funny_herman | After hours.

After hours.

With the last of the patrons gone, and after sending Danny and Frankie away to do their dirty work (they happily obliged), I remain downstairs in the Klub to close up.

I rather like the place after hours. One can still feel the energy that was once there just hovering in the air, gradually disspating like the cigarette smoke. It's quiet, except for the occasional squeaky floorboard beneath my feet, and the soft swish of the broom sweeping up the debris the evening's merrymaking.

Speaking of merrymaking, I think tomorrow morning I shall procure for ourselves a little Christmas tree. Perhaps some decorations as well.

And suddenly my head is filled with the swirling memories of past holidays, and everything that comes with this time of year. I can never really let go.

The sweeping done, I head backstage to shut off all the house lights, vaguely wondering where Victor had disappeared to, as he'd said he wanted to go over some sheet music.

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*The backroom is quiet and close and he feels isolated enough to start playing softly, running through all the scales and bits of tunes that he can remember. He's sitting on the floor in front of several open instrument cases with a dozen different sized bottles scattered by his feet. He leans over the instrument, playing into the space between his knees, growing more and more elated to feel the cool brass in his hands.*

*Drawing back, he nibbles at the half-moon impression of the mouthpiece on his upper lip and chuckles to himself.*

The things that bring back memories

*He licks the impression again and turning the bell down on the floor, he rests his chin on the mouthpiece, musing on potentially sharing a dressing room with Herman.*

Christ, if that happened, we'd never get to the stage on time! Much less, get dressed.

*As he flicks the levers and switches backstage that shut off the lights in the main room, he hears the faint notes of a trumpet emanating from the back room. Leaving the hall light on, he goes to investigate, and he finds Victor sitting on the floor. He knocks lightly on the open door.*

*with a smile* There you are.

*He shifts and turns around, his heart picking up speed as he sees Herman standing in the doorway.*

Hi, here I am. Guess I got sidetracked.

*He gets up and leaning a hip against the side of the table there, he silently fingers the keys.*

Closed up shop?

*nods with a bit of a sigh* Yes, all closed up for the night. *he points to the trumpet* Is it working well enough? I heard you playing a few scales.

*He nods and looks down at the scattered bottles.*

Out of all of them, I got just enough to unstick the keys.

*He then smiles invitingly at Herman.*

It feels good in my hand, you know? Like it belongs there. So um... the music? Would you like to do it now?

*smiles and nods* Of course. I left the sheet music in my dressing room, so perhaps we can take it in there? I don't want to do anything onstage because sound carries rather too well in this building.

*He chuckles and setting the trumpet on the table, he quickly closes the cases and gathers up the bottles. He discards them and grabs the instrument again. Coming close to Herman, who's still leaning in the doorway, he smiles and gives into the temptation to tease him.*

Oh no, we wouldn't want any sound to carry. By the way, did you all figure out where you want to stick me? Dressing room wise?

*chuckles lightly and tosses him a sly look over his shoulder as he turns to lead him down the narrow hall* Well, you can share a dressing room with one of the girls if you wish. I'm sure they wouldn't mind.

*He spins the trumpet in his hands and is quiet for a moment.*

With one of the girls, eh? Mmmm... don't think I'd mind that either.

*wryly, as he pushes the door open to his dressing room* You can sort that out amongst yourselves tomorrow. There's really no rush to decide.

*he walks over to the small, lumpy sofa and gathers up a stack of sheet music and flips through it* These were the songs we played tonight. We've played this particular set so often that we don't actually need the notation anymore.

*He walks into the dressing room after him and looks about at all the neat stacks of music. The room has the faint smell of stage powder, ink and paper. He takes in a breath and idly lets his eyes follow Herman over to the love seat. He takes his time, curiously inspecting the piles of music.*

*He moves to Herman's side after a moment, setting the trumpet down on the couch with one hand and reaching out for the music with the other.*

How long have you all been playing together? Long time? How long have you been playing?

*he gives Victor the stack of papers in his hand, and pulls the chair out from under the vanity table, turning it and sitting sideways on it, folding his arms over the backrest*

Well, I've been playing piano since I was a child, and I was in the church choir-- briefly. After I left home when I was a teenager, all I ever wanted were jobs in theatres and dancehalls and the like, so I suppose those places were where I received my best education, music-wise.

But I arrived here at this club-- *he wrinkles his brow* --about a year and a half ago. Some of the girls were already in the troupe. I was employed as a dancer and occasional piano player. Frankie came in some time after me. And Danny only joined last spring, but he's been here for a while.

*he thoughtfully rests his chin on his forearms; his voice grows a little wistful and he gets a faraway look in his eyes* There was a musical director -- we all called her the Maestra. She played the piano as if the instrument were created solely for her, and as if she were born with music in her fingertips. It was only a matter of time before she landed a position with the Berlin Orchestra, and so I happened to slip into her role here. *he blinks and limply shrugs a shoulder* Somebody had to.

*Sitting down on the couch, he puts the music beside him. He rests his forearms on his thighs and leaning forward he smiles fondly at him. He wants to brush aside the blond hair that has fallen over Herman's forehead as he speaks, but he keeps his hands to himself, content with the thought that he could do it later.*

*He studies the change in his expression and frowns a bit at the mention of the Maestra. But as quickly as it comes, he dismisses the niggling sensation. He smiles gently again.*

The Berlin Orchestra? That's incredible! But, I'm sure now that she's rich and famous that she does visit sometimes, yea? Maybe get up there and do a bit of a guest spot for the customers.

*His smile fades rapidly as he watches the further deterioration of Herman's expression. Something clicks in his memory. He remembers Ophilia's warning and then Herman's own reaction that first night they'd met, when he'd mentioned the whereabouts of his wife. He's reluctant to put them together to form his own conclusion and he hopes he hasn't tread onto taboo grounds.*

*a pang of deep melancholy strikes Herman and he's not sure if he can manage an answer or an explanation, and he hesitates, swallowing hard, avoiding Victor's gaze*

*his voice wavers dangerously* Yes, that would have been the case.

*he clears his throat and stands up, steeling himself, abruptly pushing the chair back under the table, looking everywhere except at Victor* I'm-- sorry, Victor, I-- *he runs a hand through his hair* If you don't mind, I think I'll call it a night. You can stay here and go over the music for as long as you want, and just-- when you're done, just leave everything here, you don't have to-- straighten up or anything. *he utters an agitated sigh and turns away to head for the door*

*With everything happening so fast, he doesn't have much time to react. Dumbly, he watches as Herman gets to his feet and mumbles something he just barely catches and goes the door before he can take another breath. But without thinking, he jumps to his feet and reaches out to grab his arm. Pulling him back, he's speaking without letting his brain kick into gear.*

Don't leave like this, Herman. I know something must have happened that hurt you deeply.

*He flounders as Herman's eyes look everywhere but at him.*

But... but, I know what you're going through. It hurts and you don't want to talk about it, and you just wish that the pain would go away. Wish that whatever happened never happened and that everything was how it was. I know. I've gone through it too.

*Noticing that he's still holding Herman's arm, he releases him and spreads his hands out plaintively in front of him.*

Please... let me help.

*Herman's eyes briefly flick upwards when Victor says that he knows what he's going through, but quickly looks down again, his hand on the doorknob.*

*softly* Then you'll understand why I don't want to talk about it. At least, right now.

*he finally looks up at him* Victor, if there's one thing you should know about me, and you will probably hear this from others as well, is that-- I don't tend to-- *searches for the words* --open up so easily. And it's not that I don't appreciate your wanting to help me, it's-- *he swallows* --it's still very difficult for me, no matter who I discuss certain things with.

*He nods.*

I didn't mean to suggest that I was some white knight, coming to swoop you away from your sorrows. God knows I'm far from that. I just wanted to let you know that if you wanted to open up. I could listen.

*He looks down at his own hands and then mumbles a sadly:*

Take it easy, tonight, ok?

*nodding* ...I will. Thank you.

*reaches out and gives Victor's shoulder a gentle squeeze, a sincere gesture of thanks and apology, and even some solace* I'll see you tomorrow. Don't stay up too late.

*turns and heads out the door*

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After hours.

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