Soft strings filled the air of the symphony hall as the concert began. Roderich leaned back slightly into his second row chair; it had been a while since he had been able to go anywhere he liked. Between paper work and meetings the Austrian had had no time to relax and enjoy what he loved most, music. A content sigh left his lips as the strings decrescendo into silence and a soft flute solo took over. A smile replaced the usual frown on the man's lips as it seemed to speak of peaceful and happier times, almost as if the song had never felt war, only happiness and love.
Roderich soon noted though the section of clarinets, followed by the first oboes (he assumed) coming in very quietly with their two notes clashing against each other causing an almost nauseating sound of unrest in the peaceful melody. A loud timpani roll combined with a cymbal crash shocked him a bit as the woodwinds and low strings dropped out, leaving a very cold, fast paced, snare part leading the haunting brass melody. The sound of it caused chills to run down the Austrian's spine.
A brown, curly-haired trumpet player played at a fortissimo. The sound of the shrill high note rang through the building much like an alarm would. Then, silence fell as the ringing died away, ending the movement.
Roderich glanced down at the brochure he had picked up as he had come in and realized he had been gripping it tightly throughout the performance. He let out his breath slowly and glanced back to the stage. A piece hadn't had him react like this in a very long time, of course it had been a while. Roderich's eyes flicked back to the stage as a young looking violinist stood and walked slowly and purposefully to the front of the stage. The light glinted off his auburn hair and off the wood of the violin.
A thin, high note rang out from the instrument as he started playing, much like he was simply a medium to allow the music to be heard. The notes rang out clear against the silence that had been left after the end of the last movement. The melody was sorrowful and reflective; an extreme contrast to the screaming notes and chaos of what had just finished being played.
The violinist's pale fingers flew swiftly over the neck of the instrument as if it required no effort on his part. As the last few mournful notes rang out he put his violin to his side and bowed. He turned and walked off the stage following the rest of the band, who had started to leave. It was at this point Roderich only had one thought in his mind. He had to meet that musician.