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{For Robert Frobisher} Haunting Artistry...

It might be on some quiet afternoon that a darkly melancholy cello solo can be heard rising from one of the salons of the house. And if Frobisher should follow its strains, he might find a red-blonde woman sitting with her back to the room, deeply immersed in playing, her knees straddling the instrument as she bends over it, almost tenderly, even motherly...

Two wee babies are nearby, contained by a plastic baby fort: one, a girl with blonde curls, rolls a cloth ball about the thick blanket that covers the floor, while the other, a boy with a fuzz of black hair and an intrigued glint in his blue eyes grips a side of the fort, peering through the grid-like side, watching the woman.

And Vivien came out of hiding! Looking primarily for Frobish, but anyone is welcome to say hello, if they tap ye typist!


( 17 comments — Leave a comment )
Feb. 23rd, 2013 03:07 am (UTC)
Cello. The instrument closest to the human voice, as if beckoning with its lament. Bach, solo number 5. Unmistakeable.

Followed the trail of laments all the way to the room. Found the culprit, some woman – looking like she was all but fondling her instrument, in front of a set of babes.

Leaned against the doorframe, waiting for the player to be done.
Feb. 24th, 2013 05:31 am (UTC)
She plays on, through the piece's darkly dance-like passages, to it's ambiguously brighter coda: shadowy tints, even in it's warmer passages, so like her life.

She rises, gently setting aside her instrument in the hard case in a near corner of the room and pulling a cloth cover over it. She's about to turn to the wee ones -- the boy reaching one hand to her -- but she looks up to the young man in the door. "Oh, I didn't realize my audience got bigger," she says, smiling, a little sheepishly. "Hello there..."

Edited at 2013-02-24 05:32 am (UTC)
Feb. 24th, 2013 07:16 pm (UTC)
“I didn't mean to intrude,” he replies. “But I hadn't heard Bach being performed in such touching ways in ages.”

Not since Caius, and that was technical perfection, while this woman plays with flaws but feelings.

“Quite the lullaby, Madam.”
Feb. 28th, 2013 06:53 am (UTC)
"It's all right: I could use the company, with someone who can talk back in real sentences," she says, stooping to scoop up the boy, who'll coo and butt his head against her shoulder. "Yeah, I try to keep in practice, and I want them to grow up appreciating good music. Not always easy, but I've got help.

"I'm Vivien Harmon, this is my son, Daniel."
Mar. 2nd, 2013 06:54 pm (UTC)
“Robert Frobisher.” He smiles, and apologizes, “I would kiss your hand, Madam, but I notice they are rather full.”

Unsure how to respond to the child, he waves at Daniel awkwardly, and pointing to the girl, “And this little princess?”
Mar. 3rd, 2013 06:12 am (UTC)
Daniel, by now is looking up at Frobisher with a crooked grin that might show a tooth or two, and he might flap one fanned-fingered hand, by way of saying hello. "That's Daisy, his twin sister: she's the calm, quiet one, and I probably don't have to tell you her brother is a bit of a devil.

"So you know Bach?" she says, with the air of a person who's often had audiences who don't know Bach from Bachman pretzels, but is relieved when she can find someone who knows the difference.
Mar. 4th, 2013 01:35 am (UTC)
A wave to Daisy, an uncertain smile for Daniel: R.F. Isn't the most comfortable with children, but he can be polite. Truth is, he has no idea what to do with them.

“I had the dubious honour of being acquainted with all of his work for the clavichord during my years at Caius,” Frobisher replies with a bit of a face. “Sadly, his work for keyboard instruments is far less enthusing than his tribute to strings.”
Mar. 5th, 2013 06:47 am (UTC)
"I've never been fond of them myself, though I might be biased, since I've always been a string player," she says, setting Daniel in the wagon, settling him in the nest of blankets there. "You're a pianist?" she asks, straightening up.
Mar. 7th, 2013 05:01 am (UTC)
“A composer,” Frobisher replies with a smile, “though you might call me a pianist as well. I favour a good set of keys over any other instrument, any day.”
Mar. 10th, 2013 06:52 am (UTC)
"Have you composed anything I might know?" she asks, interested, in that multi-tasking way that mothers often have, as she lifts Daisy out of the pen.
Mar. 11th, 2013 03:12 am (UTC)
"Have you ever heard of Vyvyan Ayr's the Totenvogeln?" he asks, trying not to sound to bitter.

Old fuck. Damn old fuck. He still hates him, despite all the time that passed.
Mar. 13th, 2013 06:51 am (UTC)
"I'm afraid I haven't," she admits, tucking Daisy into the wagon. Then straightening up and noting that bitterness in his tone, she asks, "Trouble with a colleague?"
Mar. 18th, 2013 05:08 am (UTC)
"He was a great composer in his youth and a pain in the a-- neck in his older days," he replies evasively. "I'm surprised the name doesn't sound familiar."
Mar. 19th, 2013 04:29 am (UTC)
"Sounds like his personality overtook his talent; happens too often, if a musician doesn't keep one foot on the ground," she says, as if she'd seen it happen. "Sounds like my ex -- sorry: I won't bore you with my personal details."
Mar. 26th, 2013 07:39 pm (UTC)
"I would sooner say age and illness got the best of him," he replies delicately, though what he really wants to say is that the old fart was out of his bloody sodden mind.
Mar. 27th, 2013 06:00 am (UTC)
"That'll do it: not every composer is like Guiseppe Verdi, writing two operas and a Requiem setting in the last ten years of his life," she says.
Apr. 8th, 2013 06:57 pm (UTC)
"And again, that makes one wonder about the true nature of Toscanini's involvement with Verdi," he points out thoughtfully. "Just like Süssmayr wrote entire segments of Mozart's requiem."

He certainly sounds bitter. Amanuenses are clearly under-estimated.
( 17 comments — Leave a comment )

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