The Real Thing

He had heard plenty about the creature: how it exploded in strong daylight's rays and never truly died, even with a stake through the heart; how it was as fast as the proverbial lightning strike and as quite as a dead man; how its lips were a beautiful red, and the pale skin practically glowed in the moonlight . . .

And now, here he was. About to meet a real one.

The vampire serum (along with the werewolf one) was the stuff of legends back at Windor. It was only offered in the very start of the experimentation, stopped because too many of their lab rats were uncontrollable and could very easily escape. If the fakes were legendary, though, then what did that make the actual vampires? It gave Denskith goosebumps just thinking about it-- but, as far as the people he asked were concerned, this 'Richard Wallace' was a good man. Good, but undead. Good, but the real thing.

Denskith briefly had to wonder if he would complain about how disgusting his blood smelled-- it just had to smell bad. Still, there was no going back now: he was in front of the door, had slept several hours beforehand to make sure that he would be alert for their eventual conversation, and had dressed in his best dress blacks, as usual. Time to actually meet the man-- monster-- real thing. Time to meet the vamp.

With great hesitance, Denskith raised up his scarred hand and, on the unblemished knuckles, knocked twice.
Dear God, he wished he hadn't knocked now.

Richard felt like doing exactly nothing.

But sadly, that was not an option. So as a way of comforting himself, he decided to treat himself to something special. He was sitting on a couch, a new addition he'd brought from one of the storage rooms, a pretty Victorian thing with upholstery patterned with roses. Perhaps sometimes occupying it would be more comfortable than talking over a desk. On a coffee table next to it, though, stood the real deal - a gramophone, its brass tube polished to a shine. It was wind-up and worked without electricity, a valuable trait on the island.
Richard chuckled to himself happily and rubbed his hands together, then ran a finger over the edges of the sleeves of his vinyl records, filling a cardboard box. He had them from the times they were the dominant form of audio recording. Finally he picked one out at random, placed it on the device without looking and pushed the tonearm into place with a practiced motion.

Then he gracelessly slumped back onto the couch and closed his eyes. He was sure that even despite the music, he would hear if somebody was coming and would manage to assume a more dignified position in time.

His happiness didn't last long. Soon, footsteps outside broke through Bowie's voice like the buzzing of an annoying fly. He hoped they would pass on by, but he wasn't that lucky. The vampire sighed and gathered his sprawled out limbs, sitting up and straightening out his pale beige suit jacket. The footsteps sounded off, somehow, like the person was really unnaturally tall. That could be the music throwing him off, though... Ah well, no point in musing over it, he would know soon enough.
"Please, come in." he said, a welcoming tone sounding in his deep voice. Even if the visitor was unwanted, there was no reason to make them feel so.


((Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXq5VvYAI1Q ))

Denskith froze with the voice, utter fear creeping up his spine. Why was he here again--? Okay, he knew why, but the question was more towards why was he actually considering this to be a good idea. Because, the more he thought about it, the more it was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Maybe . . . Maybe, he should just leave--
Was that music playing in there?

All doubt immediately erased from the music teacher's mind; there was music playing in there. He'd be perfectly fine. Yeah. Nothing bad could happen when music was playing. . . .

Denskith slowly opened the door, more calm due to the tune playing into his ears but still cautious nevertheless. That remaining hesitation, though, vanished when he neared the music. What a lovely tune-- he sadly didn't recognize it. Ziggy played guitar~
The teacher found himself enrapt in the music, not closing the door behind him but instead walking almost in a trance towards the gramophone. He simply stared at it, smiling for all the world to see. What a wonderful machine the gramophone was. Yes . . .

When the door opened, he got up from the couch to greet whomever it was that would walk in. He stared expectantly at the opening door at about the height where he'd expect a head to be... and ended up looking way below his visitor's face. His gaze slid up and down the odd figure, taking in the scars and the unnaturally long legs. Hmm, there was nobody like that amongst the students, he was sure... So this was either a member of the faculty, or a stilt-walker from the damned carnival who lost his way.

He made a mental note to learn about all the teachers later.

As the man walked across the room, the door slowly swung wide open, and Richard looked at it in displeasure. Not closing the door behind one's self did not leave a good first impression... but perhaps the silent guest just liked the music so much. Richard chuckled lightly, shrugged, then walked past the entranced man to close the door for him. After that, he turned around and watched him silently for a moment, remaining standing by the door.

He folded his arms behind his back and cleared his throat. "Do you like Bowie?"

Denskith jerked-up at the clearing of the thoat, alert to his surroundings once more. When did--? How did he--?

His face flushed in embarrassment. No, no, no! This wasn't how to make a first impression, expecially on an original! He was so rude-- the man wouldn't answer any of his questions now-- why in the world was he playing music, anyways?-- oh, the music, it's so wonderful-- SNAP OUT OF IT!

Once Denskith managed to turn his head around, though, he noticed that the vampire . . . seemed amused rather than angry. Did he do something funny?

"Um," he started, still a little petrified in embarrassement. "H-hello." He was talking to a vampire, and all he could think of to say was 'hello.' 'Hello!' The entire Resistance would be laughing at him, were they here as witnesses. Dear God, this was a bad idea. Now that he was here, though, he might as well pick-up on the conversation.

That name . . . The music teacher thought he should know it, but he didn't. He face half-screwed-up in puzzlement, the scarred side remaining fixed so that the expression wouldn't hurt.
"Bowie . . . Who is he?" he had to ask.

(( Yes, the music teacher is asking who the great David Bowie is. > <; ))

Very briefly Richard entertained the thought of saying something that would make the man even more embarrassed. But, ah... he'd been feeling bad enough about the beard-creature. He couldn't afford more slip-ups like that.

"Hello." he said lightly. "How do you do?"
He started walking towards the man, gesturing towards the gramophone. "David Bowie, a musician, most popular in the 70's and 80's." He was a bit disappointed that his guest wasn't a fellow fan, but it was the kind of thing he'd learned to deal with a long time ago. Not many people cared about the past, even if it was just a few decades ago, and his memories of Bowie's and Shakespeare's prime alike were real to him alone.
He offered a hand to shake. "I'm Richard Wallace, though I assume you know that already." He smiled. "Unless you are here by chance, lured away from your usual routine by David's siren voice. Either way, I would be honored if you sat down and kept me company for a few moments." He glanced towards his desk, then towards the couch. Hm. If this was a leisurely visit, they could sit on the couch, but if it was about one of the students, a more official approach would be necessary... Only then did he realize that directly behind the couch stood his enormous dead friend, Manny the stuffed bear, its growling, sharp-fanged face hovering above the seat. Oh... Honestly, it looked... interesting, and he hoped he wouldn't have to move things around. Fighting back a slight smirk he looked to the man's eyes again. "How may I be of service?"

((....... *shakes head*))

Denskith's eyes lit-up at the description. A musician! He would have to properly research this David Bowie later; still embarrassed, he admitted to the vampire, "Sorry-- I was never able to listen to much pop music. A shame, really."
. . . Should he have said that? The sentence just spilled out before he could stop it. This man-- vampire-- monster-- original was just too easy to talk to. Besides, what he said was true: his parents-- adoptive parents-- parents, all the same-- never let him listen to the radio, only classical CDs. They didn't want him to 'taint his golden ear.' He still didn't understand that sort of logic. . . .

The music teacher flinched at the word 'siren' but nevertheless shook the original's hand, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. Would the vampire hear that? "Denskith Huges-- I'm the new music teacher. And yes, I've heard of you." He managed a half-smile-- did the vampire already know his name, like he knew his? It was best not to assume these things, though.

Denskith was about to walk towards the couch when he locked eyes with the stuffed bear. His eyes widened a little. It . . . wasn't real, was it? There was no reason for it not to be real, yes, but although the creature was most certainly dead, its eyes . . . were right on him . . .

A bit too hurriedly, the teacher apparently changed his mind about the couch, instead taking the seat customarily reserved for the students. His back was as straight as a stick; his long legs bent oddly, the knees coming mid-way up his chest. At the vampire's considerate question, he took a deep breath. . . .

"I actually wanted to know more about your kind, Mr. Wallace. The vampires."

He nodded. "I understand. I never did care much for it either, well, up until the last fifty years, I suppose." He smiled, then shrugged in a 'what to do?' manner. The idea that what was 'pop music' before that was considered classical now didn't occur to him.

"Ah... I'm afraid I wasn't aware. I am pretty new here myself, you see." he said. Something bothered him at the edge of his consciousness, but he blocked it out. "I still haven't met all of the staff."
Something that he would have to fix as quickly as possible, especially taking into account the recent events... He blinked away the thought. This was not the right moment to be musing about it.

He took a step towards the couch when Denskith looked in its direction, but stopped when he saw the teacher wasn't moving. He bit into his lip at the expression. Okay, he might have to move the bear... He stifled a chuckle and went to occupy his chair, resting his elbows on the desk.
The question immediately made him grow a bit wary, but he was determined to show nothing of it, his expression never wavering from polite friendliness. Vampires, indeed... Well, it was probably natural to be curious. What was the music teacher, anyway? He smelled decidedly more human than others in the Academy, yet there was a note to him that Richard couldn't quite pinpoint. Scents were never easy to name. They could only be described by being compared to other smells or flavors... like Denskith's, which the vampire could only call 'salty bell pepper', as ridiculous as it sounded. Human language had no other words.

He shook his head. "Of course. But first..." he said. "Please, try to relax. We are colleagues, are we not? There is no reason to be as tense as a student about to get an earful."
Richard waggled his finger and smiled jokingly, long canines showing in their full glory.

Denskith frowned a little at the misunderstanding but didn't want to be rude and correct the vampire. It wasn't because he didn't care-- it was simply that he couldn't. If he obtained a radio now, though, he would get nothing done; such a wasted childhood.

On Mr. Wallace's orders, the music teacher relaxed in appearance, but only slightly. He didn't consider himself at all equal with any of the faculty, especially with the vampire. Even with the students, he was wary. Compared to the originals . . . he was nothing. That fact was always on his mind . . . especially when the vampire freely showed his canines like that. It was like the bear was staring at him again. Only, worse.
He felt like he was a student. Like he should be a student.

Denskith looked down at the flooring a little, unable to meet the original's eyes.
"Sorry," he apologized again, smiling once more to try to cover-up the obvious awkwardness. He had to ask, though-- he just had to. "It's just-- I've wanted to know for a while. A long while, actually, but I never got to meet one of the originals before, and--"

The teacher covered-up his mouth immediately, his face quickly turning into a vivid scarlet. He really needed to learn not to babble like that. Really needed to.

That nervousness... He didn't like it. Paired with the curiosity about vampires it made him even more alert. He wasn't about to give in to paranoia just yet - surely this man posed no threat - but he would remain cautious.

Maybe Denskith was just shy.

He reached for the desk's drawers, but the movement was halted when the music teacher's strange words registered. Richard gave him a quizzical glance, then proceeded to open the drawer. "I beg your pardon?"
He had completely no idea as to what 'originals' could mean. The only thing it reminded him of was the... first vampires, and he was far from that. In fact, his blood was pretty diluted. He shook his head lightly in confusion and took out a platter of cookies and chocolates to place it in front of Denskith.
"Please, help yourself... Mr. Huges." he said, smiling briefly. The furious blush raised his suspicions further - just what was it that he wanted to know...? Hopefully nothing... but surely he wouldn't.
Honestly... Vampires' current reputation was more trouble that it was worth.

"I don't mind answering your questions... if you answer mine." he said, giving him an encouraging smile. "Have a biscuit and start at the beginning, won't you?"

Denskith flinched at the question. He knew this was a bad idea!

"I just, well--" The music teacher desperately tried to come-up with an excuse, but none came. None except the truth, of course, and, well . . . That was awkward, at best. Windor was hard to explain to outsiders.

Denskith raised his unscarred eyebrow at the counselor. What did he just--? "Please-- Denskith." Which meant he should probably call him 'Richard' . . . but, that was just too weird. In the further embarrassment, the teacher hesitantly took a cookie, although he didn't eat it. He couldn't eat when he was nervous. The edible was instead fiddled with in his hands as he attempted to explain himself to the original-- counselor-- still an original!

"The beginning . . . is probably a little difficult," Denskith noted, feigning a chuckle. His back was straight again despite the previous order. "And, I don't know how many questions I'll be able to answer. . . ." No one told him while leaving Windor whether or not he should keep the town a complete secret. Then again, though, who would believe him? "I shall attempt, though." That was all he could promise.

How to make the music teacher feel more at ease? First name basis was a good start, he supposed.
"Alright. Richard." he said. "Since even students call me that, it's only natural you do as well."

He resisted the urge to wince as he saw how the cookie was treated. It's not that it mattered, he had a lot of them, but... crumbles on his carpet...! Oh well, he'd just have to remember to sweep them up later. Pointing it out to Denskith would definitely unnerve the poor man even further.

As Denskith spoke, Richard's eyes grew a bit wider. What he was saying made it sound like this was a bigger matter, not just plain empty curiosity and excitement over getting to meet a real vampire. Like there was some reason in the teacher's past to be interested in them... Richard's mind started going over possible reasons and explanations, like it usually did when he was faced with a problem. It helped him prepare for whatever was to come. Had the man met one of his kind earlier? Perhaps he'd been wronged by them and was seeking retribution. But then surely he wouldn't simply come to another vampire to ask him for a way to defeat them. Unless he was sneaky about getting information out of Richard... but he seemed completely incapable of being anything less than sincere. No. Or maybe he'd met a vampire hunter...

Richard almost snickered at the idea.

He shook his head. "Please, I do not wish to pry your secrets from you. I'm merely interested in why, exactly, do you want to know more about my kind." He tapped the tips of his fingers together. "And maybe get some information about yours in return..."

First-name basis . . . Denskith didn't know if he was worthy of such a thing. After all, he was lower than most of the students here-- is that true?-- yes. He would try to maintain it, though, as hard as it might be. Or, just avoid the name in general. That would probably work better.

As the music teacher listened to the counselor's words, more and more crumbs fell onto the precious floor. He couldn't help it. Of course the vampire would be curious about why he was requesting such information-- he had expected as much-- but, to ask about his own 'kind' . . . It was almost cruel. Being the shadow of something better in every way was always so hard to admit to; many in Windor protested that they were better, but they all knew the truth. They were inferior. Simple as that.

"My kind's probably nothing of interest," Denskith attempted to avoid, but he rushed to correct his own statement. "Well, probably nothing that would interest someone like YOU, of course, with you being an original-- then again, I don't really know what interests you and should probably not assume so and I'm just going to shut-up now before I embarrass myself further," he concluded, his head slinking lower and lower down as he went, his face more red than ever, if at all possible. This was so humiliating!

The cookie was in shambles. The fingers were still moving, regardless, much like a spider flipped onto its back.

Richard exhaled a light, barely audible sigh, regretting putting out the biscuits. Well, good thing he hadn't chosen a chocolate. Denskith would end up with fingers smeared in melted chocolate and caramel and likely wouldn't even realize.

He tilted his head, listening attentively to the man fumble with his explanation, feeling more and more sorry for him. Just why did he treat Richard with such... regard...? Sure, there have been times when he was in charge, respected and honored, but that was so long ago. It felt weird to be addressed with such deference now. He was comfortable being the unassuming, harmless, amiable old bachelor next door, easily overlooked and left to his devices.

The word 'original' again. What did it mean? Maybe this man was some odd mutant, related to vampires in some way... a dhampir, perhaps? His appearance didn't hint to that, though. Richard looked at the music teacher for a moment in silence, not sure what to say to not make him feel even worse.
"Let's start with what do you mean by me being an original, if that's okay with you." he said, finally deciding to not bring up Denskith's uneasiness again. Hopefully it would go away on its own as they talked...

His fingers halted. What?
"An . . . original," the music teacher repeated for the vampire; he didn't even realize that the terminology was weird. Then again, everything in Windor was rather . . . 'unique.' It took some getting used to. "You're a vampire, not some . . . monster."

It was obvious by now that terminology was going to be a problem. If the original-- vampire-- was going to know more about him, then he was going to have to elaborate-- wait, he wasn't going to actually explain things to the vampire, was he? That wasn't why he was here. At the same time, though, if the original-- his name is Richard-- fine, fine: if Richard wasn't going to cooperate much without him opening up, then it was . . . okay? Maybe? What would the Resistance leader do?

. . . He would do anything to be less ignorant. Yes.

"A monster is . . . what my 'kind' is called," Denskith admitted with shame, casting his eyes defiantly downwards and biting his lower lip. "A copy or a fake or a . . . recreation of something else. Not an original." All of them just wanted to be special. Just . . . be something besides what they were. Wasn't that natural?

He blinked, staring at Denskith blankly. Then blinked again. He parted his lips to say something, but couldn't find the words, and instead simply waited for the music teacher to elaborate. His mind has failed to come up with a theory that could explain why did Denskith believe a vampire was not a monster. The guesswork was pushed aside for the moment.

Richard intertwined his fingers idly and looked over the figure in the chair opposite him. How awkward he looked while sitting...

The food for thought Denskith shared sent his mind to work again. So he was some sort of a hybrid, not a dhampir but... alike in some ways. That explained the human-like smell with a hint of something else, as well as why Denskith acted like he believed himself to be inferior. However, it did not explain the interest in vampires.
He nodded, accepting the bit of information as sufficient for now. "And why are you curious about my kind?"

A small chuckle escaped him. Honestly, he wasn't sure what was 'his kind' supposed to be anymore, even though in this case he meant vampires...

Denskith could not help but flinch at the chuckle. The 'why' was . . . trickier than it should be. It wasn't his place to ask about such things, but--! She would want to know, wouldn't she? Or, at least, the Resistance leader would. An encounter with a vampire was not something to shrug-off. He had to seize it. He had to ask. For their sakes. For their peace of mind.

The teacher straightened-up a little but still did not look directly at the vampire. It would be akin to staring at the sun if he did.

"Well, one of my friends . . . is a 'fake' vampire," Denskith admitted, trembling a little while speaking but clear enough so that he would not have to repeat the statement. "She and her brother have had a hard time because of it." Of course, he was telling only half of the problem; the music teacher didn't know how the vampire would react to the other side of the situation. He didn't want to risk it.

"They have most of the side-effects figured out by this point, but . . . none of the 'why.' Some information on the original would help give closure."

Richard tried his best to look as friendly and non-intimidating as possible, leaning on the desk slightly like he was casually chatting with a friend. However, as the man went on, the vampire frowned and his eyebrows lowered into an apologetic expression. Again somebody had questions about vampires and he wasn't sure if he knew the answers - but this time it was different, as Denskith wasn't asking out of plain curiosity. The information was needed to help somebody. He exhaled a heavy-hearted sigh.

"I will do what I can to aid you and your friend..." he said. "However, the knowledge I possess is limited. You see, I never took a particular interest in gathering intelligence on my own kind."
He tapped his fingers on the desk irritably, deeply resenting the feeling of incompetence.
"Another side to the story is that vampires vary greatly from one to another. Facts about me or those I have encountered do not necessarily apply to your friend. For all that I know, all that we might have in common is a need for blood..." he shrugged. Even that didn't necessarily work the same way. "But, yes. Like I said, I will give you answers to the best of my ability."
Richard looked to Denskith intently, inclining his head a bit as he tried to fish for eye contact. "What is it that you'd like to know?"

Denskith brightened at the willingness to help, nodding along to the original's words. The need for blood . . . That would definitely apply; she needed frequent blood transfusions. That was already well-known amongst even the most basic vampire lore. While the lack of knowledge of disappointing, the music teacher attempted for it not to show on his face, instead pressing forward.

"It's more . . . just one thing specifically," he assured the vampire, careful with his words. One misstep and this could whole conversation could go askew. "The relation . . . between werewolves and vampires."

The teacher realized he was treading on dangerous ground. VERY dangerous ground. He had no idea of the counselor's experience with werewolves. He had no idea if speaking their very name would be insulting. He had to press forward, though. For the Resistance leader . . . He steadied his nerves and took a deep breath in.

"Is it a hereditary dislike?"

He smiled encouragingly when Denskith started speaking, pleased that they seemed to have made some progress, however miniscule. At least the man wasn't backtracking and apologizing anymore.
But... when the question was dropped, he did exhale rather rapidly and lean back in surprise. That was... not what he expected, though why exactly did he not expect it, he was not sure.

Richard gazed at Denskith thoughtfully. It wasn't that it was a touchy subject in general, no, he did not mind it. But his experience was limited to just one encounter and he did not want to give the man false leads. His hand inadvertently wandered to the table lamp that stood nearby, its flame filling the room with a warm, orange-tinted light, and he ran his finger along its chipped base.
Maybe he'd once talked on the subject with another vampire...? Hm.

As he tried his best to remember any useful information, he realized that the song was over. With a maybe too abrupt movement he shoved his chair back and stood up, his expression growing somewhat pensive. He stepped from behind the desk and slowly strolled over to the gramophone to pick out another record at random and replace Ziggy in its place. Manny was graced with a brief, warm smile before Richard returned to his seat. The first notes of the music started playing and he crossed his arms and sighed, looking to Denskith.
"I cannot speak with any degree of certainty." he said solemnly. "All I can tell you is this - they do smell rather offensive and they do think the same of vampires. It is hereditary on that level, I suppose..."
He paused for a second, thinking it over again. "Whether it is ingrained in any other way, or is it just conditioning... I cannot tell you." He bit into his lower lip and gave the music teacher a regretful look. "I'm sorry."

(( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PnIWDsAh1Y Introducing Denny to the classics, one at a time. >>))

Denskith watched the vampire's expressions carefully, jerking a little in his seat as the original so suddenly stood up. The music teacher then deflated as the counselor broke the news. No leads. No hope. He had nothing to show for his visit, nothing . . .

"I . . ." What could he say, though? 'It's okay'? 'I understand'? None of that would help anything. The words were a pointless exercise of manners-- but, he was in front of an original, so shouldn't manners mean the most right now-- no. The truth was what mattered most right now. And, he couldn't get it. He had let his hopes get up for nothing.

Denskith's mind flooded with the music as it started to play; again, a song he had not heard, although he had heard tale about it. "Paint It Black." A wonderful use of a sitar, and the lyrics . . . were meaningful. He personally could relate it to mourning. I see a red door / and I want to paint it black. . . . The music teacher let himself get lost into the music, although not completely forgetting about Richard this time.

The vampire . . . deserved an explanation. Probably-- definitely. He just couldn't give it now; the music was so wonderful, too, letting all of his worries escape him. Paint it black. . . !

He couldn't find anything to say. There was no way to make the blow easier. And the song just had to be such a depressing one, hadn't it?

But as he watched Denskith, he couldn't help but smile lightly, as much as he tried to fight it back. People naturally tend to admire what they don't and cannot have, and Richard was no exception to that. He adored people who felt passionate about something - and Denskith clearly felt so about music. Seeing them and interacting with them made him feel almost alive. Others' emotions fed his dusty old soul like their blood fed his body.
That explained a lot about why he was doing the job he was doing, he supposed.
He fidgeted slightly, wanting to ask the teacher if he wouldn't want to listen through all of Richard's music together. But how out-of-the-blue and inappropriate would that be at that moment...

His smile grew as he stared at Denskith silently, waiting until the song was over before he spoke. The last repeat of the line 'paint it black' was cut off halfway through and the gramophone stopped. Richard frowned and glanced over to it, then coughed as he looked to Denskith again.
"It's an old thing..." he said. "It needs to be wound up frequently, I'm afraid."
He gave the man a somewhat embarrassed smile. Okay, too bad, he was going to take the risk.
"Would you like to listen to another? You can pick it out, if you'd like..."

When the song abruptly ended, so did the teacher's elation. Huh? What just--? It was already over? After listening to Richard's provided reason, he tried to cheer-up some for the counselor's sake-- not that he could do much for the original, but he could still try.
"I-it's okay! That means it has . . . character . . ."

Richard's offer completely caught Denskith off-guard. Not that he had he guard up or anything.

"Would I!" the music teacher exclaimed automatically; before there could be any protestation on the matter, Denskith was rummaging through the vinyl collection with glee. So many titles he hadn't heard before, and even some he had! How exciting! He carefully took out a few and set them down with care onto the floor. Maybe . . . Hmm . . . Which one? It was so hard to decide! After several minutes of weighing various options, Denskith simply pulled one from random-- and, it was one he recognized.

"This one?" Denskith pleaded, more like a child than anything at this point. Or a puppy. A puppy waiting for a wonderful bone from its master. Anything to get more music to play, though. "Please?"

(( The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7B9g477CxAI -- Oh, Denskith . . . XD; ))

Character... He shrugged. He'd trade 'character' for reliability any day.

His eyes widened as the music teacher jumped to his feet and attacked the records. He moved his chair back a bit and watched Denskith a bit nervously, but relaxed as he saw his possessions were treated with care. With a chuckle he rested his elbow on the desk and leaned his chin against his palm as he waited.
He was just about to urge the man to simply choose at random when Denskith did just that. Rising from his seat he snickered lightly at the teacher's tone. Really... Denskith was amusing and adorable in a way. A true eccentric artist. Richard held dear the type; the world wouldn't be the same without them.

"Anything you'd like." he said as he walked over to the coffee table. He passed behind it to approach the couch, then stopped and glanced to Denskith, then looked to the bear. "Won't you humor me and sit down here? I swear, Manny doesn't bite." he grinned, then reached up to pat the animal on the side of its face. Several hairs and a serving of dust rose from its fur, then floated down slowly. Richard grimaced. "I'm afraid it does shed a bit, though... What to do? Aging cannot be undone."
With a shrug he sat down, then leaned over to gently grasp the bakelite handle of the gramophone. He considered granting Denskith the honor, but maybe the next time. It was a delicate task. Carefully he wound up the mechanism, then took the record from Denskith's hand, put it in place and ran the machine.

Before the music started, he gave the music teacher an encouraging smile and patted the couch next to himself. Maybe...

Denskith's face fell not for the snicker-- he was used to such reaction towards what people lightly called his 'enthusiasm'-- but rather at the mention of 'Manny.' He glanced up at the bear with hesitation, wanting to slink back . . . but, taking a small breath in, he managed to take a testing step towards the beast. When the stuffed creature didn't attack him, the music teacher finally deemed it safe to sit next to the counselor. He was glad he did; the couch was rather comfortable.

". . . Thanks," he decided was the right word, not lingering on what Richard said after the bit about Manny. He really just wanted the music to play already; the suspense was killing him! Well, not really. It sure felt like it was. Still, that encouraging smile on the vampire was probably expecting more than for the teacher merely sit down underneath the fearsome Manny. There was probably something else Richard wanted. What, though, was lost on Denskith. What could he possibly give an original?

The music started. . . . South Pacific. A wonderful musical that Denskith had the pleasure of seeing twice before, once on a college level while the other professionally. This particular selection was at the climax; the main male protagonist had just lost his love due to his previous relations . . . His sorrowful reprise of an earlier song portrayed the man's previous hopes and dreams falling apart. He would never find it now. . . . Before the teacher could stop himself, he found his mouth faintly tracing the words:

"One dream in my heart
One love to be living for . . ."

He quickly stopped himself with a blush, though-- he shouldn't ruin such a wonderful recording. Although he could hit the bass range, Denskith much preferred singing the tune as a tenor, and, well . . . This was a better rendition than he could ever produce. Probably.