Chapter 2! Only one more after this, folks.
When it was finally time for the second piece to begin, Martha noticed that there was still no sign of the conductor. She was about to ask John when once again, Rose Tyler stood from her seat, very, very carefully placed her violin down on it, and Rose to the podium. She turned to the audience and gave a wide smile with a small bow, much like Doctor Hartnell had done at the beginning of the concert.
As she riffled through the music on the stand in front of her, the orchestra once again tuned itself to perfection before anything began. Once Rose Tyler was satisfied with the lay out of the music, she disembarked from the small platform and moved to a podium on the left side of the stage, capturing the attention of her audience with a single smile.
"Good evening," Rose said with a smile, her eyes sweeping over the room. "I hope you're all enjoying the performance thus far. My name is Rose Tyler, I'm the first violin for the orchestra. Tonight, however, I have the privilege of conducting one of my favourites pieces. Symphonie Fantastique by the great Mr. Hector Berlioz. I'll be reading to you now the preface written by Mr. Berlioz in the score.
"'Our story begins with a talented young musician, who, lost in despair because of an unrequited love, poisons himself with opium. The drug doesn't kill him; rather he is plunged into heavy sleep with strange hallucinations. His visions become musical ideas, and his beloved becomes an idée fixe, a recurring theme, that haunts the dreams.
"'In the first movement, he remembers that weariness of the soul, that indefinable longing, that somber melancholia and those objectless joys which he experienced before meeting his beloved. Then the volcanic love with which she at once inspired him, his delirious suffering, his return to tenderness, his religious consolations.
"'In the second, in the midst of a noisy fête, he finds his beloved again.
"'In the third, on a summer evening in the country, he hears two herders calling each other with their shepherd melodies. The pastoral duet in such surroundings, the gentle rustle of the trees softly swayed by the wind, some reason for hope which had come to his knowledge recently – all unite fill his heart with a rare tranquility and lend brighter colours to his fancies. But his beloved appears anew, spasms contract his heart, and he is filled with dark premonition. What if she proved faithless? Only one of the shepherds resumes his rustic tune. The sun sets. Far away there is rumbling thunder – solitude – silence.
"'In the fourth, March to the Scaffold, He dreams he has killed his loved one, that he is condemned to death and led to his execution. A march, now gloomy and ferocious, now solemn and brilliant accompanies the procession. Noisy outbursts are followed without pause by the heavy sound of measured footsteps. Finally, like the last thought of love, the idée fixe appears for a moment, to be cut off by the fall of the axe.
"'Lastly, the fifth: He sees himself at a Witches Sabbath surrounded by a fearful crowd of specters, sorcerers, and monsters of every kind, united for his burial. Unearthly sounds, groans, shrieks of laughter, distant cries, to which other seem to respond! The melody of his beloved is heard, but it has lost its character of nobility and reserve. Instead, it is now an ignoble dance tune. Trivial and grotesque. It is she who comes to the Sabbath! A shout of joy greets her arrival. She joins the diabolical orgy. The funeral knell, burlesque of the Dies Irae. Dance of the Witches. The dance and the Dies Irae combined.'
"I truly hope you all enjoy the piece." Rose Tyler soundless closed the book in front of her and carried it back to the podium, reopening it and placing it carefully on the stand.
With little flourish, she brought both her hands up, forsaking the usual baton and seemingly preferring to use her hands alone. The musicians brought their instruments to their respective positions, ready to go, and Rose brought down her hands and the music began at once.
At first, Martha could understand why John liked the piece. It was smooth and sensual, and at one point Martha felt chills run down her spine at the perfection. The violin bows were moving in perfect synchrony. Eventually, John leaned in to tell her what the recurring theme was, and she took pride in that she was able to pick it out every once in a while.
Martha soon felt John tapping his feet in a way that felt like a waltz, and she realized that they must be at the ballroom scene, where the composer would find the girl he liked again. The music was calm and soothing for a long while afterwards, and Martha felt her head bobbing in time with the music. She looked over at John, who was grinning madly as he watched Rose Tyler expertly (from what Martha could tell) conduct the piece, both of her hands moving and her head lifting and bending, both watching and cueing the musicians but also reading the music ont the stand in front of her.
Soon, Martha realized the feel of the music had changed, no longer a cheerfully airy piece but a darker, lower faster paced theme seems to arise and she could see Rose Tyler's movements becoming more aggressive. Martha could feel anticipation building in her and realized then that it was because of the quality of the performance – they had her on the edge of her seat.
John's foot tapping helped Martha once again learn where she is – it is a march, undeniably, the composer is being marched to the guillotine. The music soon became so aggressive Martha felt her heart speeding up in her chest as she watched the musicians (unlike John, who's eyes hadn't left the single figure of Rose Tyler all night). Martha swore she heard the recurring theme once more before a loud bang made her jump, and she realized that the composer had just been beheaded.
The part of the piece left Martha unsettled as she listened, as though she couldn't quite understand the strange sounds the orchestra was making.
By the end of the piece, she was quite confused – the last part had been mostly dark and creepy sounds, but the ending was strangely triumphant, and Martha felt the perplexed expression on her face even as she followed John to another standing ovation.
There was a lot of bowing that followed. Rose Tyler turned to the crowd first, a wide, satisfied grin on her lips as she bowed deeply. She then turned to the orchestra and motioned for them to stand, gesturing to them widely and clapping as they bowed.
The clapping lasted for much longer than Martha would have anticipated from the audience, and she was rather relieved when John finally picked up his coat and the crowd started making its way out of the concert hall.
"Wasn't that brilliant?" John exclaimed when they were back in the lobby of the beautiful building. He didn't give Martha time to respond before continuing, "I thought that was brilliant. Just brilliant."
"Yeah, it was really good," Martha smiled at him, toying with the sleeve of her leather jacket. Now was the time that he should invite her out for tea, or coffee…it was only 10PM, still early enough to crab a nice cuppa.
Musicians – noticeable in their black ensembles – starting filing into the lobby as well, many rushing over to guests and giving them hugs. Some were given congratulatory flowers by parents or boyfriends or girlfriends, others simply received hugs or handshakes, but the mood was happy and cheerful in the lobby as more and more bodies squeezed their way in.
"Be right back," John said to Martha before quickly weaving his way through the throng of people. Martha lost sight of him almost immediately.
John twisted and turned his way through the crowd, his eyes set on one person.
She was sitting on a bench against the back wall, inconspicuous and unnoticed, mobile in her hand and a frown pinching her eyebrows together as she looked at it.
Carefully, he sat next to her, making her look up at him in surprise.
"Hello," John said with a wide smile.
She tentatively returned it. "Hi."
"You were really brilliant tonight, Miss Tyler. I'm a big fan." He told her, hoping he didn't sound too obnoxious or star struck.
She smiled back, wider this time. "That's very kind of you, Mr…?" She trailed off, looking him over quickly.
Oh! "Smith! John Smith." He replied with another smile, offering his hand.
A perfectly plucked eyebrow raised at his name, a reaction he was very used to – no one really expected someone to actually be named John Smith – and took his hand in hers, shaking it. He reveled for a second in the feeling of her hand in his, and at how well they seemed to fit together. "Mr. Smith. And call me Rose, please."
"Rose," He tested out the name, liking the way it felt on his tongue. "So, Rose, I can't help but notice that you're sitting here, alone, while everyone is meeting with their families," he raised his eyebrows at her, waggling them in an attempt to get her to laugh.
It worked. She let out a small chuckle at the sight of him, making that wide grin reappear on his face. "My mum's picking me up a bit later." She responded, looking down at her phone again quickly before lifting her head to meet his eyes.
For a moment, he was transfixed. Her eyes were like liquid honey, with a soft and sweet gaze that he found himself melting into. Suddenly she was looking at him in question, and John realized that she'd said something.
"What?" He mumbled, feeling his ears turn pink and watching as the corners of her mouth curved upwards, amused.
"I asked if you were here alone. Bit unusual, that," she repeated for him, offering him a wide, toothy smile. He felt his eyes widen when he saw her tongue on the tip of her canine.
He gave his head a quick shake, "Um…no…I…" She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to form a sentence. "Sorry. No. No, I'm here with my friend." He finally sputtered out, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. "In fact, I should probably get back. Just wanted to say congratulations." He said quickly, moving to stand up.
He felt a slight bit of guilty pleasure in his chest when he saw her face fall slightly, only to be replaced with a polite smile. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Smith." And with that she returned her gaze to her mobile.
Once on his feet, he hesitated slightly, shifting his weight between the two nervously. Just ask her, he encouraged himself. "Rose…"he started, feeling as though his face must be burning red. She looked up immediately, meeting his brown eyes with her whiskey coloured ones. "Would you maybe…I dunno, like to grab a cuppa with me? Not tonight, obviously, but sometime?" He finally blurted out.
She gave him another tongue-touched smile, making him feel slightly light-headed at its brilliance. "I'd like that a lot," she replied, making him grin widely and sit back down. "Have you got a mobile?" She asked him. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his mobile, unlocked it, and handed it to her.
She quickly typed in her information before handing it back to him with a smile.
He grinned at her before taking off to find Martha.
Martha let out an annoyed huff and finally decided to take off in the direction that John had gone. He'd disappeared several minutes ago and she was starting to get frustrated.
She moved quickly through the crowd, paying less attention to where she was going than she should have been as she kept her eyes peeled for a head of tousled brown hair. She felt a body collide with hers and stumbled back a few steps, slightly dazed.
It was a young woman, probably around the same age as her, with bleached blonde hair and a wide smile. "Sorry," Martha said, her eyes widening when she saw whom she'd ran into. "You're Rose Tyler, right? Good job tonight."
"Um," Rose straightened out, "Thanks." She finally smiled.
"Listen, my date came this way, and I haven't seen him in a few minutes…he said he'd be right back. You haven't seen him, have you?" Martha asked the blonde, thinking that John might have come over to introduce himself to the musician he admired so much. "He's wearing a brown suit and trench coat, and he's got this great hair – brown hair. Sound familiar?"
Rose frowned, and Martha thought she could see some confusion and disappointment in her gaze. She was about to ask the blonde what was wrong when she heard John call her name from near the doors. She smiled at Rose and gave her a quick, "got to dash, sorry," before taking off to meet her date.
"You wouldn't have believed it," Martha groaned before taking a sip of her tea. "He just kept staring at her! While on a date with me! Talk about rude." She grumbled after swallowing her scalding sip.
She was sitting with her friend, Jack, in her favourite café, not two blocks from her flat. He'd messaged her in the morning, asking if she was free for coffee, and she'd jumped at the chance of having someone listen to her complain about the disappointing date that had happened two nights ago.
She watched as Jack frowned, but said nothing, taking a sip of his coffee. She wrinkled her nose at the smell – she'd never been a big coffee fan, but her American friend drank it all the time and she'd been forced to adapt.
"Martha…" Jack said a few seconds later, his eyebrows pinched into a frown as he seemed to choose his words carefully. "Are you sure it was a date?"
She looked at him as though he were daft. "'Course it was a date," she rolled her eyes. "He asked me out, just the two of us."
"I asked you out for coffee, just the two of us, and it isn't a date." Jack pointed out. He didn't want to sound mean or harsh, but he was absolutely sure that John had not meant their outing to be a date. He had, as far as Jack knew, absolutely no interest in Martha other than as a friend, which she seemed blindly oblivious to.
"That's different," Martha insisted.
"How?" Jack asked, taking another sip of his coffee before putting the ceramic mug on the table and meeting her eyes with a kind face.
"He…he invited me to go to the symphony, Jack. You don't take a friend to the symphony."
Jack sighed. "Martha, do you know how many people he invited to the symphony? I'm pretty sure he texted everyone in his contacts."
"But…" Martha frowned, suddenly unsure of what to say. Surely she hadn't completely misread things between her and John.
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