|
|
Post by Amelia Negrescu on Feb 22, 2009 7:57:03 GMT -5
Amelia tapped her foot impatiently against the carpeted floor of the orchestra pit as Monsieur Conductor paced back and forth, back and forth across the length of it. Amelia's green eyes followed him as he moved from one end of her peripheral vision to the other. He was frustrated, anyone could see that. Then again, as was Amelia and the other fourteen members of the orchestra. They were up at an ungodly hour of the morning (she had not bothered to check the time) to practice a section of the upcoming opera that all of them had thought was already mastered with a man that refused to be called by any other name than "Monsieur Conductor" and spoke in third person. It was enough to make anyone's eye twitch.
How many times ...
Amelia rolled her eyes and yawned, jabbing the floor with her bow. Here they were going again, on a wild lecture about God-knows-what, about how their posture was wrong or he didn't approve of the way one of the cellists' toes were positioned, et cetera. Oh, what a lovely way to start off the morning.
Answer me this, violinists.
Oh, now he was after them.
How many times has Monsieur Conductor told you that it is a sweet, whimsical, C! It is not a strong C, it is not a C with vibrato, it is a nice way to end off the piece and cleanses the musical palatte for the next scene! But no, the violinists have to go off and do whatever they please, not what is best for the orchestra as a whole, and as a result, all of your C's sound like dying cats!
All of Amelia's suspicions had now been affirmed: this man was completely off his nut. She suppressed a giggle as his angry rant on C's turned into an attempt at a heartfelt discussion on his love of music. He wiped his eyes and sobbed generously as the musicians tried to figure out whether this was really just his dramatic way of expressing himself, or some act to lure them under the crushing wheel that was compliance to his every word. Either way, this was an awkward situation, and the only sound ringing through auditorium was Monsieur Conductor's crying. Amelia leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, setting her violin and bow on the ground. This was clearly going to take awhile, and she might as well tighten the bun at the base of her neck, pin back the curls that were annoying her, and possibly catch some extra sleep. |
|
|
|
Post by Monsieur Le Fantome on Feb 24, 2009 8:37:30 GMT -5
There could be little more amusing than watching Monsieur Conductor in one of his early morning rants. The man was an utter fool. He did, of course, have some shred of musical talent. He wasn't entirely off in regards to their posture, nor the particular C that had proven to be the obsession of the morning. No, it wasn't that the man was stupid. It was his over-inflated ego that made him a complete mockery. He refused to be called by any name other than that of his position, so that every time he was called upon his ego received a blossoming stroke. He puffed his chest out, lifted his chin so high that it looked as though he were praying, and then continued his little tirade.
Yes, it was quite amusing. Just as amusing was watching the reaction from his orchestra. Some, most notably the males, became frustrated and restless beneath the constant berating. It was difficult to listen to a pompous windbag go on incessantly without one's ire rising to the occasion. The women handled it more in stride; some of them were picking at their fingernails, a disgusting habit, while others toyed with their instruments and a few audacious damsels even napped.
Erik chuckled. There was still plenty of time for the group to acclimate to one another. Monsieur Conductor could easily handle the next production; if he didn't let himself get in the way of it, anyway. Growing pains, Erik thought with more than a hint of amusement. He scaled the scaffolding that extended above the catwalk he currently teetered upon, well hidden from sight. Deeper into the dark recesses of the curtained area above the stage he went, completely intent on disappearing again altogether. He had spent many years alone, without as much as a whisper in his beloved Opera. Now that the people had returned, en masse no less, he had made it his habit to circulate the hidden passageways morning and night - trying to ascertain and observe their habits, tendencies, what-have-you. It was something like having uninvited houseguests. He wanted to be sure no one thought too much of the legendary Phantom, nor got too close to the entrances to his domain. He didn't particularly want to resurrect the Opera Ghost in the same way that he had existed before, but self-preservation would go a long way in protecting what he held dear.
Most notably, solitude.
If Erik could just be left alone, all would be well within the opulent walls. Though he was loathe to admit it, Erik had become undeniably lonely and even the incessant, irritating chatter of the dormitories was somewhat warming compared to the cold, cruel silence of twelve years time. Still, he wanted to observe their antics from afar. The last time he had made the mistake of involving himself in the activities of the living he had paid dearly. Of course, he had also received the sweetest of parting gifts. But the old adage was painfully relevant; was it better to have loved and lost, or to never have loved at all? Was it better to have to remember her warm, sweet flesh - so supple and compliant - beneath his ugly, cold hands, or to have never tasted her at all?
Poor, poor Erik. With the light mood of an amused onlooker, he cast a final glance toward the orchestral pit. They would survive and, if Monsieur Conductor could get his head out of his own ass, be the better for these early morning sessions.
|
|
|
|
Post by Édouard Isaacs on Feb 26, 2009 15:05:08 GMT -5
DYING CATS
Edouard was fast asleep on the sofa conveniently placed in his office for such occasions when he just couldn’t be bothered to order a carriage home. A cushion on the arm of the settee supported his head and the occasional snore escaped his mouth. Music drifted up to his office interfering with his much appreciated rest, he grunted turning his head to the side in the hope the music would magically vanish yet it seemed to get louder. He snapped his eyes open and a groan escaped his lips as his dark eyes searched for the clock on the mantelpiece. Four Am.
FOUR AM! He was being jolted out of his sleep at FOUR AM! This was absurd. Edouard heaved himself from the sofa and stood up stretching this arms out he ran his hands through his hair which resembled something of a birds nest. With another grunt he exited his office and stalked down the hall looking for the source of the noise. Being manager of the Opera House he had quite an influence on the workings of the Opera House and he was pretty damn sure he hadn’t authorized anything saying rehearsals could be made during the time any sane man would be tucked up in bed.
He traced the source to the auditorium and as he burst through the side stage door his eyes narrowed as he saw the cause of the disturbance. Monsieur Conductor was stood looking rather flustered as he lectured a very exhausted looking group of musicians. That man had it in for Edouard. He was sure of it. What on earth did he expect to achieve by exhausting the very people that made the Operas run. Did he want them falling asleep while playing the Overture to one of the Operas? Did he want to loose him money? Damn it! He thought as he marched towards him his hair dishevelled shirt untucked and creased.
“Damn it Monsieur Conductor” He barked as he reached the Orchestral pit, “What is the meaning of this?!” he waited impatiently ignoring the stares of surprise he was receiving from some of the musicians in the first row. Right now all he wanted to know was why he was stood there demanding answers from the conductor instead of asleep on his…reasonably comfort settee.
Word Count. 384
Status. Finnished.
Extra Notes.
Nice thread xD
|
|
|
|
Post by Aiden Annabel Divine on Mar 4, 2009 12:47:52 GMT -5
A small figure had quietly been busing herself upon the stage behind the orchestra. Insomnia had set in not allowing the girl her full eight hours of sleep. But this was usual. There were many a time when Aiden could be found roaming around at wee hours of the morning instead of safely tucked away in her dorm. For the moment she was quietly running the broom across the wooden floor boards of the stage. Though it did not do much good, for later on she knew that construction on the set would be continued only added to the dust and dirt that now cluttered the surface. But for now it was simply something to do to occupy her mind.
Surely later when the rest of the stage hands were awake she would join them in the construction. But she thought it not wise to try to finish some of the projects on her own. Usually ill luck would jump in an grab her at a time when she thought that things were going just fine. That meant that at any time she could fall from a latter or trip over a paint bucket and spill the contents, or God knows what else. It was just not worth the risk of screwing something up. No the raven haired girl had just got here, and nothing was going to kick her out prematurely.
It was quiet a simple task. The bristles of the broom whisked along the floor in time with the music that was being played. However it soon stopped when the conductor abruptly stalled the flow of sound. Blue eyes looked up from her chore to stare at the man. He really was pompous. The noise sounded great to her. Though what good did the thoughts of a simple stage hand mean. Still she knew a thing or two about music. She loved it; no more like was obsessed by it. If at times there was no noise to be heard, Aiden would create her own. So even walking down the hall she could be seen humming or dancing to a small little tune roaming around her thoughts.
For now she simply shook her head and continued her work. The old wind bag would soon forget his ranting and continue with practice. Then the girl would once again pick up the rhythm of the song and move along with it. The sweeping was slightly noisy, but not loud enough to disturb the band before her, so she thought herself safe from ridicule. When she had settled back into her routine is when the doors slammed open. The sudden sound had caused poor Aiden to nearly jump out of her skin. And a silent gasp escaped her as she clung tighter to the broom and spun around to watch the Manager bombard though the entrance and stomp up to the conductor.
White teeth clamped down lightly upon her bottom lip. Glancing around the girl thought it best to slink into the background and disappear. So with ease and silent movements Aiden briskly moved to stand behind the drawn back thick red velvet curtain. From this point of view the stage looked clean enough, well except for the small mound of dust piled towards the middle. But she could make that disappear after things settled down, or when she arrived later with the others. For right now she stood there, small hands wrapped tightly about the broom, listening to what was going on.
Words: 582
Comments: Well this is my attempt to jump on in lol.
|
|
