard under them, white and black keys galore. I hear the music. I stumble on the harsh pavement and fall on my face. I feel a sharp pain, but the aesthetic, the imaginary music, dulls it so that I only feel a trail of blood, the sudden high, thrilling note in the middle of the song, trickle almost laughingly down the side of my face. I can read the notes in my head. They ARE in my head.

I’m going mad, and the only way to drive the illusions away is to sit down at that bloody piano.

I go back up, and shoot past the musical-note army.

Suddenly I come to a skidding-on-the-mud stop. My suit is soiled, I’m wet to the bone, I might have hypothermia soon and I probably look like a homeless person. I even FEEL like a homeless person: an illustrious, freezing one. But all the music notes, semibreve ringleader, dog minim, armed crotchets and bass muskets and all, dissolve back into their black dust, and I do not see them anymore, for I stand in front of a shop. It was the only shop illuminated for streets- the glass emitted a soft, yellow, old light. It’s still raining; raining harder than ever before.

My hand trembles as I grip the store’s door handle. I twist it to hear the soft squeaks of the flimsy plastered plywood.

The feeble light is enhanced, and it showers over me. I am neither blinded by it nor untouched. I walk dazedly into the warm, fire-lit nook adorned with menacing figures on the lumber walls. In the light of the fire in the hearth, antique shapes glinted- heads of deer, scratched leather tapestries, and odd lamps and colored glass.

A trail of freezing rainwater follows me and settles on the teakwood flooring as I attempt to go weakly inside.

They return.

I flinch fearfully, turning my head sharply to the right.

A mane of notes dancing around an African mask is the last thing I see before I let out a weak, desperate cry, and collapse on the floor, my hunger for music turning into horrific, mortifyingly haunting nightmare of armies and gangsters of musical notes out for me.