OOC: This is an open by requests thread. If you're interested in roleplaying with this character in this scene and have an idea, please toss it my way by PMing me. If it works with what I'm sort of looking for, I'll let you know ^_^ Just please don't join unless you get prior approval, since this involves my Grand Duke of Connlaoth character, Calent. This is a civil war related thread, so be sure to read up on that information as well. Thanks!
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It started off as fingers skirting across the keys, fingers whispering across the ivories, lightly clinking as the song tinkled across the music room in delicate, cascading sound. The energy, light at first, was quickly growing tenser and more tense as knuckles went white, fingers diving into the keys as the Grand Duke sat before his piano in the dead of night. Each key struck, thrust another clanking set of reprieves, then gentleness... then rage once again, then again, like the fervent waves of the ocean in a storm....
But then....
......
.................
.....
silence.
A breeze swept into the room, making the shadows and curtains come alive. The scones, once lit, threatened to snuff out, bending against the winds, but once they settled, the lights returned more vibrantly and their dance of light remained a hazey glow across the polished wood. Calent stared across it to the opposing side of the room, fingers hesitant over the keys before he rose and approached a glass table int he corner where he picked up his violin.
It was like an itch he could not scratch. The expressions were there, but the words were not- and he found, even with music, he was fumbling in his speech. So with his back to a nearby set of mirrors and crystal chandeliers, which had already been snuffed out of their light that evening, he squared off his shoulders and lifted his chin. And once he had the violin settled against his arm and his chin digging into it, he took the bow, one pinky finger raised, and pulled it across the strings to let the notes carry, frail and wailing as a soft rumble of thunder purred against the arrival of a second set of winds.
When the lightning flickered and the smell of rain reached his nose, his song grew quieter, notes moving in tune with the smells, sights and sounds of the night. So the strokes made the noise airy, mysterious and soothing, with smooth transitions from one verse to the next. With shadows and low lights keeping the place in a whispered glow, the song began to rise, and long strokes becoming short and chopping as the bow cut into the strings and then, fingers plucking in between in short, angered bursts before he bowed his head, hair falling over his eyes and he let the bow slice across the strings and just as it had been with the piano- the notes were rising louder, sharper and fuller-
And just at the moment, a string snapped and the room went silent....
Except for the dark fluttering of the drapes and the fading, contorted disfiguration of sound from the broken violin's chord. That was.. until a heavy gust of wind bubbled out the drapes then cut through them in a rush, which fluttered through the light scraps of hair the Grand Duke had cut across his forehead- and then- into darkness he went. The winds, calming, taking the candle light with into silence.
Carefully, his eyes rose to the window were the lightning flickered. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a form- female and slender, moving against glints of silvered rain. Her form was as amorphic and hypnotic as the veil, and while the curtains moved and rolled against the wild winds, she was approaching-
And he said nothing, for he knew this dark shadowed figure would come.