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Post by Erik Destler on Oct 13, 2008 0:36:03 GMT -5
Destler knew the boy was still around--not that he cared--and had been keeping loose track of him between his other concerns. At least he was not a lazy child, and showed some signs burgeoning smarts, a willingness to do what he had to to survive. He had an ear for music even if he couldn't play or sing (yet) and was obstinate enough not to be too clingy.
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Simon Destler
- Ingenious Pilot -
A lost boy. Not a Lost Boy.
Posts: 222
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Post by Simon Destler on Oct 13, 2008 0:44:44 GMT -5
He had picked up a hand rag again to clean off the dusty tin lampshades at the foot of the stage when he felt something at the back of his head. That "little voice" was there again, making him turn about.
"Hello?" he said, peering into the empty seats around him. Shuddering, Simon stuck out his tongue at a particularly creepy looking statue and turned his back on it, polishing off the tin shade.
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Post by Erik Destler on Oct 13, 2008 0:48:08 GMT -5
Acutely aware as well. Such a boy could prove useful--for what, he didn't yet know, and wasn't entirely certain he should initiate contact with the child, so he let it go and simply continued to watch here and there.
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Simon Destler
- Ingenious Pilot -
A lost boy. Not a Lost Boy.
Posts: 222
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Post by Simon Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:13:02 GMT -5
Once he had done a job of polishing up the lights, and cleaning altogether, Simon came down into the orchestra pit again, this time approaching the large wooden harp that sat at the far end of the pit. The instrument was gorgeously carved, and he carefully touched the carvings he could reach.
Looking around, he figured he was alone since no one seemed to stop him, and he crept around the harp and sat himself on the stool, noticing his feet dangled above the floor. Grinning to himself, he positioned his hands as he'd watched the harpist do, then imitated playing, not yet touching the strings. After a few minutes of pretending, Simon finally plucked at a couple strings, making a couple notes slide together. It sounded pretty enough, but after giving the instrument a few more plucks, a frail string snapped, slicing right at his hand.
"AH!" he gasped, holding his hand, feeling the blood rushing to the open wound. But it wasn't simply his injury that angered him - it was the fact that he'd broken the instrument with his own carelessness and he had no idea how to replace the string.
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Post by Erik Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:18:09 GMT -5
Destler rolled his eyes a bit and sent his voice--and only that--down to the boy.
"Clumsy little fool. Staunch the wound with your shirt sleeve, leave the instrument and get out of the pit."
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Simon Destler
- Ingenious Pilot -
A lost boy. Not a Lost Boy.
Posts: 222
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Post by Simon Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:28:25 GMT -5
Simon jumped and looked around. He could not see the voice's owner but he recognized it from the cellars.
"I have to fix it," he said sullenly, pushing down his sleeve to stop the bleeding. He got off the stool and looked forlornly at the harp. Why couldn't he have left it alone?
"Where are you?" he asked, climbing his way out of the pit.
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Post by Erik Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:34:08 GMT -5
"You will only damage the thing further. Spare it not another thought."
He waited for the child to be clear of the pit and answered only that he was around, then fell silent again--he wasn't looking for conversation.
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Simon Destler
- Ingenious Pilot -
A lost boy. Not a Lost Boy.
Posts: 222
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Post by Simon Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:38:19 GMT -5
"Why are you following me?" he asked, still holding his hand to keep the bleeding down. "I thought you and the other man wanted nothing to do with me."
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Post by Erik Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:40:06 GMT -5
"We don't. We have too much else to worry over to be concerned with the care and feeding of a small wild boy. But now you're in the opera, and that is my business."
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Simon Destler
- Ingenious Pilot -
A lost boy. Not a Lost Boy.
Posts: 222
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Post by Simon Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:44:20 GMT -5
"I thought the other man owned this opera..." he said, sounding confused now. He was not exactly the other man's best friend, but that particular person had at least given him a slight bit of help. "He said it was his..." Simon paused and sat behind the curtain on an overturned crate.
"And I'm not wild."
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Post by Erik Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:48:50 GMT -5
"He built this particular opera house, I'm told. But opera can't belong to anyone. That's an absurd notion. I didn't say this place was mine, I said it was my business. You're wild enough, scouting around on your own."
His voice shifted, drifted and returned again. "At least you're not whoring yourself out yet. Or are you."
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Simon Destler
- Ingenious Pilot -
A lost boy. Not a Lost Boy.
Posts: 222
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Post by Simon Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:53:11 GMT -5
Simon pulled a face, looking sick and angry at once. "I WOULD NEVER!" he yelled into the empty house, standing up in his indignation.
"I promised Mama that I'd take care of myself, and she did a lot to make sure I didn't end up the same way..." sinking back onto the crate. "I don't want to go back out there..."
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Post by Erik Destler on Oct 13, 2008 1:56:15 GMT -5
"Touching."
Sentimentality didn't move him, and his voice left the boy again.
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Simon Destler
- Ingenious Pilot -
A lost boy. Not a Lost Boy.
Posts: 222
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Post by Simon Destler on Oct 13, 2008 2:04:39 GMT -5
Sniffling, Simon got himself up. He didn't think he'd get any pity out of the man - it was just an outburst anyway. He had to get away from the scene of the crime and clean his wound properly. And tuck himself into someplace to sleep again.
"Well, goodnight, Monsieur," he said, slinking off the stage.
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Post by Jack Skellington on Feb 25, 2009 17:30:07 GMT -5
***A NEW DAY ***Jack brought Rogue down and away from the places where more potentially naked people might be, following some easier looking signs, taking them behind the scenes of where it all happened. There was an old rehearsal piano there, dusty old curtains hanging up, and a serene feeling of calm with no one about. "Ooh, I like this place. It's spooky by nature..." he whispered, as if to keep from disrupting the reverent peace with his voice.
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