there's been a bit of hate in the rosewick tag on tumblr (again) and it's just making me so tired
this isn't part of any verse and it's pretty vague at points, but i wrote it in like an hour all at once in hopes to help take people's minds off things
like, seriously, you children need to fizzityucking calm down oh my god
the music featured is The Divine Comedy by Robert W Smith, a playlist on youtube can be found here /playlist?list=PL85F72415D2F55726 so if you wanna take a listen (which i recommend cause it's great) you can check it there
They weren't the best seats, Ruby knew that, but for once she wasn't bothered. Sure, she cared, but she couldn't find it in herself to spend time worrying about it. Normally, she would insist on getting a seat more near the center, but this time she couldn't be picky; the circumstances wouldn't allow it.
None of it seemed like it was happening, like she was watching from someone else's eyes. The bright and warm gold lights and constant movement of people seemed so far away yet so close that it threatened to swallow her whole. Any other time, she would have let it. But not this time.
A small tug on her hand kept her mind from wandering too far, and she squeezed back, looking up to meet calming, green eyes. It was still a wonder that this was all happening, that it was all a reality, but she was finding herself finally able to accept it.
She heard him speak, and even if she was unable to make out his words, she still knew what he said. With a nod, she gave his hand a light squeeze and rested her head on his shoulder. The fabric of his suit may not have been the most comfortable to lean on, and the fabric of her own dress may not have been the most comfortable to even be in, but it was enough.
Closing her eyes, she imagined the people around her turning into black voids, their sounds quieting until they could no longer be heard. Traveling down the long building, she listened in to the front, a smile small on her face as she mentally focused on the orchestra tuning on stage. It was always enjoyable to listen to the instruments tune, to try and follow each individual as they adjusted with embouchure or headpieces, their pitch wavering until it settled with another, forming one single note.
A tapping from the front broke her out of her reverie and she carefully opened her eyes. On the front of the stage the conductor was pointing to a select individual, who played out a single note, and was soon followed by the rest. Once the final tuning was finished, the conductor took his arms up, and in one beat, the lulling sound of an oboe echoed out. She tried not to let herself get too comfortable, knowing very well that classical music liked to change speed and volume at the moment you least expected it.
The first movement was powerful; woodwind instruments playing runs that she could never imagine even looking at, bone-moving hits from the timpani rung out to her very core, and interesting vocal effects throughout the piece kept her steady. The pause between movements was silent except for the fading gong, and blended in to a melodic hush that was soon enough broken with a loud percussion rhythm, then followed by a harrowing flute solo. It was fascinating, what the composer had decided to write, and she found enjoyment watching the percussionists in the back rattling a lengthy chain.
As each movement faded in and out, melodies passing around with passionate crescendoes, she found herself almost forgetting about everyone in the hall. All she had on her mind was the orchestral piece that was more of an experience than anything, and the hand that gently held her own.
When the concert had finished, the audience's applause replacing the music from the air, she moved slightly from her position to stretch. As the others in the hall left she felt that comforting hand on her shoulder and she looked over, meeting those relaxing eyes again with a smile. The two stayed seated, waiting for the rush to settle before deciding to take their own leave. They were silent themselves, hands held close, as they exited the building, walking a way before stopping to stand in the cold night air. An arm wrapped around her shoulders and she looked up.
"So," he started, tilting his head slightly, "what did you think? Not as boring as you thought?"
She laughed softly, hitting his chest playfully. "I never said it'd be boring."
"Sure, Red," he joked, that persistent grin forming on his face as she huffed.
"I may have said that it wouldn't be as exciting as a play or musical, but I never said it would be boring!"
"But you're implying it was exciting!"
"And you're twisting my words, Roman!"
The two laughed, playfully teasing each other as they began walking their way on down the street. Cars passed by, lights from buildings and street lamps illuminating the path around them, echoes of closing windows and doors and bark dogs provided background sounds into the night. Looking up at the sky between laughs and words, the dark gray clouds in the sky revolving slowly above, the waning moon stealing moments to cast its stolen light down, the air around the two was warm.
It was something they needed, something they deserved. A peace of mind, a laugh or gentle touch, a precious moment that helped to heal all that needed to be right again.