[Salieri wakes up, as he always does, at sunrise. This time, it's with a bit more of a startle--though it's little more than an inhalation of breath. His hands are clenched tight in the sheets, sweat standing out on his brow, eyes wide in the dark of the room as the music feels like it echos through every corner of his soul, beautiful, perfect, sublime. Emotion rages inside him; rapture, jealousy, elation, rage, tearing at him like the phantom drag of hands over his shoulders, his chest, his arms, gripping the back of his neck and forcing him to his knees, yet he feels elated by it--
--Salieri sucks in another breath and sits up a little more quickly than warranted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, breathing hard, bombarded by that music and, worse, bythat man. The frivolous way he'd mocked both Rosenberg and himself, then played music that was so sublime--then had the gall, the gall to lean over and ask, coy, in a voice dripping with smugness:
Well, Maestro? Are there too many notes~?
Salieri's stomach twists, and he pushes to his feet, getting ready as quickly as possible and leaving the dorm, paper and pencils already tucked under his arm and in his jacket, going straight to the band room. There he sequesters himself at the piano, immediately starting to compose. He draws the lines of the staff, presses the keys on the piano, starts to put together a melodic line. But it...is not quite right. Not quite there...
He tosses the paper aside. Then he tries again. And again. And again. Eventually, the floor of the room becomes littered with paper, half formed ideas, crossed out and rewritten time and time again.
Salieri is eventually broken out of his fervor by Farrah, leaving the mess behind as his focus is immediately shifted.
After that, however, he's eventually returning to the Band room, staring at the scattering of papers and just...slowly starting to gather them up. Now that he doesn't have Farrah to focus on, he starts to feel almost a bit outside of himself, detached from what he's doing, but he presses on, continuing to keep cleaning.
Once the papers are regathered he sets about getting more paper, and instead of composing, writing up some posters. He can, afterwards, be found hanging up those posters with some tacks for everyone to see, proclaiming:]
Organizational Meeting To Discuss Creating Emergency Provisions and Searching for Escape Possibilities
Meeting to be held Monday, 7 o'clock in the evening, Cafeteria.
Signed, A. Salieri
[once those are successfully hung up, he'll head back to the choir room, armed with more paper, and, not bothering to re-set up the chairs as he sits down at the piano there to compose. However...it's a bit slower than normal. He still doesn't feel quite himself, like his hands aren't quite his hands, and therefore can't quite put the notes down correctly, or it sounds just a bit off. He erases notes and tries again. Keeps trying.
cw: mild disassociation
--Salieri sucks in another breath and sits up a little more quickly than warranted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, breathing hard, bombarded by that music and, worse, by that man. The frivolous way he'd mocked both Rosenberg and himself, then played music that was so sublime--then had the gall, the gall to lean over and ask, coy, in a voice dripping with smugness:
Salieri's stomach twists, and he pushes to his feet, getting ready as quickly as possible and leaving the dorm, paper and pencils already tucked under his arm and in his jacket, going straight to the band room. There he sequesters himself at the piano, immediately starting to compose. He draws the lines of the staff, presses the keys on the piano, starts to put together a melodic line. But it...is not quite right. Not quite there...
He tosses the paper aside. Then he tries again. And again. And again. Eventually, the floor of the room becomes littered with paper, half formed ideas, crossed out and rewritten time and time again.
Salieri is eventually broken out of his fervor by Farrah, leaving the mess behind as his focus is immediately shifted.
After that, however, he's eventually returning to the Band room, staring at the scattering of papers and just...slowly starting to gather them up. Now that he doesn't have Farrah to focus on, he starts to feel almost a bit outside of himself, detached from what he's doing, but he presses on, continuing to keep cleaning.
Once the papers are regathered he sets about getting more paper, and instead of composing, writing up some posters. He can, afterwards, be found hanging up those posters with some tacks for everyone to see, proclaiming:]
Meeting to be held Monday, 7 o'clock in the evening, Cafeteria.
Signed, A. Salieri
[once those are successfully hung up, he'll head back to the choir room, armed with more paper, and, not bothering to re-set up the chairs as he sits down at the piano there to compose. However...it's a bit slower than normal. He still doesn't feel quite himself, like his hands aren't quite his hands, and therefore can't quite put the notes down correctly, or it sounds just a bit off. He erases notes and tries again. Keeps trying.
He'll be in there for a while.]