15575/From The Top

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From The Top
Date of Scene: 08 September 2023
Location: Trinity College School of Music - Dublin, Ireland
Synopsis: Sinister runs into a certain old professor when coming to show support for a friend.
Cast of Characters: Phantasm (Drago), Sinister

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
As the day has mostly gone by and students make their way back to their respective dorms or favorite bar, the Trinity College campus is...mostly quiet. That is unless you're at the school of music. That school consists of a different breed of student that tends to be a bit more active during the evening hours and less functional in the mo-

Ok they're like most college students but evening rehearsals are a thing for large groups.

ESPECIALLY on a Thursday.

Situated in one of the large rehearsal rooms, a decently sized orchestra comprised of students pursuing various levels of degrees is situated upon the central floor. The auditorium seating is relatively small but with the lights of the room centered upon the main floor, it gets to be quite dark towards the back with the only hint of the occasional student or faculty member popping in for a watch is the brief flash of light from the door at the top opening to silhouette the most recent intruder. Those involved down below are used to this effect and have learned to ignore it. There will always be people watching. Currently the orchestra seems to be going over one of the more difficult passages of one of their arrangements- an orchestral rendition of a much loved and frequently downloaded song, 'Piccolo amico verde' from the equally loved and frequently binge watched old series, 'Quest e il modo'. Off to the side of the group a gathering of some recognizable musicians are hanging out, one of which is Quest e il modo's very own Giraldo Toscani talking to... Nick Drago. The rotund man takes a sip of water before he starts to move over to a standing position near the conductor, seemingly.

Clack clack clak...


A sudden boom comes from the percussion section before a flurry of strings and horn kick up.

Nick remains off to the side, turning his head to listen to another staffer.

Off to the far corner of the seating area, close to the door but avoiding the little light that escapes the stage area, a short blond man sits, still a bit scruffy in the face but lacking the tweed cap. A leg crossed, he does not appear to be too bothered by the minimalist light to still grade papers resting upon it.
Sinister has posed:
Another patron of the rehearsal is lost in a memory of a younger day, when a youth was filled with the possibility and the hubris of a truly excellent man. A young man with prospects, with a bright future or so he thought. Concerts in London, in Oxford, in the newly erected Royal Albert Hall.

Sinister eschews the light, preferring the darkest corner, because nobody can see his tears there and they are there, a glisten in the eye and a trail down from one corner, though nothing else about his mein seems to be distraught or upset.

Composure will come, it is simply currently a mild struggle.

Much as he might wish to shield his mind entirely, it is not possible if one wants to truly -listen- to music, which is the case now. But the notes, the beauty of harmony and the occasional jarr of dissonance when someone mis-keys or misblows, they drown out some of the endless sussurration of a thousand and more thoughts, constantly -thinking- about not very much, mostly. His face is his human one, his attire nothing meant to stand out.

But something does stand out. Silence in a bubble where there's endless whisperings, is like sudden deafness after a loud BOOM. His eyes trail the students, the venerable gentleman composer, the friend enjoying his invite. That brings a small half-smile. And beyond. He's looking, from the shadow.
Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
With all the minds in the room considering key signatures, tempos, dynamics and the positioning of the conductor's stick for important cues for select passages, it is indeed noticable, almost sculpting out the form of one Professor Leonard Heenan. If the professor is aware of the doctor's brushing upon the bubble, he does not give an indication. But upon the eyes setting his way, the professor's eyes glance over in response.

There's no mutterings in another language. Not even so much as a sneer. Just a detached expression before he glances back to the paper, taking a moment to turn the page.

Toscani's voice booms briefly before fluttering back to to a rich but gentle aria.
Sinister has posed:
Could he even see the figure that made contact there? Likely not, it's the darkest of dark corners, pools of light, enough to mark by, are all it takes for the world without of their barrier, to be exceptionally vague. Sinister's eyes briefly sharpen, taking on a golden hue around the pupils -- there is a blink and another, then his gaze moves away, to the other face in the crowd that's considerably more friendly.

Sadly, it also means that he must close his mind and does so with a brief crack of his neck left and right, focusing on the irish-italian and the maestro of the moment.

Despite reassurances, the Doctor's shields are up, his periphery warning system is active.
Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
As the singing continues, Nick steps away from the staffer, moving over to a row of seats to the side of the stage area. Crouching down, he picks up a violin from a stand, checking it.

There's no response to the closing of the mind. The professor seems to be more engrossed with the papers upon his legs. The pen in hand bobbing to the tempo betrays his attention not being fully upon the papers.

The song being performed ends up being run through twice before the conductor turns to Toscani, reaching a hand out to shake the singer's. Formalities exchanged. The singer moves over to the side seats, grabbing his bottle of water once more to sip and then nodding to Nick.

The conductor flips a few pages, nods to Nick and then looks to the orchestra. "Twisted Sonata."

Violin in hand, Nick walks over to take the place where Toscani last stood.

There is a rustling of pages as the musicians flip to the declared piece.
Sinister has posed:
Twisted Sonata?

Well that sounds interesting. Sitting up a bit straighter in his seat, still alert albeit, Essex gazes down at the spotlight, so to speak. Envy is a funny thing, when it comes to talent. One can envy and still admire, after all. A small Deadly sin, overall. With head cocked, the entire piece is listened to, ear uplifted as if that makes the accoustics that much more significantly different.

And down by his feet, a blip emerges on his ankle, takes shape in the form of a diminutive raven, though that shape grows to the right size. He looks down at it, as it looks up at him.

Then it lollops off on foot, around the various concentric rings of seating, until it can hop up on the back of the seat a row back and two seats over from Leo. The bird watches the stage, as the man that created it out of himself continues to listen.

"How do you keep caring?" It's Sinister's voice, but out of the powerfully capable voice of the mimic corvid. Ravens are good at immitation.
Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
As the orchestra go into their rhythmic display with another violinist joining alongside Nick, they start playing a song that got a lot of listens when the episode featuring it came out. To the more savvy, a moderninzed version of Tartini's Devil's Trill after a brief sprint into the rock arena only to be swept back into the orchestral setting.

As the playing starts, Leo's pen closes and sets down, as he watches the performance. That is until a little birdy interrupts him.

The professor's head turns, taking a look to the raven. "Copycat." The professor responds, in a low murmur.

The music is still going. Not the best time to be having a social conversation. "If we must. We can talk...After the set." He promises, voice low. To cement his pledge, there is a quiet gathering of the papers. Placing them into the satchel resting in the seat next to him.
Sinister has posed:
The bird looks briefly at the professor, then black button eyes return to the stage. But at some point, the corvid flutters off and walks itself back to Sinister's feet, looking up at him.

He doesn't pet it, or offer it cheese. He just reaches his hand down and the avian runs forward, kind of facefirst into his forearm and vanishes in a flurry of metamorphing bone and sinew and a flurry of reabsorbed feathers. The doctor picks up a single down feather that floated free, rolling it between his fingers, before that too, is reabsorbed.

The piece is a significant one though, after all. Maybe it catalyzes strange thoughts in the Devil's consort, to hear one of the many pieces named for the Lord of Hell. Adversarial power is a potent power, if one that's filled with shunning and shame and persecution, often enough.
Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
With the exchange out of the way, the practice goes by pretty well. It is apparent that the orchestra had much more practices prior to this one as each song on the list only called for two run throughs each. Nick ends up filtering out early, having been offered usage of one of the practice rooms after expressing a wish to play a bit longer. Wade, who had been quietly sitting up in the sound booth out of view, ends up walking past the others to accompany Nick.

Entertainment done for the evening, Leo takes his time getting up. Seemingly allowing for the majority of persons in the room to filter out. Eventually, the lights in the room go up.
Sinister has posed:
Sinister remains seated, his friend oblivious to his presence, just as he was oblivious to the presence of his ancestor. His arms are folded loosely, but they're still folded and his eyes are firm on the professor. Wary, he is.

He doesn't move though, watching the irishman getting his act together.
Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
When someone spends a lot of time mastering multiple instruments and becoming a known celebrity, all while balancing practicing other things, yes some things might get missed. But on that note it does free up Sinister to confront the (former?) enemy in the most passive way possible.

When the room filters down to just them, a satchel sets down on the floor to the side of Sinister. The blond soon follows by taking the seat associated with that bit of floor space.

"That was a vague question." The professor states, sliding back in his new seat. He glances down to the now empty stage. "Do you have as many questions as your companion?"
Sinister has posed:
"No," it's an abrupt answer, but then Sinister is a fellow of many words and few, when necessary. "It was just that. You and I are comparable in age. You have years on me, but not so many as he does. I don't get the opportunity very often, to ask that question, so I asked it."

There's tension in his tone, but not aggression, or defensiveness. He's better than that, discipline being what it is and having managed himself for a couple of centuries.
Phantasm (Drago) has posed:

There's not much supplied with the number. But considering the conversation, limited places to where that could relate. It's also in English. So, good start. There's no tension to Leonard's voice. No joy. Just an even tone.

There's a lengthy pause as the silent figure ponders the question. One could imagine he forgot to answer at a point but the voice eventually comes back.

"I don't always." Leo responds, "Sometimes, it's more a code that is being followed. With some elements taking priority over the other."
Sinister has posed:
Codes he can relate to. So that was not really much help at all. There is a soft utterance from the Doctor that is not quite a sigh, more a resigned 'huff'. He gazes at the space where Nick had been playing, never once actually -looking- at the irishman not that far away.

"So in a measure, we are all born with original sin. Just by dint of our ancestry." He observes this, looks up at the overhead lights as the reticent answer was given. History repeats itself over and over and over and over, because everyone always thinks they can do it better or different or ...

"Thank you. That was literally all I needed to know. Have a good existence. Maybe we'll meet some day on a dark road and you will dream a different dream for me. I have damned myself, after all."

The doctor stands then, looks briefly at the professor, nods and walks out. Chalk and cheese so far as lines of questioning go. But maybe what one knows, the other runs to play catch-up on. It's a theme.