Summary: (Legend of 1900) Alternate ending – what should have happened at the shop in the last scene.
A/N: I loved watching 1900, but this just begged to be written. It starts from the moment when Max is in the shop at the very end, hears the piano music, and looks over.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Legend of 1900 in any way, shape, or form, nor am I making any money off of this story. Several of the lines in this are borrowed, in whole or in part, from the movie.
The Legend of 1900: An Ending, and a Beginning
As the piano notes drifted through the shop, Max turned, and glanced over at the player. Then he stopped dead, mouth hanging open, as he stared at his dead friend.
1900 took no notice of Max's utter shock, and just kept playing, and playing. Through long practice, Max started identifying 1900's inspiration. There, that high arpeggio could only be the violin hanging on the wall, while that strong flourish had to be a trumpet. Eventually, 1900 slowed, then stopped, letting his hands rest lightly on the keys, as he turned to look Max full in the face.
"Cat got your tongue?"
Max finally pulled his scattered wits together enough to make his voice work. "But, but, how? I mean, you stayed on the Virginian, didn't you? She exploded!"
"You reminded me, Max, on the ship, that 'You're never really done for, as long as you've got a good story and someone to tell it to.' If you can survive with a million roads, maybe I can too." 1900 sighed, and looked down at his hands, still resting on the keys of the piano. "At least the pianos still have 88 keys."
The shopkeeper stared at the young man, still sitting, somewhat despondently, at the piano. After all of Max's stories, he almost felt as if he knew the kid. "You do know," he spoke up, "that the Virginian wasn't the only cruise ship in the world. There are others out there, and while they won't be home, they are just as finite."
1900 stared up at him in absolute shock, Max following suit. Slowly, the trumpeter started thumping his head against the wall. "Why didn't I think of that?" he asked, a bit plaintively. Finally lifting his head, he started towards the door. "Well come on then, 1900! Let's go see which of those ships needs some good musicians. We can be the great duo: Danny Boodmann T.D. Lemon Nineteen Hundred and Max!"
"Don't you think you're forgetting something?" 1900 asked, with a smile on his face for the first time in far too long. At Max's blank look he added, "Your trumpet?"
"Here," said the shopkeeper, handing it over as Max flushed, "that story was worth far more to me than an old trumpet. Just please, if you ever do leave the ocean again, 1900, Max, come back here and tell me the next part of the tale."
And shoulder to shoulder, 1900 still rolling slightly with the rise and fall of nonexistent waves, the two friends walked down the street toward the docks.