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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?]
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[Urgh! That isn't the only thing he might have torn off. The former imperial Kapellmeister lets out a sigh.] I'll also be needing my pants.
[He shuts his eyes, having gained a newfound motivation to move his legs much quicker to the exit now. Maybe he just doesn't want to see Amadeus catering around his ripped up garments...] Hand them to me, if you would.
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at the request, amadeus searches the immediate area for anything resembling pants ... only to find long, tattered ribbons of fabric scattered about. ] They're not exactly pants any longer, Salieri...
[ well, fine, he'll oblige. at least halfway, when he picks up what he can in one, sweeping effort (still leaving some pieces on the floor, oops!).
finally, he rises, and catches up to the other as they both exit out into the hallway. ] Here. Why do you want them, anyway? They won't be much use to you, now, and... [ amadeus, taking his place by salieri's side, peers over at the other — first assessing his face, then dipping low to asses... everything else. sneaky and quick. mostly. ]
... it appears the rest of your adornments are pretty well-hidden. [ there's that stupid, impish grin. ]
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[Despite the grumbling Salieri gratefully accepts the tattered remains of his clothing. Shredded or not, he certainly doesn't want anyone else touching his things... he'll dispose of them later on his own time.
Until then he continues to glower, keeping his sullen silence until he perks up once again at the sound of Amadeus sliding yet another observation.] ? Adorn—
...? [Wait where are you looking— Salieri glances down, brows suddenly shooting up.] Gh... !
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[And there he goes, practically dashing and disappearing down the hall with his heavy steps resonating against the walls. The sound of startled squeaks and yelps are head just moment later, followed by a rough series of "Scusi!" accompanying them.]
i typod asses in the last tag but it doesnt make it any more or less stupid
and amadeus is sure not to look again, eyes very pointedly focused up ahead despite the humored smile on his face, clearly holding back something. still, he can't help taking in salieri's scandalized expression when it makes itself known, and the meager barrier that was his too-wide smile erupts into snorts once the avenger stomps down the hall. ]
Ahahaha! [ echoes his sudden bout of laughter down the hall and into the main lobby, in total, strange contrast to the shrieks of employees and late-night customers alike. ] I'm sorry, I won't look anymore! I promise! [ loud, loud, amadeus persists, leaving said company more bewildered than frightened by the time he's trailed after the maestro. at least he offers them greetings on the way out. ] Ah, Salieri, you're so fast now...!
the context works all the same its fine
After all— it's one thing to have partially transformed in a public place and (nearly!) make a spectacle of yourself, but it's another entirely to waltz around almost half-naked...! Half-naked, like a common beast!
Then again, Salieri has to wonder if the locals are all too accustomed to this by now- given by their unrelenting and wary stares. He wastes no time in navigating his way out of the shop, certainly much to the relief of the fidgeting manager and store clerks.] Hah.
[By the time he steps out into the open he's nearly breathless. A strange soreness radiates from the very balls of his heels to the heavy clawed toes keeping his balance on the ground. It's strange, but somehow walking has become much easier...
—"I won't look anymore!" The silver-haired Maestro grunts as he turns and waits for Amadeus to appear at the threshold. When he finally does he makes sure to place one hand on his hip and crease his brow— the very visage of one grumpy, unforgiving Avenger.] Is that so?
I must have been motivated to flee from straying eyes. [Hmph.
They may have just escaped from the shop itself, but now out in the open... Salieri feels more exposed than before. He shifts uneasily from foot to foot.] ...
So this is how it will be. [He says, after a beat.] Fitting, is it not?
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having lingered long enough, amadeus briefly turns to bid the manager goodbye before stepping away from the store front.
and, to salieri, a shrug: ] Oh, you're asking for my opinion? Let's see...
[ well, then, more scrutinizing it is! with a hand pinching his chin, amadeus begins walking a circle around salieri. all for show, of course — he's taken note of all the man's minor changes already, after all. ] The claws and the fangs, certainly. But the paws?
[ hmmmmm. ] ... Yes. Those too. [ ha ha. ]
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[Salieri pauses, and lets out that all too predictable scoff.] That is where I beg to differ, Maestro.
[Paws! They're probably roughened up at this point... although admittedly it does feel as though he isn't even walking on the hard floor. Urgh, he'll think about it later. Salieri steps beside Amadeus, once again taken aback by the sudden difference in height.] ... Now then.
I don't plan on returning to my place just yet. [Yes, if he wasn't making it obvious enough that he'd like to keep moving.] So allow me to ask you something, Amadeus. If we could... [Y'know, leave.]
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... honestly, it's likely the way that salieri just sort of walked up to him, casual and completely free of murderous intent. ]
...
[ —murderous intent. yes, a different kind of intent is unfairly easy to read in those words. ] I'm flattered, Kapellmeister, but I'm sure my neighbors would complain of noise if I accepted that kind of proposition. [ when is he ever going to learn to shut his mouth. ] I didn't think the beastly urges would kick in so soon...
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[...]
...
[Ah, wait. There it is.] Wh— Amadeus...!!
[Salieri all but hisses the name- sharp fangs flashing, hackles rising and— yes, fur bristling even on the lower portions of his body. Above all else, however, is the bright red that returns full force across his cheeks. It's a stifling heat, one that traps itself beneath his collar and burns the very surface of his skin.
For Amadeus to just— joke of something so casually. Tease about that so casually!
Beastly urges...]
...Tch!
[With a last dismissive shake of his head Salieri picks up his earlier pace and stomps past the Maestro.] If you're quite done joking, Herr Mozart!
[He's being serious now!!]
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—sometimes ... he really does speak before he thinks. oops.
it was a bad joke...!
this time amadeus follows up with nothing, hand idly tugging at his hair as he allows the other to stalk past him for a few good steps. ] ... [ before he eventually turns on his heel and tails after him. ]
Right... Where is it we're going, Maestro?
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Beastly urges... is that what Amadeus intends to call it?
A huff escapes his lips— and it's just in time to catch a whiff of something warm and baked nearby. Salieri slows his steps and hears the Maestro's voice clear beside him. A tinge of indignation still ruminates at that last comment, but for now he's able to push it aside.] ... Here.
[Here, in front of this quaint little bakery that may or may not salvage the remainder of their discussion. Salieri presses his lips tight together, hesitation flickering across his expression.] Just for a while, if... they'll allow it.
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amadeus simply shrugs, resigned to this route by way of ... well, digging himself this way. lest salieri kick him to the curb now.
without waiting, amadeus approaches the front door and opens it. ] How can anyone think to deny you, Salieri, with the way you look at sweets as though they were a long lost child?
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[But the smell hits him then— cocoa powder, chocolate moussee and whipped cream. The Beast bites his lower lip as he restrains the urge to simply stride in and demand his desserts. How long has it been now? Ugh. He just wants to talk to Amadeus! To be distracted so easily...]
... [Alright. Here he comes. He walks up slowly behind the Maestro, as though the smaller man will somehow shield him from view, and peers just above his head into the bakery. It seems empty enough that no one will bother them? Perhaps they could simply walk in...]
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or rather, as he does, once he sees that salieri will follow after him. after all, he's not the one with the cravings.
inside, the confectioner's shop is small, modest and practically empty at this time of day. lucky for the avenger, the wooden shelves of bread and plated desserts are still stocked. the rest of the venue is host to several small tables for tea, all of which are unoccupied save for the one in the corner — a woman with a spread of files and books in front of her making late-night use of it. from the looks of it: the owner.
this woman, at least, receives them with a little more professionalism than the folks back at the music shop – having enough etiquettical sense to limit herself to one lingering stare on salieri before pushing her nose back into her logbook.
"let me know when you decide, alright, dear?" she chimes, clearly at amadeus more than salieri. ]
Sorry to bother you this time of night, madame. My friend here is possessed with a craving. [ then, a slight grin, especially when he notices the shudder she attempts to suppress, hearing that. one might be confused about who the actual monster is here. ]
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So why Amadeus is giving her such a devious look is beyond him, but before he can think to scowl and chide his fellow composer for making their sudden appearance even more suspicious—
—he sees it. A delicately cut slice of chocolate mousse pie. His hands press down flat against the wood, his front leaning over the counter with vivid interest.] Ah...
[Ahem.]
—I can find us a table, Amadeus. [As though remembering himself he inches back, one arm politely bent behind his back. He steps away, and starts towards the tables unoccupied in the far corner.]
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more than the confusion brought on by having his companion suddenly, and for no better reason, feared and disallowed from music stores, the hidden and petty side-eying of those with less backbone is just plain irritating. at the very least they could have the decency to wear their baseless prejudice on their sleeve! heaven knows fake smiles and hollow words strike a certain unforgiving part of him, and leaving the shopkeep mildly uncomfortable is the least he owes her because of it.
... and there it is: all the reason the madame should think twice before discouraging the leopard-legged man away, lest she lose the most loyal patron she'll ever make in this life.
amadeus huffs, shakes his head and shrugs. he certainly doesn't want to sit in here, as much as he'd actually love to impose terribly on this woman, but first: ] Am I meant to interpret what you want from that?
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With a slight turn of his head Salieri glances over his shoulder, a red eye carefully flickering toward the shop owner. He also has no intention of stirring up trouble in her establishment, regardless of the very ominous mood Amadeus is shamelessly advertising.]
A slice of the chocolate mousse, Amadeus. [Is all he wants. With that he once again makes himself scarce— opting instead to find an isolated table near the window. Once he does he slows beside it— his brow furrowing, the mechanisms of his mind now churning furiously as he attempts to figure out... how to sit down again.
You order for them, Amadeus. He'll probably have it figured out by the time you're back.]
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... when it comes, he huffs a little. so dismissive, so short with the man who will inevitably have to buy the cake with his own funds, salieri! amadeus gives the pâtissier a look – who glances back at him before he shrugs. ] Did you get that, madame?
I'll have a coffee — and then we'll be on our way. [ he tacks on, both to the relief of the woman, now rising to fetch them their things, and to the avenger still attempting to solve the apparent puzzle that was sitting in a chair. ]
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One such victory comes in a sigh as Salieri bends his knees and slides his heavy paws beneath the chair. He sits- truly sits this time- and gives his cravat a tug for good measure. He can almost feel himself bristling in anticipation— it's been far too long! He deserves this!
All the while he continues to glance over at Amadeus, expectant and patient. Seems like they do have quite a bit to talk about...] ...
Amadeus. [Is that pâtissier nearly done??]
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well, no matter. he can be his own kind of bull-headed, and perhaps a little thoughtless, when — after the woman exchanges a small box and a coffee for his few coins — he turns and signals at the newly-accomplished salieri ... to the door.
oh, but not before he suppresses a snort behind his wrist (his hand occupied by both their items–) at the sight of the kapellmeister sat down so sullenly. ]
What are you doing, brooding in the corner of this lovely woman's pâtisserie, Excellency? [ a wide smile as he makes his way to the door again. ] Let's do that outside. —Good night, madame! [ a wave with two fingers, now. ]
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Have a pleasant evening, Madmae. [Somehow it's surprisingly easy to stand as opposed to sitting down, so he's quick to rise back up on those strong legs and excuse himself from the table. He barely spares the woman a glance, seeing only her careful nod from the corner of his eye as she watches him leave the shop.]
Amadeus! [Finally comes that chastising tone, although one might argue this is leaning more on annoyed—] Do not leave me alone with—
[How to put this nicely...] —these townsfolk. You know full well they'll take any chance to throw any afflicted out.
[Whether or not he blames them is left to be determined.]
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so at that mild accusation, he only blinks, confused. ] I didn't leave you alone, Kapellmeister. You're right here, aren't you? You outpace me easily.
[ he's not leading them very far: a set of clean, unoccupied stairs sit just a few yards away, a fine enough spot for those looking for a small moment of privacy.
in the meantime, amadeus continues — gives the other man a look for the ages, positively dripping with arrogance and an unabashed craving, perhaps, for a little bit of that threatening growling he'd done earlier. maybe a show of claws. ] You're like a defenseless little cub, Salieri. I pray you'll be alright to return home on your own.
[ he's asking for it, he knows. but he has one last strategic line of defense that almost surely will not fail him if and when his ego sends him to blows. ]
Here, Kätzchen — your cake.
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[And at that Salieri nearly reels back- this brows lifting and soon narrowing as he glares.] And what does that im—
—... Kätzchen?! [Whether or not Salieri means to the word forms into a quick and scandalized snarl— his lips pulling back to once again reveal fangs as he bristles.] You... !
[UGH, Amadeus! He wants his cake! But to take it after such an insult...]
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Very well. With his mouth set in a firm line Salieri steps forward, every newly added inch of his height working into his favor as he stalks toward Amadeus and stops just short of a heavy step. A gloved hand reaches for the box— fingers curling around the handle and grazing against Amadeus's in a brief touch that seems far too significant to ignore. The electricity of it leaps up his arm but thankfully doesn't reflect in the tight, dark expression he wears as he looks down at the Maestro.] Grazie... Amadeus.
[And the growl comes almost unbidden, almost accidental as the word rolls deep from his chest and unravels in his throat. With barely a tug he takes the box— and steps aside toward the stairs.] Now, enough jokes.
Let us talk.
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reviving this for bean touch
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