APPASSIONATA – A TEARING OF SOULS
Disclaimers: I do not own.
Warnings/Ratings: M in general, though ranging from T – M, for mature scenes and ideas, sometimes explicit activity, use and abuse and castration of pretty boys, dark themes, superfluous remarks on Venice's beauty, and references to any and all decadent 18th century secrets and vices
appassionata, part the first
la primavera
IV. an arrival, part deux
Call yourself my son no longer...
My brother, I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry...
They did not throw him to the wolves immediately. Quite the contrary, after hearing about rumored discipline and severity at conservatorios such as this one, Tokiya was surprised and somewhat relieved.
No, in fact, the rest of the day after the attendants of the school had helped move his things to his new room had been markedly peaceful. In the office of the headmaster, the Maestro Saotome, the black leather folio containing his papers and legal documents had been sorted through and remarkably enough, nobody had doubted once that he was Tokiya Hayato, the orphan singer the Ichinose house had been sponsoring for years. Maybe there had been a spark of suspicious curiosity in the headmaster's eyes as he squinted at Tokiya in evaluation, listening to him sing to determine which classes he would take after years of private tutorship in some rotting patrician house on the water, but in the end no questions had been asked that Tokiya couldn't answer slickly enough.
They gave him the uniform and red sash, but Tokiya hadn't touched it yet. It was folded on the desk under the window, where there were faded ink stains and notches carved into the wood from some previous student. Tokiya had tried organizing his trunks just do distract himself from the rotten feeling of reality as its claws slipped in for good, anchoring him to this place as the gravity sank in to him heavier and heavier with each passing second. This was the Conservatorio di Saotome. This was his new home—and until when, he didn't know, and where his home would be after was as unknown as that.
The bed that was his now was comfortable, actually. It was perfectly soft, if just a little scratchy. He'd have to change into the uniform soon; he felt out of place lying there in a dim sterile dormitory, still wearing the brilliance of a dashing noble child. Even if that dashing noble child was a monster under the brilliance, too tall, too pretty, too talented, mutilated and proud of it.
Tokiya ran his finger over the seams in the walls, where silk paneling met moulding and moulding became plaster. It was far from the luxury of a well-kept Renaissance house, but the school had once been a Renaissance house so the ghost of the luxury was still there.
The room was silent. Tokiya heard every creak of a floorboard up and down the hall, shuffling on the floor below. He heard voices, full conversation or lessons in swing, echoing steadily. There was the muffled but quite consistent roar of instruments from some distant wing—strings, keyboard, woodwinds, an elegant cacophony—and every now and then the silence in the dorm room was broken, interrupted, by that roommate of his that made Tokiya bristle each time he was near.
Unfortunately they'd met right after the noon meal, when students were allowed an hour of recreation before a long afternoon and evening of more lessons. Of course his roommate had tried to strike up conversation, as that was natural, and especially so for his roommate who seemed dreadfully talkative.
"So you're Tokiya?" he'd said once or twice, trying to draw a reply out of the monster in brilliance lying on the narrow bed with a book he'd pulled from one of his trunks. "I'm Otoya. Yeah, so, you really have a lot of luggage, don't you? Where'd you come from? A different school? There are a few transfer students here. You don't really like talking, do you?"
Tokiya met his eyes over his book, coldly. Otoya seemed indifferent. In fact, Tokiya's harsh glance seemed to brighten Otoya's smile, spiteful perhaps or just excited he'd finally gotten a response. It appeared to turn his whole day around, regardless.
Whatever it was, Tokiya was more than grateful for the silence after, when his roommate had gone back to class with all the other students. People like Otoya bothered him, because he knew their secrets. People like Otoya were talkative and kind and thoughtful because there was inevitably some darkness hidden deep within them that they'd learned to protect for some reason.
Tokiya didn't like people like that—people like his new roommate—because people who didn't give in to the darkness within them, people who smiled even when they were sad, were much braver than people like Tokiya. And Tokiya didn't want to think about lacking valor like that right now.
The curtain will rise again shortly...
