Writing - Opera Night II - Vyndariel
This was what I was writing before the mini-black out. :(
Part One
It had taken the Silvermoon City Opera several years to rebuild itself after the Third War. First, money had to be raised in order to afford the piece of property in the eastern section of Silvermoon City that had not been ripped apart by the Scourge. Second, time had to be spent to locate any surviving talent and to recruit any new talent willing and eager to be on stage, work backstage, play the music, or write new operas.
It hadn't been easy because any able bodied elf was recruited for the efforts in Outland and if not that, the majority wanted to do something...useful. An argument had been made that opera could be very useful in order to distract Silvermoon's citizens from everything they'd suffered. Or have new operas created in order to help them channel their rage and despair into an art form. This was a sound argument but many were still unconvinced.
Eventually, enough musicians, composers, dancers, actors, artists, stagehands, and singers were assembled to create a working troupe. Vyndariel was one of the surviving tenors from before the Third War and he'd also had the foresight to save most of the scripts and music for the operas that had been performed before the whole tragic mess occurred.
Vyn had been with the opera for almost a century even before the reformation of it. He was a veteran when it came to opening nights and wasn't at all nervous; though, he could tell that a lot of the troupe was feeling some anxiety. The only reason that he himself wasn't feeling any sort of terror was the fact that he was currently engaged in a battle with his costume.
Vyn stood backstage, shifting uneasily under the heavy clothes. The brocade jacket and pants were unlined. The mess of threads tickled his skin and was slowly driving him to madness. A large fur cape was settled over his shoulders which instantly made him warmer than he'd prefer to be. Vyn's wavy brown hair had been tied up and pinned down with a ludicrous pink wig shoved over it all. Absently, he raised a hand to scratch at a cheek that had been covered with heavy make up. He then realized what he was about to do and dropped his hand instantly. The last chords of the previous overture faded into silence alerting him that he only had seconds to resolve his differences with his outfit.
Dancers streamed past him as drums began to play. His gait turned into a slow saunter and his posture changed - straight backed and arrogant. The elf he'd been slowly faded into an arrogant cariacature of entitled elf lord. The lights of the stage were nearly blinding compared to the dim lighting backstage but decades of training kept Vyn from wincing. He gave a slight smirk as he continued to the middle of the stage. The cheers and applause surrounded him and it was enough to help him ignore the feeling of sweat beginning to prick at his back and at his hairline. As the applause died down, the aria began. His disdainful eyes settled on a random audience member as he sang a line before he moved onto the next person. This wasn't a move that many could do - not because it was hard to look at someone but because most of them were trained to ignore the audience. However, this routine had been received very well during dress rehearsals and it seemed that it was doing even better during the live show.
Vyn raised his chin a tiny fraction and glanced toward his next victim except--
--it was a mistake, a folly--
--he was struck with helplesness. The Sin'dorei man that gazed back at him had vivid fel green eyes framed by long dark eyelashes. He had a diamond shaped face, with long black hair, a well trimmed goatee and a slight five o clock shadow. And he looked at Vyn as if he were the most trying form of life on all of Azeroth.
What the fuck?
Ever the professional, Vyn's voice didn't waver nor did he forget his lines. He had only ever forgotten his lines once in his life: when they had received word that the Scourge had broken through the elf gates near Thalassian pass. That was something.
This was just a grumpy man.
Still, Vyn didn't move his gaze away from the man in front of him. Instead, he glared at him-trying to mirror the man's own irritation back at him.
The aria ended sooner than had expected but the thunderous applause barely reached him. Vyn watched the Sin'dorei man in front of him for a minute longer. Did you like it? He demanded silently. The only reply the man gave him was a polite clapping.
Polite clapping?
Indignation poured into him and Vyn used this emotion to sweep majestically back off of the stage. I don't deserve polite clapping. I'm not a child at his first recital! Vyn carefully schooled his face to be as blank as possible, not wanting the company to see his anger and react negatively. As soon as he was away from the stage and the audience, Vyndariel lengthened his stride and made it back to the sanctuary of his dressing room. He kicked the door shut with his foot and collapsed down into his chair.
