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Entry tags:
yes, i admit my defeat (semi-open!)
Who: Salieri, Amadeus and y o u.
When: Late May, full moon.
Where: The Shopping District
What: First changes.
Warnings: Mild body horror, not so-mild mental distortions.
— closed to Amadeus (![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quam)
[The moon hangs her body against the dusk- exalted, luminous.
She at first compelled Salieri to keep to the safety of his new home, away from lights and noise. It was a tempting offer given his recent illness, and a mercy when he felt the tumultuous energy of his own body finally fitting into place. Despite that ready comfort, despite the urge to stay inside and shield away from what was inevitably coming to take place-
—He takes his coat and leaves.
The freshly swept roads and color-tinted sidewalk of the District lead him to a bordered music shop with fanciful musicians painted along the walls. Trumpeters and violinists pose within its windows and inside a seamless phonograph fills the shop with a mild concerto consisting of strings. Salieri's demeanor barely warranted even the most subtle glance and like smoke he glided through each room with a haunted, hooded gaze. Patrons of the store come and go, the hour wanes into night. One can still hear the phonograph playing merrily as the store illuminates its showrooms and light candles with flicking wrists.
But another sound carries just beneath the merriment.
The gradual crescendo of keys float up from a distant corner of the shop. A small hallway past the winds leads to a grand parlor room with ghostly curtains swaying in the night breeze. In the middle of the room Salieri sits, hunched over the shop's only grand piano. His hands diligently follow each note to memory, strike each key with a flow that seems nearly mechanical. The music is low enough that its managed to go undetected all this time, but another sound is steadily climbing its way above that pitch.
It's the sound of Salieri's ragged breath as he plays and clings to the keys as though his survival depended on the sounds they produced.
Something heavy and sharp scrapes across the polished floorboard. There are muted noises now— crackling bones, fabric tearing. Something beneath the piano grows until it can barely fit. The thud of a great, weighty paw resonates as it slams down on the pedals beneath the bench. Claws protruding from the fur catch the wood, graze it with razor-like tips and leave wide carved streaks in their wake. Salieri stifles a groan— keeps the noise lodged in his throat and lowers his head even more. Sweat drips from his bangs and splatter on the ivory keys.
There's certainly no doubt about it now— with Salieri's pants in shreds and newly grown legs bent painfully under the bench, it's all too clear. He is changed— indefinitely.
And he continues to play— until he suddenly doubles over what seems like a sharp spasm of his chest.] Gngh...!
You've— you've finally answered, h... haven't you, Signore?
[Salieri lets out a wheezing laugh, thick and hollow at the same time.] Damn you— I still— I still have my fingers. You cannot take that away, aha.... gh—
— OPEN.
[And then life goes on!
Somehow, at least. For Salieri, this night certainly started off a bit differently. Painful, elongated limbs aside, it seems the full moon simply hasn't had enough of manipulating the dour Maestro. He's made quick use of his new furred legs and for good reason, considering the glares the locals were giving him. It's quite obvious that Monsters aren't welcome on the more posh side of town— newly changed ones more so. Salieri makes himself scarce, barely keeping an eye on the trail itself as he focuses on simply walking. The rough pads beneath his paws barely register the texture of the road underneath them— it's unsettling, to say the least, but so long as he can make it back to his room then all should be well.
But of course, it simply isn't that easy.] Ah...!
[God, not again.
Salieri shuts his eyes against the splitting headache, sways as he narrowly avoids running right into a couple in his way. He can feel the wary stares and hear the whispers— Really? Out here? No, don't look- those things are bad luck, you know how it is.
How easy it would be to turn and snarl at them.
He almost considers it too, whipping his head around to scan which eyes were currently pinned on him. He feels a growl build in the back of his throat—
and feels his head jerked to the side.] —!?
[He's... caught on something. But not just something— a plant. A long, thick vine protruding from an apothecary's stall has reached out and entangled itself around him.
Or rather, his newly curled horns which he... didn't even realize had taken form. He takes a moment (or two) to consider the idea that he'll more than likely become an abomination by the end of the day, then finally considers on how to untangle himself from this extremely stubborn vine. It clings tight, as though it wants him to stay. With a long suffering sigh Salieri reaches for his dagger.
And the vine clings on tighter.] Nn! Wretched little—
[There's no possible way this blasted thing is alive... is it?]
When: Late May, full moon.
Where: The Shopping District
What: First changes.
Warnings: Mild body horror, not so-mild mental distortions.
— closed to Amadeus (
quam)[The moon hangs her body against the dusk- exalted, luminous.
She at first compelled Salieri to keep to the safety of his new home, away from lights and noise. It was a tempting offer given his recent illness, and a mercy when he felt the tumultuous energy of his own body finally fitting into place. Despite that ready comfort, despite the urge to stay inside and shield away from what was inevitably coming to take place-
—He takes his coat and leaves.
The freshly swept roads and color-tinted sidewalk of the District lead him to a bordered music shop with fanciful musicians painted along the walls. Trumpeters and violinists pose within its windows and inside a seamless phonograph fills the shop with a mild concerto consisting of strings. Salieri's demeanor barely warranted even the most subtle glance and like smoke he glided through each room with a haunted, hooded gaze. Patrons of the store come and go, the hour wanes into night. One can still hear the phonograph playing merrily as the store illuminates its showrooms and light candles with flicking wrists.
But another sound carries just beneath the merriment.
The gradual crescendo of keys float up from a distant corner of the shop. A small hallway past the winds leads to a grand parlor room with ghostly curtains swaying in the night breeze. In the middle of the room Salieri sits, hunched over the shop's only grand piano. His hands diligently follow each note to memory, strike each key with a flow that seems nearly mechanical. The music is low enough that its managed to go undetected all this time, but another sound is steadily climbing its way above that pitch.
It's the sound of Salieri's ragged breath as he plays and clings to the keys as though his survival depended on the sounds they produced.
Something heavy and sharp scrapes across the polished floorboard. There are muted noises now— crackling bones, fabric tearing. Something beneath the piano grows until it can barely fit. The thud of a great, weighty paw resonates as it slams down on the pedals beneath the bench. Claws protruding from the fur catch the wood, graze it with razor-like tips and leave wide carved streaks in their wake. Salieri stifles a groan— keeps the noise lodged in his throat and lowers his head even more. Sweat drips from his bangs and splatter on the ivory keys.
There's certainly no doubt about it now— with Salieri's pants in shreds and newly grown legs bent painfully under the bench, it's all too clear. He is changed— indefinitely.
And he continues to play— until he suddenly doubles over what seems like a sharp spasm of his chest.] Gngh...!
You've— you've finally answered, h... haven't you, Signore?
[Salieri lets out a wheezing laugh, thick and hollow at the same time.] Damn you— I still— I still have my fingers. You cannot take that away, aha.... gh—
— OPEN.
[And then life goes on!
Somehow, at least. For Salieri, this night certainly started off a bit differently. Painful, elongated limbs aside, it seems the full moon simply hasn't had enough of manipulating the dour Maestro. He's made quick use of his new furred legs and for good reason, considering the glares the locals were giving him. It's quite obvious that Monsters aren't welcome on the more posh side of town— newly changed ones more so. Salieri makes himself scarce, barely keeping an eye on the trail itself as he focuses on simply walking. The rough pads beneath his paws barely register the texture of the road underneath them— it's unsettling, to say the least, but so long as he can make it back to his room then all should be well.
But of course, it simply isn't that easy.] Ah...!
[God, not again.
Salieri shuts his eyes against the splitting headache, sways as he narrowly avoids running right into a couple in his way. He can feel the wary stares and hear the whispers— Really? Out here? No, don't look- those things are bad luck, you know how it is.
How easy it would be to turn and snarl at them.
He almost considers it too, whipping his head around to scan which eyes were currently pinned on him. He feels a growl build in the back of his throat—
and feels his head jerked to the side.] —!?
[He's... caught on something. But not just something— a plant. A long, thick vine protruding from an apothecary's stall has reached out and entangled itself around him.
Or rather, his newly curled horns which he... didn't even realize had taken form. He takes a moment (or two) to consider the idea that he'll more than likely become an abomination by the end of the day, then finally considers on how to untangle himself from this extremely stubborn vine. It clings tight, as though it wants him to stay. With a long suffering sigh Salieri reaches for his dagger.
And the vine clings on tighter.] Nn! Wretched little—
[There's no possible way this blasted thing is alive... is it?]