Chapter Text
Prologue Side A - Eine Kleine Natchmusik
If you took your time while walking downtown Austin, you could enjoy the sights and smell the flowers, as one would say. You could see the little places hidden deep away in the nooks and crannies of the larger places. A small flower shop that would sell the most beautiful daisies and roses was set up beside a supermarket. A second hand bookstore with some of the oldest, most classic books was hidden away in a corner between a four star restaurant and a high end retailer. However, one of the most overlooked places was one of tiniest. If you would travel the short alleyway between Starbucks and a Tiffany and Co., the sweet tones of Chopin Raindrops would call out, begging for someone to come and listen. A melody of Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik would float around you, beckoning you to join in the calvary with it.
But for the most part, people are too busy to take time out of their day, bypassing the strange sounds of classical music coming from the strange alleyway.
Ryan Haywood was a closed off kind of guy if his shop was anything to go by; hidden amongst the more popular outings and just how he liked it. It allowed him to often get lost in the music that played around him, various compositions from long dead composers that were like family to him. He found comfort in Bach when he needed it. Braham was always there on the nights he couldn’t sleep and was always around to help him calm down when Ryan was upset or angry. Debussy let him get angry without judging him for it, and helped him out in the store when things went quiet which, in all honestly, happened a lot.
Then when someone came in he would feel slightly anxious and be a not of great as store owner as he could be. The faces of his few but regular customers brought a smile to his face, happy to help them once more. Bringing in a violin that needed new tuning pegs, or a double bass that required a new bridge, the work brought Ryan joy. The even rarer occurrence was when a parent brought their child into the store with them, looking for either strings to replace something of theirs or to get the child their own, first instrument. Ryan always would cherish these moments, showing the small seven to ten year olds the perfect sized instruments for them. The light that bloomed in their eyes at the site of them would always bring a smile to his face
His shop was a happy place, a place to hide away from the daily drown that was the real life; at least to him it was. He started it years ago and promptly named it The Hidden Melody, for numerous reasons, one of which included the perfect location. The shop itself was adorned with glass shelves filled to the brim with violins, and old, rustic cases scattered on top; the older more classic ones being more showcased then any newer versions. In the corners sat the odd double bass and cellos, propped up against their stands. Any wall space that was not covered up by the glass cases or bookshelves filled with sheet music and books on musical theory was adorned with posters of musicians. Some where of old and long gone composers such as Beethoven, Handel and Vivaldi. Some included modern players, famous individuals and orchestra’s such as the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, Toronto Symphony Orchestra. The lists just carried on and the walls were decoratively put together.
The Pièce de résistance of the entire place though sat in the back room, hidden away behind all the strings and cases and the cashier; behind a wall of glass it sat. A beautiful, gleaming white concert grand piano sat, propped open and dusted clean. There have been numerous amount of customers that have come in and played a few tunes on it, but Ryan would watch them like a hawk to make sure no harm came to the beauty. Those that came in were mostly those that played a few silly tunes taught by their grandparents on family holidays, but there was the rare occurrence of someone with talent would float in and play something more classical.
All this, but not the person it was intended for would play it.
May 9 had Ryan shocked. He was in his shop, polishing up a ¾ violin for his one regular’s daughter and putting on new strings while he had the television on. On screen was a livestream, one he had streaming from his laptop to the flat screen mounted on his wall, showing the competition from the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center. It was a calming experience for him and it helped with background noise as he worked.
A flutist had just performed the "Morning" from "Peer Gynt", all while Ryan was commenting offhandedly about what she could have done better for her performance. The next contestant entered stage, and Ryan looked up from his work.
“Ah. Cello. Jones. This ought to be good.” he murmured and leaned back to let his back crack and stretched his body before leaning over to grab the package of new strings. He bent back over the small instrument as Jones’ accompanist started to play. Ryan smiled hearing the familiar tune of Haydn, and took each string out and lined them up. He attached the E string first to the tuning, making sure the rubber on the string covered the bridge to prevent it from wearing down, and slowly winded it through the peg and wound the string up. He did the same procedure again, one for each string – A string, D string and G string.
He held the violin up in the light to inspect it, making sure all the strings were correct. The television grew louder as both the pianist and cellist played louder, faster. Ryan brought the violin to his chin, closed his eye and started to pluck at the strings. Starting with the lowest string this time, he tuned the G string by ear, eyebrows twitching as it took him a few tries. Once he got it, he was able to tune the D to the G by the octave. He plucked the two strings in unison, happy with the identical tone he heard in reply. He got to work with the next strings, slowly tuning them while listening the elegance of Haydn while he did.
It was on the last string, the E, when he heard it. At first Ryan thought it was the violin in his own hands, but then he realised that it was too low and too far from his ears to be right. The springing sound of a string snapping resonated before silence caught up. Ryan twisted the peg on the violin to hard at it the string which he was working with snapped as well. But Ryan was not paying attention to it, his eyes focused on the television.
The pianist had left his piano and ran across the stage to the fallen cellist, pressing his hands against his head to attempt to stop what Ryan could see was blood coming out. The theater erupted in small chaos as ambulance came and went, taking the musicians away.
Ryan quickly set the violin down on the counter and grabbed his keys, quickly closing up the shop. He headed home to sort out what happened, and look up his resources in attempts to see what would now happen the Michael Jones.
The violin forgotten.
Prologue Side B - Raindrops
In the world of classical music, you had two options in which will get you noticed; either be on top or be dead. Or so Michael Jones has figured.
Since he was a boy of four, he was thrown behind a cello with a bow in his hand and expected to perform up to the rest of his family. His two brothers were world renowned violinists; one played for an orchestra in things like Pirates of the Caribbean and The Batman series and the other was booked solid for two years to perform non-stop. His mother was a pianist and his father was part of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra as a trombonist. At first he struggled learning the stances and playing simple notes, often wrecking bows and snapping strings and at the end of the day he would threw the most outrageous temper tantrums. This was a trait he kept whilst he grew up only it would evolve from a tantrum and into a rage. By age fourteen, he had finally become good enough to start competing.
And he competed.
For ten years he competed and strived to be the best. Michael Jones slowly became a name worth knowing the more and more he won. He travelled all over the world as his name grew, as more people booked him to play private listings and balls, as he competed and defended the titles he slowly collected. From the United States of America to Japans, from Russia to London to Canada, Michael was proving his worth once and for all.
And then that’s when it happened.
Media across the nation claimed it to be one of the worst, pitying accidents a musician can go through.
It was May 9, 2014 when it happened. Michael was waiting his turn at the he Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center to perform, cello and bow in hand. He was jittery in the side wings as the performer before him finished and took a bow, her dress sweeping behind her as she left. They called out his name and he walked forward, a smile creeping on his face once he saw his best friend and accompanist sitting at the piano. Ray gave him a thumbs up and stood up as Michael took his spot in front of the chair, both bowing to the judges, Michael taking an extra moment to bow to the audience as well.
He sat down, cello between his legs and propped his bow against the strings before taking a deep breath and nodding his head, eyes closed. The piano echoed out across the hall the intro to Michael’s performance piece, Haydn Cello Concerto No.1 in C Major, III - Allegro Molto, Ray elegantly hitting the keys in perfect fortissimo and in precision. Michael saw him close his eyes and smile as he played, and that made Michael smile. His foot tapped as he counted in his mind until he needed to play, he set his bow on the strings and closed his eyes as the part came up. Holding the sustained note was easy before a flurry of notes followed, flowing with practiced ease one into the other. Michael’s body started to flow and sway to the music, into his motions and he became one with his cello, flawlessly playing alongside Ray.
He was confident now, sure he was going to come out on top once more. He opened his eyes and leaned in close to the instrument, feeling the connection once more he felt with it and feeling at peace. He gave a smile as bowed faster and faster reaching one of the climaxes of the piece.
The audience gasped before he could even register what happened; not to even mention how it happened. Michael pressed down on a string, bowing it at the same time when he heard a loud ping coming from in front of his face. The next thing he was able to register was an intense pain in his left eye which lead to a dull throbbing in his right eye. Silence met his ears and Michael thought something happened to his ears too but Ray was there at his side, attempting to calm him down and talk him through the first aid motions as he administered them.
Paramedics came shortly after and wrapped bandages around Michaels eye and took him away to the hospital, Ray hopping into the ambulance with him. They didn’t say anything; they didn’t need to. Ray knew that any comfort he tried to give Michael would be met with walls of anger and Michael knew what the paramedics wouldn’t tell him, what the doctors would. His world had faded into darkness and he knew things would change now, and change for the worse for his career.
After all, what is a blind musician to the world?