Face the music. (open)

[Vincent Moreaux]

It was still only morning and Vincent was tiring of the monotony of his classes. The only pleasures he had of these classes was the arguments and small foolish brawls that broke out every now and then. He smiled to himself quietly as he walked slowly down the hallway with his cello case strap slung over his shoulder, the pre-teen sized hard case bumping the back of his long legs as he walked. He meandered around the hallways, calmly making up some excuse as to why he was out of class to the random instructor or administrator that he would run into. Eventually, he had crossed nearly the entire building and came upon the orchestra hall, which unfortunately was occupied by the jazz club at the moment. He sighed and made an about-face and nonchalantly began his trek back through the building. There was still one place he could practice in relative peace.

The hallways were suddenly flooded with bodies and books and bags, just wave after wave of people streaming out of the classrooms all the way down the hall. Vincent slyly weaved in and out of the pockets between the chatting girls and the rambunctious guys that clogged the once barren thoroughfare, always and only looking forward toward his destination giving an air of confidence so that those before him would, like the Red Sea, part before him. He couldn't help but internally smile at the biblical feeling he got every time this happened.

As he neared the door, he began to pivot on his heels as he maneuvered through the thicket of bodies, using his peripherals to glance around for any of the "fuzz" that would stop him from reaching his destination. As far as he could tell, it was clear and he would have no troubles accessing the roof, as if it would have been much trouble anyway but around here no one could be too careful. He tried the door that was more and more frequently being locked by the administration and was not all too surprised to find it unlocked. It didn't really matter if a door was locked in this school because if someone wanted in, it'd either be kicked in or picked.

The stairwell up is dim and not very well lit, but the door at the top was open and that allowed all the light he needed to find it with - as if it mattered either way, it was not a hard walk. Upon actually reaching the rooftop, he stood a moment and allowed his eyes to adjust to the brighter light before noticing someone else standing by the edge. 'So that's who beat me...' he thought as he shrugged and walked a couple yards over to a stack of crates that were more often used as weapons than chairs, but they worked just as well either way. He took a seat and carefully laid down the case, unzipping it with the kind of precision that one could only develop with years of practice. The case lid was lifted and Vincent grasped the neck of the cello, standing it up from the case and laying it across his lap.

He looked up at the sky across the roof from him and thought about everything that had happened since coming to this school two years ago. He thought about how little he was involved yet how much he knew. It was funny how being on the outside of everything going on, one could know much of the inner details. He cocked his neck slightly to either side to loosen up his neck and shoulder muscles before sliding the bow from the inner pocket and adjusting the tautness of the hair and then slides the stick from the body of the cello, placing it on the ground. He begins by leaning his head down next to the neck and plucking each string, going from A to C and fine tuning each to near perfection.

After tuning the instrument, he draws the bow across the strings gracefully, making sure the pitch is correct, before going into the prelude of Bach's cello suite no.1. His left hand dances along the neck of the instrument as his bow draws are fluid and use as little motion and tension as physically possible. In the way he plays, one could note the fluidity of his movements while fighting and the sheer strength and precision he has control of. It was few and far between that he would join in or be pulled into a fight but that didn't mean he couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. In fact, he had transferred to Hircine after being expelled from his previous school due to an act of extreme violence toward three classmates on school grounds.

While he played he thought of the times he spent back there with the love of his life and best friend. The sorrow from the death of Gia could be heard from the way he played this elementary song, but those were his memories and he didn't much care to talk about it ever nor even think of it for that matter. He had only been able to get over her death by forgetting what emotions were though however difficult it was doing so, he could never forget her.

[pinefresh]

Pine had been at Hircine for a total of two and a half weeks. Every nook and crany that could be easily accessed in the school had been explored, even some that weren't. Picking locks had always been something Pine had been good at. It was something Pine was never proud of an exercised very, very seldomly. That is until he entered Hiricine and found the roof door periodically locked. Everyday during the break in his first period class he would run up to the roof door enterance and pick it. That way it was free for everyone to enter, especially himself.

Back in Varron, you could go virtually anywhere you wanted without worrying about any teacher stopping you. The only thing you had to worry about were the random groups of thugs that constantly patrolled for prey. Pine was prey a few times to these groups, but often got lucky as his friends came to save him.

Setsuna, Spike, Nyra, and Pine were a tight group back in Varron Academy. Many goups of thugs fell to the four students. Many fell fighting on the rooftops as they came off the stairs and a few even fell off the roof in the process. Pine met Setsuna on such an occasion as a matter of fact.

The story started with Pine sitting on the edge of the roof just enjoying the view like he did almost everyday during lunch. An old friend, Kai came up followed by a bunch of thugs who just wanted to fight. The fight that ensued sent many to the hospital and one thug off the roof. That one student that fell off the roof used Setsuna as a cushion to save him from landing on the concrete. Setsuna all full of adrenaline made his way up to the roof before collapsing from pain. He wanted to know what was happening, Pine carried him all the way to the nurses office. They were friends until Varron was shut down and both the students disappeared.

Pine often wondered what happened to his friends, if they were safe and happy. It was probably the reason he kept going to the roof day after day to sit and think. He was sitting and waiting, forever hoping his friends would return to his side so they could be a group once again. It was true that Pine was once again part of Genaht and he wore the band with pride, but his friends made him who he was and he missed them.

He missed being able to shamelessly flirt with Nyra, train with Setsuna and his guardians in the art of combat, and listening to Spike play his sax. So it was quite a surprise to Pine when he began walking up the stairs to hear music. Pine's heart jumped, his reason clouded by the excitement led him to run up the stairs and burst through the door. His look of hope faded slightly when his eyes fell on someone that was not Spike. Looking down slightly in disappointment and positive he had desturbed the musican. Should he turn to look at Pine, Pine would simply say he was sorry and thought he was someone else.

[Vincent Moreaux]

Vincent's mind went, like always, to thoughts of Gia's angelic face and magnificent voice that often would accompany his playing. She was like the moon to his night, providing light and brilliance to his life that otherwise was dark and abyssal. The grace of his bow and concentration of his fingerings took over his unconscious as his conscious mind set into motion the events of his past. Gia singing in French or Italian while played a slow ballad on his cello, the deep reverberations emanating from between his legs contrasting the melodic overtones of her voice in perfect harmony.

He thought of the way she fit in his arms perfectly, she being 5'9" -- "tall for a girl" as she described -- it was perfect for his 6'4" height, and the way her body felt against his. Even the briefest of graces, like a brush of her hand against his or a simple peck on his cheek, was enough to make this brooding man melt. He now was alone, though. Alone in the world without anyone to love him as she did, as he did her. He lost all perfection and therefore all meaning to his life, so he lived merely to live and prevent his loss from happening to others.

Prevent his loss from happening to others. He did this by changing the course of events ever so slightly from the background. None ever knew him or of him and he therefore received no reciprocation or appreciation for his charity. He was like the shadow hidden among the darkness of the crowd, always there but never known. He watched and listened and knew much he shouldn't, but it never mattered to him and therefore didn't matter to those that might know what he knew.

The music was his patron of sanity. The bleeding Christ image that was the calm and miraculous resurrection of his normalcy. He played not only because it was habit nor because it was his passion but because it was his saving grace from himself. It was the only thing that kept him from taking that final and cowardly solution and leaving this world just as he lived it -- unnoticed. He was so entranced by the music that flowed from the hollow wooden body of his instrument that he did not notice the hurried footsteps coming up the narrow stairwell next to him. The young man would look disappointed and mutter a few words, but Vincent would not notice.

The young man would probably think it strange that this lone musician refused to move or respond in any way until he finished the piece. The final few bars went by and the piece ended, Vincent taking in a deep breath before turning to the disappointed man.

"Quite alright. I didn't think anyone but myself played cello around here, actually..." He sighed after making a near completely passive statement to the apologetic young man. "My intention is obvious, as you can plainly see. If you don't mind me asking, what brings you all the way up here?"

[pinefresh]

(OOC: sorry for the late post that is so short. All my teachers decided to put all my tests within a very short span of time.)

Pine started to head toward the west side of the roof to sit in peace. He was feeling content just to leave the musician and enjoy the classical music at a distance. Or it would be better said that it was his intention to do so had the musician said nothing.

"Quite alright. I didn't think anyone but myself played cello around here, actually...My intention is obvious, as you can plainly see. If you don't mind me asking, what brings you all the way up here?"

Pine turned his head back to the musician and moved over to the edge about 10 feet from him and took a seat. Taking a deep breath and staring out over the edge toward the rows of houses and building Pine spoke.

"Old habits die hard I guess..." Stated Pine as he drifted back to his much younger days as a child. "As far as I know you are the only person to play a cello at this school. Most people cannot afford to buy such an expensive instrument. I doubt th school even has a decent one at their disposal. Then again I could be wrong, I have only been here a few weeks afterall...Being new really sucks at times especially when everyone you know has either disappeared or remember who you are."

[Vincent Moreaux]

His interrupter would begin walking across the roof, but after Vincent replied to his mumbled apology, he turned and moved to sit on the ledge a little way away from Vincent's position. The newcomer seemed to be thinking a lot, maybe reminiscing over his past experiences at this place or another much like it. Either way, he had a thoughtful feeling to him.

Vincent listened to what the kid said, his own experiences reflecting oddly with what he heard. It was odd the way his company's voice sounded distant, maybe Vincent was right. Maybe there was a lot on the kid's mind.

"They do," Vincent replied reflectively as he thought of the reasons why he played and of all the things he did for that matter. "Yes, well... you could say I was fortunately placed in this world," he says modestly, not wanting to sound pompous in his family's wealth, "but I know how you feel. I, myself, am not new to this school but I know what you mean. I find it a bit harder to believe that after being here for two years, I am fairly unknown as much as a new transfer. You wouldn't be from Varron, would you?"

[pinefresh]

Pine smirked at the question of his previous attendance at Varron. The situation could be handled one of two ways, he could lie or tell the truth. The question was what would be the proper course of action because if he told the truth a fight could ensue.

He was told by some of the other members of genaht that many of these Hircine students were hostile to Varronites. He heard the stories of the fights with and against the Pillars, where many varron and hircine students were made example of. One turned out to have almost become a riot had action not been quickly taken. Though there was no outward hostility between the groups now, they still hated each other.

This man however had shown no outward hostility toward Pine things could change quickly. His instinct told him that there would be no problem but it had taken him in the wrong direction before. Then again a wise man told him that sometimes you had to take a chance just because its better than never trying.

"Once upon a time I went to that prison." Pine started off one of his token long winded speeches and almost felt bad for the man who asked that question.

"Well I guess I should say my alternative to jail. Personally I probably should have taken the year of detention followed by the year of jail. That school was full of corruption and people who should have been institutionalized. Many students were killed outright just outside of school property, many were almost killed on school property. A few by my own hand. Though I would have rather been in your situation and have gone unnoticed. Being noticed made you a target, especially when you were a ranked fighter within the school. Sadly I feel I cannot go unnoticed here either especially with these watchers around. Something must be done about them, their presence is not necessary here anymore. Come to think if it shouldn't you be worried about them finding you here?"