Chapter 22: Allure
I approach the the piano where Joan sits patiently. I place my harp atop the instrument while she scoots away giving me room. She gives control of the instrument as she leans on the palms of her hands that rest on her knees. She stares as I play a few notes getting a feel for the instrument.
I warm up on several melodies then proceed onwards. I remember the last time memories of my life overwhelmed me. I shall not let it occur once more.
The sadness that prevails the memory of my parents absolves. Light lusters through the fog that once hindered the pleasant glow my parents bestowed upon me. I grow a tune from the baby of this happiness. The babe laughs unhindered by worries or cares.
However, time passes, and the infant of joy matures into a child then a man. He lives with freedom and happiness only dealt to those who take what is presented to them.
The pacing of my harmony slows strengthening my notes until the song frenzies containing the charm of my life.
I orchestrate wildly with zealous strikes and eager blows. I beam brightly showing my sharp teeth. I draw from excitement at my future. I swim in the well of my own curiosity and anticipation.
I cherish the only friend I have to my name. I sing the songs of happiness that cataclysm abducts from me. I play pieces composing the days of promise lost to me. These feelings cascade as I emerge from my private bastille. I fly from my cage the same as a bird aviates through the sky.
Bliss overwhelms me. Instead of remembering where I once was, I savor where I am now.
I cherish how far I have traveled. The epoch of darkness has elapsed.
I tell Joan a principle lesson in life. A virtue that speaks of the perseverance of humanity and the vitality of life.
Hard times have not come to stay. They have have come to pass.
I finish the orchestration with a furious flurry of strikes booming through the room then stopping suddenly with deafening silence. Sweat pours from my forehead as I gain my breath back. I turn towards Joan then say, “That is the essence of my music.”
She then grabs the my shirt pulling my lips against hers. The soft, luscious sensation debases my reasoning. The moment lingers ephemerally ending as abruptly as it started.
I redden till my face pressures explosively. Heat emanates from my entire body as rending embarrassment splinters my being. The sensation’s intensity overwhelms me forcing my head down with a social gravity.
The new sensation causes Joan to giggle loudly then say tauntingly, “Ooooh. The romantic musician has a soft spot?”
I stammer nervously, “Yes. Soft as air.”
She replies vexingly, “Lighten up Jack. You're a man , so act like one.”
I reply dodging responsibility, “I thought of myself as such, yet you have proven me but a boy of my age.”
She asks dubiously, “What is your age?”
Somehow, the shame deepens as I reply with a squeaky voice, “13.”
Joan pauses momentarily then continues as before, “Bah. You can’t be 13. You're a head taller than I am and you play with expertise defying that age.”
The misunderstanding kindles flames of humiliation. I stand up then start walking out of the room. She jerks my shirt spinning me backwards then says, “Calm down. It was just a kiss. With your aptitude, I am sure you have received many.”
I admit with chagrin, “That was my first experience. I don’t know how to handle these things. I just. I need time to think.”
Joan says harshly, “What is there to think about? Surely you were wooing me with your speech and songs.”
I reply delicately in an agonizing voice, “I. Uh. I just want to. I was trying to relax then I saw you playing, and I thought it would be fun to play with you, so I-I just need time to think.”
I jerk myself from her grasp then leap from the stadium. I land on the velvet carpet dashing with unreal power. I tackle the doors open booming a deafening crack as the wooden obstacles break against the stone walls.
I sprint with speed leaving my feet flying through the air far more than touching the ground. I dart till I reach my dorm with my heart pounding in my chest. Even as I heave for breath, the burning in my legs and lungs pales before the humiliation of earlier.
Luke’s bed still lays empty, so I assume he will be gone for many days. A coal of hatred for Hefelston burns for a moment before the memory from earlier crashes into me.
I writhe and grasp at myself with my hands while asking why I responded so poorly. The whole situation happened so fast that I barely functioned. I never really thought of romance as I busy myself with my own endeavors, but the vulnerability leaves me aghast.
As much as the situation overwhelms me, I admit the kiss felt wonderful. The memory of the event stabs me with feelings of enticing revulsion. I desire more, yet the event leaves me cringing at my own ineptness.
I lay in bed hunger assaulting me. Since breakfast, I haven’t eaten a thing, so I walk vigorously towards the cafeteria preparing gold given from Geralt and from the villagers that Deluge pilfered.
I enjoy a hearty meal of bread bowl soup with a spoon from Geralt's package. The stew has little meat in it, but the vegetables give the dish a savory flavor since they soak the plants in butter.
Afterwards I let Deluge control our body so he may hunt for extra meat. He devours grubs and worms of all varieties while catching several squirrels. His mutations disturb me far less as he manages them far more ably than before.
He extends claws from his hands while elongating elbows. He crunches squirrels and moles he digs up whole. He even takes off my shirt as he does so he doesn't rip my clothes apart.
The process’s civility pacifies my worries as I sift in communion. He enjoys the hunting and eating, and I enjoy the break from my own emotions. The arrangement bargains gain for both sides.
He consolidates the animals he kills, but there weak wills flatten before the ease of consolidation. The beast’s sentience stagnates within the pools of human souls utterly content with the pleasant tide.
If a being whose single goal involves only eating and surviving, then having another being accomplish said goals lets the mongrels idle placidly in the eternity of consolidation.
In some ways I envy these creatures. They have no evolved pleasures, but with their simple needs satisfied, they essentially completed their goals in life. The process seems almost sad as the animals embrace this diluted existence, but these events reaffirm me of my own goals
After Deluge finishes feasting he gives over control and we walk out of the forest. I ask groping for help where there is none, “Deluge. What do you make of the situation earlier?”
He cannonades with thundering laughter. The sound instantly invokes ire as he continues for several minutes of inexhaustible chuckling. The ire grows into hatred as his snickering eventually dies down.
He then responds jubilantly, “You handled the situation rather well considering the influx of hormones assaulting your brain.”
I reply seething sarcasm, “Oh wise parasite, please bless this humble student with your knowledge.”
Deluge responds as I expect, “I’d have taken the signal for populating then mated with her.”
My hatred sizzles into shame and curiosity at his response. I then say testily, “What do you mean?”
Deluge laughs again then explains thoroughly, “In your species, there are usually courtship rituals performed by the male. The females exist as the hunted while the males exist as the hunters.”
He snickers another two hahs before proceeding, “So when the female aggresses, the male will always respond with greater fervor. In your circumstance you should have mushed your lips together for a few minutes then felt her erogenous zones ensuring lubricant is present.”
He then finishes his speech while making the process sound obvious, “You then meld your genitalia with hers thrusting until ejaculation occurs. Simple.”
I squint my eyes while staring at a point on my wall completely discombobulated. Deluge mentioned several terms I fail to comprehend. The procedure reminds me of explanations explaining insect life cycles.
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The whole process dumbfounds me so absolutely that I concede my lack of understanding for now. I will ask Alastair about the process tomorrow. I enter my room room then lay down in my bed.
The soft bed holds me like an angel while warming without flaw. I sleep with welcome release from the days havoc while craving the feeling of another person.
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My body floats weightlessly as I stand in a white place. The cloudlike surroundings shift revealing Joan. She walks up swinging her hips as she walks. Blood rushes through my veins as my breathing grows faster as she encroaches.
A feeling similar to hunger invades my mind. My thoughts cease as I approach her. I hug her in my embrace noticing her breath on my neck.
I awaken with haggard breaths yearning for contact. I put my hand on my forehead then breath deeply. I slap the sides of my face harshly piercing the veil on my thoughts with stinging pain.
I rise from my bed stretching out my stiffness as I do so. I change into my clothes then prepare myself for my next class. My mind constantly wanders back to Joan and the kiss, but I quickly lash myself mentally back into focus. The whole event distracts me from everything else much the same way fatigue and thirst do.
I don’t understand how to satiate this feeling, so I preoccupy myself with thoughts of study and fighting, yet the sensation persistently denies my demands. Joan’s pink, soft lips with her perfect figure...
I punch myself with enough force that my vision whitens for a moment then I run toward the class I have been anticipating with disguised fervor.
I enter the same musical building as yesterday entering the classroom I applied for.
Only twelve students chat in the classroom, and the teacher wears a puffy red vest that covers his ancient shirt underneath. His clothes hang from his body in shambles from decades of stitching. The room itself exudes age of eras past.
On the board he points towards multiple charts before the class starts trying to re-familiarize people with the basics of music. I almost walk out of the room, but I persevere through the disgust then listen to what he says.
Just as I struggled with Antoinette, this teacher struggles with his students and their attitudes. He says in his high pitched, waving voice, “Learning of the basics is the only path to greatness. Even the greatest fighter fails to beat a little girl if he cannot stand!”
I walk over to him agreeing, “He’s right.”
He smiles at me then asks, “Ah. A student of the arts! Whom might you be?”
I reply with a pleasant smile, “I am Jack Donovan.”
The classroom silences when I say the name though the teacher doesn't even react. He keeps his smile as he says,
“I have heard of you. A real fighter they say. If you are able, I would incline you for a demonstration of an artistic classic that demonstrates a few basic skills.”
I reply with a stoic expression of understanding, “If a demonstration is what you need, then I shall deliver.”
I choose Für Elise for my demonstration as the notes are simple allowing for even an ametuer to distinguish between good and excellent play. I say enhancing the demonstration, “Would another student play a duet with me?”
None of the other students reply so the professor shouts at a student, “You there. You gave me quite the trouble earlier. I believe you would be a wonderful tool for his demonstration.”
A poor and disesteemed Antoinette walks up as I nod my head back and forth in shame. I say harshly, “So are you ready for lesson three then Antoinette?”
She cringes then gets out her violin. The professor hands me a violin and I play the first verse.
I may be an emotional player at heart, but my understanding of the basics remains unconditional. I enjoy my every rendition of music that I play, so I focus intently on each and every note meticulously and methodically ironing out the details until the piece is perfect.
After my music has reached this state of absolute technical excellence, I add emotions into my work. Trying to manage your emotions without a stable platform is like trying to argue when angry. You may still do so, but no purpose is achieved.
I play the mechanically perfect version handing the verse smoothly to Antoinette. She plays better than the last time I tutored her, but she still sloppily mis-manages her notes and strings causing rasping sounds that grate the ears.
I sleekly take her wobbly hand off then affix her flaws within my orchestration until the imperfections within her play seem purposeful and done out of contrast instead of failure. We continue on for several minutes until the end of the song.
The class claps along with the professor who says, “Now that is how you play music kids! If you can master the basics to such a degree then you can surely accomplish much in your lifetime.”
The rest of the class arrives quickly before the class starts, and the professor begins his lesson. He introduces himself as Professor Brixworth. The content bores me, but the professor cleverly uses me as an example for when he needs demonstrations or needs difficult questions answered keeping me involved.
By the end of the class, Brixworth effortlessly integrates my teaching the class by demonstrating several portions of the lesson as he interjects points I may miss. The class passes in moments as I breath in the fresh, crisp air of an engaging experience.
I talk passionately about music with Brixworth after the class ends with several students staying to ask for help on certain notes or systems. I take my time explaining each question making sure they understand then I head over to my next class.
My mood ascends high as I walk toward my next astronomy class when I see Joan walking towards me from across a hallway. Behind me a wall of students pushes down from the fourth floor to the third.
My options steadily decrease as I hesitate under the pressure. My breathing accelerates as Joan walks within 15 feet of me. I grasp at my only option. I walk to the inner wall of the hallway then charge until I break through a window falling outside.
I feel weightlessness then land on my feet upon stone. A loud THWACK resounds as I break stone under my heels. I squat downwards as I land until my head lies between my knees. I stand up then sprint away at full speed without looking backwards.
I simply can not face her. My body over reacts with a viscous saturation of shame, embarrassment, and hunger that my meager pubescent mind cannot handle. I rush towards the soul altering building reaching for my only source of guidance.
I walk into the back room finding Alastair preparing for his next class by setting up different golems in different stages of completion. I walk up and ask with serious intent, “Alastair, I need your help.”
He turns towards me with a look of concern then says, “What is the matter Jack?”
I reply while pacing back and forth deliberating as I speak, “I have recently had romantic relations with a girl at this school. Now I cannot get thoughts of her out of my mind, and the thought of talking to her is torture. I need solace from this event.”
Alastair smiles then says knowingly, “You have a crush Jack. Everyone will have one at some point or the other. I remember having one when I was your age. The only way to handle it is either let the feelings pass.”
He raises his right hand then finishes respectfully, “Or you may admit your feelings to her and yourself. The decision is yours.”
Comprehension pops as I finally understand what's happening. I run up reaching just below eye level of Alastair and hug him in gratitude while saying, “Thank you Alastair.”
Alastair pats my back saying humbly, “I only told you an elementary concept for a young lover.”
I release the embrace leaving one hand on his shoulder saying, “You have given asylum to a madman. I was rendered bumbling before my own emotions. You have given me a clear understanding of how to handle the issue.”
I turn walking away while Alastair simply stares back at his work with a slight smile on his lips.
I enter the green pathways that divide the campus buildings then march towards Joan. I use Deluge’s enhanced smell to hunt her down.
To much of my time rots away as I dwell on this issue. I shall tear these feelings asunder with my will. I shall mangle them with my might.