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Post by Carlos Castro on May 22, 2008 22:12:39 GMT -5
*Carlos knew sex. In a hundred different ways, he knew how to get what he wished from others who desired. He knew, too, how to please himself. But that was not this. Water to wine. Carlos remained aware enough to know how foolish he must look, and to hate himself for it. But it was not enough to trump the power the music had over him, though music in general had lost its power over him years ago. Business only.
His own eyes drifted shut, and he floated, bodiless, on a sea of pure feeling. Desire, not just carnal but spiritual. And as the last of him gave up resisting, his face achieved a look not unlike that choir boy, gazing at Mr. Stevens and singing his praises to God all those years ago.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 22, 2008 22:20:08 GMT -5
Destler didn't open his own eyes until the little impromptu was finished, and when he spoke, his voice was a bit worn and ragged.
"Now do you understand, senor?"
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 22, 2008 22:32:35 GMT -5
*Carlos was silent a moment, as he recovered. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say.*
"I had always thought, Maestro," *he began, his voice free from the bluster which so often characterized it (he'd long since stopped attempting the accent with his mysterious tutor),* "that such feelings were an invention of poets and artists, not born of real experience. Something to taunt the common man about his abject state, to distract from his struggle for survival. But for you to write that, to play it, you must have been touched by such passion yourself."
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Post by Erik Destler on May 22, 2008 22:41:32 GMT -5
"Any man can be cursed with such longing, Carlos. Even you."
He cleared his throat and took a moment to collect himself.
"Now then." his voice rang out clear again. "Let us try the piece you attempted tonight and see if you can grasp it better."
The accompaniment started immediately.
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 22, 2008 23:03:37 GMT -5
*Carlos swallowed, nervous, not wishing to incur the Maestro's wrath and, frankly, not wishing the strange feelings within him to dissipate.
But they did not.
He kept them, held them, and began singing with the vision of Stevens before him. That, and the strange sea he'd felt while the Maestro had played. He was not singing to his former choirmaster, not really, but to the memory of that boy he'd been. So trusting.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 22, 2008 23:07:47 GMT -5
"Much better." He praised heartily. "Keep to that during your upcoming rehearsals, and double the effort for your performances and you will have them bowing at your feet, my boy. Is there anything else you're having difficulty with?"
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 22, 2008 23:27:02 GMT -5
Yes. Knowing what on earth to make of you. And waiting for you to figure out I've sicced the greatest detective of the world on you.
*Carlos shook his head.*
"No, maestro. Are you otherwise... pleased with my performance?"
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Post by Erik Destler on May 22, 2008 23:31:24 GMT -5
"With that last, very pleased." He stuck idly at the strings, backing his words softly. Carlos was much more agreeable when he was enthralled.
"Here, a gift for you, on the table."
When the tenor turned around, he would find a little box, similar to the others, a bit larger. Inside, a very fine cravat with embroidered light gold arabesque design, noticeable only it the turn of the light. And another blank calling card.
"If you are not pleased with it, leave it and I will find another."
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 22, 2008 23:40:07 GMT -5
((Yes, he's less of a little bitch. Drugs might work, too.))
*Carlos turned slowly, relieved to see it wasn't big enough to hold, say, an entire critic. Still, he didn't fancy bits of them, either. He opened the box and pulled out the fine cloth, his fingers tracing the design idly.*
"It's beautiful," *he said simply. He hesitated, not wanting to say what he was about to.* "Maestro... Why me?"
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Post by Erik Destler on May 22, 2008 23:43:03 GMT -5
((I'll keep that in mind. XD))
"Well, I've found your usual neckwear to be in bad taste." He said, good humoredly.
"But aside from that, when I heard you sing that day, I heard the...dead passion lingering in your voice--which is very fine, to be sure. It needed awakening."
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 22, 2008 23:47:16 GMT -5
*Carlos, in a slightly better--or at least more pensive--mood than usual, ignored the jibe in a way he'd never have done in public.*
"Passion can only be disappointed," *he said quietly, as if to himself.* "But the test will be in my voice--and how I am received."
*His eyes flickered up to meet his own in the mirror again.*
"I am taking as much of a risk, following you, as I would in disobeying. The audience is a fickle mistress, and can be equally deadly to a man in my position."
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Post by Erik Destler on May 22, 2008 23:49:43 GMT -5
"You will not be rejected, if you take all I teach you to stage. The world will love you for your music, if nothing else..."
The violin rang out again, rising. "Come! To scales, we must still work on your range for my opera."
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 23, 2008 0:04:15 GMT -5
I never had anything else to offer it.
*Carlos blinked, attempting to center himself, caught off guard. He wanted to protest. He wanted to sleep. He dared not. He found himself, as he began following the violin up and up, what sort of opera a man like this would write. He was curious, he realized. He wanted to know hear it.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 23, 2008 0:14:42 GMT -5
Destler's violin let the tenor up and down, climbing Carlos past the point of his comfortable range, but certainly not straining him. When he felt out this new small stretch in the range, he worked a lyric less exercise for it, weaving it into something Carlos would quickly become comfortable with.
"Very good!" He praised, sing-song, with the music. "No higher--do not strain. Very good, my dear boy, excellent!"
He ended the impromptu and slid the strings back into their usual repeating phrasing, familiar by now to the boy, comforting, he hoped.
"I think that in perhaps a month you will be ready to take one of my own pieces."
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 23, 2008 0:34:29 GMT -5
*Carlos rather despised the eagerness with which he received this news, and attempted not to demonstrate it.*
"I would be honored, of course, Maestro."
*He did feel stronger, though he had trouble admitting anything of the kind. Anything to imply he had not been perfection itself before. But in a month... all this might be wrapped up. For good. And he would not be plagued anymore. By what, he wasn't sure anymore.*
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