Round 2: Sok vs. Dorian [Archive]

Dorian

04-24-07, 01:08 PM

"There he is, the mighty Ionos!"

The words came almost instantly as Dorian entered through the magnificent gilded doors of the Dean's office at Glissando Conservatory. He hated this part: the congratulations, the brandy, the backslapping. But it had to be done; the world of music was a world of politics. He put on his brightest smile, took a few steps forward, and made a shallow bow. The room, filled as it was with overly wealthy gentlemen and overly smarmy scholars, filled with a polite clap. Perhaps half of it was sincere.

Dorian rose from his position, and the Dean strode forward and clasped Dorian's hand warmly, gushing, "The fugue was magnificent, Doctor. I speak for all of us when I say that your ability to expound a theme across myriad instruments and varied mediums is admirable."

Dorian inclined his head in appreciation, and said, "Thank you, Dean Sommersmith."

The Dean said a few more words of appreciation, but Dorian had long since learned to drown out such platitudes, nodding and beaming in just the right places, and murmuring assent based on the tone of the Dean's voice. And then it came, the Dean finished his tirade, and the crowd began mingling. It was always a celebratory atmosphere after a premiere, and before long Dorian found a drink in his hand. And then that drink was gone, and another was there.

Suddenly, amidst the hazy atmosphere of alchohol and general frivolity, there was a tug at his shoulder. He turned to see who it was. Oh. How disappointing.

Standing there was Jared Sommersmith, the Dean's son. Just shy of Dorian's own age, the composer knew Jared well. They were both students at Glissando, but had taken different paths in graduate work. Jared was more interested in the magical side of music, whereas Dorian preferred music itself. Their last years at the school together had been punctuated by a series of fights that had ended all hopes for friendship between them.

"So, Doctor Dorian. I'm glad to see you're enjoying yourself. I hear your premiere went well today; it's a shame I wasn't there, I might have had a few memorable things to say."

Dorian could see this was going badly. He made to interject, but Jared cut him off. "Did I hear from someone that you almost didn't make it to the printer's? I heard the spectacle on the street was quite amusing, the way you hit that man with your little magic stick, and were nearly dismembered for your cheek. Why don't you tell them the story, Dorian? Tell it to them, I'm sure they'd like to hear it."

Jared was speaking louder now, and more people were starting to listen in. And Dorian still had the faint traces of a bruise on the side of his head where the Radasanthian guard had cuffed him good in the scuffle. How did Jared know about that? Dorian had a few drinks in him, true, but they hadn't quite hit yet and he was still level-headed enough to know that it wasn't time to get in a fight with Jared Sommersmith. It was time to bow out gracefully. If he wasn't around to defend himself, perhaps Sommersmith would leave the party as well. It would remove the target.

"I would tell you now, but I'm afraid I must be getting home. I have a late dinner date with a friend, you know how it goes." Dorian positioned himself nearby the door, prepared to make a run for it.

But the Dean was there in a heartbeat. He turned to his son, a look of surprise on his face. "Jared? Is that you? I didn't know you were coming! Tell me, son, what brings you back from the School of Turlin?"

Jared grimaced, and said, "That's not important, father, Dorian was about to tell us a story, weren't you Dor--" He turned towards Dorian as he spoke, but trailed off, his eyes now open in wide-eyed disbelief.

Doctor Dorian Ionos was nowhere to be found.

~*~*~*~

Crouched just outside the building in the darkening air, Dorian sucked in the growing nighttime chill. Pulling from his pocket one of those new things that had just started coming in from the coast -- a sort of plant wrapped tightly in paper -- he fumbled with his other hand to hold both his Song Stone and his magic baton. A note sounded in the frigid air, a stream of fire shot from the baton, and the paper lit. He didn't particularly like these things, but they worked wonders with his nerves. And after running into Jared, he needed something to quiet an aching headache.

Walking away from the Conservatory grounds towards his apartment in the city, he was both angry and apprehensive. How dare that little brat come back just to embarrass him on his celebratory night! But how did he know of the scuffle in the street? It was a brief brawl, barely begun before the city guard broke it up. It shouldn't have excited much interest.

He walked slowly across the bridge separating the conservatory from the rest of the city, stopping for a moment to admire the scene, letting the smoke fill his lungs and calm him down. The street below him stretched out in one direction, cobblestoned paths heading towards the market district. Behind him lay the real grandeur of the city, all its towers, the Dome of the Citadel, the manors and fine homes of the powerful. But in this direction, facing the marketplace and the simply folk, there was another beauty. It lay not in power, but in hope.

He coughed, hard. These fiery little wrappers made him feel good, alert, but at the same time he couldn't stand the coughing. There was no way they were good for his singing voice.

He tossed the flaming stick off the bridge and walked on. He didn't bother to take care where it landed. That would prove an unfortunate mistake.