#be gentle with the soft oboist lad

[floreatetona-a]

Wenn Worte aufhören, beginnt die Musik. - Heinrich Heine

It was brisk outside – a frost had descended during the night, carpeting the fields and cobblestones in a thick rime. The trees glittered in a slanting and uneven sun that struggled to warm the ice-locked College and the grounds around it.  The Solitary (as the Beaks sometimes thought of him) was just scurrying out of his House to the music room. He held a velvet and brocade package tight to his chest against the cold; the treasure inside would crack if it suffered a shock going from the warmth of his dormitory to the frigid outdoors. Twice on his hurried journey he slipped on the ice, but did not fall.

When he reached the hall, he found Percy waiting for him inside. “You got it?” The petite oboist’s voice was still low from sleep. The Solitary – more properly known as James – held up the package he’d so tenderly transported with a crooked grin. “Let me take off my coat.” Percy fiddled with his reed case as he watched his friend fold his coat and open the brocade case. Hands still stiff from cold, James pulled out and twisted the delicate wood pieces together with a bit more care than was entirely necessary; he’d put his now well-worn Boehm flute together countless times, but this particular instrument was still new in his hands.  It was a traverso – a Baroque one-keyed flute. Other students would later snicker at James’ enthusiasm for such an outdated instrument (such awkward fingerings!), but on this particular morning Percy was the lone spectator to his joy, and he was just as enthralled as James. “Know any pieces?” asked Percy. “Of course I do,” said James, “just not on this flute.” He placed his long fingers over the holes drilled into the body of the instrument, then awkwardly stumbled his way through a D major scale. Percy smiled. He’d once tried playing an English horn and was not unsympathetic to the difficulties of learning a new instrument. “How about B minor? A-sharps are really–” “Pale,” interrupted James. “Pale and sickly.” “I was going to say ‘solid’ – are they not on that thing?” “Not at all.” James demonstrated, taking a few tries to get a solid grip on the pitch. At Percy’s face of disgust James said, “lots of character in that note” He looked down at the flute, how his fingers wrapped around it. It smelled like almond oil.      “If you practice enough, we’ll work on some Händel next time.”      “When’s next time?” (I shouldn’t look down at my feet—bad form, that—but      I do anyway.)       “Oh, probably after this Half. I does depend on…” (He wouldn’t way “her.”        He never does.)      “I know.”(There’s a crack in that floorboard. There are probably creases on      his forehead, too.) Percy’s expression melted with a slight blush. “Good thing there aren’t any reeds to fret over, right?” “Right.” James looked down at the ground. Far away. Deep down. “James?” The oboist felt a prickling under his fingers – a desire to touch and reassure and... He pushed the sensation aside as best he could. “Let’s play some duos, okay?” The Solitary wandered back and looked up. Percy was very close. (Too close?) “Let me get the Boehm.” 

--- Mun Concordia here (again)- Just a short, gentle oneshot of James and his friend Percy (an old OC of mine) at Eton. I like to think that Percy is one of the only people who still writes to Hook when he’s in the Neverland - he sends him newspapers, Eton Chronicles, sheet musics, and the like... also some very kind letters.. letters tinged with a tone James doesn’t quite understand.

Influenced by Michel Blavet’s Concerto in A minor for Flute and Strings, Mvt. I and Carl Maria von Weber’s Trio in G minor for Flute, Cello, and Piano, Op. 63, Mvt. I.