Author's note: It's 6 degrees outside and there's a cat on my shoulder. He's a good friend but a lousy editor. Please forgive the roughness of this chapter as it is a work-in-progress. For these fanfics, I'm having to guess at some characters' first names as they do not appear in the manga. I thought Chester would be a fun first name for a rowdy guy like Cheslock.
Chester Cheslock was in a fat hurry, trying to make good time against a tide of first-formers surging through the halls in the quest for lunch. Jostled on all sides with seldom an apology, he tucked his violin case in close to his body to protect the delicate instrument. Re-tuning in this weather was a bitch. He growled at a boy who trod on his foot. Where the Hell had all these small fry come from so suddenly? It was like trying to swim upstream.
"To Hell with this mess," he muttered. Giving up on the chaotic hallway, he dodged out a side door and cut across the forbidden lawns to reach his destination. Only the four Prefects and those with prior permission were permitted to set foot on the precious greenery. Well, they could just yell at him. He was, after all, on a sort of mission for his Senior. Being Fag to a Prefect did have its perks.
Violet.
As pretty and endearing as he was, Cheslock was beginning to suspect that his upper classman was secretly plotting to do him in. Or wear him to a shred. Or at least drive him to distraction. Perhaps all three. In the past two weeks, Gregory Violet had requested a private performance no less than nine times. Nearly everyday he had spent an hour or more bending his bow for the beautifully moody Prefect. As his Fag, he was expected to jump to action whenever Violet snapped his fingers, and jump he did. The demands on his schedule were taxing. It seemed now that everywhere he turned, there was Violet with tilted head and a mischevious gleam in his pretty gold eyes. He would offer a rougish little smile from black-painted lips and purr his request from behind the lush thicket of dark hair that always fell over his eyes. He never had to ask more than once. In the face of such weaponry, Cheslock was helpless. He could not say 'no' to Violet, and Violet knew it. So here he was again, racing to put on yet another private show. Fag time was one thing, but this was bordering on ridiculous. He felt like a music box that was being would a bit too tightly and a trifle too often.
He rounded the corner of a rose garden a trifle short, beheading a few blooms with the edge of his flapping cloak. He made it to the Swan Gazebo with moments to spare and skidded to a stop on the white gravel path. The Prefects gathered there turned a little to look at him, all grace and perfect hair and good grooming. And here he was in disarray with his hair in his face and his uniform wrinkled. Cheslock was caught off guard. He had expected Violet to be alone. He was oddly disappointed, but knew that playing for this distinguished group was a high honor indeed. He passed a hand over his ruffled crest. If he had known he was performing for the whole group, he would have dressed better.
"This one?" murmured Redmond, eyeing the disheveled musician. His eyes narrowed as if he were assessing the cost of his clothing. His expression wavered between bemusement and disdain. The boy standing below them in the rumpled uniform was a known troublemaker and had a notoriously explosive temper. Surely, Violet could not be serious.
"Yes, "This One"," said Violet, with a note of impatience. "I did tell you we were having a violinist today." He rose and strode to the edge of the Gazebo like a graceful shadow. Cheslock did not notice him deliver a sharp kick to Redmond's ankle as he walked by.
"Ouch! You brat - What was that for?" hissed Edgar softly, maintaining his composure nonetheless.
"Be nice to my fag," warned Violet in a threatening whisper. "Or next time I'll kick you higher up." In a louder voice he announced him.
"When I said I was bringing in a violinist today, I assumed you would know who was the best one here. And I would invite only the best." He motioned to his fag to enter the gazebo.
"May I present our school's finest musician - Mr. Cheslock. The boy with the magical fingers."
Cheslock both glowed under the praise and cringed inwardly at that last part. It was an embarrassing nickname, but accurate. There was no instrument he could not play. The violin was his first love. He was proud to share it, even though he knew some of the upperclassmen looked down on him for having both a poor man's background and a reputation as a troublemaker. With a small bow, he made his entrance to the gazebo, with as much poise and grace as he could muster. When he started playing, that smartass rich boy wouldn't be smirking anymore. Violet held back his laughter, catching both the sour expression on Redmond's face and Cheslock's offended dignity. Rocking the boat was fun. He knew his appointment of Cheslock as his fag rankled Redmond to no end. Bloodlines and a pretty face meant more to Redmond than actual talent, but Violet know what he wanted, and what he wanted was this rowdy former East-ender with the magical fingers. Studded ears, Mohawk, foul mouth and all, Violet wanted Him.
He nodded to his Fag and made the proper introductions. Bluewer and Greenhill politely nodded and withheld comment on their guest's rather rumpled appearance. Cheslock gave a bow of genuine respect to the school's Cricket champion and also to the Best Brain on campus. He appreciated the talents of both. Also in attendance were the other three Fags, whose expressions ranged from surprise to intrigue to arrogance. Edward appeared startled to see someone as rough as Cheslock entering the gazebo. His body swayed as he managed to prevent himself from taking a step back. He had never seen hair like that before up close. Clayton did edge a little closer to Bluewer, pushing his glasses a touch higher on his nose, in a gesture identical to his Prefect's. Cheslock tried not to stare. With black hair plastered helmet-like to his head and his ridiculous sideburns, crisp suit and thick glasses, he looked and moved like an automaton. He was precise to the point of looking unreal. His expression, while not unfriendly, was nevertheless severe. Cheslock wondered if he ever smiled, and if his face would crack if he did. Clayton was studying him silently with piercing gray eyes. Cheslock realized he was staring back, and quickly flicked his gaze to Redmond and his fag Cole.
Maurice Cole was girlishly pretty with golden ringlets, long lashes and a slight frame. His good looks were marred by the expression of unveiled contempt he flung his way. He stuck to Redmond like a cloying shadow and twittered and gushed over everything his Prefect did. Yuck. Cheslock managed not to make a face. Cole was just the sort of boy he would have ground into the dirt in earlier years if he'd given him a look like that. The musician rolled his gaze leftwards to Violet and raised the brow just on that side as if to say "Really?" Violet gave a barely perceptible shrug of apology. He moved his lips very slightly to mouth the reason Cheslock should not pound the smirking little blonde into pudding. "He's Redmond's Pet." His eyes held an expression of loathing. Apparently not all Prefects approved of each other's choice of Fag, and Cheslock felt better. If Violet approved of him, that was good enough.
"What will you be playing for us today, Mr. Cheslock?" asked Bluewer in a detached sort of way. Even as he spoke to him, the Blue House Prefect was still reading his book. He read while he was walking about campus too, never seeming to look up from his studies. Cheslock wasn't sure whether to admire this trait or be slightly offended by his divided attention. He withdrew the violin from it's case, thankful he had brought Claudia with him - she was his best-looking instrument. He had four that he played regularly, all of them named after girls.
"I'll play whatever you like." He tuned up and rosined his bow. He looked around. "Please feel free to request your favorites."
"Where does he think he's playing - in an ale house?" whispered Cole a trifle loudly to Redmond. Edgar stifled a chuckle and quickly corrected himself. He squeezed Cole's knee. "Behave yourself, Cole. Violet wouldn't have him here if he wasn't talented." He might personally disapprove of the rowdy boy, but Cheslock's reputation as a concert violinist was well known.
Cheslock caught a portion of the whispered exchange and his neck grew red. He threw a look to Violet, who shrugged again. This was typical Cole behaviour. Cheslock left his cloak on a chair - no sense in catching the bow on those ridiculous sleeves. He played for each one in turn, performing with grace and vigor. His performance was impressive and flawless, but the experience was the emotional equivalent of being bonked over the head and rolled down a hill in a barrel. Playing to requests had proven to be both a masterstroke and a terrible mistake.
Edward and Clayton both chose traditional pieces, both with an appreciation for Bach, Cheslock played two of his favorites to perfection and was favored with polite applause and a crack-free smile from Clayton. GreenHill was a Vivaldi fan; Bluewer liked Mussorgsky, the darker, the better. Violet asked for Claire de Loon. Again. Cheslock made his way through it, despite the Prefect's open flirting. Violet seemed to delight in quietly tormenting him while he was playing. Cheslock refrained from sticking out his tongue. He recognized this as playfulness, and was able to ignore most of the good-natured teasing. Hardest to ignore were Violet's eyes and his constant seeming need to lick his lips. Cheslock needn't have worried about Violet, however. His stumbling block turned out to be Cole.
The boy stood up and made his request loudly, with a sneer on his lips and an impatient childish pitch to his voice. The request was for a song so simple and juvenile that any first-year player would have been flunked out of class if they had failed to play it accurately. This was a slap in the face. Everyone knew it, and all eyes turned to see what the boy with the Magical Fingers and Terrible Temper would do. Cheslock's face burned, body tightening from the effort it took not to reduce Maurice Cole to a greasy blot.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Cole," His voice was flat and icy. "I believe I have misheard your request. Pray, repeat it for me."
"Twinkle, Twinkle." The childish voice knifed through the air. Bluewer put down his book and stared at Cole with open disapproval. A low rumble was heard from the chest of GreenHill. Maurice Cole smiled with a syrupy sweet gaze and pressed on. Cheslock was rigid with fury.
"Twinkle, Twinkle. I want to hear it." A muscle jumped in Cheslock's cheek. To demand such a song was a vile insult. "Don't you know it?"
Cheslock gripped the violin and swung it sharply under his chin. His bow snapped to position, his spine ramrod straight. His expression was eerily calm.
"Of course, Mr. Cole. As you wish." With remarkable dignity, he played 'Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star', just as a first-year student might do it. Violet cringed to see someone with Cheslock's talent reduced to such a demeaning task. That damned Cole... as soon as he had cover of darkness, he was going to drown the little shit in the lake. Maurice was sniggering openly, despite some furious elbowing from Redmond. Cheslock played it straight and simple, all 45 seconds of the moronic little diddy. Then he played again, this time in the style of Brahms. Then Mendelsson. Then Bach. Then Mozart and Beethoven. Over and over he attacked the piece, in a dozen composers' styles, each one more complex and beautiful than the next, until the simple, childish song was all but unrecognizable and had become an intricate, masterpiece. For nearly quarter-hour he played, until he ran out of composers and Cole ran out of patience and stormed from the Gazebo. Cheslock was left red-faced and triumphant, bowing low to the loud applause from the others. Greenhill whistled, to the disapproval of Bluewer. Clayton, of all people, was laughing so hard he was crying. It took several severe looks from Bluewer and two glasses of water to compose himself.
"Good on you, Mr, Cheslock, good on you!" he had a dazzling smile after all, with no signs of breakage. He dabbed at his streaming eyes,which looked remarkably beautiful in the moments he had his glasses off. Cheslock took another little bow.
"Thankyou. Who knew this would be so much fun?" He had a wicked gleam in his eye. "So - who wants to hear 'Pop Goes the Weasel'?" Clayton lost his composure again and had to excuse himself. Violet dissolved into peals of musical laughter, and it was sometime before peace returned to the Swan gazebo. Edward, the only fag still standing, fetched some cold tea and cakes, giving them an opportunity to compose themselves properly. Redmond had cast a single glance after Cole before deciding he wasn't worth chasing after. He favored Cheslock with a genuine look of apology and an appreciative smile.
"Excellent comeuppance, Mr. Cheslock. He had it coming." Cheslock looked up from his drink, a trifle startled. He had just been commended for being a complete smartass.
"I just couldn't help myself."
Bluewer, mindful of etiquette, had to ask.
"Aren't you going after him, Redmond?" The blonde Prefect shook his head and accepted a glass of tea from Edward.
"He was being a brat. Let him pout." He raised his glass elegantly. "Let us toast to Violet's excellent taste in music, and his fine judgement of character." He winked. "I was afraid we'd have to scrub Maurice off the Gazebo floor."
"That," murmured Cheslock with a sly grin, "Would have been easier but messier. Not to mention, Bad Form."
Redmond grinned. Glasses clinked. He touched his to Cheslock's last.
"Welcome to the party, kid. Better hold on tight."
author's note: Modifications are likely after I look up the dates on some of these composers and pieces. I might have placed a few gentlemen before their time!