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niagaragrape · 5 months

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Checkmate: Esse est percipi.

/// A gift for @niagaragrape and their character Pamella, but reposted on here because my writer's block is hitting me again and I kinda wanna spread my fics across tumblr and twitter, enjoy the read.

Out of mind, out of touch, yet not out of life. The duo of cats strutted into the complex at the dead of night, as the crickets nearby croaked loudly and the farm sat underutilized. Autumn turned the production down by a notch, and the decline of such delicacy had led to this farm to cut down their services little by little. After all, their dominance and reputation not only came from this humble farm but a major bootlegging operation just outside of Missouri, and Pamella Pomedore had taken that operation without another hitch.

Besides her, unlocking the door of the house that stood atop the premises, was Mordecai Heller. The infamy that surrounds him and his reluctance to follow the people that once considered him a henchman or a triggerman. She had found him recently after the fallout of Marigold, and the disbandment after Asa Sweet met the same fate as his partner, with a similar incident that had left the three conspirators of the crew: Nicodeme Savoy, Serafine Savoy and Mordecai Heller choosing to mutually separate. The lock’s jingle twisted and turned, as Mordecai cautiously opened the door for possible intrusions. The front of the estate boasted more grandeur than he’d been accustomed to, and the multiple walkways posed more problems that were unseen than the rest of the house. Before he could utter any words to the other party, the other door swung open by Pamella’s hands.

Her grasp from the door proved difficult to let go, as she took in where she had been prior to overrunning the bootlegging operation. Mordecai opted to finally go into the complex, his hand poised towards his holster as he rustled through the house through its multiple floors. He had no idea of any dangers that lurked by, nor did he have an idea on where he was at, but he sweeped the floor regardless. As he flicked the first lightswitch on, he went through towards the kitchen, off towards the right hand side, with its rose patterns dancing through the white tiles and marble benchtops that once housed utensils. Past the kitchen top, through the island that sat in between, and outwards through the pantry door, he walked through the living room, his tail and eyes both whizzed through the room’s decorations.

The living room proved to be nothing out of the ordinary: a more than comfortable sofa, with an ottoman tucked neatly towards the center, and a coffee table that sat just towards the back side towards the windows that is covered with an undetermined color. The space itself didn’t have much to offer, as the lights flickered on: the curtains themselves showed a dark blue sheen, with a fireplace that sat towards the center left of the room, and an empty wooden shelf that sat atop the stone fireplace. Confused, he turned towards the living room door to see that Pamella caught up with his antics.

“Your paranoia proves fatal, Mr. Heller.” She addressed him, a slight smile attached to her.

Mordecai was always known for his careful consideration of foreign space, not even his own apartment is safe from his cautiousness, which stemmed from paranoia from formerly being Atlas’ triggerman and, more infamously, Asa’s partner-in-crime. However, after he was relieved from his duties at Marigold, he doesn't seem to know how to keep this feeling in check.

“This is an estate riddled with insecurities. To be paranoid is better than to be careless.”

She scoffed at him, turning to leave back through the door he entered from, mouthing a few words off to herself as she leaves him to be. She pondered at the ceiling of where she had been before she went into the city, back when she had nothing to worry about other than the flowers that flowed between her hair and the kitchen, accompanied by the smell of her mother’s cooking. Sometimes, the sting of homegrown tomatoes, and soft sizzle washed over the melodies that played in her ears during her off time. She frowned, slightly, as she traced her hand through the benchtop. There was nostalgia to be brushed off, and thus emotions also reigned over her.

Was it regret? Was it acceptance? Was it confusion? Perhaps a mix of all three, as she stood there for a bit. Shortly, the flower patterns caught her eyes. It was randomly assorted, just dancing up and down with different flowers, and different colored roses. She still vividly heard her mother’s voice, who pointed at the specific flowers that matched with what they had on the garden beds in the backyard, in convenience of the kitchen window that happened to overlook an abandoned patch of grass. She remembered, she only remembered two words.

“Esse…. est.” She mouthed out, managing to also garner the attention of Mordecai, who was standing off towards the side silently. Pamella zoned out, trying to rummage through what she knows about her mother and what she had left behind with her. She can only remember some things, not all of them were pleasant either, yet-

“Miss Pomedore? Is something disturbing you about this place?”

Mordecai’s voice cut through her initial spiral, his monotonous voices served a condescending parallel towards her spiral and her as well, as Pamella shook her head and tail, rapidly blinking in and out of the mindset before walking towards the cat in question. The other could only turn and watch as she walked past, trailing off of a sentence that Mordecai barely made out.

“Nothing more than bad memories…” She mumbled off, her face of an unforeseen sadness.

Furthermore, she kept walking back into the main entrance, passing through the dining room completely, as she faced the staircase that led upstairs. The marble staircase stood out from the rest of the household, the railings etched more and more floral designs, walls cracked and crumbled, charred with markings of stencils that she remembers when she was here. The trail, and subsequent staircase, lead up to the second floor, where they had lived the early lives out in private estate, granted by the tomatoes that grew abundant and business surrounding those sought after crops.

She walked upstairs, her silence still remained between her and the triggerman as she ascended the staircase, with Mordecai closely following. He had hoped for this random midnight trip to go just as she had said prior to this sequence of events: a “trip back home to get a few things”, within the span of a few minutes, turned into a nostalgic trip through her childhood home. Sure, this may be better than the endless amounts of tasks that he was subjected to by Atlas and Asa, but his plans were all definite and set in stone. He wasn’t exactly prepared for the change, especially not from her of all people.

Pamella reached the stop, and immediately ignored all of the other rooms. She acted ghastly, and appeared as if she was an apparition before she reached the room near the end of the hall. Mordecai watched as she slipped through the barely visible doorway, as he soon followed suit in a tick of fear. The door creaked, and the room itself made its main attraction towards the place clear. The doors towards the balcony were wide open, with the view that could stun anyone fortunate enough to stumble into this house; the left viewed towards St. Louis’ skyline and buildings, with a road that was leading towards it, shrinking lights and even smaller treelines. Smokes billowed up from unseen factories, and leading towards the right hand side was the Mississippi River. The other doorway towards the right had a view towards the river some more, albeit for a moment. The landscape over towards the right expanded through the clearings and farmland that grew prominent and offered peace of mind, perfect for anyone looking to do something without such a distraction for a background. Near the middle of the room, a piano sat whose pianist could face the calmer side of the Missouri-Illinois border.

The piano itself sat behind a sheet, as Pamella soon disposed of the sheet towards the side, where empty shelves once held sheet music. This had been her piano that she vividly saw in that dream, something that took her back here, whatever force of nature had been involved, put her here. As she turned the lights on, she lifted up the key lid, the piano keys sat burdened with dust and revitalized by a touch, put out years of neglect out of it.

A reluctant oscillation from a hasty key press arose a panicked reaction from Pamella, as she never dealt with a tuned out piano before, since this one has constantly been tuned to near perfection by pianists that had been hired by the Pomedore household. Her wealthy stature now extended as far back as the piano key’s off putting vibrato that shook the two cats, one more lightly than the other, more experienced pianist. Mordecai had been standing towards the side all along, and peeked at the piano itself and back to Pamella every once in a while. He was already bedazzled by the interior of such a place, and it’d be more impressive if she delivers her promise of that prelude. However, from the sound of the out of tune key, it’d seem that he’ll involve himself in this symphony one way or another.

Curious, she tiptoed over the grand piano’s monstrous bowels and past the lid that overshadowed her. It didn’t help that it represented one of her fears, that some day she’d be overwhelmed by a force far beyond her control and size completely. She hesitated, before looking over at the cast iron that held it for dear life, noting that it didn’t seem too rusted nor would it be much trouble for the heir of the family. Cautiously, she peered through the soundboard and at the tuning pins.

The key she had struck - an F key on the fourth octave - heard more like an E sharp towards the fifth octave. A simple fix would be to tune the pin at the same time someone would be playing a note, yet she wasn’t exactly the jack of all trades that could do both of those at the same time. She stood up, and turned towards the triggerman who stood at the balcony overlooking the city, calling out for his help.

“Mr. Heller, would you care to help me tune this piano?”

Her calmness certainly got through to him, as he slowly straddled over towards her, peering into the piano’s many tuning pins.

“Tuning a piano does require a lot of effort. Are you prepared for this task?”

She nodded, as she handed a piano tuning hammer to a very confused Mordecai.

“There are some keys out of tune, and as I play through the keys you will use this to tune it until I say it’s just right. Understood?”

The former only nodded, a bit confused but he was in no position to talk back to her. She dusted off the seat, and pulled it closely to the piano as she pressed every key of the octave. Slowly, softly, the key comes into more in tune, with a keen eye from outside, as Pamella showed no sign of stopping up to the second octave. So far, so good. The second octave began, and for the first half, it went smoothly, until a shrill tone shook Pamella, as she stopped in her tracks. Hesitantly, Mordecai went towards the pin closest to that key: a D key, out of tune, and Mordecai was able to follow up with the tuning as he twisted and turned the pin under Pamella’s slow but frequent key press. Eventually, it reached the sound that was consistent with the D key.

“Well done, Mordecai.” She congratulated, yet the moment was short lived. “Shall we continue?”

Through the span of 15 minutes, she went over every octave of the grand piano. Some keys struck off tune, yet otherwise the instrument remained in near-perfect condition after this household was left almost abandoned. This room had served as both a leisure room, and a practice room. With the last key press going without a hitch, Mordecai stood back with the hammer as Pamella sat zoned out again. Mordecai soon got back to the balcony, after placing the hammer on a nearby table with a picture. He took no mind to it, but the picture showed a much younger Pamella in the foreground of a field of flowers. However, he took no notice, and opted for an outside look towards the city, wondering what he had to do.

In less than a minute, began Chopin’s Prelude in Op. 38, first in D Major. Pamella took time to study sheet music from some of the famous works of pianists and composers. Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, she had the sheet music from them at the ready thanks in part to her reputation and wealth. Her affinity with piano and its intricacy stemmed from this room, and she had this tune that brought her home again. From D Major, she transitioned to an even faster F sharp minor, which ferocity soon brought a halt through an E flat major, and finally she halted at a loop of D minor.

Upon a grand piano, sat a grander movement with grandeur, yet she sat amidst it all, fully embodying the heart and soul of the preludes. Chopin’s Preludes demonstrated what an experienced pianist can embody through the movements in different keys and octaves, and further amplifying said skill by transitioning each prelude to one another, effectively linking the preludes together by improvisation and heavy knowledge for the art. She had those preludes saved for the times she did slowly but surely get back to where her home once was: her heart.

A slight push upon the pince-nez, and a slow turn from the other party, as Mordecai impressively stood amidst the movements. His appreciation for piano works and classical music had always been a more reserved thing for him, yet the tune of tonight only filled his once troubled mind with a lasting impression. Pamella only continued on, as her focus and dedication flowed back through the preludes as the E flat minor segment played out, soon soloing into a B-flat minor, in which the latter’s fast tempo left even Mordecai facing her with full on attention.

He also finally knew the answer to the statement that she had said downstairs. Esse est percipi, a philosophical saying from George Berkeley, or “to be is to be perceived”. He had seen her dabble in philosophy, and maybe he saw this opportunity and concurrent state of her wellbeing, and her legacy, to be associated with that one quote alone. Maybe this piece she is improvising from the Préludes is her piecing together what connections she and her family had made over the decades. Yet he saw the piece more as an interlude during the chaos of Missouri, as the pieces deliver more a perfect assortment of chaos that ran the backbone of St Louis.

Perhaps, this is just the Queen’s Gambit. An opening towards the unknown, and it is the determinant of who or what wins the game of chess. No matter what, the chessboard is in the hands of her, and her alone.

#THIS IS ALWAYS SO GOOD EVERY TIME I READ THIS I GIGGLE #I LOVE THIS A LOT LICIAL !!!#MWAH MWAH MWAHHHHH #checkmate #mordecai heller #pamella pomedore #lackadaisy

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