middaeg | yes, i admit my defeat (semi-open!)

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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 (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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[ it's a strange position to be thrust into, alright?

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?

[A twitch from a silver brow is Salieri's subtle reply. He doesn't need to go far to make his mostly innocent intentions known, although a part of him does wish to make sure that someway, somehow... he'll have a slice of that chocolate pie before the night is over.

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.]

[ amadeus leans near the register, elbow on counter and cheek in palm as he eyes salieri's back – patiently waiting for his order.

... 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. ]

[He'll pay you back eventually, Amadeus— but until then, Salieri can only savor the small victories he's experienced here tonight.

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??]

[ wow. looks like salieri was keen on sitting in here regardless, huh?

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. ]

! [Dammit Amadeus, he just—] —Ngh.

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.]

[ amadeus is quick to get them out of earshot, and seeing how quick-paced the other maestro has become with his freshly-shaped legs, he wisely figured he'd have no trouble meeting him.

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.

[Hmph. He only outpaces him now... but that doesn't mean Salieri will resort to sprinting through shops and marketplaces to see where the Maestro has taken off to. He keeps this to himself as he runs his gaze along the stairs, a perfect spot as though made unoccupied just for them. Yes, this is a better alternative than finding another small table to squeeze into.] ...?

[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...]

[...

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.

[ as angry as that hissing and snarling is, amadeus struggles to find the fire in any of it. in part thanks to the way salieri serves to snuff out the flames himself.

but between the subdued gesture of him reaching for his cake and the thanks... amadeus figures he can afford to stop his teasing for the moment. with a shrug he follows salieri and takes a spot on one of the lowest steps on the staircase. at least the avenger seems as keen on moving things along as he is for once.

after a muted sip of his coffee – eyes peering at the other all the while – he responds. ] Right. I have something to talk to you about, too.

... But you first.

[Yes, for once he is moving things along– preferring to dive right into the remainder of their previous conversation, lest his own curiosity consume him before anything else.

Still, Salieri will not continue until he's delicately opened the box and revealed his well earned dessert. Exhaling slowly in relief he takes the fork strategically placed inside, slicing the narrow end of his cake and readying it upon his fork. Sorry, Amadeus– he knows he was rushing them along before but–

The first taste of luscious chocolate is just too good to delay any further. Salieri's relief is palpable– a long savoring sigh followed by blissfully shut eyes. Finally, this wretched place has given back even in this small measure.

... Right, where was he? The Kapellmeister clears his throat, finishes his bite before pressing on.] Yes.

What you said back at the shop... about this not being an unfamiliar story to you.

[...] What did you mean by that, Amadeus?

[ amadeus can't say he's unused to the sight — of the otherwise orderly and conscientious hofkapellmeister throwing inhibitions to the wind and entering that whimsical world of his own, populated simply by him and his dessert — but it never quite loses its charm.

especially when not but a few hours ago the man was without leopard legs. and when not a mere month ago the avenger was brandishing his blade at him.

so forgive him if he can't help watching – and smiling a smile that clearly says he's holding something back. it's the same smile he hides behind his coffee before taking another drink in the easy silence.

and ... oh. was that it? really? ]

... Kapellmeister, you have an impeccable memory for the stupid nothings I say on a whim. [ there he goes again. ]

Edited (no) 2019-06-30 10:15 (UTC)

! [There's a fleeting risk that comes after those words— the risk of Salieri biting right through his tongue, that is.] Amadeus!

[The leopard-legged man scowls from where he sits, defiantly returning to his cake and yet again slicing another little section.] At that, Herr Mozart... all I can say is that someone has to.

[Otherwise, how would they be able to have significant conversations such as these? Salieri may or may not feel as though he's admitted something rather personal now, and the thought of continuing this topic seems less desirable than before.] Never mind that, then.

[Maybe they can get back to it later...] What is it you had to say?

[ well, now how is he supposed to move on and ignore a sentiment so profound?

someone has to, he says.

as much as those stupid nothings serve to haunt him in the worst ways imaginable (see: the very first conversation they had here), amadeus can't deny that it's ... nice, in some ways, to know that salieri hears all of him.

no, more than that ... he respects all of him. most of him! to some degree, at least. if for once his words — which would otherwise, and so often garner him grab-bag looks of pity, shame and distaste — could follow back to him in a meaningful way, in a conversation between two full moons and cake and coffee...

—then perhaps he's reached the avenger in more ways than he could have hoped in this precarious, second life.

amadeus huffs a quick, conceding laugh, shaking his head as he does. ] Don't back down now, Salieri. I was only observing.

I figured it was obvious. "The story of a musician turned monster" ... Well, it could actually fit quite a few of us, couldn't it? [ was that salieri's true problem? too many musicians, too many monsters borne from them? the passion of an artist is a dangerous thing indeed. ]

[He listens carefully— to Amadeus and his mannerisms, to the sounds of distant livelihood beyond the market, to the wind ever so slightly scattering leaves along the sidewalks. When he finally does receive his answer, it's...

... not quite what he was expecting.

But then again— what was it that he wished to hear? Did he mean for Amadeus to admit something then and there? To admit some secret of himself? What secret would Wolfgang Amadeus possibly keep that he hasn't already shown like an open book?] ...

[No, it hardly matters now, does it?

Why force the Maestro to admit the existence of the monster he knew in the past? Salieri shakes his head as well— raising his fork stuffed with cake.] Some more than others.

I suppose it's true. Do you apply yourself to that, Amadeus? [As if he needs an answer. As if he doesn't already know.]

Edited (wrow forgot my icon...) 2019-07-01 15:22 (UTC)

[ why force it indeed.

it makes little sense to him – having these existential conversations about him, of all people when he's long since made peace with the demons from his past life. it's not as though it's difficult to speak about, just plainly pointless. as a one-star caster, he's the last in the gallery of heroic spirits whose existence is at all confusing ... especially compared to the avenger next to him.

(but what would salieri say if he knew that he included him, even more than himself, in that theme?)

all trammels of mortal life can bother him no longer. all stupid-nothings of another summoning should be left in the ether.

... but the very existence of the avenger here with him says otherwise. how ironic, and poetic that salieri embodies the ghost of his past to his very core. without meaning to, without trying, even now. where he goes, salieri follows — and had been there, all along. ]

Come now, Kapellmeister, you know the answer to that as well. You saw it for yourself, after all. Don't you remember?

[ antonio salieri — not the avenger, not in the man in grey, not even the imperial kapellmeister — antonio salieri, as a colleague, as a friend, knew him better than ever in those last months of his life. one of the few intimate members of the audience to his spiraling crescendo into demon god-induced madness.

salieri knows already – and amadeus knows that he knows.

yes, it makes little sense to him. a long, contemplating sip from his cup follows. ] But that's all in the past now. [ he finally directs his gaze back at the other, a creeping smile on his lips. ] I find your story much more deserving to be set to stage.

[As he swallows down the sweet morsel of his cake, Salieri feels himself becoming all too attuned to Amadeus's posture, his energy... and the all too careless way he brings up that shadow. That darkness from his past. Salieri sits straighter, concern briefly flickering across his gaze.] Amadeus—

["But that's all in the past now." ... Yes, it was- wasn't it?

Have you finally drifted to a place where the beast can no longer reach you, Amadeus?

Such rotten luck it is then— that now he's saddled with another monster entirely. Salieri knows the irony all too well there, the twisted humor that lies in his existence being so intimately intertwined with the Maestro's. Destiny some might call it, fate they may say—

But all he sees is a curse. A curse now taken tangible form... and given a fitting animalistic form.

(Although, judging by that smile on the composer's lips, one must wonder who out of the two truly has seen the darkest of shadows). Salieri gently drops his fork.] ... If you insist, Herr Mozart.

Then I will go along with your script. [He locks onto that smile with a firm, piercing gaze.] So long as there are no more discrepancies between us.

[ at that, he gives another, casual shrug. ]

Outside of the professional realm, right?

[ a joke! which serves to move them along both tonally and topically from that dreary conversation — ]

Heh. No, but ... that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Salieri. [ he streeetches his leg out along the step he's sitting on. ]

Music. [ he drops the word, as though testing the proverbial waters of salieri's attitude with it. ] ... Well, the theater here, to be more precise.

[Dreary is definitely the better word for it. For all his foreboding omens and presence to accompany it, Salieri is all too happy to move away from the topic— opting instead to take another bite out of his quickly vanishing slice of cake. He glances at the boot that's made itself known beside him, lets his lips purse at it.] ?

["Music."]

... What are you on about now, Amadeus?

[Is Salieri's very careful prelude to the obvious dam of questions he's clearly holding back.] I've heard even less than a peep from the districts in regards to theaters. I was begining to think this world was duller than I believed.

Edited 2019-07-02 05:48 (UTC)

[ in stark comparison, it's as though the excitement of the full moon made its way to him, all bright enthusiasm in his eyes. finally they're getting somewhere!

(because of course, progress is measured in musical endeavors – not heart to heart talks.) ]

Right? Well, that's just it, isn't it! [ he sets his coffee down now, abandoning it in favor of exasperated hand gestures. ] They're all closed and boarded up! It's a painful sight to see here. And they call it the Entertainment District.

It's dreadful. There are music halls, but no semblance of musical theater, as far as I can tell. [ he makes a face that conveys all sentiment of "what kind of idiots run this place?" that he can muster in one go. ] It must upset you, too.

! [Silvery brows shoot up as Amadeus- quite literally- springs to life before his eyes. Well, he was wondering where all that energy went... and now it seems to have made itself known (finally).] ...? "Upset" me?

[His tone is dismissive, almost callous in the way he tests those words. He sets his fork down again, proper and final—] Worse than that, Amadeus.

It infuriated me to no end. [The sharp edge lacing his tone says it all. Finally, he can let out his true feelings on the whole matter.] But what else was there to expect in a place that primarily focuses on what it sees and not what it hears? For such a world to rely on the constant flow of magic to sustain itself... there's very little inspiration to be found here. Senza vita.

It's simply too pitiful for words. [He scowls. And once again, they've met in the middle for this one constant in their continuous lives.] But... I have a feeling that's not all you have to say on the matter, Amadeus.

[ for all of a moment, he truly thinks that perhaps the man in grey was successful in hiding that passion of antonio salieri's, far away and never to be seen beyond its terrible and warped battle variation.

... so as salieri continues, amadeus can't help the amused little smile that lights his face. ] Ah. And there he is! The strict, Imperial Kapellmeister.

Your words bite, Excellency, as usual. And a little sharper now that you've got the fangs [ he thumbs at his own, much less impressive canines, exposed in his grin ] to back them up. [ a short giggle. ]

Ah, but you're right. You do know me well, Salieri. [ he decides to say, just before moving on. ]

[And with that he feels himself snort.]

Hmph. So long as they don't prevent me from enjoying my desserts... I have no complaints.

[And if they just so happen to make him look all the more fearsome then that's simply something else he cannot help.

With only a small piece of his cake left Salieri decides to wait until Amadeus has finished with his decorative tirade to end his moment of indulgence.] Well then? Let us hear it, Herr Mozart.

[ oh. well, don't mind him for a brief moment, because that reminds him that he still has his coffee here. it's easy to get distracted when music is involved. he takes one long sip before continuing — ]

Well, the truth is, I went to Parliament. [ what else does a masterless servant do in a world without opera, after all? ] About the possibility of reopening one of the theaters. If no one else was interested in running it — I'd get a loan, of course — and run it myself.

Ahahaha, I don't have the cleanest reputation in the world, but I've no record here, right? [ listen to how completely free from guilt he says all that. ] Well, something seems to have tipped them off, for the representative there may as well have become an immovable bull. She drilled me rather brutally with questions, and warned me that all the performances would be heavily monitored — and worst of all: altered if necessary.

[ censorship ... his apparently immortal enemy. ]

She was hellbent on discouraging me away from it the entire time. I was really just inquiring for the future, so I committed to nothing and left. [ over the top of his coffee cup, amadeus sighs a heavy, frustrated sigh. ] It was a horrible interaction, Salieri! It seems there's some conscious effort to keep the theater art suppressed, and I've no idea why! [ oh, now he seems pretty upset. this is really beginning to feel too much like he's back home in vienna again – struggling forever with the avenues of his passion. ]

Edited 2019-07-02 08:06 (UTC)

[Ah, and there it is.

Somehow, even after becoming intertwined with Amadeus's line of fate, Salieri still thought to foolishly believe the composer would remain idle during their time here. Why was it that he chose to think such things? To avoid needless friction between himself and the Maestro once more, consisting of words and debates?

... Or perhaps he was simply too afraid of becoming wrapped up once again in Amadeus's passion.

Just as he sits and listens now he feels the reciprocating swell of indignation at the Maestro's words. Altered performances. Suppressed performances. Was there no place safe from the tasteless guile of the politicians? Was there truly no world in which music could breathe without having restraints before it could draw its first breath?

Never mind that Amadeus actually went on his own to seek Parliament... the reception he was given leaves a far bitter taste in his mouth.] And knowing the delicate operations of politics, I doubt you will for a while, Amadeus.

[Salieri sighs. So much to be felt from one simple exchange... it truly feels as though they've returned to Vienna— and the sensation is both surreal and bittersweet. Ah, he must keep himself afloat...] Really, though. To think you went to Parliament by yourself. Yourself! One man against a cabinet filled with high noses and stuffed necks.

[Despite himself, and despite the situation- the Kapellmeister cracks a slight, crooked smile. That is too like you, Maestro.]

Well, [He begins closing his cake box.] Now that you received your answer, I suppose you'll have to work within their guidelines somehow.

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