Camp Jupiter: War Games

Title: Fleeting Freedom

Name: Willow

Cohort/Team: Third/Offense

Words: 2734

Prompt: Euphonium/Baritone: "Please tell me you play the euphonium, we're missing… well, we don't have any."

Notes: Human AU.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare was in a limo; one of her father's many driver's sat in the seat in front of her. Her father was in the passenger's seat, staring straight ahead. Rachel's mother was next to her, absentmindedly checking her lipstick in a hand held mirror.

As she was wearing a dress, Rachel felt rather uncomfortable. Gone were her mildly tattered jeans covered with marker doodles (and she would continue to argue that it was a style, not destruction to her mother) and loose t-shirts. No, her mother just had to insist she wear a tight, itchy dress that flared at the waist. Rachel wasn't even allowed to pick her own dress. Although, since she would have probably picked something long, loose and flowy with a strange pattern, Rachel supposed her mother knew what she was doing.

Like many others, Rachel played an instrument - specifically, the euphonium. Her euphonium was in the trunk, as they were heading to a rather posh band - or rather, a Professional Youth Orchestra as her father had put it. Rachel had gone through many things with her euphonium - her dear instrument was practically a dear old friend to her by now.

It could be hard, being a euphonium player, or a euphoniumist, in Rachel's opinion. It wasn't popular like the saxophone, flute, or drums, and was often confused with the tuba.

Mr. Dare often used that as an argument as to why she should play another, better instrument. He didn't exactly say other instruments were superior, but it was certainly implied. And Rachel Elizabeth Dare was many things, but an idiot wasn't one of them.

The euphonium could be rather clunky, but at least it wasn't as huge as the tuba. That was one plus for the euphonium. But size, shape, or novelty didn't matter to Rachel - she just liked the pleasing sound of the euphonium.

It also had the added bonus of ticking off her father. Whenever he attended one of her concerts, or spoke of them, and told people his daughter played the euphonium, well - often the question was, "What's a euphonium?" And that wasn't really a response Mr. Dare enjoyed to hear, especially since he himself didn't really know what a euphonium was either. Though that could be easily resolved if he bothered to ask Rachel about the differences or do a simple search on the internet.

But while she liked the sound and liked ticking off her father, the best part of the euphonium was what it meant to Rachel. Like her artwork, her parents couldn't control what she played. It was her choice to play the euphonium, not her parents, her choice what music she played. There was something so liberating about being able to play what she wanted, without her parents being able to manage it.

At her fancy prep school, there was one other euphonium player - Maia Lindberg. Maia was nice, and they got along fine. She was rather interested in space, and had all sorts of shirts and objects that had to do with space. Rachel quite liked her.

Other than Maia, another nice band player would be Sasha Altise. Sasha was a flute player - one amongst the dozens. Of course, Rachel had nothing against the flutes - though saxophones were a different story.

Their band director, Mr. Mullard, was a rather loud person. Although Rachel supposed that it was due to him having to yell over the deafening noise. Mr. Mullard wasn't a bad director, but Rachel did have one gripe with him - he often asked her to switch to tuba, even though there were already four other tuba players. It seemed even her band director was against the euphonium. Sometimes Rachel wondered what it would be like to take Strings Orchestra, in the quiet, small, and inconspicuous little room with the seemingly chill teacher. But Rachel sort of liked the chaos; it wouldn't be band class without it.

The timid voice of the driver broke the uncomfortable silence. "We're here, sir." Glancing out the window, Rachel saw that they had pulled up in front of a large stone building with the words New Bridge Youth Orchestra embossed on a plaque above the door.

Normally, people auditioned to get into the orchestra, but since Rachel's father had bribed - or as he called it, encouraged - the orchestra director to hear Rachel out even after auditions had happened.

But now they were here, and Rachel couldn't back out even after all the excuses she had made. Her father really wanted to be able to say "My daughter plays at New Bridge Youth Orchestra" rather than "My daughter plays the euphonium".

Rachel could see why. Being in a relatively famous orchestra was far better than simply playing an instrument. But knowing her father, it had less to do with her ability to make it into an orchestra, and to do with people's lack of knowledge of euphoniums. It was rather disheartening, but Rachel was used to it at this point.

She'd much rather be at home, sketching or painting, letting her muse flow. It sounded rather cheesy when Rachel thought that, but it was true. Rachel wasn't exactly much of a planner. Going with the flow or with whatever scrap of inspiration landed on her was much more her style.

Her father opened the door and got out briskly, impatiently waiting for Rachel and her mother to follow. The driver had gone to fetch her euphonium, and she could hear the muffled grunt as he lifted it out.

Hurrying out, Rachel gently took her euphonium from the driver. No offense to him, but Rachel didn't really trust her euphonium in the hands of others. Muttering a thank you, she hurried after her father who was already ascending the steps, her mother following.

It was all a rush - a desk worker gave them instructions, they walked through a blank, empty hallway and sat in a waiting room where they had been directed to wait. Rachel had put her euphonium next to her seat, it felt rather awkward to hold it.

After what had felt like just a minute, the door swung open and a short, harried man stepped in.

"Hello," he said briskly, his tone giving hints of his mild stress. His hands twitched, as if he longed to wring them. But while his hands remained still, his forehead was creased in worry.

"Mr. Jour," Rachel's father said sharply, holding his hand out to shake, which Mr. Jour shook firmly. "This is my daughter, Rachel."

Rachel waved after a pause, knowing her parents wouldn't want her to be 'rude'.

Mr. Jour forced a smile on his face. "Of course, of course, a pleasure to meet you."

Clearing his throat, Mr. Dare shifted in his seat. "Now, about the audition-"

"Please tell me you play the euphonium, we're missing… well we don't have any," the orchestra director interrupted, his voice laced with desperation. Rachel was rather taken aback, and by the looks of it, so were her parents. Feeling rather pleased that someone appreciated the euphonium, Rachel felt like smiling but refrained.

"I'm terribly sorry for interrupting, but the one euphoniumist auditioned this year had to drop out do to scheduling issues, and, well - the orchestra doesn't sound the same without them," Mr. Jour apologized. "And that's partially why I agreed to let you come here - I believe you said she played the euphonium… right?"

"I do," Rachel answered pleasantly, picking up her euphonium. Her father, who was still mildly surprised, furrowed his brow in mild confusion. Rachel supposed that Mr. Dare wasn't exactly used to the euphonium gaining any attention at all - well, what could she expect from an entitled non-musician like him.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Mr. Jour gave her a smile. "Wonderful. If you could just follow me, that would be perfect. Mr. and Mrs. Dare, you can wait here."

The older Dares looked rather miffed that they couldn't come to, but Rachel had to keep herself from breathing a sigh of relief. Her parents could be rather overinvolved sometimes, contrasting the times when they wouldn't speak to her for days. If they came, no doubt they would try to micromanage the audition somehow, even if they knew next to nothing about music, let alone the euphonium. The advice "You have to play with more emotion" really didn't help her, after all.

Mr. Jour gestured for her to follow him down a corridor. They took a left, and reached a room where he held the door open for her. There were only two chairs and a music stand in the room, looking rather odd and small in the large room. At least the chairs were spaced out a bit.

"Here's what I want you to play for me," Mr. Jour said briskly. "Start when you're ready."

Rachel looked the music over, it wasn't too bad. She figured she could sight read it fairly well, with some minor difficulty. Placing it on the rickety old music stand, she took her euphonium out of its case and sat down.

Taking a few breaths, she stared at the first note, readying herself. With a final breath, she put the mouthpiece up to her mouth and started playing. Rachel felt a little tense, knowing that she was playing for a spot in an orchestra (even if she had no one to compete against) in front of a rather well-known orchestra director.

But after a while, she found herself relaxing. After all, Rachel didn't care if she got the spot. It would be a good learning experience for sure, but it was her parents who wanted this. Not Rachel. And she didn't have to conform to whatever her parents wanted of her - and if she did, she'd be a different person. A person who probably played the flute, violin, or piano. While Rachel didn't have much freedom in her life, at least she got some. And the fleeting freedom she had while playing was one of the best parts of playing an instrument.

When she finished, Rachel lowered her euphonium and looked at Mr. Jour expectantly. If she got in, she got in, but if she didn't, that didn't matter either. But she just wanted to get the news sooner, for Rachel didn't want to sit around all day and wait. There were paintings to start, school work to do, and projects to complete. Playing the euphonium was one passion of hers, but Rachel didn't need to be able to say "I'm part of the New Bridge Youth Orchestra" - playing the euphonium was enough for her, parents be forgotten.

"Of course, normally you would also play a piece you learned in advance," Mr. Jour started, "but due to the special circumstances surrounding this audition, you only have to sight read."

Rachel nodded, and refrained from wrinkling her nose at the words "special circumstances". Of course she knew Mr. Jour was partially bribed into this, even if he didn't have a euphonium player - which was rather odd, now that she thought of it. New Bridge Youth Orchestra was rather prestigious, and surely one euphonium player showed up. Well, it didn't matter now, she supposed.

Mr. Jour cleared his throat. "Well, congratulations Miss Rachel Elizabeth Dare. You've made it. Rehearsals are every other Tuesday. I'll have the receptionist, Mrs. Klee, give you the music we'll be playing. Now, shall we give the good news to your parents?"

It all sounded rather stiff - words that had been practiced, memorized beforehand. It stank of bribery and lies, but Rachel couldn't do anything about it. She merely gave him a smile and packed away her euphonium.

They walked back to the waiting room, where the elder Dares looked expectantly at Mr. Jour. After receiving the "good news", Rachel's mom smiled prettily at them while her father nodded grimly. No doubt he was glad he wouldn't have to pay Mr. Jour more money to convince him. Really, her father was as easy to read as a book.

Feeling rather out of place, Rache tuned out the small talk exchanged between the three. It was mostly about rehearsals and performances, and Rachel didn't really care. She was busy thinking of the projects at home - the clean, white canvases waiting to be painted…

"Rachel."

Quickly clearing away her thoughts, Rachel smiled in a half-hearted apologetic manner at her father as he looked at her impatiently. Mr. Jour, seemingly having said his goodbyes, was already making his way out the door, with only a nod at Rachel.

The family walked back to the lobby, the only noise the sharp clicking of Mrs. Dare's heels and the muffled footsteps of Mr. Dare's leather shoes. Rachel, who was silently drifting along behind them, was lost in her thoughts as usual. When they reached the lobby, she went back to reality and paid attention as the receptionist, Mrs. Klee, handed her sheet music and a form with the rehearsal and performance dates along with a few places for signatures. That was handed off to Mr. Dare, who signed them without looking and gave them back with hardly a glance.

With that, the prim and proper Mr. and Mrs. Dare left the building, arm in arm. Rachel Elizabeth Dare, dressed as properly as them, did not look as business-like and imposing as she stared off into the distance, tripping a little over the steps.

The trio got in the limo and with a short instruction, the driver sped off.

It was all silly to Rachel; the formalities seemed so strikingly different from her relaxed, carefree life. She was used to protesting, messily creating, and being a free person, impossible to capture. Her parents tried for sure, finding boxes for her to fit in, but never succeeded. Rachel knew she had compromised with them on more than one occasion, but she continued to be the odd square peg her parents tried to put in the circular hole. It just didn't work.

But for now, Rachel was willing to dull her corners a little. Sure, she didn't care for it. But it was something that had to be done. And freedom wasn't always something easy to come by, and when she got her freedom, Rachel would appreciate it far more.

A/N: This prompt was complete and utter garbage. I had to ask for an extension (thanks, couple weeks of writers block) and I restarted this twice or so due to a lack of inspiration. The plot went from okay to trash (the ending is so rushed and yet drawn out, and has no direction at all), the title sounds awful, and I didn't check it again for grammar issues. So this prompt is probably full of grammatical errors and awkward sentences, so I just hate this prompt. I had high hopes for it, but it just didn't work out. Apologies for the shabby writing, because this is far from my best work.