āHave you ever needed anything so badly that it no longer concerns you what you want, what you like, who you are?ā
The solitary figure was perched on the roof, looking out over the grounds with no particular expression on his face. Indeed, he could be said to look a littleā¦ dead. Kind of funny, considering how popular myth tended to portray his kind. The undead, living corpses, something of this nature. Ridiculous. He was just as alive as any human being, though perhaps minus something vital, like maybe a soul. Who knew? It wasnāt like a soul would do him any good; heād just waste it, corrupt it. But sometimes, you just had to do certain things, consequences be damned. His burdens werenāt a matter of honor or anything so high and mighty as that. He didnāt pretend to have those things in mind when he slew his foes.
No, all Sora sought was vengeance, no matter how much it grew the gnawing emptiness where a humanās soul might have been.
He supposed he was probably meant to hate sunrise. It signified the end of his peopleās dominion and the dawning of the humanās world. If heād been a ālesserā vampire, he would even have suffered at the advent of the sun, but no, he was simply intended to despise it on principle, for everything it stood for. He never had. Instead, he watched it with the same disinterests as everyone else, through even the clanging of the bell and the throngs of students passing below. They all looked so busy, as though what they were doing were so vitally important that they couldnāt even take the precious time it would require to be aware of their surroundings. Well, nobody ever looked up anyway, not even the careful ones. Maybe that was why heād been taught to strike from above.
Huffing a breath from his nose, Sora tried to quell the growing sense of disquiet rising beneath his skin. In a way, it was his curse: he could never truly be at ease. His power moved too readily in him, flows and eddies of pure-bright electricity, and it was literally as well as figuratively difficult to rest, to relax. There was always the risk of losing his hold on that deadly stuff, doing harm he had not intended. The most dangerous blades are those that may be either dull or sharp. If one is always aggressive, people will grow wary, as of the fire. If one is always passive, one will forget how to do harm when necessity demands it. Be always unpredictable, be always vigilant.
āTch.ā Advice from a dead man who clearly hadnāt followed it well enough. Never mind, he would never be so stupid.
Nonetheless, he found that even such avowed reassurances would not tame his spirit today, though much seldom did. It was almost funnyāpeople thought him so unrestricted, so free, but that was only with his words. When it came down to it, he was just as chained as anyone else, he just refused to bow to it. This decision carried its own consequences, however, and his persistent dissatisfaction with everything was one of them.
It was as he was thinking this that his keen ears picked up on a sound. Huh. New song, today. Moving to the edge of the roof, Sora dropped so he was holding onto the ledge effortlessly with just his fingertips, and began a catlike climb towards the source of the sound. It was the Violinist, again.
The music roomās window, from which the music was filtering, was not far from his present location, and he sidled along windowsills and stonework protrusions with the ease of long practiceāheād climbed much smoother things before. It was not long ago that heād discovered that someone at the Academy had a real flair for music of this kind, and heād taken to listening to them when he heard them. Most of the time, it wasnāt anything as involved as this, just a temporary pause outside the music room door or something like that. But getting into the school would be more effort at this point than he wanted to put in, and heād probably miss the majority of the new tune, besides.
He didnāt really understand what compelled him to listen, but he saw no harm in it. If someone in this forsaken place had a talent like that, he figured somebody ought to appreciate it, as heād heard of no public recitals every being given. Besides, the music wasā¦ nice. It made him feel quieter inside, though the songs the Violinist picked werenāt always quite the ones he might have, he appreciated that this must be their way of doing what he could notāchanneling all their pent up self into something that wasnāt violent.
He was a little envious, even if he couldnāt really afford to be.
The window was indeed open, but he hesitated for a moment. He could easily slip in through it if he wanted, but that might ruin it. What if the Violinist was on his List? What if it was someone he didnāt like? This completely one-sided arrangement was on some level something he liked, even just a little, and he wasnāt sure he wanted to crack that veneer of anonymity that lay between them. He didnāt know who the Violinist was, and the Violinist presumably didnāt know that they had an audience.
Still, he was too direct to keep skulking around like some kind of spy or creeper. That wasnāt his style. Seemed fairer to the Violinist this way, too. Plus, part of him was unmistakably curious; heād been wondering about this for the better part of the school year heād spent here. Might as well begin the day by solving a mystery, right? Swinging soundlessly onto the windowsill, Sora landed in a crouch, perched on the frame like some kind of large bird, the twin dovetails of his black duster coat hanging out the window even still.
What he saw wasnāt exactly what heād expected, though he was inwardly relieved that the person here was in fact not on his list, nor someone he hated. Fujiwara, huh? He wouldnāt have picked the prefect to have a talent like this, but then again, he was pretty bad at reading people and they usually managed to surprise him, though admittedly, this was less unpleasant than most such surprises.
He caught sight of the owl, but if its presence moved his thoughts in one direction or another, he didnāt show it, instead waiting with uncharacteristic politeness for the performance to end before he spoke. āHn. Youāre pretty talented, Fujiwara.ā It was certainly not a kind of talent heād ever had the time to cultivate.
No, all Sora sought was vengeance, no matter how much it grew the gnawing emptiness where a humanās soul might have been.
He supposed he was probably meant to hate sunrise. It signified the end of his peopleās dominion and the dawning of the humanās world. If heād been a ālesserā vampire, he would even have suffered at the advent of the sun, but no, he was simply intended to despise it on principle, for everything it stood for. He never had. Instead, he watched it with the same disinterests as everyone else, through even the clanging of the bell and the throngs of students passing below. They all looked so busy, as though what they were doing were so vitally important that they couldnāt even take the precious time it would require to be aware of their surroundings. Well, nobody ever looked up anyway, not even the careful ones. Maybe that was why heād been taught to strike from above.
Huffing a breath from his nose, Sora tried to quell the growing sense of disquiet rising beneath his skin. In a way, it was his curse: he could never truly be at ease. His power moved too readily in him, flows and eddies of pure-bright electricity, and it was literally as well as figuratively difficult to rest, to relax. There was always the risk of losing his hold on that deadly stuff, doing harm he had not intended. The most dangerous blades are those that may be either dull or sharp. If one is always aggressive, people will grow wary, as of the fire. If one is always passive, one will forget how to do harm when necessity demands it. Be always unpredictable, be always vigilant.
āTch.ā Advice from a dead man who clearly hadnāt followed it well enough. Never mind, he would never be so stupid.
Nonetheless, he found that even such avowed reassurances would not tame his spirit today, though much seldom did. It was almost funnyāpeople thought him so unrestricted, so free, but that was only with his words. When it came down to it, he was just as chained as anyone else, he just refused to bow to it. This decision carried its own consequences, however, and his persistent dissatisfaction with everything was one of them.
It was as he was thinking this that his keen ears picked up on a sound. Huh. New song, today. Moving to the edge of the roof, Sora dropped so he was holding onto the ledge effortlessly with just his fingertips, and began a catlike climb towards the source of the sound. It was the Violinist, again.
The music roomās window, from which the music was filtering, was not far from his present location, and he sidled along windowsills and stonework protrusions with the ease of long practiceāheād climbed much smoother things before. It was not long ago that heād discovered that someone at the Academy had a real flair for music of this kind, and heād taken to listening to them when he heard them. Most of the time, it wasnāt anything as involved as this, just a temporary pause outside the music room door or something like that. But getting into the school would be more effort at this point than he wanted to put in, and heād probably miss the majority of the new tune, besides.
He didnāt really understand what compelled him to listen, but he saw no harm in it. If someone in this forsaken place had a talent like that, he figured somebody ought to appreciate it, as heād heard of no public recitals every being given. Besides, the music wasā¦ nice. It made him feel quieter inside, though the songs the Violinist picked werenāt always quite the ones he might have, he appreciated that this must be their way of doing what he could notāchanneling all their pent up self into something that wasnāt violent.
He was a little envious, even if he couldnāt really afford to be.
The window was indeed open, but he hesitated for a moment. He could easily slip in through it if he wanted, but that might ruin it. What if the Violinist was on his List? What if it was someone he didnāt like? This completely one-sided arrangement was on some level something he liked, even just a little, and he wasnāt sure he wanted to crack that veneer of anonymity that lay between them. He didnāt know who the Violinist was, and the Violinist presumably didnāt know that they had an audience.
Still, he was too direct to keep skulking around like some kind of spy or creeper. That wasnāt his style. Seemed fairer to the Violinist this way, too. Plus, part of him was unmistakably curious; heād been wondering about this for the better part of the school year heād spent here. Might as well begin the day by solving a mystery, right? Swinging soundlessly onto the windowsill, Sora landed in a crouch, perched on the frame like some kind of large bird, the twin dovetails of his black duster coat hanging out the window even still.
What he saw wasnāt exactly what heād expected, though he was inwardly relieved that the person here was in fact not on his list, nor someone he hated. Fujiwara, huh? He wouldnāt have picked the prefect to have a talent like this, but then again, he was pretty bad at reading people and they usually managed to surprise him, though admittedly, this was less unpleasant than most such surprises.
He caught sight of the owl, but if its presence moved his thoughts in one direction or another, he didnāt show it, instead waiting with uncharacteristic politeness for the performance to end before he spoke. āHn. Youāre pretty talented, Fujiwara.ā It was certainly not a kind of talent heād ever had the time to cultivate.