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[Maria smiles slightly at Doc.] Friend of yours, then? And... Sorry, but: is that friend-- gone..?

"Not truly a friend, at least not in the traditional sense," he admitted after a slow moment of thought. "He would be 360 today, and he is credited as the inventor of the piano."

"It's a shame only three of his originals have survived," Clara mused aloud from where she was. Not that she suspects him to hear her. Being a ghost at times has its disadvantages.

Like being unable to hold a conversation with people most days. If she's lucky maybe some may hear a whisper from her side, or a snippet of her dialogue. "A sone of mine adored the piano but didn't know how to play. Not really. He did see someone play Chopsticks a few times and copied them. Wasn't that bad of a rendition, honestly."

Maybe he can hear her because he's not always so far away from death himself. "Indeed," he replies easily, all easy and southern comfort. "Have you ever had the pleasure of seeing one?"

The comment about her son brings a smile to his lips. "He didn't look into lessons? Chopsticks is a good a place to start as any, you just build from there."

Maria smiles a little wider, in response to the warmth she can see in her companion's own face. "Oh aye? Well, then, he certainly does deserve to have a happy birthday-- wherever he may be, now, that is to say...." She then can't help but smirk up at Doc, as she considers telling him a little secret about her "kind." "I mean, honestly: he'd be senile as all Hell, but-- he might still be alive, if he were literally a wizard, because here's something you should know: my kind normally have extremely long lifespans! When Dark wizards aren't murdering us left and right, that is to say...." She winces slightly, as if suddenly aware of her own mortality, and her unlikelihood of seeing the age of even thirty if this war went on...

There is a silence that is the width and depth of the Grand Canyon with all the layers that took billions of years to form. Finally: "I believe he was human. I surely hope he was. 360 years of anything, including living, is a hell I would not wish on anyone."

"Oh aye; true enough, I suppose..." Maria grimaced empathetically at the very idea of living so bloody long that one became that senile; oh yes, she was most definitely grateful for being murdered by a Dark Wizard-- even if that death came by way of the Torture Curse-- even then, she was certain she would secretly be thanking that Dark Wizard (or Witch, even!) for killing her before she got that ruddy old. She shook herself of such thoughts, as she realised how she was dwelling on her own inevitable death, when all this poor man had been talking about was the inventor of pianos! "So... The bloke who gave us the Piano: great man, really!" She grinned up at Doc again, slightly strained this time...

"I am unsure if he was a great man, but he certainly made a great instrument." Not a whole lot is known about the man for sure, hell, the only portrait of him was burned up in World War II. For all Doc knows he could kick puppies in his spare time, but he doesn't want to judge the man.

"Oh aye, that's just what I meant, of course; sorry...." Maria, for her part, would certainly judge the man if he did happen to kick puppies in his spare time-- but she wasn't sure of that assessment, at any rate, and so she just smiled and shrugged again up at Doc. "Then again-- why not assume he was a good man? At any rate, I don't know, and I don't reckon you do, either...?"

"I like to err on the side of caution and the belief that no man is really great. In the end it is how history represents him is how he'll be remembered. I suppose that's rather cynical." It is not something he will ever lose sleep over.

He will take a slow sip of his tea then.

"OI!" she suddenly cries out, as if stuck by a pin or something of the sort. "Cynical!? Oh my dear-- Merlin, man: I'm normally the most cynical one in my group of friends.... Oi, I could just hug you....." And she makes a move to do so, trying to avoid upsetting his teacup at the same time, of course; she is British, after all..

She sounds surprised when she speaks up again after a moment's of silence, "--You can hear me?"

That's something she isn't used to. Not really. It takes her a second to remember her manners and to continue the conversation, her voice a little more quiet out of shyness. It isn't every day someone actually speaks back to her when she talks aloud. "I never got to see one, sadly. My son, the one I spoke of, he promised one day but. Things don't always go to plan."

"He was so clever though. He tried his best." She sounds much happier at this point, becoming more relaxed in speaking with him. "We didn't have the money for lessons. He just want to a friend's house and watched him play. Tried it from memory."

"I can," he confirms with a slight nod. "Do people often not hear you?" Which would be a shame but some people are very much in their own little world and don't have the awareness that they should.

"Ahhhh, I am sorry it did not work out on seeing one of the first pianos, I've never had the pleasure." And he doesn't feel like he ever will but who knows how that will go.

"Playing by sight is a hard thing to do. He sounds like he has quite a talent, with that you don't always need lessons but most certainly practice."

His hands raise in defense and eyes follow suit with widening at the sudden force of woman moving toward him. "I do not believe that this is the time for a hug." He can't ever recall a time in which someone wanted to hug him for being cynical.

"Oh aye?" She smirks up into the gentleman's face, as he puts her off, by putting his teacup between them. "I mean, would it be a more appropos time for a kiss, maybe? Because honestly, that seems even less cynical-- but certainly a bit more fun!" She giggles a little, almost sounding-- shy? No, there was virtually nothing "shy" about this young woman.

She shakes her head, wondering if he could see the faint action or not. "No. Not at all. It's so very rare for me to meet anyone else to speak. Last time was a few months ago and it wasn't the most pleasant of interactions."

Someone attempting to exorcise you can often sour the meeting. "Maybe one day you'll get to see it in person, sir. My son thought he never would be able to play the whole thing proper but he did! He is so talented in it and-- I'm sorry. He was. He was so talented in it."

"I am sorry to hear that, a lack of communication cannot be an easy thing to cope with. It's important to have connections." It is hard to be alone, Doc hates it, and feels a little bad for anyone in social isolation.

"Please," he tells her smoothly. "Please call me John, or Doc, my friends call me Doc." None of this 'sir' business. It makes him feel old. "Was? In the past tense, I am sorry to hear that."

"No," he says firmly but an underlying hint of weariness to it. "If it is not the time for a hug it is certainly not the time for a kiss." There are times and places for both hugs and kisses but this is not one of them. At least she isn't drunk this time.

"Aww! I'm sorry, then..." And she pouts for a brief moment, before adding almost desperately: "What can I do to thank you for being my favourite, cynical friend, amongst all my ruddy idealistic ones...?"

"It's been getting easier to bear with over time," she assures him, sounding much more confident at this point. And honestly? A little bit more happier, more cheerful now that she has someone to actually speak to. It's nice.

"And John-- Hmm. Wait. ... If I call you John then I suppose you call me Clara. It'll be strange if you didn't, in my opinion." She laughs, the sound muffled somehow. Either she's covering her mouth somehow or she' become more distant. Maybe, hopefully, the former. "Seems only fair, no?"

"I am glad that it is, while I have no personal experience in this matter, my mother lost a child before her time and it followed her until her own death." This seems like a pretty inappropriate topic of conversation so he shifts in his chair and softly clears his throat.

"Clara is a lovely name," he tells her in a sincere murmur. "It most certainly seems fair to me. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Clara," delivered with a nod of his head in greeting.

"I don't believe that there is any need for thanks. That seems rather unnecessary, we are who we are, and we don't necessarily need thanks for that." A moment of pause and then he nods in confirmation.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, John." She waves and wonders, half a second, why she should bother. People don't often see her. She's lucky that John can hear her at all. Why bother waving hello when there's a chance he can't see her?

Manners. It comes down to manners, doesn't it? Seems only right at the chance he could see her. For a second. For a sliver of a second. Best to make a good impression just in case. "I must say: You're taking my existence awfully well. At this point, people would be pointing cameras at the direction of my voice or start asking some very invasive questions."

"I would offer a hand but I try and keep my germ spreading to a minimum," not that his TB is active now, but he likes to reduce risk and exposure as much as possible. Otherwise a hand would have totally been offered.

"I am now wondering why I wouldn't take your existence well. You're not offensive in any way that I can see. We've only just met, invasive questions seem awfully rude."

"Oh. I hope you're feeling well," Clara said, her voice heavy with concern. "And I hope I'm not bothering you at the moment."

Maybe this is why he considers her inoffensive or troublesome, always going out of her way to prove she's a friendly spirit who just wishes for a simple conversation. "I do promise you-- I'm not a troublemaker at all. Besides maybe clucking my tongue when I see some messy hair or disheveled clothes on some people but that's my old nagging instincts kicking in."

"While I am not well I am feeling fine, and you are most certainly not being a bother to me at all, Mrs. Clara. Please don't feel bad."

His gaze focuses on her and he tilts his head slightly in consideration. "You don't look like a troublemaker. Do people often accuse you of being one? You look rather motherly to me, which I mean as a sincere compliment."

"You can see me too?"

Today is getting curiouser and curiouser as Alice would say. She looks visibly pleased by the news, her warm brown eyes twinkling in delight as her smile became brighter, happier. "Oh. It is a compliment. Trust me -- It very much is, John. You're quite a gentleman, I have to say. Thank you so much."

For being able to acknowledge her, for being kind enough to speak to her.

"Should I not be able to?" Now he is beginning to be a little troubled by her questions of being able to see or hear her. Perhaps she was not real, just a fever dream, something his brain cooked up as it heated to fight off infection.

She doesn't seem like anyone he has ever known or seen before, and usually those figures played into those dreams.

"It is how my mother raised me," she doesn't look like his mother. "'Being polite' she used to tell me 'costs nothing but breath.' Your thanks are accepted but completely unnecessary, Mrs. Clara."

"... In a way. Yes. Not a lot of people can see me so easily." Clara gives a well meaning smile, trying to show she doesn't mind it at all, and adds, "It's just-- Hearing me is something people often do, yes, but also seeing me is something else entirely. People hear a snippet of my voice, maybe a whisper if I'm lucky, but to also see me is very rare."

She won't complain about it happening now however. The complete opposite. "I'm so sorry if I'm making this to be a bigger deal than it really is. It's just an interesting occasion for me is all."

"I feel as though you should make as big a deal out of this as you would like, I will certainly not stand in your way. I am, however, happy and honored to be apart of it. It can't be easy being looked through or not heard." Not many more things would depress him like being ignored or not scene. It's a difficult way to live, humans are social creatures.

"Is there anything I can get you," it's a sudden ask, but it's rude not to offer something. "Something to drink or eat?"

Clara's managed it over the years. It stings but one learns to adapt, to learn. It certainly doesn't stop her from treasuring these conversations that she has with those who can let her have these conversations with her.

Blinking a bit at the offer, she looks surprised but then flattered as she shook her head. "Eat? Or drink? Oh no. It's fine. There's no need to get me anything... Though... Could I ask you a question?Just one."

Doc makes an open gesture with his hands. "By all means, Mrs. Clara, ask what you would like. I cannot promise that I will answer but I will try my best to do so."

"Thank you. You're so kind." Even if he didn't know the answer, the fact he's willing to try means so much to her.

She takes a deep breath, as if already preparing herself for the inevitable, "Have you heard of a young girl in this area. Magra Seville? About maybe this tall by now… My eyes. Dark brown hair."

Had he heard the name before? He is relatively good with names and faces, he just has to be with his profession and his side job, but the name doesn't automatically bring anyone to mind.

"No, I am afraid not. If it would help I could ask around to try and find out some information about her."

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sorry for the delay. got a bit busy.

No worries! I understand.

Thank you! By this week I think I'll be in the clear.

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