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Post by Carlos Castro on May 13, 2008 12:21:01 GMT -5
Damn.
"But I am Spanish!" *he insisted.* "A composer. Have I heard of you?"
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Post by Erik Destler on May 13, 2008 12:23:43 GMT -5
"I doubt it. My works have not been published for...some time."
He chuckled and stepped back a little, into even darker shadow.
"You are no more Spanish than I am French." He said, in clear, resonant English. "But don't worry, I doubt anyone else will notice, or care. What is your name?"
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 13, 2008 12:40:50 GMT -5
*He wasn't sure which was more insulting; the man's effrontery about his assumed race, or his not knowing Carlos' name.*
"Carlos Castro," *he said, rolling his r's strenuously.* "And since I have been so good as to introduce myself, I demand the same courtesy in return."
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Post by Erik Destler on May 13, 2008 12:50:35 GMT -5
"As we don't seem to be going by our actual names, you may call me Maestro."
Destler kept his hand still inside his coat, but shifted on his feet a little.
"Sing Tosca for me. E Lucevan Le Stelle."
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 13, 2008 12:52:34 GMT -5
*Carlos' eyes narrowed.*
"I see no reason, sir, that I should audition for you."
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Post by Erik Destler on May 13, 2008 12:57:34 GMT -5
Now he growled and stepped forward out of the mass of shadow, but not quite onto the full light of the stage. He pulled the faithful whip from his coat, coiled in his hand, and pushed the folds of his cloak aside to show the glint of his sharper implements.
"Oh, but this audition is for your life, senor."
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 13, 2008 13:21:04 GMT -5
*Carlos was no particularly a brave man, just arrogant. And the turn of conversation took him very much by surprise. He paled. His eyes flew to the man's face, still hidden, which made him even more apprehensive.
This man meant business. He didn't know why, or who, but Carlos knew he'd better sing.
He began the aria, sans clarinet, his professionalism still in force and his voice tinged only slightly by his dry mouth. What it was tinged with, however, was a very real despair that happened to match the mood of inevitable death approaching the character. He had never sung Cavaradossi like this, as if he really was facing down his execution.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 13, 2008 13:25:30 GMT -5
Destler raised an eyebrow and listened. Again the boy proved to have some real talent burried behind that ego, and when he finished the song, the immortal composer stepped out onto the stage and let his cloak fall closed over the blades. The whip remained coiled and ready in his hand.
"Now tell me. What did you think of your own performance just now? What did you feel?"
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 13, 2008 13:40:45 GMT -5
*Carlos studied the man, the threat less immediate with the knives covered. His natural arrogance could emerge again.*
"Feel? Fear," *he said, the word honest but the feeling behind it that the man before him was mad.* "How is one supposed to perform with such distraction?"
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Post by Erik Destler on May 13, 2008 13:47:32 GMT -5
"But you performed perfectly, senor. The despair in your voice was fitting for the piece, don't you think? And how did you feel when you'd finished?"
He smirked a bit, the corner of his eye wrinkling with mirth at the edge of the scarf.
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 13, 2008 13:56:34 GMT -5
*Carlos' eyes narrowed, his mouth dangerously close to pouting as he actually considered the man's words.*
"Tired," *he said. Perfectly?* "It's hardly practical, to induce actual emotion in a performance."
*He war torn. Caught between competing demands of his ego--to throw the man's advice in his covered, suspiciously wrinkled face and to soak up what compliments he could.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 13, 2008 14:06:12 GMT -5
"Damn practicality!" He hissed and took a step closer, his hand causing the leather of the whip to creak under his tightening grasp.
"Any monkey in this company can sing as you did your first piece!" he raged, still coming closer, steadily. The long end of the whip dropped from his hand to trail on the floor of the stage.
"If your only concern is the glamor and gold you might earn from your mediocrity, then let me strangle the real talent right out of you!"
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 13, 2008 14:13:10 GMT -5
*Carlos took a step back, his hairline rising with his surprise. He should have known better, he told himself, than to bait a madman.
He did not particularly wish to be strangled. Bad for the throat.*
"Do I have an option?" *he asked, his voice quavering not at all.*
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Post by Erik Destler on May 13, 2008 14:22:14 GMT -5
"Learn!" he growled. "To sing properly in public as you do in private."
The advance ceased and Destler stood only a yard away from the young tenor.
"You think you are loved now, but that isn't so. Your presence is admired, your puling fans clutch at your coattails because they know the truth--you are not far enough removed from them to be truly adored and revered! They look at you and say 'here, is a man so like me that I might take his place!' Learn to love your art, and you will be loved in return, as a god."
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Post by Carlos Castro on May 13, 2008 14:37:25 GMT -5
*Carlos frowned, his face averted, his mouth open to deliver a scathing reply to this bothersome, and quite insane, interloper--and he stopped.*
"A god, you say?" *The prospect opened before him, as if the man's curious voice had carried him to hitherto unknown vistas on its current.* "But who are you, then, to dictate such things?"
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