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Post by anna on Mar 13, 2010 0:08:06 GMT -5
How many times had Anna been in this Duomo since she had moved from Naples to Milan? Once? Twice? Who cares? All that mattered now was that the green haired Italiano was in one of the largest cathedrals in the world. The acoustics must have been amazing. So, of course Anna was tempted to sing a note—just one note—
Yet, the teenager was too intimidated. Like a child who fears telling the truth, lest they receive punishment, some nagging thought warned Anna to not even speak, to utter no noise whatsoever. 'Don't talk, don't cough, don't sneeze. Hey, while you're at it, don't even breathe.' Anna's very being there threatened the existence of the sense of superior, religious authority that the Duomo held—oh! This was silly. No one else was probably here.
The young woman continued her stride towards the the altar, the sunlight filtering through the mosaic dome and into a shower of bright golds and forest greens, Anna's spring green hair, as she passed under the brilliant chromatic waterfall, morphed into a flaxen yellow that bore close resemblance to the golden rays that had refused to intermix with the soft, radiant green. Well, what the heck. What's the worse that could happen, anyway? What stiff would punish someone for singing one, little note in a quiet, empty cathedral?
But, just to be safe, the lass looked about, to make sure that no one was seen, no one was in her eyesight. And no one was around, indeed. A confident smile on her face, the teenager took a deep, yet, sharp breath and sung a smooth, soft “Aaaah . . . ”--and paused—before breaking her promise and continuing on, “Ave Maria, gratia plena . . . ”
The hymn was crooned sweetly and slowly, the notes soft and Anna's voice rich as it rang about and changed in dynamics. The vocalist eased on, passing each and every pew as her voice rang through out the hallowed building. She was forgetting that the Duomo was a public place – an audience could walk by at any time . . .
[ooc;; oh lawd, this is kinda . . . bad. excuse me, museless roxy and starting posts usually do not mix well.]
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Post by LESFLORES DORIAN MINETTE on Mar 13, 2010 2:35:33 GMT -5
Hell is other people [/color][/font] And some people never learn[/font][/center]
Alone in the back of the chilly cathedral, Lesflores sought safety from the heat outside. It was an unusually warm day for spring and wandering the streets of Milan had soon tired the butler out. At least inside this place of God, he could escape the sun. With his feet perched on the pew in front of him, the devilish smile on the butler’s face was a mockery of the entire building. Such hard work had gone into something so ultimately futile. What was this place supposed to be, refuge for the damned? Well here we was, waiting for some magic light to come down and save him from whatever hell he was bound for. But not a thing, not a mystical sign, no choir of angels, nothing but the silence that gave him such peace. No, if you truly wanted to find peace of mind and heart you had to first separate yourself from others. What had Sartre said? ”Hell is other people,” he whispered to himself as a reminder, ”So wherever people congregate, hell follows.” Such blasphemy would surely offended anyone who might have overheard but the youth didn’t care.
To blindly let people such as him in, how trusting could the keepers of such a relic be? Fiery eyes fluttered, staring at the ceiling of the ancient building. It was an impressive structure, he couldn’t argue with that. A work of art, beautiful from an architectural viewpoint. But the purpose of the building rubbed Lesflores the wrong way. At least after he was finished lying to people, they knew they’d been had. He couldn’t say the same for those who threw words with absolutely no backing. The butler knew blind faith, counted on it time and time again with the poor saps who eventually came to rely on him only to have their trust shattered. But these liars, no, they knew no bounds. The sinful sociopath could testify to the dangers of a group of people so blindly ignorant of what was going on around them, speak volumes and volumes. But he kept his mouth shut and watched with a smile, knowing that only bad things awaited those who found themselves looking for bright lights and steering away from hellish delights.
A voice cut the silence, a lovely opening note to a song he knew. Annabelle had played the song once, it was some soft of Catholic tradition. Lesflores didn’t really get it, singing for salvation, but the song put him to ease when he heard it. There was a beautiful sorrow to it, even if he couldn’t understand the meaning and the message was lost on him. Sitting up, his feet falling to the floor silently, the butler sought out the source of the rich voice. Hidden away in the back, whoever it was probably thought she was alone. Standing up, his eyes straining to find the owner of the lovely voice, Lesflores suddenly felt like a trespasser. It was odd the way music could influence the emotions and the butler stood still until the girl’s voice faded and silence invaded the church once again.”Bravo! Bravo!” His clapping echoed down the pews, the quiet room broken by him this time around. Moving to the aisle, the boy strolled casually to the front of the congregation, ”That was lovely, mademoiselle.” The flash of a charming smile and he met eyes with the singer, a praising sparkle in his eyes. If it was genuine or another of the faker’s ruses, that was anyone’s guess.
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Word Count~Didn't count.
Tags~ Anna Eulalia Giordano
Notes~
Lyrics~ Diminishing Returns : Harvey Danger
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Post by anna on Mar 13, 2010 3:11:21 GMT -5
. . . And then it ended. Ave Maria was a classic, a lyrical piece that the artist-in-training had repeated so many times for various occasions, that the song itself seemed to grow shorter and shorter everytime the words graced themselves from her lips. It left Anna feeling a little disappointed with herself whenever she finished it so quickly. May be she needed a new favorite song.
Anna, so caught up with her own thoughts and problems, whipped around in surprise as applause from an unknown audience echoed through the building. Where did this guy come from?! Oh man, had he heard Anna the whole time . . . ? How embarrassing. W-Well, fine! There was no point in dwelling about it, Anna might as well get over it and take the compliment and make conversation. She had nothing else to do, anyway. And . . . was this guy French? Or was he just trying to be charming?
Green eyes that gradually grew from wary to semi-friendly followed the stranger as he neared Anna. “Thank you,” Anna quickly bowed her head, her mouth having formed a pleasant smile and a bit of rose tainting her cheeks. It was funny, how her Italian accent seemed so thick right now when it only lightly peppered her sentences right now. “Any reason you're here on a nice day like this? You don't look like the kind of guy to hang out in old cathedrals.” The statement itself was blunt—possibly rude, to a certain degree—but any person could tell that Anna meant no ill-will behind it. It was a simple, polite question – that's all.
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