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Post by Roderich Edelstein on May 9, 2010 14:29:16 GMT -5
With everything he and Gilbert had gone through in the past few weeks, sometimes Roderich had the urge to leave the mansion and return to his old way of life. Yes, it was wonderful to have somewhere warm to stay, to have something guaranteed to return to, to have someone waiting eagerly for his return but... Roderich had been on the road too long, had too many questions unanswered for him to simply settle there.
And so he had ventured alone into the marketplace with his new violin for the first time. Not much had changed; the beggars still sat before their little cloths, some with goods to offer, some simply pleading for assistance. These Roderich passed without acknowledgment; if they wanted to make something of themselves, they would rise from their filth and try. The ones who at least offered something in return he would pause politely before demurring and moving on. These lower districts weren't the place for him, though; passing away from the grimier streets, he found his way by force of habit to the more expensive shops. Here were the rich men and women who, for the most part, had more money than brains.
Pausing between an elegant restaurant with outside seating and a clothing boutique, Roderich opened his case and laid it at his feet. He'd left the case of Frederick's violin behind, reluctant to lay such a well-loved thing on the ground, and taken his older, more battered one instead. As he lifted the instrument to his chin and played a few experimental notes, he smiled slightly. Living with Gilbert, he no longer needed to play for his next meal, for a place to stay... Running the bow over the strings with some consideration, his smile widened as he closed his eyes and carefully removed both of his white gloves. With the piece he had in mind, he would need to feel the strings beneath his fingers.
This wasn't an elegant work, and at times he felt the bow scraping the strings with an almost painful air. A concerto intended for full orchestra, Roderich imagined the other instruments around him. It had always been a distant dream to play in a concert hall rather than a street corner, but... With an inward shrug, he bent himself more fully to the piece, playing it without pause. The new strength of his muscles was strained to the limit. He'd never quite liked this piece, the quick jerks as if he were beating the music from the violin, but since he no longer had to worry about pleasing those around him... he could more freely play what he wanted. The Russian song poured from his instrument with an almost fiery passion as he delved into it.
He didn't dare play Tchaikovsky around Gilbert... while he doubted the Russian animals that had dared hurt his (friend? lover? servant?) had been musically inclined, he refused to do anything that could even hint at the distant memories. There was a certain freedom as he simply let himself go without worry of affecting anyone -- not Gilbert, not these nobles around him... no one.
Maybe this is what it was to be free, to be truly free in the way no human could understand. Without fear of his next meal or a place to stay or even of being harmed as he poured his entire being into this solo concerto, Roderich let himself be carried away by the ever-softening strains of the music before letting the bow rise and fall in an ever-hastening crescendo as he approached the end of the piece. It felt as if he had to wring the sound from the instrument, the magic spiraling upward with the notes in a crashing, shuddering finish.
Opening his eyes, Roderich exhaled in a half-remembered memory of the exertion that came with this piece and looked at his own hand with some amusement. The muscles trembled with exertion, but not nearly so much as when he'd attempted this piece several years ago. A wry chuckle escaped from his lips as he set down the instrument for a moment to shake out his hands and loosen his wrists.
If nothing else about his new state of being, he could play more. And that filled him with a joy he could barely express. [/blockquote]
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on May 11, 2010 17:12:43 GMT -5
Ivan never particularly liked crowds of people. Or rather, he never really liked being in them. He loved to watch people from the side-lines, but when it came down to it, he hated being surrounded. It wasn't so much that people made him nervous, but more the fact that everyone was so close… He hated feeling trapped and that was all that crowds truly were--ways to get trapped. It was one of the only reasons he avoided the marketplace.
At the very least people tended to get out of his way rather quickly when he came near them. Nobody stopped to question him or to sell him anything, either, though the thick metal pipe clutched tightly in one of his hands might have had something to do with that. While, Ivan didn't seem to notice the people avoiding him, he did feel several pairs of eyes watching him, and he tightened his grip on the pipe, enjoying the comforting feel of cool metal through his gloves.
All Ivan wanted to do was get out of the crowd. He'd come to the market for a reason, but it wasn't as if he couldn’t wait until the crowds died down for that reason to be fulfilled. After all, it was two fairly simple things he wanted--to try some of the strange foods here that he had never encountered before and to find himself a map so that he could more easily locate the places he wanted to explore next. He wanted to figure out the ins and outs of the world that was not his home, and maps… well, they certainly helped if one wanted to know where to go next.
The only problem was that he didn't know where to start looking for either of those things. Food would be slightly easier to find, though; all he had to do was follow his nose and it ought to lead him to at least one restaurant. It wasn't guaranteed to be a good place to dine, but what was he to know the difference between good food and bad food when all the food he had was just different.
The Russian pulled himself to a slightly less crowded area of the street, and tension practically dripped out of his shoulders. His grip on his pipe slackened, and he dropped his arm, the metal hitting the street with a light clang. Ah, that was better, much better. And there were still shops here, too! Maybe he could still find what he needed in this area?
He was about to go on a search when he heard the familiar sound of horsehair against violin strings. That caused him to pause for a moment--he recognized that tune. It was somehow different from how he normally heard the piece, but it was definitely still recognizable: Tchaikovsky. The piece wasn't something one normally heard on the streets either, since not only was it meant for a full orchestra but the piece itself was very…. Russian sounding, and not everyone liked the beaten quality the violin made when it was played right.
A smile curved Ivan's lips upwards as he turned to watch the man who was playing the piece. The man himself didn't seem to be the type--he looked to be the kind of person who would more appreciate playing a piece that was calmer or at the very least not almost raw sounding. But the fact that he wasn't playing something calmer, that he was playing something that the Russian recognized, made Ivan's smile broaden.
The music swept over him as the piece was brought to a grand crescendo and completed with a magical sweep against the strings. Ivan watched him for a moment curiously--the man didn't even look that tired after such a long and difficult piece!- before he put his hands together and clapped his appreciation for the brunette, applauding him for his performance.
"You played his concerto very well~" Ivan spoke, a childish grin curving his lips upward as he moved closer to the violinist. "You must have practiced for quite a while, da? Ufufufu~ And you do not look tired at all! I did not know that many people liked Tchaikovsky out of my home, especially this piece. It is very… powerful, da? You do not look the sort of person to admire his work, but you really did play his piece very well~"
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on May 21, 2010 12:51:41 GMT -5
Analyzing his own hands with a kind of wry amusement, Roderich flexed each finger individually. By this point, he no longer felt the strange pull of muscles that were far too strong for his frame; everything felt natural, and even the delicate, precise movements of the bow were easier in comparison. He could barely even remember the fatigue that normally accompanied this kind of intense piece, feeling the familiar tingle of magic in his limbs. This piece of Tchaikovsky's carried a powerful, unsubtle magic that fairly coursed through his veins. A lesser instrument than his might have shattered under the force of the magic; as it was, he'd barely been able to release the majority of it into the air as a harmless mana.
Shaking his hands again in the hopes of dislodging some of the mana within, Roderich paused at the sharp sound of a pair of hands clapping, their volume much louder than any of the scattered, polite applause around him. Turning and looking up, he met eyes of a violet hue far too similar to his own and nearly took a step backward in surprise. With an inward wince, Roderich pushed away memories of the last time he’d seen eyes of that shade and comforted himself by acknowledging that this must be mere coincidence; other than his eyes, the other man looked nothing like him.
His comfort lasted only as long as it took for the other man to speak and his accent to register in his mind. A Russian–! Roderich’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t sense Gilbert anywhere near. It was even less likely that this particular young man was related to the Russians from Gilbert’s past than it was that he was related to Roderich’s family, but still... Roderich knew how sensitive Gilbert was when talking about his past, and in light of the recent revelations about his own family, he was loathe to push anything more on the Prussian man.
"Ah, you know Tchaikovsky?" Pushing away his initial reluctance, Roderich smiled and shook his hands again before bending down to pick up his gloves from atop the violin case. "I must admit, I normally do not attempt his pieces, but I had a sudden urge." His lips twitched at the other man’s observation of his lack of exhaustion, and he chuckled lightly. "When you play for a living as I do, the strain is significantly less," he lied, eyes drifting away from the other’s unsettlingly similar orbs. "Do you play, at all?" [/blockquote]
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on May 24, 2010 16:59:08 GMT -5
Ivan watched the musician shake out his limbs with an amused half smile, rather curious onto what kind of man would play his Tchaikovsky's concerto, and play it so well too. The stiff surprise that Roderich gave when he saw Ivan didn't go unnoticed by the Russian, and his brows arched high, before furrowing in confusion. "You are well, da?" he asked, curiosity in his voice. While he was fairly used to people being a bit taken aback by him, that didn't mean he understood it or even expected it. After all, he thought he was always nice--why would anyone think any different? Even when he was being strict and making the sticky red liquid come, it was just to help teach. There was never a time when he considered himself particularly mean or unpleasant.
Then Ivan noticed the color of the other male's eyes, and his own went rather wide for a moment as he stared, a bit surprised. He looked at Roderich much like a child would look at a tasty treat in a candy shop, the same look of almost hopeful wonder on his face. The amethyst color was almost identical to his own, and before he knew what he was doing he was reaching for one of the pretty violet orbs. If he could just....
Ivan paused in mid-reach, before giving an apologetic smile, and dropping his arm. A childish giggle escaped from his lips. "Your eyes… they are very much like mine. Very pretty!" he noted, before leaning in closer to get a better look. If the Russian had any concept of personal space when it came to others, it didn't show. Then again, it wasn't often he found someone with the same strange hue of violet that he had.
"Ufufufu, of course I know of Tchaikovsky~ He was a very good composer, da? Most people who are from out of country prefer Mussorgsky or Rimsky-Korsakov, to Tchaikovsky, though," Ivan replied with a slight smile, "at least for Russian composers. Or they like his... ah, tamer pieces. Is nice to see another who likes this concerto. And you really do play it well~"
While the Russian wasn't sure that the Austrian was being entirely accurate on how he was able to play the piece with little difficulty--after all he'd seen very good musicians play the piece before and be rather tired afterward--he didn't mind letting it go. "I, ah, do not play very well myself; I am too big," Ivan replied with a sheepish smile. The last time he tried playing the violin, the instrument hadn't made it through, and ended up in half a dozen pieces. The piano he had better luck with, of course, but with no one to teach him to play, his skill with it was mediocre at best. "I prefer to listen."
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on May 24, 2010 23:33:26 GMT -5
"A-ah, no, I'm fine," Roderich managed with some surprise and more than a bit of suspicion at the concerned inquiry. Was something obvious to the young Russian man that he was unaware of? Faking a cough, he brought his hand to his mouth to gingerly feel his teeth, a wave of relief washing through him at their human appearance and realizing with no small amount of shame that the other man was likely referring to his constant shaking in an attempt to release the mana. "Ah, I'm just a bit stiff," he added quickly, pulling his gloves on with a disarming smile practiced from years of playing for money.
As the other man's hand started toward his face, Roderich fought the urge to bend down and snatch his violin in an attempt to ward him off. Any magic he could cast wouldn't have the chance to take effect, and he had little desire to sprint away from a miffed Russian. Even with the new strength of his muscles, he still would prefer not to use them strenuously. Instead, he raised his own hand in slight defense, hoping he would be able to bring it up in time should the other man try anything.
Even as the Russian lowered his hand, Roderich's concern still wasn't abated, even with the somewhat-sheepish smile crossing the other man's face. His concern only mounted as the other man leaned it, seemingly with no regard for his personal space. He would have stepped back further, but there was literally nowhere to go; several stalls and passerby blocked his route of escape. "A-ah... thank you," he replied with more than a bit of apprehension and a complete loss for words. "Your eyes are... very nice as well..."
As the topic turned back to music, Roderich finally felt secure enough to bend down to pick up his violin. Feeling somewhat safer with the instrument in his possession, he smiled at the other man. "Nonsense. You simply have not found the proper instrument yet." With a slight flush, he nodded and shrugged in acknowledgment of the compliment. It was true, after all... he'd only ever met one person equal to him in skill, and that was Gilbert.
"What are you familiar with for violin?" Roderich added, lifting the instrument to his chin with a smile and an ulterior motive. If he could play, he could channel his mana and analyze the young Russian man to see if he were a threat to him or, more importantly, to Gilbert. "You seem to be far from home... perhaps something of your homeland?" [/blockquote]
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on May 27, 2010 12:04:17 GMT -5
"Is understandable," Ivan replied, returning the other's smile with a bright one of his own. And it was pretty understandable--he'd just played a complicated piece, it was only natural that his body should have some reaction to it. If that reaction was stiffness rather than tiredness, that was okay.
The Russian noticed Roderich's discomfort and concern, but it wasn't attributed to the fact that he was so close, nor to the fact that he was a rather intimidating presence on a whole. Instead, his mind came up with other reasons for this apprehension. Namely questions on the man's health. Was the brunette getting sick? A concerned look fluttered over Ivan's face, and he reached out again to feel Roderich's forehead. "Are you being sick? You look…. Ah…. Worried? I can be helpful, da?"
"Ufufufufu! You think so? You like eyes too? Most people think me strange for liking such things, but is good that you understand~" he giggled, and nodded, seeming to be rather pleased with the Austrian's comment. After all, the last time he'd commented on someone's eyes and tried to take them they'd ended up wanting to play a game of chase instead. Much to the Russian's dismay, they'd won that game and left him alone. Maybe with the Austrian, things would be different. So far he hadn't seemed to want to play the game that others seemed so fond of.
Ivan let out a little laugh at the idea that he just hadn't found the right instrument. No, he didn't think it was that, though it was possible. He hadn't tried every instrument he'd come across; just the ones that he liked. "Ahaha. I think I am just bad at playing things like music? I never learn, and is not easy thing to do. Maybe if you taught me I could do right, but I do not think I am made for making music," he replied shaking his head.
"Ah, I know many songs; the violin is one of my favorite instruments to listen to!" Ivan gave a small nod, looking thoughtful. Of course he couldn't see any ulterior motive for the smaller man's want to play--he was a musician after all, wasn't that what they did? And, he really did like hearing the other play, so if he were to play more that was good in his opinion. Especially if he were to play something Russian. He clapped his hands together at the idea, in a sort of childish glee. "Ufufufu, I would really like that! You know very many songs of my homeland?"
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Jul 10, 2010 15:21:05 GMT -5
Roderich's eyes widened, and he sputtered a bit at the feel of the other man's hand on his forehead. Really, did this moron have no concept of personal space at all? "W-what..." Too shocked at the casual contact, he didn't immediately bat the hand away, staring into the Russian's eyes. The contact of the Russian's cold skin on his own bloodless flesh sent a chill through him, as though this man was of an even deeper cold than himself. Then he shook his head and came to his senses, batting the hand away with a small scowl, not wanting the Russian to suspect anything from his unnatural coolness. "While I'm sure you could be helpful, I am fine, thank you."
He took the smallest of steps back. With the wall behind him, there wasn't anywhere for him to go, but even the smallest measure of space would be helpful. "Eyes can be very beautiful," he answered neutrally, purple orbs narrowing. "It is especially interesting to see a color so similar to my own."
Roderich smiled at the thought that someone could not play an instrument; he let out a small laugh at the thought. "Nonsense," he repeated. "I'm certain you could learn if you tried." This talk of teaching and learning music tugged a small frown from the corners of his lips. It would be interesting to be able to teach someone how to play, to share the gift of music that he'd been so fortunate to receive. "Perhaps... some day I will be able to open a conservatory of my own, and I can teach you then, yes?"
A small smile crossed his face as he lifted his violin to his chin. "Have you been gone from home for very long? I can play a piece of Prokofiev's, if you like. Many Russian composers wrote for full orchestra, but I know one or two of the violin concertos." He lifted the bow and flexed his fingers before setting it to the strings, playing one of the shorter songs. He didn't want to arouse suspicion by playing a longer song, but with a piece of a frenzied pace like this one, he was able to reach out and lightly brush the other man's soul, trying to get a read on any potential danger.
Roderich nearly dropped the bow at his first read. It was almost as if a child stood before him, drenched in purple flames of mana. He couldn't touch the mana, this man didn't appear to be any kind of sorcerer, but... he was just so childlike, it was hard to reconcile with the image of the large Russian man before him. As he lifted the bow from the strings, it was all he could do to keep a polite smile on his face, so disturbed was he by the man's aura. "Well? How was it?" [/blockquote]
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on Aug 17, 2010 21:47:18 GMT -5
If Ivan noticed the other's discomfort, he made no comment of it, his face and body language the epitome of childishness; eyes bright and expression one that might make most... well, it would either frighten or comfort. Not many noticed the off air to it, the slight wrongness of the look. It might have had something to do with the fact that the six foot tall Russian was playing the part of someone of a much smaller stature, or that he was simply slightly insane. Anyone could see it if they spent enough time with him, if they got close enough. The amusement dripping from his expression at the other's obvious discomfort would show it well enough, though in his opinion he was just being friendly. Then again, Ivan didn't consider himself insane at all, even with the odd senses of feeling fluttering about him, the way the ache in his chest hurt every now and then even though there was no visible wound. He knew--he had checked, multiple times, had scratched at the skin until it was red, but nothing ever explained the ache. But surely it was something that everyone felt.
"Of course eyes can be being beautiful! They are always being as such. Very many colours to be choosing from. They are windows to soul, people are saying, da? And they are reflecting many things because of it. Many beauties!" Ivan replied, with a giggle. It was always nice to see someone else who thought such things, and while he did see the Roderich's reaction, the violet of his eyes narrowing, becoming less.... it wasn't an unhappy expression in Ivan's mind. No, the other had already expressed his beliefs and he doubted such a thing could make him uncomfortable. Maybe if he was lucky, the brunette would let him take one, to get a closer look. He could always return it later...
Violet eyes brightened further at the prospect of being taught. "I would very much like this! You should be opening conservatory soon, so you can be doing such things, da?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.
A giggle spilled passed his lips and he bobbed his head, up and down, in agreement clapping leather covered hands together. "Da, da! Please be playing. I am loving music from Motherland." He was obviously excited--Ivan enjoyed most types of music, having particular fondness for the violin and the piano, such delicate sounds that could turn terrible and eerie when touched upon just right, but music from his home... that just made it all the better. It was a lovely mix, and he leaned back on his heels, watching as the other put bow to string and began to play.
The song started out well enough, he could feel the emotion of the piece sing out from the strings, a melody that he knew, that he was able to recognize. It wasn't something that he'd heard often, but he particularly enjoyed it, shutting his eyes and letting the trembling notes fall over him, getting faster and higher. But then something something shifted in the way that it was played. Or not shifted in the way that it was played, shifted in the way that he felt. He could feel something brushing at him, touching something inside him. The open feeling, the childish glee shut off almost instantly as soon as he felt it. The loose posture tightened into stiff limbs, and tight muscles. A moment of paralyzing shock, of utter stillness in his form, in his chest, before that ache hit once again. This time the ache was less of an ache, and more of a throbbing pain, a pain growing as notes sped; pain tuned by the violin, sharp and desperate.
There was no thought for what happened next, no moment to think of another way, any other way. He just wanted it to stop. He needed it to stop. His grip that had been so loose on his pipe before, tightened suddenly as he ripped it from it's spot on the ground, swinging it at the thing that had caused his pain, the thing that had made it continue, sharp and unending. That thing happened to be the musician, the bard that he had previously found such fascination with. But no, now Roderich just needed to stop, to never, ever touch him with magic again. And maybe if Roderich stopped, he could get the pain in his chest, the constriction in his heart, to stop too.
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Aug 23, 2010 9:51:18 GMT -5
It took a moment after the pipe was lifted for Roderich to register exactly what was happening. Then his eyes widened as he scrambled back, hitting the wall with a grunt as he ducked and feeling the wind from the pipe brushing his hair. "W-what--?!" He nearly dropped the bow as he scrambled past the other man, leaving the case open on the street as he started to back away, violin in one hand,bow in the other as he tried to show he was no threat to the other man. Had the other been able to sense his probe? Impossible, he was no sorcerer! The man had such an aura of childishness, he would never have expected the--
His breath came in wheezing gasps from the sudden exertion, the flush of adrenaline that would have accelerated his heartbeat if he had one. It would draw far too much attention to sprint down the street to escape, his only option was to try and talk the Russian down, convince him that what he had done was harmless. "What on earth do you think you're doing, you fool?!"
He's mad. He's completely and utterly mad. Through his panic, Roderich could feel a familiar lust rising through him, and he bit his bottom lip as he backed away further, slowly, still trying to ensure they did not disturb the crowd of people doing about their way around them. No. Gott no, not now, not here... More than fear of attack (he wouldn't die from something like that, not like this...), he could feel his own particular breed of madness starting to nibble at the corners of his control, just a little touch of red that threatened to take over.
"J...just put the pipe down, please..." His voice was tinged with a desperation less for his own safety and more for the Russian's. Dammit, where was Gilbert...?! [/blockquote]
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on Sept 14, 2010 16:52:35 GMT -5
Ivan's eyes were wide, violet almost wild in their colour now. While other's might have thought a certain distance was best when in a fight, Ivan knew different. At least when it came to magicians. They could hit him at a distance, destroy him, while keeping themselves safe at the same time. However, he could not and as Roderich started to move away, to stumble back, he closed the distance. Distance was a threat, and he didn't want that threat to grow. He wasn't about to let Roderich cause that knot in his chest to tighten, to tear and fragment.
Large fingers gripped tighter at his pipe, knuckles white from underneath the soft leather. "Nyet! Why would I be putting down, you are using magic, da? You are magician, wizard, witch, da? You are already hurting," he replied and that pain in his chest twisted sharply once the focus was brought to it. His free hand came up, gripped the fabric of his coat, and his eyes grew brighter not quite sane. Not that they ever were in the first place, but they had been better, lighter somehow. "I am not letting you do again. I can be teaching, changing, not letting you do again."
Roderich's maddness was not all-together different to Ivan's own. They both craved violence, craved red. The beautiful rich colour, spilling from someone's throat or chest. While Roderich might like to drink this liquid, consume it, he preferred just watching it spill, sliding his fingers through the stickiness, and feeling it dry and cake underneath his fingernails. He didn't always enjoy it, but there were times like now, he wanted to see and feel and hear that liquid come, to cause that same pain in the other's chest as was started in his. Roderich was a threat, a danger, and his pulse quickened. His grip tightened again on the pipe again, but he didn't swing. Not yet. Instead he eyed the lithe form of the bard, searching for an easy weakness.
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