Who: Gregory Kim [PHILISTINE] & Pen Shapiro [HUFFLEPUFF] Where: Ravinia Festival, Highland Park When: Thursday Evening What: Gregory and Pen attend the symphony; it almost gets ugly Warnings: Strong language; classical music
"Znaider is a passable conductor," Gregory was explaining as he led the way to his reserved seating in the central pavilion, "But his true strength lays in his violin performance. He'd have been better off remaining first chair, but some are just blinded by their own ambition." He'd carried on like this for quite some time, rattling off detailed facts about the members of the Chicago Symphony and tonight's performance.
He consulted his ticket and the seats before them, wooden and uninviting as with most public space amphitheatres, but still better than those he'd booked for their two chaperones in the back rows. He gave them a mildly indignant nod to ensure they knew where he and his guest were seated, and settled into his spot.
"Are you much familiar with Mozart's early work?"
“Um…”
Pen wasn’t expecting a question. Ever since their departure with agents in tow, Gregory had dominated the conversation. Not that she minded so much, and she had said as much before they left, which was perhaps why he’d gone on for as long as he had. Some of it slipped past her entirely, focused as she was at looking out the window as they drove and watching the familiar and unfamiliar pass by, but she listened well enough all the way to their seats, which took a bit of extra balancing on the soft lawn with wedges and a cane.
“More particularly the operas?” She offered, not really concerned about being clueless, but more or less being comparatively dull. She envied Gregory for the plethora of knowledge he retained on the subject. “My dad used to listen to…” Pen waved it off. “And they have names, so it’s easier to remember. But I can’t remember the difference between Symphonies 4, 5, 6, and 7 until I listen to them. You know, if we’re talking childhood.”
"Well, few experts can tell the difference between five and seven." Gregory answered indulgently with a tight self-satisfied smile, as though he'd just said something dreadfully clever. "But the Chicago Opera will be performing one of Mozart's earliest operatic works, Lucio Silla this season if you have any interest." To his credit, Gregory's nigh-constant look of disapproval seemed to disappear when he spoke about music, even if he seemed blissfully unaware of whether his audience appreciated the subject.
A large man in a t-shirt shuffled past the two, jostling knees with a grunted excuse, trailing drips of frothy beer from his plastic cup. Gregory frowned deeply, his eyes burrowing piercingly into the back of the man's head as if an angry stare would put him in his place.
"And this is why one typically avoids the outdoor amphitheatres." He muttered snottily.
In the few years they’d both been at the same facility and through many of their encounters, though brief and uninvolved, that look of disapproval had forced her to stuff her hands in her pockets, averting the desire to smooth out his brow. Something about wondering if he got a lot of tension headaches.
As she opened her mouth to respond, the guy better suited for a sports event than a night of Mozart knocked her cane aside and she slid it under her seat. Though she didn’t actively glare, she did sigh heavily, watching him.
“Please keep going… keep going… that’s it, keep going…” As if her coaxing was going to have any more impact than Gregory’s stare. But the man moved to the far opposite end of their row. “Ten bucks says he’ll be drunk by intermission. And you can’t keep a drunk quiet at venues like this, so as long as he stays over there.” She noticed everyone else around shoot looks at him. “At least we’re not the only ones, I guess.”
A finger to her lip as she remembered their conversation. “I remember Lucio Silla. Not all of it, but enough to say it’s not as appreciated as I think it should be.”
Gregory's attention pulled back from the glare as if from a dream, looking lost for a moment before locking onto the subject. "Oh, I quite agree. I'm an enormous fan of his earliest works; hence, my enthusiasm for tonight's performance of his Third."
As if on cue the conductor took to the stage with violin in hand, and Gregory joined the audience in applause. He settled into his seat with an air of carefully restrained giddiness, giving the violinist his rapt attention.
Wow. She did it. Pen turned to settle into her seat, eyes on the conductor, her giddiness a little less restrained and apparent in the bit-down smile. She was able to contribute on a topic she knew so little about with probably one of the smartest people she ever met. She was totally getting Good Job ice cream later.
But the overture commenced and she was appropriately enthralled. Perhaps not nearly to the degree in which Gregory was, but near enough. The strings began with aplomb and like a day at the races, they were off. For a long while nothing else was said or even thought about to the point that it seemed she and her concert-going partner were some of the last to realize there was a bit of commotion going on that had nothing to do with the performance.
Gregory bristled as the group seated directly behind them began to talk over the music, debating their plans for after the show or other such nonsense. He cocked his head to shoot a withering glance in their direction, but it seemed to go largely unnoticed. His palms, resting on his legs, gripped his knees tensely.
When one man in the group let out an inappropriately loud laugh, Gregory pivoted sharply in his seat and offered a harshly whispered, "Do you mind?" before turning back around, looking both angry and mortified. He cast an apologetic sideways glance to his companion, as though this were an unforgivable transgression.
On the whole, Pen didn’t mind his agitation - he was allowed to express himself - however, she knew as well as anyone what the slipping composure of Gregory Kim could mean, and she briefly touched her hand to his elbow in a brief sign to let him know he was fine.
And then someone, accidentally or meaningfully, kicked the underside of Gregory’s chair.
“Listen -” Pen wasn’t typically confrontational, but this was absurd and she could sense Gregory getting even more rankled. She turned behind her, voice low. “If you could take your conversation elsewhere? This isn’t appropriate. Thank you.”
It seemed to work. For about five seconds.
The touch to Gregory's arm seemed to calm him somewhat, or at least remind him at the necessity of trying to keep himself calm. He settled tensely back into his chair, though he too twitched at the kick to Pen's chair, his teeth almost audibly grinding together.
The crowd seemed to respond to Pen's chastising with a chorus of snickers and mutters, none of which seemed to suggest they were liable to comply with her reasonable requests. It wasn't until one mumbled 'bitch' under their breath that something snapped in Gregory, and he whirled around in his seat with a furious growl. A hand darted out to grab the man behind him by the collar, yanking him effortlessly forward till they were nose to nose.
"Listen, Fucknuts." He snarled, though shockingly still under his breath enough to not draw too much attention. "Find other seats or I'll rip off your fucking head, pull your organs out your neck, and play them like a fucking bagpipe, got it?"
The unfortunate concertgoer was close enough to see the telltale shift in Gregory's features; his incisors lengthening, his nose curling into something decidedly wolfish, his immaculately combed hair frizzing. It was only a partial demonstration of what Gregory tended to undergo when he 'let loose', but it was enough to send the man and his friends quickly scurrying down the aisle to find a new spot.
Gregory turned back into his seat, drawing several slow, angry breaths as he struggled to calm down, his hands smoothing down his cuffs and collars, straightening his bow tie, shrinking away from the appalled looks of those nearby.
"I… I apologize." He mumbled, shamefacedly, to his companion, as his face quickly shifted back to normal.
Pen let out a few deep breaths, her heart pounding in her ears. It was one thing to hear about the abilities of Alphas and Betas, but another to witness it, and even if she couldn’t see his sharpening teeth and the shapeshifting of his nose, she could hear the low snarl that tinged his voice. Her hand had sought out his shoulder immediately when he turned to confront the jerk behind them, prepared to draw him back and calm him down somehow without a moment’s thought, having been ready to suggest she could use her abilities to find the two of them spare seats further up just the second before. But the folks scattered and eyes were upon him.
It was his apology that drew a small smile from her, weak and anxious for him as she saw only a glimpse of what he was about to become. Maybe they were different in a lot of ways, but she understood the shame and fear of having everyone look at you.
“It’s okay. Really.” Pen dropped her hand belatedly, twisting towards the agents who’d stood up. She gestured that they sit back down. “Thank you, though.”
Gregory was far too busy being mortified to demonstrate proper gratitude, though he was inwardly relieved to have Pen on hand to both calm him down and stave off the agents. He did manage the thinnest of half-smiles cast ever-so-shakily aside to her, before he turned his attention back to the performance, hoping to get lost therein.