02-06-2015, 03:44 PM
It was cold. But Aurora continued to walk through the streets of Moscow lost in her thoughts. She always landed on her feet she told herself. When her mother died she was on top of things. When Nox was at his worst she was there. When their dad died, she stayed on top of everything. Aurora sighed, now Nox didn't need her. The plane crash had done more damage to her family than just losing their memories. Nox was a different person. Was she?
The idea that her past shouldn't continue to keep her from her future sat idle in her mind. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she wouldn't be doubting herself if she knew what brought them to Moscow. Why they had come? There had to be a reason they would have come here for more than just a stupid tattoo.
That was another thing, Nox had taken it to heart, he'd dropped his soul into the pit of the monster because he thought it would save his life. Aurora wasn't so sure, it was likely to swallow them whole. The Atharim would kill them if they knew what they were. And yet he stuck his feet in the ground and stubbornly stays. He was working harder than ever now, training more and more. He'd learned a lot in the few weeks he'd known Aria. More than he was willing with her. Aurora wanted to stamp her feet in frustration.
The cold was finally getting to her. Her feet were numb, her fingers felt like ice. She couldn't feel her nose. A door flung open and caught in the wind. As the person left and pushed the door shut behind them Aurora caught the scent of coffee. She closed her eyes and swayed almost like it was the most wonderful thing in the world. And right now, in her dour mood it probably was.
Aurora opened the door and made sure it closed behind her. The cafe was small, a cellist played in the corner, the music was seductively sweet. The couches were arrayed all over the place, no particular order or fashion sense. There were very few tables. But the coffee it smelled divine.
She ordered a cup, black, large. It was handed to her in a large stone ware cup the size of a bowl. My god! It was warm, her fingers melted against the cup and when Aurora took a sip she was in heaven, it tasted as good as it smelled. Aurora sat down on the couch facing the cellist, she listened as she sipped her coffee.
He didn't seem to notice her beyond a flicker of his eyes, at least not that she could tell. But something changed on his face. He had the look of concentration, as if his eyes must be closed so that his soul could pour out of his hands.
She'd never been a fan of classical music before, the thought of going to some opera house to listen to a bunch of people play and there were no lyrics. Yet as she watched the cellist play, she saw so much emotion cross his face, the sound was eerily beautiful.
Aurora watched as his fingers moved across the strings, and the bow slide back and forth. The music sank into her soul. She wasn't exactly sure if it was making it better, or making it worse, but she was rivited in place until the piece ended and then the silence was almost painful.
He was still for a moment, as if it had taken everything out of him to play so tenderly. There toward the end, the exaggerated movements of arms and fingers had seemed to coax emotion from the instrument that seemed to penetrate deeply into the audience. Emotion seemed to flash across his face, his hair sweaty and flipping over his forehead and ears in response. Conversation had ceased, as if his music had demanded their full concentration.
The silence rang and then he opened his eyes, appeared to breath deeply. They roamed the audience as if seeking something, as if a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower, until they alighted on hers. And stopped.
Aurora smiled and then averted her gaze shyly. It had been a while since that had happened. Since she'd seen that kind of passion, even if it hadn't been directed at her, it had felt that way. His gaze made her aware of her over-sized coat to keep the cold away. She was not hardly dressed to impress.
When she looked up his attention was now on his instrument, adjusting nobs and feeling strings. His eyes did not look to the audience, almost deliberately. And then he tilted his head back while he closed his eyes softly, while his hands began the delicate dance over the cello. This time it seemed she could barely hear it at first, it was so soft and low. And yet gradually, she felt, rather than heard the rhythm that was being coaxed from it, slowly as if it had to be teased and drawn out rather than simply played.
It became louder as he seemed to make the instrument come to life with his bow, as it began to wail and cry to the insistent thrums and slaps of his fingers on the strings and body. How so much depth and complex sound could be coaxed from one cello was beyond her. This time, the song grew to a crescendo, wordless, and yet filled with emotion and passion and imagery. His eyebrows drew down in sorrow as the bass dwindled, the thread almost dying, before brows furrowed with determination as he attacked his strings. Back and forth, the story was told, and by the end, hair now slick with sweat, the cello went silent and he opened his eyes. He was looking at her.
That was the second time he'd looked at her directly. She smiled, this time making herself not look away. She could feel the blush rising but there was nothing she could do about that. She took a sip of her coffee to hide almost absently. He played so well, she had never realized this type of music could be so moving. Or that the people who played an instrument could be so well... handsome.
He smiled as he swept back his disheveled hair and then tilted the microphone. Spanish accented English come from his smiling lips. "Thank you. I will be back soon."
He carefully set his bow in its case and then placed the cello on its stand. In black jeans and a black t-shirt, he stood and seemed to survey the crowd before stepping down and walking toward the barrista.
Aurora watched as he walked past her, she wanted to watch him move, watch him walk but she swallowed down the last of the cold coffee. She stood up and turned to see he was the only one in line, a few girls giggled near him but they just pointed and stared. She smiled to herself, she was better than that. No giggling for her.
Aurora walked up behind him her empty cup in hand to order a second cup. From behind him, she spoke softly. "You play wonderfully."
He turned around with a smile on his face and looked down into her eyes. "I thank you."
He tilted his head as if studying her and then added. "But you know, the cello is an instrument of two souls. The one making the music, and the one taking it inside themselves. The beauty you hear, that touches you, is from you."
Aurora gave a small laugh. "I doubt that."
She didn't doubt she was pretty or could make pretty things happen, but she'd seen way too much evil to think it came from her. "Call me jaded."
She smiled. "Why the cello?"
His looked pained at her words. "It makes me sad to hear you say that."
His eyes lit up, mouth quirking as if almost smiling. "Jade stone can be scratched and scuffed. But it is still jade. Cared for, shaped, polished, its beauty remains and can be brought back to the surface, the luster on the inside visible once again for all to see. It is never gone."
His eyes became soft, as did his smile. "Do not forget this."
He gestured to the platform. "I will play again and you will see what is inside you more clearly now. Now that you know where it comes from."
![[Image: 10384198_683243648423048_838946051302820...e=5593704C]](https://scontent-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/10384198_683243648423048_838946051302820914_n.jpg?oh=f7c735f6ad8adfdd2bb5734968229699&oe=5593704C)
Diego De La Cruz
The idea that her past shouldn't continue to keep her from her future sat idle in her mind. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she wouldn't be doubting herself if she knew what brought them to Moscow. Why they had come? There had to be a reason they would have come here for more than just a stupid tattoo.
That was another thing, Nox had taken it to heart, he'd dropped his soul into the pit of the monster because he thought it would save his life. Aurora wasn't so sure, it was likely to swallow them whole. The Atharim would kill them if they knew what they were. And yet he stuck his feet in the ground and stubbornly stays. He was working harder than ever now, training more and more. He'd learned a lot in the few weeks he'd known Aria. More than he was willing with her. Aurora wanted to stamp her feet in frustration.
The cold was finally getting to her. Her feet were numb, her fingers felt like ice. She couldn't feel her nose. A door flung open and caught in the wind. As the person left and pushed the door shut behind them Aurora caught the scent of coffee. She closed her eyes and swayed almost like it was the most wonderful thing in the world. And right now, in her dour mood it probably was.
Aurora opened the door and made sure it closed behind her. The cafe was small, a cellist played in the corner, the music was seductively sweet. The couches were arrayed all over the place, no particular order or fashion sense. There were very few tables. But the coffee it smelled divine.
She ordered a cup, black, large. It was handed to her in a large stone ware cup the size of a bowl. My god! It was warm, her fingers melted against the cup and when Aurora took a sip she was in heaven, it tasted as good as it smelled. Aurora sat down on the couch facing the cellist, she listened as she sipped her coffee.
He didn't seem to notice her beyond a flicker of his eyes, at least not that she could tell. But something changed on his face. He had the look of concentration, as if his eyes must be closed so that his soul could pour out of his hands.
She'd never been a fan of classical music before, the thought of going to some opera house to listen to a bunch of people play and there were no lyrics. Yet as she watched the cellist play, she saw so much emotion cross his face, the sound was eerily beautiful.
Aurora watched as his fingers moved across the strings, and the bow slide back and forth. The music sank into her soul. She wasn't exactly sure if it was making it better, or making it worse, but she was rivited in place until the piece ended and then the silence was almost painful.
He was still for a moment, as if it had taken everything out of him to play so tenderly. There toward the end, the exaggerated movements of arms and fingers had seemed to coax emotion from the instrument that seemed to penetrate deeply into the audience. Emotion seemed to flash across his face, his hair sweaty and flipping over his forehead and ears in response. Conversation had ceased, as if his music had demanded their full concentration.
The silence rang and then he opened his eyes, appeared to breath deeply. They roamed the audience as if seeking something, as if a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower, until they alighted on hers. And stopped.
Aurora smiled and then averted her gaze shyly. It had been a while since that had happened. Since she'd seen that kind of passion, even if it hadn't been directed at her, it had felt that way. His gaze made her aware of her over-sized coat to keep the cold away. She was not hardly dressed to impress.
When she looked up his attention was now on his instrument, adjusting nobs and feeling strings. His eyes did not look to the audience, almost deliberately. And then he tilted his head back while he closed his eyes softly, while his hands began the delicate dance over the cello. This time it seemed she could barely hear it at first, it was so soft and low. And yet gradually, she felt, rather than heard the rhythm that was being coaxed from it, slowly as if it had to be teased and drawn out rather than simply played.
It became louder as he seemed to make the instrument come to life with his bow, as it began to wail and cry to the insistent thrums and slaps of his fingers on the strings and body. How so much depth and complex sound could be coaxed from one cello was beyond her. This time, the song grew to a crescendo, wordless, and yet filled with emotion and passion and imagery. His eyebrows drew down in sorrow as the bass dwindled, the thread almost dying, before brows furrowed with determination as he attacked his strings. Back and forth, the story was told, and by the end, hair now slick with sweat, the cello went silent and he opened his eyes. He was looking at her.
That was the second time he'd looked at her directly. She smiled, this time making herself not look away. She could feel the blush rising but there was nothing she could do about that. She took a sip of her coffee to hide almost absently. He played so well, she had never realized this type of music could be so moving. Or that the people who played an instrument could be so well... handsome.
He smiled as he swept back his disheveled hair and then tilted the microphone. Spanish accented English come from his smiling lips. "Thank you. I will be back soon."
He carefully set his bow in its case and then placed the cello on its stand. In black jeans and a black t-shirt, he stood and seemed to survey the crowd before stepping down and walking toward the barrista.
Aurora watched as he walked past her, she wanted to watch him move, watch him walk but she swallowed down the last of the cold coffee. She stood up and turned to see he was the only one in line, a few girls giggled near him but they just pointed and stared. She smiled to herself, she was better than that. No giggling for her.
Aurora walked up behind him her empty cup in hand to order a second cup. From behind him, she spoke softly. "You play wonderfully."
He turned around with a smile on his face and looked down into her eyes. "I thank you."
He tilted his head as if studying her and then added. "But you know, the cello is an instrument of two souls. The one making the music, and the one taking it inside themselves. The beauty you hear, that touches you, is from you."
Aurora gave a small laugh. "I doubt that."
She didn't doubt she was pretty or could make pretty things happen, but she'd seen way too much evil to think it came from her. "Call me jaded."
She smiled. "Why the cello?"
His looked pained at her words. "It makes me sad to hear you say that."
His eyes lit up, mouth quirking as if almost smiling. "Jade stone can be scratched and scuffed. But it is still jade. Cared for, shaped, polished, its beauty remains and can be brought back to the surface, the luster on the inside visible once again for all to see. It is never gone."
His eyes became soft, as did his smile. "Do not forget this."
He gestured to the platform. "I will play again and you will see what is inside you more clearly now. Now that you know where it comes from."
Diego De La Cruz