Soft Melodies, OPEN

[Clarence Wilde]

His workload finished for the evening, Clarence was at a loss as to what to do. The sun had started to settle behind the horizon and most people would be finishing dinner and getting ready to retire. But as was so common to the musician turned Teacher's Aide, he was feeling restless. His attention lingered for a moment at the small bottle of pills given to him by Dr. Willett for just such an occasion, and he worried on his lower lip in a moment of indecisiveness. Ever since his 'incident' he developed a wariness of drugs and other intoxicants, such things had the tendency to mess with his already tenuous hold on reality. Eventually he turned away from the bottle and set his sights on his violin case.

He had no time to himself and the instrument, besides the little scene with Wilbur. It wasn't that he regretted the action, but it certainly wasn't a circumstance of playing for stress relief. Such was the reason that lead to him pulling on his overcoat and absconding quietly from the faculty quarters. He could have played there, certainly, but he didn't trust himself nor the effect of his music to play it while others might be near by. He set out for a more secluded area and eventually ended up in front of the auditorium.

At this time of evening, it should be rather deserted, or so he hoped. He pulled open the doorway and made his way into the building. Once inside the auditorium proper he lingered near the back row of seats for a moment before he opted to set up in one of the back corners. He shrugged off his coat and slung it over the back of the nearest chair, then started the delicate process of opening the instrument case and plucking the violin out from within it.

Next out was a small piece of soft cloth he used to rub down the cherry-stained wood of the violin gingerly. The instrument was treated with the utmost care, his dark eyes half-shut in concentration. By the time he brought it up to his chin, and swapped out the cloth for the bow, he had completely tuned out his surroundings.

A soft brush against the strings started a soft melody that echoed through the empty auditorium.

[Wilbur Whateley]

As promised, it would not be the last time Clarence would be seeing Wilbur. Sometimes he asks himself if that night when he was at death's door was real. Then he looks at the skin where the scars should be, and he remembers.

He didn't speak up right away. No, Wilbur lingered at the doorway, soaking in the melody. He almost didn't have the heart to interrupt at all. In its presence, it was hard to believe there was anything amiss in the world, let alone plague raging outside these walls. And wouldn't you know it, they still couldn't find a cure. Some say it was something in the water, others said it was the dank Arkham air. Still there were those mad enough to insist it was the wrath of God that descended upon the town and its heathen people.

Whatever the case, Wilbur had been careful to carry a flask that containing only water from the farm well. That, or cheap whisky. Tonight, it was the latter. Speaking of, he drew it from his coat pocket, unscrewed it and took a long, satisfying swig.

His gullet still burning, Wilbur drawled out, "Ah, that music. Like liquid mercury." He flashed Clarence a mischievous smile. "Save any lives with it today?"

[Clarence Wilde]

It was so easy to lose himself in the rhythm and cadence of strings. His hazel eyes drifted shut, his lips thinned into a neutral line. The melody heavy in his ears, his carefully constructed grip on everything waned. Lilac and lavender drifted wafted gently across his nose and a smile gradually made its way across his features. His shoulders slumped as he relaxed further, feeling the tickle of hair against his cheeks and a set of hands on his shoulders. How easy would it be to just let go? He had been doing very well on not crossing over lately--it had been an arduous task involving as much caffeine as he could reasonably ingest--but perhaps a short sojourn wouldn't be so bad? Just a quick step across to see Linda...

Not that the logical part of him had much say as once he started sinking so deep into the music and the relaxation it brought the fatigue that weighed on him wouldn't let him say no. Instead, it was an external interruption that caused him to startle, his eyes fluttering open in a dazed manner. The bow of his violin came to an awkward halt, an unflattering scraping ending to an otherwise perfected melody.

For a few moments Clarence simply stared as his senses caught up with reality, and after a few slow blinks, he lowered his violin. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth once more, a blend of nervousness and relief. "Wilbur," He murmured softly, a small weight lifted from his chest. The fact that he hadn't seen the youth much after their previous curious encounter had worried him...But he was here now, and while that didn't solidify his reality by any means - they were, after all, alone again - it was still a small comfort.

"It is n-nice to see you again," The musician offered with a certain sincerity that he didn't have the energy to fake. "I haven't, n-no...how are you feeling...?" His head cocked to the side as he moved to set his violin delicately within its case.

[Wilbur Whateley]

The flask was suddenly whisked back into the folds of his coat. Somehow Wilbur didn't think it'd be a welcome sight to such a starchy stiff like Clarence. "Swell to see you too, doc." And for once, he was being honest. As for the nickname... it was, he liked to think, something of an inside joke between them.

Arkham was lousy with so-called doctors and scientists, but they were all snake oil peddlers where Wilbur was concerned. He was well aware of how they'd happily strap him down on an operating table and peek at his insides if any of them ever wisened up to what he really was. For all their degrees, they still couldn't stop the disease, and people were getting... antsy.

He was only surprised no one had thought to profit off of their desperation until now. "I'm still better off than a lot of people in town. It's getting worse out there, if you haven't noticed." He shrugged, layers and layers of clothing elaborating Wilbur's every movement. "And you? I hope you're not coming down with whatever it is that's taking ahold of folks in Arkham. Heard it's an unpleasant, ugly, pus-filled business."