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Post by Carlos Castro on May 19, 2008 12:24:51 GMT -5
*Carlos wasn't sure he'd heard a cry from above or if he was going mad, but either way he was concerned about what he'd find in his dressing room. His fevered imagination supplied a torrent of too-red blood upon opening the door, but all he found was the note:*
Fool! Did you think I would not notice your fained attempt? I have been far to lenient with you! Your heart was not in the piece, and your eyes were distracted by the pit--see something down there you liked, did you? Such distractions cannot be tolerated!
*Holmes was attractive, in an odd, focused, inaccessible sort of way, but Carlos had not been particularly in the mood. It occurred to him, however, that Mr. Holmes might be able to make sense of this mess.
If Carlos could contact him without Maestro knowing. Was such a thing even possible? And would Holmes even help him, considering? He scribbled his own note and strode back into the auditorium, hoping to catch Holmes.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 19, 2008 12:28:54 GMT -5
Destler had left his note and then retreated quickly down to his home where he pounded away angrily on his organ ((don't laugh)), oblivious, for the moment of all else. If he'd stayed to wait for Castro at that time, he knew he would have killed the boy and fed his worthless carcass to this...Hessian he'd been hearing about. He wouldn't have even taken his skin, such a waste he was!
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 19, 2008 12:41:09 GMT -5
((But the skin's the best part!))
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 21, 2008 13:24:27 GMT -5
*NEW DAY*
((from rehearsal))
*Carlos slammed the door behind him and furiously began wiping off stage makeup.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 21, 2008 13:31:12 GMT -5
Destler's voice showed up only moments later, the tone unsteady with anger. He didn't even bother with French.
"What were you doing out there boy! Did you misread the part? You are supposed to love her with the song, not fuck her with it!"
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 21, 2008 13:40:06 GMT -5
*Carlos threw the cloth to the table, his temper up. For lack of something to look at, he stared into the mirror, his expression dark as his reflection's dark eyes bored into his.*
"I sang from my experience, as you taught me, Maestro," *he said coldly.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 21, 2008 13:43:59 GMT -5
He laughed darkly, voice moving from one side of the room to the other.
"You have never pined for a woman? As a young man, I would think you would have no other thoughts!"
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 21, 2008 14:33:43 GMT -5
*Carlos laughed bitterly at the Maestro's naivete.*
"You would, wouldn't you? Ambition has always been my mistress, I'm afraid. The rest... the rest is just business. It is not in my nature to pine."
For any woman.
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Post by Erik Destler on May 21, 2008 21:22:19 GMT -5
Destler cocked an unseen brow.
"Then you shall have to imagine, Carlos. But the want of love is far different from the desire for--well, what can be had on any street corner."
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 22, 2008 10:30:26 GMT -5
"So they say. So the operas tell us. I have not seen it."
*Carlos found himself inexplicably thinking of the choirmaster of his church, growing up. Mr. Stevens. He'd so wanted Stevens' approval--something about the way the light from the stained glass fell on his blond hair. The intensity with which he rehearsed, and reprimanded, the boys. He had worshiped Stevens in a way he'd never worshiped the true occupant of the Church, because Stevens was real and radiant and far more godly than anything Carlos could detect in the sermon. Singing hymns, watching Mr. Stevens, had been the closest he'd come to God.
He'd become closer to Stevens, too, who had appreciated more than boys' voices, but it took him time to realize that while there was only one choir master, there were many, many boys. Of which Carlos had been only the latest. Stevens had shrugged when Carlos protested his singular affection, but by then his voice had begun to deepen and his limbs to become awkward. Carlos had never had his heart broken again, after that.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 22, 2008 12:01:36 GMT -5
((Awww, poor Carlo))
"Then sing as if you are serenading money." he said dryly, and then went silent.
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 22, 2008 20:16:18 GMT -5
"Then, I fear, you would get the same effect," *Carlos replied bluntly.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 22, 2008 20:51:19 GMT -5
After a few moments, the voice sighed, disappointed
"Then perhaps you are not right for the role."
He struck up the violin, quietly, demonstrating with the strings the longing and unwanton desire that the part demanded.
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 22, 2008 22:02:37 GMT -5
*Carlos frowned. If one had to be the part, it wouldn't be called acting. But he closed his mouth without saying anything as the violin danced its magic about him. He tried to ignore it, to wave it away, but suddenly there was such longing in it...
He sat back in his chair, no longer seeing anything in the room, and not quite understanding what he was hearing. He knew only that it made him wish for something he could not name.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 22, 2008 22:06:06 GMT -5
Destler watched his charge--Castro was so easily enraptured by the violin...perhaps that was the answer. He fell completely into the new piece, closing his eyes and drawing needfully across the strings, playing out his own long-dead desires, dredging them up for the benefit of his student.
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