With impeccable timing, this "Holmes" character stepped through the door.
At 5ft 10in, he towered 5 inches above me. His gray eyes looked down a
long thin nose, and he had a rather unkempt head of dark hair. Presently,
those eyes were narrowed on my person. I swear I was standing there for 10
minutes under that scrutinizing gaze.
Finally, "My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." I wasn't quite sure if I agreed with myself, but for the sake of not being a skitzo, I put the thought aside.
"Shall we?" He held open the door for me. I gathered up my things, including my hefty clarinet case and backpack.
We walked down the hallway a bit before Holmes turned toward me and fixed me with an unreadable gaze. "Why didn't you just tell him?"
"What in blue blazes are you talking about?!" Yeah, that's just what every gal wants, her past delved into by complete strangers.
He merely shrugged and we continued walking until we came to a sort of hub area. Holmes began pointing energetically and talking super-quickly. "That hall leads to the performing center, which has 12 different performance halls, so don't get the 12 confused; that to the music education building. It has a different 'hall' for each section, which are denoted by letter. For example, woodwinds may be in W12. This way leads to the rudimentary education halls. That's your science, arithmetic, and so forth. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, sure." As if just being in England wasn't complicated enough for me.
"Good." He spun down what I thought was the music ed. hallway, but I couldn't tell from my vantage point on the floor, because I had turned straight into a walking wall of muscle. He had a jaw chiseled from stone and meticulously styled blonde hair. His clear blue eyes bored straight through Holmes' skull.
"Well, if it isn't Sherlock Holmes," the bombshell drawled out in a cultured voice.
"Still sore about that orchestra chairing, Robert?"
"If it were anyone else, I wouldn't care, but being beaten by you is a rather harsh hit to my ego."
"That mustn't be too large of a loss."
Robert's eyes narrowed. "I'd watch myself if I were you."
Holmes sneered. "I'm quivering in fear."
"You ought to be."
As if remembering something very important, he turned toward me. "I am so sorry miss. Where are my manners?" He helped me off the floor. "My name is Robert Moriarty."
"Lucilia Gregory."
"Pleased to meet you." He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. "I hope to be seeing you around." Robert went on his way, leaving me oh-so- charmed. I wanted to see him again too.
I must have looked love-struck, because Holmes cleared his throat and looked at me with a mix of expectance and contempt. "What?"
"We have a class to go to."
"Yeah I suppose."
Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what you're here for."
"No, I'm here for the romantic opportunities."
"There's no need for sarcasm."
"Sorry, I felt compelled."
After all that, we still managed to get to first- hour full orchestra rehearsal with time enough to spare for me to warm up my clarinet and for him to run and do whatever those violinists do, with rosin and so forth. By the way, the class was in a performance hall, so I was wrong before. As I took stock of the class, noticing that my only acquaintance was over halfway downstage from me, guess who came through the door and planted his bum at the low end of the violin section? If you said, "gosh I think it's Robert", I'd slap you for saying "gosh", and then I'd tell you that's exactly who it was.
I must have been staring, because he grinned at me and sauntered over.
"It's that girl that ran into me," Robert said as he leaned his elbow on my chair.
I blushed red as a tomato. "Uh, yeah, sorry about that. Pretty smooth of me, eh?"
"Don't worry about it. If you hadn't run into me, I never would have met you."
"Stop the cheese act," said a smooth, urbane voice from behind me. Holmes had finished doing whatever those violinists do, and was at that moment standing there looking pretty ticked off. "Dear Abby," Robert said in that fantastic English accent. Wait, he knows who Abby is? Impressive indeed. "My arch-rival enemy is trying get my girl. What should I do?"
I'm absolutely sure Holmes would have come back with some brilliant retort if he were given the time, but he was cut off by the untimely ring of the bell. Everyone scurried to their seats, except for myself, who stood by the director's podium like an imbecile, waiting to tell the director of my existence and to pick up my folder of potential doom and disaster. I'm being melodramatic, but this could be really hard!
Will it be? Who knows? And lord knows I'm too lazy to tell you now! I'm cutting it off now, so come back, okay?
Finally, "My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." I wasn't quite sure if I agreed with myself, but for the sake of not being a skitzo, I put the thought aside.
"Shall we?" He held open the door for me. I gathered up my things, including my hefty clarinet case and backpack.
We walked down the hallway a bit before Holmes turned toward me and fixed me with an unreadable gaze. "Why didn't you just tell him?"
"What in blue blazes are you talking about?!" Yeah, that's just what every gal wants, her past delved into by complete strangers.
He merely shrugged and we continued walking until we came to a sort of hub area. Holmes began pointing energetically and talking super-quickly. "That hall leads to the performing center, which has 12 different performance halls, so don't get the 12 confused; that to the music education building. It has a different 'hall' for each section, which are denoted by letter. For example, woodwinds may be in W12. This way leads to the rudimentary education halls. That's your science, arithmetic, and so forth. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, sure." As if just being in England wasn't complicated enough for me.
"Good." He spun down what I thought was the music ed. hallway, but I couldn't tell from my vantage point on the floor, because I had turned straight into a walking wall of muscle. He had a jaw chiseled from stone and meticulously styled blonde hair. His clear blue eyes bored straight through Holmes' skull.
"Well, if it isn't Sherlock Holmes," the bombshell drawled out in a cultured voice.
"Still sore about that orchestra chairing, Robert?"
"If it were anyone else, I wouldn't care, but being beaten by you is a rather harsh hit to my ego."
"That mustn't be too large of a loss."
Robert's eyes narrowed. "I'd watch myself if I were you."
Holmes sneered. "I'm quivering in fear."
"You ought to be."
As if remembering something very important, he turned toward me. "I am so sorry miss. Where are my manners?" He helped me off the floor. "My name is Robert Moriarty."
"Lucilia Gregory."
"Pleased to meet you." He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. "I hope to be seeing you around." Robert went on his way, leaving me oh-so- charmed. I wanted to see him again too.
I must have looked love-struck, because Holmes cleared his throat and looked at me with a mix of expectance and contempt. "What?"
"We have a class to go to."
"Yeah I suppose."
Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what you're here for."
"No, I'm here for the romantic opportunities."
"There's no need for sarcasm."
"Sorry, I felt compelled."
After all that, we still managed to get to first- hour full orchestra rehearsal with time enough to spare for me to warm up my clarinet and for him to run and do whatever those violinists do, with rosin and so forth. By the way, the class was in a performance hall, so I was wrong before. As I took stock of the class, noticing that my only acquaintance was over halfway downstage from me, guess who came through the door and planted his bum at the low end of the violin section? If you said, "gosh I think it's Robert", I'd slap you for saying "gosh", and then I'd tell you that's exactly who it was.
I must have been staring, because he grinned at me and sauntered over.
"It's that girl that ran into me," Robert said as he leaned his elbow on my chair.
I blushed red as a tomato. "Uh, yeah, sorry about that. Pretty smooth of me, eh?"
"Don't worry about it. If you hadn't run into me, I never would have met you."
"Stop the cheese act," said a smooth, urbane voice from behind me. Holmes had finished doing whatever those violinists do, and was at that moment standing there looking pretty ticked off. "Dear Abby," Robert said in that fantastic English accent. Wait, he knows who Abby is? Impressive indeed. "My arch-rival enemy is trying get my girl. What should I do?"
I'm absolutely sure Holmes would have come back with some brilliant retort if he were given the time, but he was cut off by the untimely ring of the bell. Everyone scurried to their seats, except for myself, who stood by the director's podium like an imbecile, waiting to tell the director of my existence and to pick up my folder of potential doom and disaster. I'm being melodramatic, but this could be really hard!
Will it be? Who knows? And lord knows I'm too lazy to tell you now! I'm cutting it off now, so come back, okay?