The Real Thing

Richard shook his head in amusement - why was Denskith so worried about a dead bear, anyway...? It did look intimidating, but... huh. Wonder if it was possible to reanimate and create a zombie out of an animal hide... Eh, even if it was, Manny would most likely fall apart if it was to move. It was way past its expiration date and Richard dreaded the inevitable moment it would turn to dust. It was one of the oldest things he had and the one 'friend' he had kept through the ages.

Had Denskith relaxed a bit, or was it just his wishful thinking? He really wanted the music teacher to feel welcome. There was no need for him to be so nervous around Richard... even if he insisted on believing himself inferior.

His eyes ventured to the gramophone when the music started playing. Oh, he hadn't heard that one for a while. He wasn't a huge fan of musicals; that particular one, though, he had a soft spot for. It was one of the first ones he'd seen and heard. The vampire leaned back in the couch and looked to Denskith to find him... mouthing the lyrics? How intriguing.

"Please..." he said quietly. "Don't hold back on my account. I have heard that recording a thousand times... a live version is by far more interesting."

Denskith's heart lifted as the original spoke such words. He . . . would like to hear him sing? No, he was just giving him permission, but nevertheless: a performance! How he ached to sing!

"Gladly," the music teacher breathed, taking in a deep breath as he stood from the couch, half-facing Richard. One should never sing while sitting down-- it crushed the diaphragm. Not that he would need all that excess air, but . . . one could never be too careful, could they? He waited for the opening verse to finish before slipping into the recording, singing in his preferred tenor voice.

"One girl for my dream
One partner in paradise
This promise of paradise
This nearly was mine . . ."

The crescendo . . . He heard the violin's violent turn, the shift in emotions from grief to agony. The room's atmosphere seemed to bend to Denskith's song, but that wasn't it: it was the music teacher that was most swayed by the song, him merely the amplifier of the agonizing feelings. Already, his eyes were filling up with water.

"Close my heart she came
Only to fly away. . . .
Only to fly as day
Flies from moonlight. . . !"

The tears were now streaming down-- he couldn't help it, even if he tried to stop. The emotions of the lyrics were too much to simply contain. . . . The emotions shifted back to the quiet agony. Denskith tried to keep his notes crisp and clear, but they were soon choked-up by violent sobs.

"Now . . . Now, I-I'm a- alone . . .
Still . . . dreaming *sniff* of paradise . . .
Still saying . . . that paradise--!"

He couldn't finish. It was heart-breaking not complete the song, but Denskith knew better than to force the notes. He couldn't breath properly; the tears just kept coming, the breath once so full and complete now choppy and in short bursts. The teacher spoke the final words of the verse as the gramophone played on, not heading the vocalist:

"This . . . nearly was mine."
What a fool he must look.

He knew that singing while sitting down wasn't what professionals did, of course, but he was still a bit surprised at Denskith getting up. He did not expect the music teacher to take this impromptu sing-song so seriously. But he did, oh, he did take it seriously, didn't he? He was far too passionate about music to be able to sit down while singing, even in those circumstances...

Richard stared at the singer, resisting the urge to blink as to not lose a split second of the performance. As the song went on, he found himself pushed back into his seat, Denskith's voice filling the room so completely it seemed like there wouldn't be any space left for anything else. The emotions were so profound and real, they vibrated in the air together with every beautiful, anguish-filled note. Honestly, it was a bit overwhelming, and as he watched the man start to cry, he was literally breathless.

It was... stunning.

However, the moment Denskith seemed to break down, Richard's sense of wonder dissipated into something akin to awkwardness mixed with a bit of guilt. He took a deep breath and intertwined his fingers, unsure how to react. It was never easy to decide how to handle a crying man; comforting could be interpreted as an insult, and disregarding it as scorn. So, in the end, he chose a third approach...
He cleared his throat.

"That was... simply marvelous." he said. "Would you like to sing something else? Something a bit more upbeat, perhaps, to make you feel better...?"
He really tried to make it sound like it wasn't what he wanted the most in the world.

Denskith attempted to wipe the tears away, but they just kept coming, faster and faster and--!
"I-I'm sorry," he choked out. "I would love to sing again, just . . . let me. . . !" The tears weren't stopping, though, despite all efforts. No. No! He wanted to sing more, and he couldn't do that with crying. Stop . . . STOP!

". . . Sorry," he meekly apologized again-- he felt like he had to, with making such a fool out of himself. What a fool. One should not cry during a performance! He couldn't help it though, the emotions were too moving, and damn it, he was crying even harder than before, why couldn't he stop in front of an original, of all things-- creatures-- monsters-- that's you-- "--no, I'm not anything but a monster, I mean, what more can I expect out of myself except for failure, just a defect, please don't look, can you spare a second? I'm sure the tears will stop . . . eventually . . ."

Denskith didn't even realize that his thought process exteralized as he was too busy with his in-vain efforts of comfort. Out of pure impulse, he slapped himself on the unscarred part of his face-- it would hurt too much on the scars, he just wanted a sting to snap himself out of this-- which, it did. Thankfully. As the pain remained, he took a deep breath in . . .

"Any requests?" he half-smiled, pretending to himself that that did not just happen. The red underneath his eyes, though, and the blemish on the cheek lingered.

Richard couldn't help but cringe inwardly at the thought of what poor Denskith was going through. Such a display in front of somebody you respected... He raised his hands in an attempt to reassure the man that he didn't see anything wrong with him crying, but he couldn't find any words to say. Jesus. Sometimes being numb got boring, but the music teacher was overdoing it on the opposite end of the scale.

The sudden heart-wrenching confession made Richard's eyes widen, but he heeded Denskith's wish and averted his gaze to stare at the gramophone instead. He winced at the sound of the slap and he tentatively looked to the man again. Oh, dear, what a state he was in. For a moment, he hesitated, considering playing along and ignoring what just happened, but...
"You shouldn't apologize for having emotions." he said quietly. "They're not something to be ashamed of..."
For a second he remained silent, looking up to Denskith's face as if searching for something, then he broke into a friendly smile. "I would, if I knew your repertoire." He glanced to the box of vinyls. "Let's try... if you're a fan of musicals, maybe you know Hair? Anything from that would make me very happy. If not, then feel free to choose what you will."

Emotions . . . By themselves, feelings were not terrible things, it was true, but at such a level . . . The Resistance had before called Denskith's emotions both a 'weakness' and an 'advantage.' The leader had said before that putting your heart into something was not a negative unless it got in the way of your mission-- in Denskith's case, his singing ability. Which, in this case, it did.

"It's not the emotions I apologize for, but rather to how I handle them," the music teacher clarified with a painful half-smile, clearly trained and not sincere. "A professional should know how to carry himself on the stage." How did that quote go again? 'All the world's a stage . . .'

Denskith continued the smile, the grin slowly turning into something much more true and exciting. He could still sing again? How wonderful-- and a musical number, too! "I'm not too acquainted with Hair-- but, I am familiar with it!" He hummed one of the main themes to himself, testing the lyric. Let's see . . .

"Good morning, starshine.
The earth says, 'Hello'--"

Denskith immediately stopped, covering his mouth and blushing wildly yet again. Did he just sing that in his soprano voice? Did he just sing that in his soprano voice in front of an original? He was always happy that his voice could reach that high, truly, he was, but it seemed a bit off to other people, and . . . rather odd for a full-grown man. Rather odd indeed . . .

Well... he couldn't exactly disagree, if this break-down happened on an actual stage, it would definitely had been a failure.

But for him personally, the performance wouldn't be as enthralling without it.

"I don't blame you, your rendition was very touching. Honest." he reassured, then leaned back in the couch, smiling and closing his eyes to listen. He was really fond of Hair back in the day, to the point where nowadays he couldn't stand to the old recordings anymore, having heard them so many times. A live version was a different case, though.

When Denskith began, Richard immediately flinched and blinked, staring at the music teacher wide-eyed. That was almost like somebody else had sneaked in and started to sing instead... but the man's expression clearly showed that was not the case. He struggled to stifle a snicker, not necessarily amused by the voice but rather by Denskith's reaction to it. Honestly... this was beginning to look like a mediocre comedy film, one embarrassment after another... but the poor man was so quick to beat himself up over every tiny thing, Richard really shouldn't be laughing. He managed to straighten out his face and put his palms on his knees, leaning forward and looking up at Denskith calmly.

He hummed in appreciation. "You have an impressive range." he said, then smiled eagerly. "Please continue!"

Honestly, if it kept happening... He did not have a clue how to help Denskith relax, and maybe gently bringing their meeting to an end would be the the kindest solution. Soon he would break the world record of top number of blushes per hour.

Touching? Perhaps, but . . . if it got in the way of actual singing, then what was the point? He didn't dare voice the question, though.

Denskith's blush only increased with the flinch-- he saw that!-- and settled with the compliment (and the hum: a nice C chord there). Yes, he guessed-- knew-- that the range was, in a way, 'impressive,' but it just sounded wrong to so many people. The music teacher was pleasantly surprised that this wasn't the case with Richard. Gladdened by this difference in response to his range, Denskith once more took a deep breath in and began from the start:

"Good morning, starshine.
The earth says, 'Hello!'
You twinkle above us;
We twinkle below."

He swayed to the beat a little, smiling as he went. The vampire was right; a happier song fixed everything. What was happier than a new day, after all? The joy filled the room as the song continued.

"Good morning, starshine.
You lead us along!
My love and me as we sing
Our early morning singing song . . ."

A bit of a cresendo, the happiness only increasing, and. . . !

"Gliddy gloop gloopy
Nibby nobby nooby
La la la lo lo . . .
Sabba sibby sabba
Nooby abba dabba
Le le lo lo . . .
dooby ooby walla
dooby abba dabba
Early morning singing song!"

Denskith giggled a little afterwards; the lyrics sounded a bit silly-- it was common enough in vocal exercises that one should have been, theoretically, used to such words, but he certainly wasn't. Despite all of the nonsense, though, the verse still contained that happiness and joy. Good morning, starshine!

Richard leaned back again, glad that the music teacher accepted his praise and decided to sing on. He'd be terribly disappointed if Denskith felt too ashamed to because of some silly misguided embarrassment.

This time, though, he found himself unable to not watch the scene unfolding before his eyes. The tall figure with abnormally long legs, horribly maimed on the right side of his body, singing a happy song in a seemingly mismatched voice while moving with the melody... it was both grotesque and beautiful in a way. Especially with how... ironic the lyrics sounded to Richard. For him the rise of the sun was hardly a cause for joyful hymns, after all. He hadn't seen the light of day for ages... Apart from TV, of course, but did that really count?

Still, his expression showed nothing but good humor as he listened to Denskith drop into the made up words. This man was talented, incredibly so, and he felt like he could listen to him forever.
In another day, in another time, he'd have made him a rich man. A private entertainer of some sort, perhaps... But, of course, when he did have the opportunities and resources, he didn't care for petty trivialities such as music. Damn shame.

When Denskith was done he applauded him for a second while smiling widely. "Amazing. You truly put your soul into this. I am in awe." He bowed his head. "You have been incredibly blessed, Denskith, and if you ever produce a record, I want a signed copy." He chuckled a bit uneasily, realizing he might have gone overboard with the flattery a little bit. Honestly, trying to not cause blushing wasn't an easy task. Not that blushing was a bad thing, per se; being sworn to neutrality, he did try his best not to be judgmental... which wasn't an easy task itself sometimes.

"I... wouldn't want to molest you for another song..." he said hesitantly, secretly hoping that Denskith would protest. "You have sung enough for me for one night, I suppose."

Denskith's face reddened only a little bit at the flattery. Yes, he should have been used to it, but . . . it had been so long! So long since he had heard such words! Back in Windor, most had become accustomed to his voice and didn't find it necessary to compliment. Such words never became old, though. Such words--!

His heart fell at the word 'blessed.' The music teacher attempted to hide it, glancing away from the vampire and focusing his sight instead on a random patch of ground. Where once there was sadness was instead a tangible sadness.

"I'm not . . ." Not blessed-- that was hardly the word. "The ability . . . isn't completely mine," he attempted to get out quickly, wanting to avoid this conversation as much as possible. Wanting to avoid this entire topic as much as possible. It was what he was always avoiding-- not just this, there were other things, too-- the main thing he was always avoiding. This precious, precious ability . . . wasn't his. It was given to him.

Denskith didn't reply to Richard's round-about request. This was one of the few times that he didn't feel like singing. He might claw-out his throat, if he did.

The fact that he looked away did not go unnoticed. That wasn't a good reaction. Richard's brow creased with concern as the man spoke and he remained silent for a second. Well, he couldn't help before, maybe he could make up for that now...? Plus, pursuing that subject would definitely make it easier to pretend he wasn't disappointed there would be no more singing. He cleared his throat and stood up as to be on a somewhat more even eye level.

"I can see this is causing you discomfort." he said softly. "Wouldn't you like to... talk about it? I don't only counsel kids, you know." He chuckled. "But quite a lot of them have trusted me already. Their secrets are safe with me, as would yours, if you chose to confide in me. The sanctity of confession is absolute."
He peered into Denskith's eyes intently for a brief moment, then smiled lightly, folding his arms behind his back.
"You are free to decline, though, I won't be offended. I'm just letting you know of the possibility. Now..."

He glanced down to the vinyl box, then to the gramophone, and sat down to wind it up again. He picked up the closest record to him, lying on top of the pile Denskith left there, in a blank replacement sleeve. He knew that sleeve, that record, his beloved one. He had gone through two copies of the vinyl, listening them through to destruction. There were very few things he knew he would never grow weary of, and one of them was... this song.

Once the device was set in motion, he sat in deeper on the couch and looked to Denskith again. Maybe the mood of this song would affect the poor man adversely, but... he had to hear it.


(( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxYGeTV6fCw ))

. . . Confession? That actually sounded . . . nice. Like a church confessional-- he wasn't religious, how could he be after Windor, but . . . The music teacher had to talk to someone about everything. He couldn't talk to the student body, else lose the little respect they had for him; he certainly couldn't talk to the other teachers, or else they would never respect him to begin with. Richard wouldn't tell anyone, though . . . But, wouldn't the Resistance leader get angry? He was thinking about spilling out the secrets of Windor-- really only just one, let's be honest-- to someone he had just met, original or not.

Was it a good idea to tell such a tale to the vampire? The more he thought about it, the more he was doubtful. Would telling the secrets even help in the first place? He'd be left with nothing, then.

The music flooded Denskith's eardrums, his eyes widening at the tune. He . . . recognized it, a little. Some music students from the local college played it a couple times on their guitars. The House of the Rising Sun. Despite everything, Denskith could only relate it to Windor itself. The ruin of many poor boy. That's exactly what it was. So many hopes, so many separate dreams, all smashed together for just one company's intentions. Doomed them all, regardless of wish. What gave them the right? What gave them the RIGHT--?

It was over before Denskith could fully appreciate the music, that last eerie chord dropping off into a chasm of silence. He wiped away the few tears in his eyes that had appeared during the song, taking a deep breath in . . .


"I was experimented on. We all were."

No going back.

Richard left Denskith to think about the offer, sitting down again and closing his eyes to listen to the music. Idly, he noted that all the songs tonight had mentioned the sun. For him, it could symbolize what he couldn't have anymore... but his poetic creativity failed to supply him with further personal interpretations of the lyrics. Music was to be enjoyed for what it was, not picked apart in search of meanings.

He couldn't help a small twitch of a smirk when Denskith spoke up. Of course the music teacher would confess, why shouldn't he? Share your worries with this kind man, the good vampire, he'll listen and he'll understand. Of course, he did not actually plan to ever abuse his position - his reputation was by far more valuable to him than whatever he could gain by betrayal - but... getting people to trust him was just so easy, it felt like a sin in and of itself. Surely his experience as an actual priest helped in that regard, but he had always been decent at persuading people to talk. A voluntary account was so much more reliable than one forced out by threat or torture...

When he looked to Denskith, though, he smiled gently and showed genuine interest, patting the couch next to himself again. Experimented on... curious. Well, he would find out more soon enough.
"I understand that when you say 'we', you mean you and your friends." he said, just to make sure. "What kind of experiments have you undergone?" He paused. "Do you mean the... 'recreation of an original' thing...?"

The man's gaze shifted towards the couch, but he didn't take the offer. He preferred to be standing for this conversation. Sitting made him feel rather defenseless. This way, he could fight.

'Friends.' That actually made him chuckle-- darkly, though, nothing at all to the giggle just moments before. He was grave with every word he spoke here-on, the words loosing their original bounciness and life. It was all . . . cold. Like peering into a vast ocean.
"Not just them-- the entire town."

No going back-- if he was going to tell the original about the experiments, then he was going to tell it the right way. The correct way. The only way.

"The experiments--" He placed the scarred arm over his opposing shoulder habitually. "--aren't the difficult part, for most of us. Just a shot, a 'serum,' as the phrase goes. The difficult part is the side-effects. . . .

". . . Yes. They were trying to recreate 'original's," Denskith finally answered for the original vampire, now lifting up his head and gazing straight at the counselor. It was best to face such things head-on-- wasn't that right, Resistance leader? Wolfgang? "Vampires, werewolves-- anything that they wanted to be or have, they tried. Reading minds? A good friend of mine can no longer sleep because he can't stop the voices coming. The friend I mentioned before, she was heavily experimented on." The music teacher felt a sharp pain on his head, but he simply ignored it and continued forward. "Constant blood transfusions, insomnia, high sensitivity to any sort of light so that her eyes are always covered by sunglasses . . .

"Of course, the experimenters only mentioned the good things. They didn't want anyone becoming worried or scared about the transformations. Besides, they didn't know all of the side-effects-- they couldn't. Some were still highly experimental." Another half-scoff, half-laugh. His blue eyes were now as cold as icebergs. "It's not the sort of thing you can use lab-rats on, only humans will do. Only us.

". . . Before you ask," Denskith pressed forward, half-frowning heavily, "I received the Lorelei serum. First of its kind. You can see the most obvious side-effect." He gestured at his legs. He went from being a mere five-foot-six-inches tall to looming over everyone else overnight. It didn't help that Lorelei, despite all experimentalness, was perhaps the most embarrassing serum to receive. Especially for someone male.

(( Quick note: italics in his speech are not singing as they usually are, just emphasis. I felt like caps would ruin the exposition. ))

Well, talking with somebody while having to look up at them wasn't his preferred route, but if it made Denskith more comfortable, he could tell his tale while doing a handstand for all the difference it made. Richard shrugged and leaned back in the couch, focusing all attention on the teacher.

The change in his demeanor was a bit disturbing, though probably to be expected, given the subject matter. The fact that the gramophone was now silent made the atmosphere in the room seem that much more serious.
He kept an intent gaze on Denskith's face throughout his story, wincing slightly as the man talked about his 'vampire' friend. What insolence.

The word Lorelei did sound familiar to him, but he couldn't recall exactly what it was, so as his gaze slid down to Denskith's legs he was rather clueless. Lorelei had long legs, apparently...? He sighed heavily and wrung out his hands, looking up to Denskith's eyes again.
"It seems to me that if humans are at all aware of the existence of something supernatural, they just have to go and do something utterly appalling." Much like he did, but that was not for Denskith - or anybody - to know. In fact, what he did was unnervingly similar... How ironic that he should now be here, listening to a story like this.
He shook his head with a frown. "I'm... sorry. Is the serum the source of your vocal talent, then? Surely not in its entirety..."

"Most definitely," Denskith agreed with the original eerily and automatically. "Humans are--" He stopped to correct himself. He was still human, despite all things-- right? "We are ignorant. And we will continue to be ignorant, so long as we stay in denial of what we are . . . but, I shouldn't get into that," he smiled in a vain attempt to lighten-up. With the mention of vocal chords, though, the music teacher became somber once more.

". . . I'd like to think it's not entirely." His face darkened once more, turning towards the gramophone. "I'd like to think that. It's . . . hard to tell, though. I was into music before the serum-- boy's choir, took private lessons-- but, it's different now. I have to be careful, or else. . . !"

Someone would get hurt. Again. Denskith could only stare at the music machine longingly in the silence-- he personally didn't want to sing or listen, but there was always that drive, that impulse to hum or hear. Always. It was tantalizing.

He wanted to ask what exactly did Denskith mean by 'staying in denial', but, since Denskith didn't want to pursue the subject... He sighed lightly. Sometimes not pressing on took a lot of patience.

Richard followed Denskith's gaze to the gramophone, then looked to the man's face again. His brow furrowed at the 'or else'... It sounded rather ominous, really, but if singing was risky, surely he wouldn't do it just like he did moments ago? It was a worrying thought still. Honestly, with all the dangerous and unhinged critters waltzing into his office, Richard was beginning to feel a bit silly for keeping his favorite possessions in there. Maybe he should move them to his room, but he spent so little time there... Ah well. Every moment in the Academy he felt a bit threatened, really, so he'll just have to grin and bear it... With a smirk he glanced up at Manny's head hovering above him.

As he looked to Denskith again he cleared his throat. "Would you like to listen to something else?" he suggested, seeing the man's expression. It didn't seem entirely caused by the simple want to put another record on, though. No... Denskith was gazing through the device rather than at it.

"The way I see it..." he said after a moment. "I have been okay at fencing when I was alive. Gaining a vampire's strength and reflexes enhanced that skill greatly, but had I not learned how to hold a rapier earlier, they wouldn't have changed that much." He shrugged. "I cannot say if this applies to your situation, but I have a feeling that it does to a certain degree."

"NO," Denskith immediately answered Richard, surprising even himself with the weight the reply held. Turning away from the music machine, he put a hand up towards his forehead, as if making sure that his brain was still sound. "No . . ." he repeated, much calmer now. "No, thank you."

He was grateful for the counselor not prying further-- really, he was, but the music teacher could only nod to the vampire's comparison, his eyes lighting-up slightly at the explanation. He had no words for a response-- he probably did, but not the ability to voice them properly. Fencing and singing . . . They weren't as different as they should have, both needing technique and precision in their execution. Still, Denskith couldn't help thinking that singing was more based on ability. Everyone could sing, but there was a limit already set on you when you were born: what part to sing, how your range would expand, even lung capacity. The pieces were already there-- one just had to pick them up-- but--! That was different still!

"I couldn't sing soprano, if it wasn't for the serum," Denskith explained quietly to the vampire-- to himself, as well. "That ability was forced upon me. How does one justify that?" The teacher knew he didn't have to continue, but he did regardless: "If I whistle, wine glasses break; if I hum, the whole room vibrates." Panic slipped into his voice more and more as he continued, eyes wide and facing towards the vampire desperately. "If I command someone while singing, they'll obey without question! If I command someone without singing, they'll die! How does one justify THAT?"

The music teacher didn't know-- he was asking. He was begging for the answer.

The insistence in Denskith's voice made him jerk back the hand with which he started to reach towards the gramophone. He gave the man an odd look, but didn't comment. Perhaps he simply wanted to avoid the music affecting his emotions anymore.

Apparently the man - the monster - had found some truth in his words, if his expression was anything to go by. That was good. It meant that maybe Richard had a chance to make his burden a bit easier to bear, and that made him content. Even as the music teacher went on with growing despair, he remained a picture of calmness and confidence, sitting with his back straight and returning Denskith's gaze unflinchingly.
"You shouldn't have been forced and tricked into this, of course. Nobody should." he said composedly, trying to sound soothing, perhaps. "But we don't always get to choose the cards we're dealt, you know that. It's how you play them that matters."
So... the power of Denskith's voice was to tell orders. Splendid. He pushed that thought into the back of his mind as to not let it affect his attitude. He knew exactly what to tell the man and nothing on Earth could stop him doing what he was paid to do when for a change he felt like the right man in the right place.
Richard raised an open palm. "Look... remember when we shook hands? Whenever I do it, I am aware that I could easily crush bones. Whenever I eat, I am a few seconds away from killing or gravely injuring a human being. It is just part of the package." He shook his head. "I don't like spouting clichés, but... with great power comes great responsibility. You don't need to live your life apologizing for what you are, especially when you didn't choose it yourself."
Richard furrowed his brow. "Does that make sense? I hate to sound like I have all the answers. I don't. But I know that as long as you try your best to be a good, honest person, you don't need to justify anything to anybody."

Denskith watched the hand jerk back, guilt-ridden. Maybe he should have let the music play . . . No. Perhaps later, but not now.

The music teacher flinched at the words 'tricked' and 'forced.' That . . . wasn't true. Not entirely. They weren't given a choice on the experimentation, but the scientists-- the white-coats-- gave their subjects a choice on how to be experimented on. Choose a serum, any serum. "Choose wisely, my dear . . . Now, how do you want to change? Taller? Faster? Stronger? Ooo! We could even make you more popular. I'm sure that would be handy for a new-boy like you. Let's see what we have. . . ." The scientists gave them a choice, however twisted it was. Such a choice made all the difference, made it impossible to blame them entirely.

The subjects had a choice.
He didn't dare voice the difference, though. An original like Richard would surely frown upon it. Surely.

'Great power' . . . Was that what the commands were?
"I'm not at all responsible," Denskith quietly informed the vampire, hurriedly adding, "I understand what you're saying, and in some ways, it is rather comforting, but . . ." It wasn't enough. Before he fully understood what the Lorelei serum did, he-- don't think about it, don't think about it, WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T-- killed some people. All of them didn't deserve it. How could one justify killing innocents, to even himself? How . . . He couldn't understand that. How could he just move on?

Silence engulfed the room once more, the monster staring at the ground in utter humility. How could he move on from murder?

Some of his words seemed to find a way into Denskith's head, but some he found hard to agree with. Fair enough. People don't change their attitudes and beliefs over the course of a single conversation. The best Richard could do was sow good seeds and hope they fall on fertile ground. It was just another thing he had to be patient about.

He raised his eyebrows as the man spoke. "What choice do you have other than trying your hardest to be responsible?"
From Richard's point of view, Denskith wasn't doing such a bad job. He didn't know his entire life story, of course, but what he had seen so far wasn't as bad as it sometimes got. At least Denskith felt compelled to spare a second thought to being careful with his powers. Some people didn't - with tragic results...

The music teacher's train of thought apparently went down a dark route and Richard was hesitant to disturb him. Though perhaps it would be better not to let him go down that road alone.
"But... what?"

The music teacher did not answer Richard's first question-- he couldn't. Some part of him acknowledged that the vampire was right, but . . . he couldn't admit himself to it. It shouldn't be the only choice; there should be more that he could do. There had to be . . .

"But . . ." He struggled to find the words. "It's like . . . I have all of this control, this literal control over people, but I myself have no control over the power! It steals away what I love-- no, that's not right," he immediately corrected himself, the thoughts hurrying along like locomotion. "It improved my singing, but it limited it, and yet removed all of the limiters. I can sing in any range! any key! with ease, but the words with that singing have to be chosen with care, or else things will happen. Bad things. Dead things-- will turn up, I mean. Not that I--!"

There was no use lying, of course; his panicked face gave the crime away. Murderer. MURDERER. His thoughts continued to dash away from him, the lips moving faster and faster. . . !

"See if I sing the wrong words at the wrong time to the wrong people then certain things-- dead things-- he gets what you mean-- shut up shut up shut up-- it will happen, but I don't want it to happen again, but it will, it always will, I hurt a student here already and I don't want that to happen ever again but I can't promise that it'll ever stop and--!"

All of his frustrations and worries and other such things that were pent up for so long kept boiling up, higher and higher, until it finally exploded.

"DAMN IT!"

The glass window shattered behind Denskith, snapping the man-- monster-- out of his trance of thought. His face, once twisted in rage at himself and panic towards his every-day situation, turning quickly back to one of confusion and surprise. "W-what!?" The window . . . Denskith closed his eyes shut in frustration, fixing his mouth shut until he could thin the stream of words, rasping out: "Sorry."

When the music teacher mentioned dead things turning up, Richard immediately thought of undead things. But, surely, that could not be the case. He blinked, trying to follow Denskith's words getting spat out faster and faster. So, he hurt people accidentally, and felt terribly guilty about that fact, and one of the students was a victim--?

Richard winced visibly as the scream and then the noise of shattered glass shot through the room and ringed painfully in his ears. He turned his head to the window, through which a cool breeze now blew, flicking the red-wine-colored velvet curtains. Not again.

He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, then exhaled a sigh and gave Denskith a tired smile. "It's okay." he said, getting up and dismissing his apology with a careless wave of his hand. "These things happen. You should, perhaps, apologize to Dean Rendaz instead."
He walked over to an oak cabinet standing by the wall, opened it and produced a broom with a silver-colored stick and a similar dustpan. Sweeping up the smaller glass pieces, he grinned in amusement and shook his head. "I was just kidding, my friend, don't actually go to him. He would quite possibly swallow you whole like a little shrimp."
The pile of glass was left to be disposed of later, and Richard leaned on the broom, looking to Denskith again. His expression was serious and his brow creased with concern.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked. "I mean both with the student... and before."

Denskith's eyes widened like saucers at such a description. EAT HIM? There were some people like that in Windor, yes, but certainly not able to eat the music teacher like a little shrimp. He was too tall for such usual analogies. Such usage terrified him completely.

As Richard's expression shifted, so did the human's-- monster's-- HIS, darkening slightly and adverting his icy eyes away from the vampire. Not just the eyes, everything; he couldn't face any part of the counselor. Even the tip of his polish shoe seemed accusing to the teacher.

His throat clogged-up, his mouth went dry-- but, just as Denskith felt like he couldn't speak at all, the words simply came. He needed to speak to someone about this. Someone on the outside.

"It started . . . the night before the change," he started, his words starting off slowly, carefully. He didn't feel the need to define the terminology here, believing that 'change' was self-explanatory. Before the serum took effect. "Apparently, it happens to the extreme cases-- but, that's not an excuse," Denskith harshly told mostly himself. "It never is . . .

"It was stupid, really-- I packed my bags to get out of time, to leave the town. Things were becoming too strange, and the serum scared me." He shivered lightly, as if he was still there. A cold summer's night, just underneath a mountain range . . . "The train wouldn't leave until morning, though. I had half a mind to walk back to my old town--" Didn't everyone have half a mind to do something so stupid? "--but, I was hungry, and tired, and . . . all of that crap. Excuse my language," Denskith smiled sadly to but not towards the vampire. "So, I decided to enter a small cafe, order some food, and camp-out at the train station until morning. What was the harm?"

How stupid he was. How stupid, stupid . . .
He persisted, though:

"When I entered there, nothing seemed . . . unusual. Too unusual," he corrected. "Already, I had gotten used to Windor's atmosphere. Sat down, a girl took my order-- that's when things went askew. She was really pretty, I panicked, she saw how nervous I was in front of her . . . We started talking. Little things, pointless things." He face turned red as the details came streaming back to mind. Denskith remembered how he couldn't help but stare at her cherry lips the entire time, wondering if he might get lucky. . . . "Everyone in Windor recognized a new face-- it was hard not to. She told me she understood the feeling, how she had come to the town when she was seven. How it was hard adjusting.

"The more we talked, the more we . . ." His face flushed violently; it told most of the story for him. They were both in high school, it was expected. Young love. Denskith exploded into the next sentence, his face now contorted. "--but, by that time, the serum started to kick-in. In a public place, no less." The scientists had told him not to go out that night. They told him! Why didn't he listen, just that once? "Most recognized the symptoms right away and made a mad dash towards the door; Kayla stayed, though. Asked if I was okay, what she could do for help. . . . The usual questions."

The usual symptoms.

". . . When the serum first kicks in, we term it . . . 'the shift.' This is when the personality change occurs, if it ever will. It determines whether or not the power will overcome you. . . !"

Denskith bit into his lip, unsure if he could continue. His eyes were closed tightly in a vain attempt to make the whole even disappear. Go away . . . Go away! Stop haunting me!

". . . If Wolfgang was there, I don't know what I would have done," the man-- the boy finally admitted after a long pause, his hands clutching onto his scarred head, his long legs bent down to the ground. His voice was so soft, it was just a murmur. "Something worse. Something far . . . far worse."

Occupied with sweeping up the glass shards, Richard did not notice Denskith's reaction to his silly joke and did not spare it another thought.

He then watched the teacher carefully, wondering if he'd speak again. But the words seemed to be boiling inside him; there was no way they wouldn't eventually spill out. Despite the man being clearly uncomfortable, Richard did not avert his gaze from the scarred face and took in every turn and change of its expression as he told his story.

Somehow, it seemed wrong to him to disturb the flow of the scene by doing something as mundane as replacing the broom into the cabinet. And so, he simply leaned it against the wall and approached Denskith slowly, doing his best to step quietly. The poor man's behavior seemed... theatrical in a way, but completely genuine, and Richard could only feel sorry for him, even if he had not yet said what exactly had occurred. Most likely, something happened to Kayla...

Women always seemed to be there to fall victim when something went very wrong.

Richard stopped beside the crouching man and simply looked at him with sympathy, waiting for him to continue in his own time. The memory of the events of that fateful night clearly had been festering in Denskith's chest for a while. There was nothing Richard could do apart from letting him finally get it out in the presence of somebody who listened... and cared.