[The smell of coffee wafts out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and through the hall. This is not unusual, because coffee is an important part of this predominately Italian household. What's unusual about this morning is the fresh plate of flakey, powder-dusted pastries on the counter next to Bruno's usual mug and a folded note. The open face of it reads For Buccellati in Fugo's precise and cramped handwriting. When unfolded, there's a simple message written inside: Buon compleanno. Thank you for everything.
After Bruno sits down for his breakfast, his watch will buzz as a message comes in from Giorno on his watch. If he chooses to open it, he will find a video that starts rather unceremoniously looking down at an empty spot of the theater’s stage that is partially obscured by a blurry golden finger. The view adjusts to focus on a piano, where Fugo and Giorno are sitting. Fugo quirks a smile up at whoever is holding the watch, before reaching out and carefully adjusting their fingers. “Grazie,” he tells them and leans back to nudge Giorno with his elbow. “Giogio, we’re on.”
Giorno startles visibly (slightly at the adjustment to the filmmaker’s grip, more when alerted to his Time To Shine), then gives a quirked, goofy smile at the camera. ”I’m ready,” he says, ”I think. Probably,” and elbows Fugo in the side.
Fugo laughs and has the look of someone who’s tempted to take step three in what would inevitably be an eternal cycle of jostling each other via elbows. “You’ll do fine,” he reassures, before looking back at the camera. “Today we’ll be playing for you a piano duet of ‘Heart and Soul,’ which was originally written by Hoagy Carmichael in 1938.”]
[With no further ado, Fugo focuses his attention on the keys of the piano. There’s sheet music, but it’s entirely for Giorno’s benefit. Fugo begins to play, his long fingers easily setting a steady, rolling rhythm in the lower register. Giorno is responsible for picking out the melody, something that doesn’t come as easily to him. This isn’t one perfect take: there are a few faltering false starts, where Giorno joins in a little too soon or can’t quite keep up with the pace and they need to start over. Fugo doesn’t seem to mind, but Giorno puffs out his cheeks and blows his bangs out of his eyes each time-- but, eventually, something clicks and they get it right.
The tune, when they finally get going, is a simple one. It’s perfect, in an easygoing way that speaks less of precision and more of comfort between the two of them. It’s clear they’ve practiced, but not to the point of technical perfection, because Giorno is relying heavily on Fugo to keep tempo, swaying back whenever he begins to stray a bit off beat. It’s not up to orchestra standard--but by the end they’re both smiling, Fugo faintly and Giorno in triumph. The piece finishes with a slight diminuendo and a delicate flourish from Giorno which, by the look on Fugo’s face, was not planned but also not unexpected. They both look up at the same time, bright and attentive and looking at the camera like they’re waiting for a reaction. Then Giorno lifts both his hands in the air and pronounces: ”Tada!” Beside him, before the camera goes dark and the recording ends, Fugo covers his mouth with one hand and his shoulders tremble with the effort not to laugh and ruin Giorno’s perfect finale.]
BRIGHT & EARLY ON 9/27
After Bruno sits down for his breakfast, his watch will buzz as a message comes in from Giorno on his watch. If he chooses to open it, he will find a video that starts rather unceremoniously looking down at an empty spot of the theater’s stage that is partially obscured by a blurry golden finger. The view adjusts to focus on a piano, where Fugo and Giorno are sitting. Fugo quirks a smile up at whoever is holding the watch, before reaching out and carefully adjusting their fingers. “Grazie,” he tells them and leans back to nudge Giorno with his elbow. “Giogio, we’re on.”
Giorno startles visibly (slightly at the adjustment to the filmmaker’s grip, more when alerted to his Time To Shine), then gives a quirked, goofy smile at the camera. ”I’m ready,” he says, ”I think. Probably,” and elbows Fugo in the side.
Fugo laughs and has the look of someone who’s tempted to take step three in what would inevitably be an eternal cycle of jostling each other via elbows. “You’ll do fine,” he reassures, before looking back at the camera. “Today we’ll be playing for you a piano duet of ‘Heart and Soul,’ which was originally written by Hoagy Carmichael in 1938.”]
[With no further ado, Fugo focuses his attention on the keys of the piano. There’s sheet music, but it’s entirely for Giorno’s benefit. Fugo begins to play, his long fingers easily setting a steady, rolling rhythm in the lower register. Giorno is responsible for picking out the melody, something that doesn’t come as easily to him. This isn’t one perfect take: there are a few faltering false starts, where Giorno joins in a little too soon or can’t quite keep up with the pace and they need to start over. Fugo doesn’t seem to mind, but Giorno puffs out his cheeks and blows his bangs out of his eyes each time-- but, eventually, something clicks and they get it right.
The tune, when they finally get going, is a simple one. It’s perfect, in an easygoing way that speaks less of precision and more of comfort between the two of them. It’s clear they’ve practiced, but not to the point of technical perfection, because Giorno is relying heavily on Fugo to keep tempo, swaying back whenever he begins to stray a bit off beat. It’s not up to orchestra standard--but by the end they’re both smiling, Fugo faintly and Giorno in triumph. The piece finishes with a slight diminuendo and a delicate flourish from Giorno which, by the look on Fugo’s face, was not planned but also not unexpected. They both look up at the same time, bright and attentive and looking at the camera like they’re waiting for a reaction. Then Giorno lifts both his hands in the air and pronounces: ”Tada!” Beside him, before the camera goes dark and the recording ends, Fugo covers his mouth with one hand and his shoulders tremble with the effort not to laugh and ruin Giorno’s perfect finale.]