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Feb 27, 2019 12:29:13 GMT
Post by Deleted on Feb 27, 2019 12:29:13 GMT
[attr="class","ohlove"] [attr="class","lacking"] [attr="class","eyes"] ✎ tag: Melody Newton ※ wearing: Here✉ notes: Putting out feelers. both were silent. the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys. Thankfully the flight was plenty short. Having been used to most of the Chicago, St. Louis, New York (or anything else over a handful of states away) trips with the University and student groups, something under two hours felt like he'd practically taken off and landed the next moment. Only two research papers graded. It was much harder to focus in the air than in the comfort and familiarity of his office either on campus or at home. The rental car was paid for and much lower to the ground than he was used to in his Jeep, but it was quiet, comfortable, and clean.
He'd never been to Washington, though he'd always thought it a good place to try and visit. Never really having a more solid reason, he hadn't ever made it up. The air was crisper and he swore his sensitive new scent could smell hints of what almost seemed like mint. It cooled his sinuses. The sounds were even different. Gales had a low, patient howl instead of the light, excited wisps that came off the ocean further south and trees scratched or creaked instead of rustling. It felt... isolated. But not empty. After a morning tour along the beautiful campus grounds - which must've been bought from either a private college or university judging by the age and architecture - Alistair at least found peace in the northwest's atmosphere enough to interview naturally with a handful of individuals.
He was taken out to lunch which had been casual but professional and was finally able to meet with Theresa Cookman, the Dean of Fine Arts that'd been the one to reach out to him in their first email. After a fine chat which involved plenty of recruitment hopes from her and hesitant answers that were on-the-fence at best from himself, she'd invited him to return to wherever he wished in their facilities to scope out rooms or halls he might have any ideas in or opinions about. An appreciator of the arts herself (obviously, hence the job), she knew the importance of being picky when choosing acoustics.
Thus, he found himself in a larger, mostly empty classroom with taller ceilings. They'd actually had a baby grand waiting here - having thought the wider space to best for the donated instrument. They were probably right. But he had to hear it for himself... had to feel it for himself, more specifically with something he knew just as well as his own arm. Sitting in a single chair closer to the middle away from the others that were lined up on one side of the room, Alistair took in a slow, calming breath and set the bow to it's strings.
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Some Princes Don't Become Kings
ALIAS
Eclipse
CLASSIFICATION
Blaster
POWER
Ocular Light Manipulation
AGE
15
Student
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Post by Melody Newton on Mar 9, 2019 20:51:42 GMT
[attr="class","nikki98"] [attr="class","nikki99"]  I NEED TO COME DOWN [attr="class","nikki100"] [attr="class","nikki101"]SEEMS LIKE THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD WENT AND LOST ITS MIND [attr="class","nikki102"]AND ALL MY CHILDHOOD HEROES HAVE FALLEN OFF OR DIED [attr="class","nikki109"]Surprisingly enough, Melody rarely truanted. It made no sense, people noticed when you suddenly weren't in lessons. They noticed if you didn't show up to school. They still noticed if you were late, but there seemed to be more of a resignation towards it as opposed to the reaction that accompanied being caught outside of lessons.
Today, she was skipping lessons. She'd been here for four months now, and while she'd made some friends, she was still resentful towards her father. She didn't want to be different, she didn't want to be gifted, and she certainly didn’t want to be a metahuman. The fact that she was one of the tiny percentage of metas that displayed actual physical signs of abilities only made things worse.
She knew the school sent home regular reports on her progress, and this far she'd been maintaining her grades. It hadn't exactly been difficult. The vast majority of the work she was given had been based on the data from her last school, and she'd deliberately tanked her grades to avoid emulating her father's academic career. She still didn't want to talk to him, or see him, but she'd managed to admit to herself that in some strange way, she missed him.
Dodging lessons might help her deal with that, not least because he might well be called out here for a Parent-Teacher conference. Then she could tell him just how little she wanted him to be there to his face.
She hadn't spent much time in this area of the school before. It seemed to be mostly unused, built for future expansion as more students came to the school. The quiet corridors were eerie, and she pulled her hoodie a little tighter around her, while simultaneously reassuring herself that she wasn't creeped out.
The music didn't help, she decided, before realising that music playing through these corridors didn't make much sense. After only a brief moment of indecision, she followed the music, wandering down the corridor as the sound of Bach's Adagio lilted through the air. Eventually she came to a classroom, and peered around the door.
A man she didn't recognise was sat beside a baby grand piano, playing the Adagio on a cello. She stepped into the room.
"Who the f- Who are you?"
[attr="class","nikki103"]382 | | |
NOTES notes here, i guess? PHARAOH LEAP.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 12, 2019 8:56:47 GMT
[attr="class","ohlove"] both were silent. the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys. Alistair had never been the type to play at the theatrics of physically almost 'dancing' with his instrument as he sat in a chair. An artist could always tell if another artist was either faking for the sake of showmanship or truly, honestly, lost in passion and love for what they performed. The latter was a beautiful sight, but unfortunately most were facades. So his performances were mostly still, precise, focused. He did however shut his eyes more often than not, and such was the case here. If you closed your mind to fewer senses, those remaining became easier to pay attention to.
The sound of the room, the type of reverb, the way it bounced from certain walls and sunk into others. The space, the floor, the width and height. Everything made such a difference. The room itself could stand a few changes, but for the most part the size and shape of the angled ceiling was incredibly well thought-out which was no doubt thanks to Theresa Cookman. He'd arrived to the inevitable point of his playing where studying and analyzing took a back seat and instead the motion of his arm and the vibration of the strings through the cello's masterfully crafted wooden space became the only things that existed.
With each phrase into the Adagio, his shoulders rolled a little more and the pulls of the bow grew in richness. For as little as he moved, he was becoming one of those aforementioned "lost in passion" artists. Until one strum backwards was broken by- "Who the f- Who are you?". Immediately the music stopped and he turned his head over his shoulder. It wasn't that he was particularly embarrassed by his solitude playing, but he was most definitely surprised and uncertain of how to react.
"Oh." Great start. She was younger... most definitely a student here and younger than his usual class. High school; sixteen maybe? "Hello," he stood from the small classroom chair, clearing his throat and handling the neck of the cello with one hand with the bow dangling downwards in the other, "Professor Lane. Did you need this room for something?" he inquired honestly, unsure if "scheduling out" rooms here on this campus was a thing and was more than happy to leave. Then it came to him... if she had been in this area of the building and indeed did need the room for something, then perhaps-? "Do you play?" he asked to follow-up his own question shortly, eyebrows up slightly as he awaited her answer. [newclass=.ohlove]width:480px;padding:15px;border:1px solid #d4d4d4;background: #6c9d73; /* Old breakowsers */ background: -moz-linear-gradient(90deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%); /* FF3.6-15 */background: -webkit-linear-gradient(-85 deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%); /* Chrome10-25,Safari5.1-6 */background: linear-gradient(-275deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%)[/newclass][googlefont=Oswald][googlefont=Open Sans][googlefont=Roboto][newclass=.lacking]width: 420px; height: 0px; background-color: rgba(40,40,40,0.4); overflow: hidden; -moz-transition: 3s all; -webkit-transition: 3s all; -o-transition: 3s all; transition: 1s all;[/newclass][newclass=.ohlove:hover .lacking]width: 400px; height: 180px; padding: 10px;;[/newclass][newclass=.ohlove:hover .eyes]transition:1s;margin-top:0px;[/newclass][newclass=.eyes]background-color:#1f1f1f;opacity:.8;font-family:calibri; font-size: 9px; text-transform: uppercase;color:#ffffff;padding:20px;margin-top:400px;width:360px; height: 140px; transition:1.5s; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify;[/newclass] |
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Some Princes Don't Become Kings
ALIAS
Eclipse
CLASSIFICATION
Blaster
POWER
Ocular Light Manipulation
AGE
15
Student
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Mar 14, 2019 19:36:26 GMT
Post by Melody Newton on Mar 14, 2019 19:36:26 GMT
[attr="class","nikki98"] [attr="class","nikki99"] I NEED TO COME DOWN [attr="class","nikki100"] [attr="class","nikki101"]SEEMS LIKE THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD WENT AND LOST ITS MIND [attr="class","nikki102"]AND ALL MY CHILDHOOD HEROES HAVE FALLEN OFF OR DIED [attr="class","nikki109"]The man she had discovered stood from the classroom chair, unfolding himself to his full height which, Melody noted, was significantly greater than hers. She didn’t feel particularly threatened though, he was still holding the cello for one, and he made no move towards her beyond his initial rise. He was well dressed, and considering the fact that she’d caught him playing a cello, clearly well-educated.
Feeling more confident at his seeming hesitation, she walked further into the room. Calling it a swagger would not have been far off the mark. Her tone was cocky as she answered his question, "I don't need it… Professor…"
The tone of her last word wasn't exactly what one could call respectful, though she paused a moment as he questioned her again. She could, piano. Her father, having read a variety of different studies and parenting books on the matter, had made sure that music was a part of her early education. She hadn't learned the cello, but she had been Grade Five on the piano before she'd started dodging the classes.
"No."
Her answer was slow and deliberate, but her eyes undeniably darted towards the piano as she spoke. She hadn't played in a long time, and it was true that what he had played had been beautiful, she even remembered playing it herself, on the piano, although now a long time ago. Still, she knew better than to get involved with a perfect stranger.
[attr="class","nikki103"]242 | | |
NOTES notes here, i guess? PHARAOH LEAP.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 21, 2019 9:33:49 GMT
[attr="class","ohlove"] both were silent. the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys. After an awkward moment of being studied by the teenager, her demeanor shifted as she finished whatever mental conclusion she had come to and almost strutted into the classroom. Completely uncertain of what she was trying to do or why she was trying to do it, all Alistair could offer was a very minute lift of one of his eyebrows. His mouth opened to break the odd silence the girl had created - "I don't need it… Professor…" - and then shut with slightly puffed-out lips. Well, alright then... Not one for titles. That wasn't something he was used to, but like they said, "respect is earned".
She was younger than his average students, so it was only fair to expect a difference in maturity. Still, it didn't sit right to treat her immediately like some child. Students weren't children, they were students. People wanting to learn, to experience, to grow. All he could muster in response was a short and quiet humorless breath out of his nose. The second answer she'd given however told a completely different tale. The not-so-subtle subtlety of her eyes caught his attention enough to look at the object of her focus simultaneously. "No." A coy, soft smile lifted at the corners of his mouth before he could try to hide it. He cleared his throat, lifting his bow-hand to point with the end of it towards the baby grand. "How long?" it was a soft question with no accusation. A call-out in its own that it was evident she was familiar with the keys.
"Private lessons, school-?" while the short questions filled the air between them, he was setting his cello down carefully along the floor and the bow across the chair. Eventually he made a few steps across the room to the piano just a few yards away and pulled the bench out. Deliberately sitting only on one half - even for as large as he was - and began just the first few measures of what every pianist should know, beginner and expert alike. Alistair paused after the opening phrase and instead moved his right hand to his lap with the left still resting on the bass keys. With his chin lifting to look back and over his shoulder, he smirked with an almost bashful playfulness and tilted his head as a beckon for her to join. "You remember it?"
[newclass=.ohlove]width:480px;padding:15px;border:1px solid #d4d4d4;background: #6c9d73; /* Old breakowsers */ background: -moz-linear-gradient(90deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%); /* FF3.6-15 */background: -webkit-linear-gradient(-85 deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%); /* Chrome10-25,Safari5.1-6 */background: linear-gradient(-275deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%)[/newclass][googlefont=Oswald][googlefont=Open Sans][googlefont=Roboto][newclass=.lacking]width: 420px; height: 0px; background-color: rgba(40,40,40,0.4); overflow: hidden; -moz-transition: 3s all; -webkit-transition: 3s all; -o-transition: 3s all; transition: 1s all;[/newclass][newclass=.ohlove:hover .lacking]width: 400px; height: 180px; padding: 10px;;[/newclass][newclass=.ohlove:hover .eyes]transition:1s;margin-top:0px;[/newclass][newclass=.eyes]background-color:#1f1f1f;opacity:.8;font-family:calibri; font-size: 9px; text-transform: uppercase;color:#ffffff;padding:20px;margin-top:400px;width:360px; height: 140px; transition:1.5s; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify;[/newclass] |
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Some Princes Don't Become Kings
ALIAS
Eclipse
CLASSIFICATION
Blaster
POWER
Ocular Light Manipulation
AGE
15
Student
|
Mar 23, 2019 21:32:23 GMT
Post by Melody Newton on Mar 23, 2019 21:32:23 GMT
[attr="class","nikki98"] [attr="class","nikki99"]  I NEED TO COME DOWN [attr="class","nikki100"] [attr="class","nikki101"]SEEMS LIKE THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD WENT AND LOST ITS MIND [attr="class","nikki102"]AND ALL MY CHILDHOOD HEROES HAVE FALLEN OFF OR DIED [attr="class","nikki109"]OK, so the guy wasn't a total idiot. He'd caught her glancing at the piano, despite her attempts not to. She'd expected a denunciation, anger, annoyance, something more pronounced than a faint smile and a knowing question. She scowled, but answered anyway, to her surprise, "I haven't played in three years."
She took a half step back as he moved, not because she was afraid, simply because she wasn't expecting the motion from him. He was a big guy, even more so now that he had stood, but he didn't seem intimidating for it. She'd learnt piano at the behest of her father. He'd said her mother played the piano, but she wasn't sure how true all of that was. Maybe he'd just wanted her to be more cultured. Maybe he'd read it in one of his stupid parenting books. Either way, she'd seen the same piano teacher three times a week for years.
She shrugged, "Private lessons. Dad thought it would be good for me."
She didn't mention that he had thought it would make her more like her mother. She hated that everything he did seemed to be guiding her down that road. It made her feel like he'd have preferred she died in that car accident. It wasn't as if she could really miss someone she'd never known, even though she did, somehow.
He sat at the piano and started playing the Clair De Lune before glancing over his shoulder at her. He was smirking, and she rolled her eyes. What a nerd.
"Of course I remember it. I'm not a fucking first grader."
She didn't move from her position beside the door. As if it was an escape route, which was exactly how she viewed it right now. It was probably about when she'd quit piano that her relationship had started breaking down with her father. She wasn't exactly keen to revisit it. What was worse, she could feel her eyes beginning to shift.
[attr="class","nikki103"]317 | | |
NOTES I'm too much of a badass to play piano. PHARAOH LEAP.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 26, 2019 8:12:35 GMT
[attr="class","ohlove"] [attr="class","lacking"] [attr="class","eyes"] ✎ tag: Melody Newton ※ wearing: Here✉ notes: I don't believe you  , prove it. both were silent. the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys. "Three years?" he nodded with brows high in surprise. That was indeed a lengthy amount of time. He personally wouldn't have been able to survive. Hell, a few days without the keys to at least mess around on made him feel not only rusty, but just wrong. This young lady, however, didn't seem to mind it much. In fact, she didn't seem to keen on being in the room altogether. Alistair wasn't incredibly talented at discerning, a rather naive soul when it came to subtext or unspoken thought, but there was one thing he could see from a mile away through a crowd a people if and when the right person heard the right tune. The desire to play along.
Maybe she was hiding it or maybe she wasn't even consciously aware of it herself. It seemed her young need to prove herself outweighed any want or muse she had regardless, pushing it aside for the sake of somehow impressing him with her aggression and lack of care. With that hidden glint in her eye he'd seen? No way he was buying it. "Private lessons, great quality at the price of meeting once a week," he smirked. "Was it 'good' for you?" it was an honest question, but he already knew the answer. Whether or not she'd admit it, he'd already seen the shadow of nostalgic enjoyment and curiosity. The language definitely caught him a bit off guard. It wasn't that he wasn't familiar with it from other students (who most times quieted down or apologized after realizing he'd heard them), but to hear it come from someone so young had been entirely unexpected.
Her guard was high up, and it wasn't a wall she built, but rather a row of spikes that jutted out with shining, sharp tips that dared any to come closer. Well... that was just fine. He didn't need her to prove herself, to impress him with her aggression, to be the studious pianist her father wanted her to be, or to keep him away with her guard. But he'd be damned if he wasn't going to get her to play and loosen up - if not just to let herself have some fun. For those who weren't suited to laughter, music was the best medicine. He once had a football player take a course of his to fill an elective, telling him that music was "for pussies". A year later, that same young man had found a hidden love for the saxophone and took courses to improve for the duration of his collegiate career. All he needed?
To be challenged.
So, Alistair blinked but smiled almost sadly, shrugging his large shoulders, and turned back to the piano to restart and softly play the beginning of the tune. "I'm not sure-... Not your age, just-, well, three years is a long time."
[newclass=.ohlove]width:480px;padding:15px;border:1px solid #d4d4d4;background: #6c9d73; /* Old breakowsers */ background: -moz-linear-gradient(90deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%); /* FF3.6-15 */background: -webkit-linear-gradient(-85 deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%); /* Chrome10-25,Safari5.1-6 */background: linear-gradient(-275deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%)[/newclass][googlefont=Oswald][googlefont=Open Sans][googlefont=Roboto][newclass=.lacking]width: 420px; height: 0px; background-color: rgba(40,40,40,0.4); overflow: hidden; -moz-transition: 3s all; -webkit-transition: 3s all; -o-transition: 3s all; transition: 1s all;[/newclass][newclass=.ohlove:hover .lacking]width: 400px; height: 180px; padding: 10px;;[/newclass][newclass=.ohlove:hover .eyes]transition:1s;margin-top:0px;[/newclass][newclass=.eyes]background-color:#1f1f1f;opacity:.8;font-family:calibri; font-size: 9px; text-transform: uppercase;color:#ffffff;padding:20px;margin-top:400px;width:360px; height: 140px; transition:1.5s; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify;[/newclass] |
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Some Princes Don't Become Kings
ALIAS
Eclipse
CLASSIFICATION
Blaster
POWER
Ocular Light Manipulation
AGE
15
Student
|
Post by Melody Newton on Mar 29, 2019 8:41:50 GMT
[attr="class","nikki98"] [attr="class","nikki99"]  I NEED TO COME DOWN [attr="class","nikki100"] [attr="class","nikki101"]SEEMS LIKE THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD WENT AND LOST ITS MIND [attr="class","nikki102"]AND ALL MY CHILDHOOD HEROES HAVE FALLEN OFF OR DIED [attr="class","nikki109"]Shrugging, Melody took a step further into the room. Professor Lane didn't seem even vaguely threatening, despite his size and build. She found her Dad a lot scarier, and her must have been half the size of the bearded man sat on the piano stool. "It didn't hurt me."
Until I worked out why he wanted me to do it.
There was a beep, emanating from the pocket of her jacket. It continued, getting louder and more insistent, until she pulled her phone back and muted it, glancing at the screen. An alarm to take her pills. She turned her back, popping two out of the foil and dry swallowing them. Turning back to the baby grand, she glared at Lane, daring him to comment on what he'd just watched. She'd been half tempted to just ignore the alarm and not take them, but memories of the last time she'd done that had stayed her stubborn defiance for once.
She was further into the room now, but still stood up. She'd glanced around when she'd come in, it was mostly empty, just the cello he had been playing and the baby grand he was sat at now. A few chairs were stacked up beside the door, presumably where they had been moved to make space for the piano. Otherwise the room was functionally identical to those elsewhere in the school. High ceilings, inoffensive neutral colours, and large windows to let the light in.
It was grey outside, not raining, but threatening to. It was always threatening to rain in Washington. She hated it, and she missed her home in in San Francisco.
No.
She caught herself there, she'd come dangerously close to admitting that she missed her father. Which she definitely didn't.
Then the challenge. Her jaw tightened, and she marched purposefully towards the stool, sitting down beside him. Carefully she laid her long, thin fingers on the keys, then, without looking at him, said, "I know what you're doing."
[attr="class","nikki103"]330 | | |
NOTES I'm sitting here because I want to... PHARAOH LEAP.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2019 9:06:36 GMT
[attr="class","ohlove"] [attr="class","lacking"] [attr="class","eyes"] ✎ tag: Melody Newton ※ wearing: Here✉ notes: What you see, what you get. both were silent. the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys. Quite honestly the alarm and pill-taking couldn't have been any more mundane in Alistair's perspective. He took his daily vitamins like clockwork every lunch period at 1:30pm. Other teachers, staff, and students would occasionally pull out diabetic finger-pricks and monitors to test blood sugar, inhalers to use for asthma, or a morning pill in class that they'd forgotten to pop in at home. So her diligence, if anything, seemed fairly adult.
"That's something," he shrugged a single shoulder to acknowledge her half-admittance of her opinion of having played previously. She didn't hate it, but she most certainly - not unlike the football player - wasn't one to outright publicly say she enjoyed it. When she looked out the windows, he turned a little in the stool to follow her eyes and gaze outside as well. Gray, but still somehow bright outside. He did enjoy the sunshine of California, but there was something about the crisp smell up here in the Northwest that brought a relaxing sense of clarity.
*March, march, march*
It would've been hard to not smile and laugh if he'd challenged her to prove her wrong. This was far from his priority. He wanted her to enjoy what she enjoyed without some pre-conceived judgement, even if she wouldn't admit it with words. Her hands hovered over the ivory with practiced grace. Already he could see how they knew where to fit against the keys, regardless of how long it'd been since she'd played. "I know what you're doing." Rather than respond right away, he lifted his left hand to the base line and scooted a little further to the side to give her plenty of room on the right half of the piano. "I believe you." Alistair's head turned and he looked to her, fingers slowly restarting the base clef of Clair De Lune's entrance.
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Some Princes Don't Become Kings
ALIAS
Eclipse
CLASSIFICATION
Blaster
POWER
Ocular Light Manipulation
AGE
15
Student
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Post by Melody Newton on Mar 29, 2019 9:52:36 GMT
[attr="class","nikki98"] [attr="class","nikki99"] I NEED TO COME DOWN [attr="class","nikki100"] [attr="class","nikki101"]SEEMS LIKE THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD WENT AND LOST ITS MIND [attr="class","nikki102"]AND ALL MY CHILDHOOD HEROES HAVE FALLEN OFF OR DIED [attr="class","nikki109"]Damn she was rusty. It had seemed to come back easily at first, fitting her fingers into the right place, holding the right posture, or close enough, but once he started playing she found herself hesitating. She was used to excelling at things without trying, and she hadn't played in three years. At all. She hadn't even briefly practiced. There was only so much that muscle memory could help you after three years.
Her fingers tripped over the notes, she got most of it right, missing the occasional note, and she was playing too slow, hesitating as she tried to remember what came next. Thinking too much. Much to her relief, or perhaps more to her irritation, it didn't seem to bother the bearded giant she was sat beside. He seemed able to go at whatever pace she was going at, speeding up as she regained her confidence, slowing down when she stumbled and tripped over a set of chords.
Towards the end it started to come back more securely, there were less hesitations, more mistakes, but it was still clear that she hadn't played in quite some time. She would have to practice far more regularly to make any sort of improvement on that. And practising was something she wasn't intending to do any time soon.
She stood as soon as they finished. "See, told you it had been a while."
[attr="class","nikki103"]232 | | |
NOTES First and last time... PHARAOH LEAP.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 9, 2019 7:26:28 GMT
[attr="class","ohlove"] [attr="class","lacking"] [attr="class","eyes"] ✎ tag: Melody Newton ※ wearing: Here✉ notes: Hook, line, sinker? both were silent. the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys. Alistair had never been particularly skilled in ordinary conversation outside of the classroom or with fellow associates and co-workers. Alright, he hadn't been good at it ever. But one thing he seemed to subconsciously excel at was his attempts at empathy and his ability to convey that empathy honestly, especially when it came to the art of music. It definitely took some getting into, but measure by measure the young girl's fingers began to gain some oil in their joints. Not only were they becoming less frigid and hesitant, but sometimes they often trailed over one another with some kind of restrained enjoyment. A ghost of a smile lifted his lips when he was lucky enough to catch sight of it; mostly watching her hands instead of his own to make sure he was giving her ample room and space to remember. Three years was an awfully long time.
He'd be entirely dishonest if he didn't admit her occasional spurts of flowing phrases and memory of where and how to move each finger in progression with themselves impressed him. Greatly, in fact. He tried to think if he were back to his teenage years and had left an instrument alone for three years if he'd be able to do the same. No... heavens, no. He was a fumbling, stumbling, mess of a giant still trying to fit into his own body correctly. For the better part of his Freshman and Sophomore years, Alistair lacked any form of grace in place of clumsiness. Those weren't his fondest years in school. That being said, the natural river-like movements her fingers sometimes grasped a hold of even while mistaken keys were pressed was something he had become fixated on. Had her father been aware, he wondered? Or had it gone unnoticed. Sure, she was far from a scholar or practiced performer, but she had the makings of an honest-to-goodness musician.
"See, told you it had been a while." Again he'd opened his mouth only to shut it with a blink at how fast she'd begun and ended the conversation by standing immediately up from the bench at the song's closure. She sure wasn't much for talking. That was alright... he wasn't either. With a soft, amused single huff, he shook his head and looked up to her (barely). "I... don't think you're giving yourself nearly enough credit." He turned his legs around the side of the bench until eventually he was sitting the other way around with folded hands in his lap to see her more comfortably. "It's been three years since you touched a piano?" It wasn't that he didn't believe her, more as if he was trying to confirm the facts to himself.
He looked ahead at nothing, smiling with a quiet disbelief, and shook his head again before bringing his attention back to her. "I think you should greatly reconsider picking it up again. Not because of your father," a knowing scoff left his nose, "because... there's something in musicianship you can't teach. Something you're born with or you're not." His eyes sparked with quiet, passionate intent and the form of an idea. Yes, what if they played again and she tried-! No. No, no, no. She didn't want to hear all of this, didn't want to listen to his explanations. He didn't want to push the idea too hard or too fast. Instead, his shoulders dipped with slight defeat and submission to her boundaries. He'd respect them. Though he remained seated, Alistair extended his hand with an honest, and somewhat-solemn, grin. "Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of playing with you."
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Some Princes Don't Become Kings
ALIAS
Eclipse
CLASSIFICATION
Blaster
POWER
Ocular Light Manipulation
AGE
15
Student
|
Post by Melody Newton on Apr 9, 2019 9:07:25 GMT
[attr="class","nikki98"] [attr="class","nikki99"] I NEED TO COME DOWN [attr="class","nikki100"] [attr="class","nikki101"]SEEMS LIKE THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD WENT AND LOST ITS MIND [attr="class","nikki102"]AND ALL MY CHILDHOOD HEROES HAVE FALLEN OFF OR DIED [attr="class","nikki109"]Melody snorted. At least it was a change from 'you're not using your true potential', the speech she usually received from her father when she messed something up. "Yeah, not enough credit. I already have all my classes, don't need another one on top of that."
Although maybe she should. The school already seemed to have taken heed of her father's recommendations. She was being placed in more advanced classes than she was normally, and deliberately failing the tests didn't seem to have had much of an effect. If anything, she was actually starting to find some challenge in the work. Maybe taking something she was legitimately bad at would make them lay off her a little if her grades started to suffer. After all, she was bad at the piano. This Professor Lane seemed like just the kind of guy to credit your successes even when they weren't really successes.
She shrugged, turning away from the instrument and walking to the window. "Yeah, three years I guess, so?"
She glanced back as he scoffed, almost catching his eye before she managed to stop herself. He'd seemed to dismiss her father's opinion, which was a very different approach to the rest of the teachers at EMBA. Then he started talking about something that couldn't be taught, something you were born with. She rolled her eyes, "Oh please. I have a gift? Like I haven't heard that in a thousand different ways already. Did you notice the school you're stood in? Everyone here's a freak like me."
She ignored his extended hand, shoving both her hands into the pockets of her hoodie with a meaningful expression. We just played piano, doesn't make us friends.
[attr="class","nikki103"]283 | | |
NOTES notes here, i guess? PHARAOH LEAP.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 9, 2019 10:34:49 GMT
[attr="class","ohlove"] both were silent. the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys. Aaaand he'd gone too far. Pushed too hard, too fast, and rather than shaking his hand and securing the small step they'd taken together, she ignored it deliberately to march past it and towards the window. That was... unexpected. Why not just leave? Why stay to continue talking? "Oh please. I have a gift?" "I didn't say that-," he tried softly, still remaining seated to give her the power of the conversation. But then it got a bit... dicier. "Like I haven't heard that in a thousand different ways already." Oh boy. That was definitely a road he didn't want to go down. "Did you notice the school you stood in?"
"Everyone here's a freak like me." Thank God he was facing away, wincing visibly at the expression that had hurt him in more ways than one.
It was quiet for the next few moments as Alistair had found himself at a loss of what to say. But it couldn't be for long. He had to think of something, save the brief connection he had somehow. She could sense - and was actively looking for - dishonesty a mile away. Not even truly dishonesty, but anything less than one-hundred percent genuine: leaving-out the truth, hiding details. Here he was struggling to even read people's unspoken signals half the time. He wondered what made someone be so... skeptical. There was an idea he had, a truth he thought to divulge, but it was something that made his stomach start to churn. Maybe it'd gain some sort of respect from her, maybe it'd be the final nail in the casket and send her marching out and him home with a less than promising chance of ever wanting to show his face on the campus again.
It wasn't the clunky way her mind would get in the way of what key to press or the fumbling of her thumbs when she got frustrated. It certainly wasn't the way she made a brief, hesitant pause each time she made a mistake rather than pressing immediately forward. But someone who could gracefully move their fingers over one another, someone that could let a stretch of phrase carry on like a dance, that would feel the keys rather than just press down on them, especially at - what was she - sixteen? He was as light on the keys as an elephant at sixteen. There were brief moments of artistic beauty in the way she played. It needed a lot of practice and a lot of basic building-block work, but it was there.
So, with a sigh at himself, he turned around slowly to face the piano again and play a lethargically-paced quiet tune. Nothing in particular, random basic chords and melodies to link them together. He supposed now was as good a time for truth as ever. "I was terrified to get on the plane to come here," the piano kept him grounded, eyes keeping down to watch the meticulous movement of his hands, "Scared when I packed, scared when I flew, scared when I got out of the cab. To be honest, I'm still full of nerves," the slow tune carried on, hints of blues maybe sneaking in once in a while. He'd been rather "jazzy" lately at home with his practicing. The inexperience he had with its melodies helped his mind stay away from the idiocy coming out of his mouth.
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Some Princes Don't Become Kings
ALIAS
Eclipse
CLASSIFICATION
Blaster
POWER
Ocular Light Manipulation
AGE
15
Student
|
Apr 15, 2019 19:43:11 GMT
Post by Melody Newton on Apr 15, 2019 19:43:11 GMT
[attr="class","nikki98"] [attr="class","nikki99"] I NEED TO COME DOWN [attr="class","nikki100"] [attr="class","nikki101"]SEEMS LIKE THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD WENT AND LOST ITS MIND [attr="class","nikki102"]AND ALL MY CHILDHOOD HEROES HAVE FALLEN OFF OR DIED [attr="class","nikki109"]An awkward silence filled the room. It wasn't entirely awkward from Melody's perspective, she had intended to put him in that position, and so the silence was exactly what she'd wanted. Hopefully it was making him feel exactly as awkward as she'd hoped. The long silence suggested that he was indeed feeling awkward. She smirked a little at herself in the reflection of the window, it was raining outside… again… and the rain was pouring down the window.
It was only a matter of time until Professor Lane got off his ass and walked on out of here. Until he didn't…
She heard him shift on the piano stool, readied herself for the click of his shoes as he walked out of the room. Those clicks never came, instead there was the faint sound of the piano once again. It wasn't anything she recognised, nothing she had heard lilting through the corridors of her father's house. Maybe it was something he had written himself?
She scolded herself for being even passingly interested in the music that he was playing. Then things got worse, he started talking again. She rolled her eyes. Like she'd felt any different when she'd got here, like flying over and being delivered to the school by her father like some sort of convict. Like she hadn't been close to tears, full of nerves.
She darted a sharp glance over her shoulder towards the man behind her, still sat at the piano. "Yeah… It was pretty scary…"
She didn't move away from the window, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. It had been pretty scary, and it still was. Not that she wanted to leave anymore, it would mean going back to her father, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that either. She continued to stare out of the window.
"Why are you here then?"
[attr="class","nikki103"]313 | | |
PHARAOH LEAP.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 25, 2019 7:39:04 GMT
[attr="class","ohlove"] both were silent. the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys. Senri's reminders and encouragements of all the different ways it might be good for him kept coming to mind, repeating themselves. How it was a chance to bring music to kids that maybe wouldn't have the chance to otherwise, how it was a quieter space outside of a main city that might suit him better, how it was a fresh start, how open the local land was... safe. Something about it being good for the body, the mind, and the spirit. An opportunity. Maybe he'd started to believe some of that at her behest. Melody shared her small fear and Alistair certainly wasn't in any position to judge - really only to relate.
He had as many (if not, more) worries as Senri had benefits. He was worried over change, worried to leave his daily routine and schedule, worried to learn an entirely new place, worried to leave his students, worried to move even further away from his foster parents - not that he did anything outside of mailing a Merry Christmas card yearly - and worried to teach... younger people. People in their teens. People the same age as---. He just didn't do comfortably with children of any age. The college seemed more 'young adult' than anything. The tune continued without pattern, occasionally resolving only to return back to its blues' key and slow jazz melodies.
"Why are you here then?" He huffed at the irony, still watching his own hands with shoulders a bit lower than they'd been before and a half-smile lifting his lips. "Think I'm still trying to figure that out." Silly. A grown man scared of kids. It was easier like this, speaking to her as a young adult. "The school sent me a letter. A friend of mine found out, encouraged me to come and see," his focus paused from the words, finding a way to finish out a phrase and begin another, "Hard to leave home, I guess. Lots of things." Maybe they had that in common. Couldn't have been easy for someone her age to just move away from her parents and out on her own so young. He looked up to her with a scrunched mouth and took a deep breath through his nose, shrugging his shoulders up, before letting it go and dropping the weight of his arms. Returning his eyes to the keys, the song continued.
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, prove it.
