Viktor Valkov
It was just another one of those nights, he noted. All the other rooms in the hall were locked, and he was here alone, as usual. As one of the professors there, one might expect him to be there late looking over music - But he didn't just look over it, he truly read it, he felt it, and could see it. His office light was the only light on in the entire hall save for the lights near the elevators, kept there for safety reasons. The rest of Fraizer-Murphy hall was dark, and one would assume that not a living soul was there. Fraizer-Murphy hall, a hall made just for the fine arts (Affectionately dubbed FML Hall due to the intense, difficult classes that took place there), was also deathly quiet at the time - Rather unnatural sounding for him really, since he was so used to noise.
Looking up at the clock, he sighed to himself and stood, beginning to pack his things. It was late, and he should go home and rest for the next day of classes on campus. Of course he'd probably have to scold the tenors for speeding up, yell at the basses for flatting, rant at the sopranos for oversinging, and criticize the altos on their lack of inaudibility - Just a normal day of getting things done. As he turned off the light and made his way into the hallway, he locked his door, and made his way towards the elevators.
Suddenly, there was a sensation of being watched. It crept across his skin, eerily, and he shuddered. He stopped, looking around himself without looking behind, making sure there was nothing in plain sight before looking back. Nothing. As the looked back, he noted that there was still nothing there. However, his office door was open. He could've sworn he locked it? Perhaps he thought he did, but didn't. With his logic, he made his way back, closed the door, locked it and made sure it was locked, then made his way out of the building without further incident.
Just as he was at the font step to his small house, his cellphone began to ring. He wondered who would be called so late and checked the caller ID as he slipped inside the house and closed the door. It was Felix. Being a musician, you tended to meet other musicians, even if they weren't from your genre, but you just got to know them in various ways. Placing the phone against his ear after answering, he spoke while carrying all his things up the stairs to his home office.
"Privet, Felix. Quite an hour to call, da?" he said, tone of voice suggesting exhaustion. "What is going up?" he asked, placing his things on the desk. This speech quirk was a habit of Viktor's since english wasn't his first language, tending to mix 'What's going on' and 'What's up' into one strange phrase - 'What is going up?'.