Avarice

INTRODUCTION:

The weather is breezy, but the sun shines through the sky, engulfing all it touches into a sparkling haze- perfect for the start of the school year, especially this school.

You see, this particular academy is one famed throughout the world as one that accepts only geniuses thus far, and proves to be a challenge to get into. Millions of talented young adults apply every year, and yet only five percent of them are chosen to attend. Now, you may be wondering, what exactly makes this school so special?

The answer is, well, no one knows. It could be the state of the art scientific laboratories, the Olympic sized everything in the sports department, or even the mass amount of high quality art supplies that students are given free reign on during the school year. However, that doesn’t stand out so much as the overwhelming fact that eighty-five percent of the graduates in this university play an important role in the industry of the world, whether it be in entertainment, politics, or sports. Each graduate stands out, and the ones that don’t- well, their jobs still pay well enough.

This particular day would be the auspicious opening ceremony of the previously stated university. Students from all over the world stream through the prestigious gates, both new and old to this school, and a buzz is in the air, as if it were sparked with lightning.

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SCENE DIRECTIONS:

Each student should proceed to the preassigned room that was sent to them by email. There, they will drop off their belongings and head to the lounge to get acquainted with other students.

The opening ceremony is in an hour, giving you plenty of time to get to know your fellow students.

His hair flowing through the wind, the sound of the revving motor, a light trail of smoke escaping from the Viceroy lodged between his lips, Atreyu arrived on campus riding a Dodge Tomahawk V10 Superbike, one of the ten versions of the non street legal motorcycle which had been gifted by the company on the day of its production in 2003. He'd had it painted black and arranged for an extra compartment for his luggage, but the vehicle remained excessively impressive. By his method of entry on campus, Atreyu clearly stated that he had very little to no intent of leaving his rock star lifestyle, despite the fact that he was pronounced legally dead three years ago.

Straddling the magnificent machine, the musician took hold of the guitar strapped to his back and flipped it to the front, playing a few melodious notes as he got off the bike. Thanks to the width of the tires, Atreyu did not need a stand for a vehicle, but he regardless took the time to remove the keys - something which he did with his teeth in order not to interrupt the creative flow his fingers appeared to have - and finally began walking towards the school. He was not particularly looking forward to it, but this was the beginning of a new year. "This is gonna be a drag..." He thought to himself as he dropped his keys into his luggage and took a drag of his cigarette, tightly lodged at the edge of his lips.

Marie headed to her old room, not knowing who was going to replace her last roommate. "It's a damn shame Kinzie graduated. Now there was a bitch who could keep up with me." She put a large worn trunk at the foot of her bed and began to shed her layers.

The short woman with the large blue black hair and pouty pursed lips had worn four cardigans, two jackets and three long, stuffed winter coats on the train ride over here to avoid packing them. Her pink dress was drenched with sweat from the experience. She threw it off and jumped in the shower.

After drying off and wrapping her lower half in a towel, she put red orange lipstick on and allowed for some eyeshadow and mascara, a dark blue to match her hair.

She chose a pair of frilly blue panties and a high waisted black pencil skirt, though she puzzled over a choice of top. Just as she was reaching for a floral print cami, the door opened.

Tristan shouldered the large duffel bag, watching the taxi drive off. There had been no one to see him off. His mom had been on a business trip and no one from the band cared anymore. In a way, he felt as if his whole old life were driving off in that taxi.

He tightened his grip on the guitar case in his right hand and took a deep breath. Better just get on with it, he thought to himself, and glanced at the sheet of paper in his left hand and set out to find the room they'd assigned him.

Idly, he wondered if any of the students would recognize him from the band. He decided he didn't care if they did. Besides, any number of them might be famous themselves, if all the things he'd heard about this place were true.

He gulped, already feeling uneasy with all the people around him. As he walked towards the buildings, his anxiety level rose steadily, so that before he'd gone fifty feet he suddenly found himself bolting for the edges of the crowd. He found himself "hiding" behind a tree, panting. The only good it did him was that he didn't see all the people around; anyone could see him easily enough. "...Damnit..." he muttered. It was worse than usual today. Was it because he was already so anxious about starting over?

He took several deep breaths, then decided to try for the his dormitory again, trying his best to stay to the edges of the streams of students. This bag was getting heavy, and the sooner he could get to his room, the better.

Like most of the other students, Renee had arrived here only a few minutes ago. However, unlike most of the other students, Renee did not want to be here. Why would she, of all people be forced to take part in this stupid ass school? She hated it- hated everything about it.

She wanted to leave, but there was no where else to go, and a dorm room was better than being on the streets. When she'd arrived, the academy was already bustling with activity, and the female had caught sight of two raven headed males before making her way into her dorm room.

A huff and a wheeze came out of the brunette's mouth as she managed to pull all of her luggage into the room. Sure, there were only two suitcases with her, but Renee was not a person with a body built for exercise. She wiped the sweat from her brow, swearing under her breath, "Fucking hell..."

It was then that she noted the presence of another female in the room. Her black hair shone with a slight blue sheen, and her half clothed body stood in the room. Renee was instantly gripped with the longing to draw her, to paint an imprint of the woman in oils, and to see her work spread out before her. But then she remembered, and feelings of misery and regret took over once more. Renee's fingers found themselves tugging at her left wrist again.

She then remembered that there was another in the room with her, "Hello," the girl muttered, "Name's Renee."

"You could knock, you know," tutted Marie with a wide smile, orange lips parted to show glistening white teeth. She put the camisole down and walked on over, forcibly grabbing Renee's hand and shaking it. Her grip was tight and her nails were the rusted brown of dried blood. The older woman tilted Renee's hand and clicked her teeth in disapproval.

"You should really take better care of yourself. It just won't do to have dirt stuck under your nails." Not initially letting go of Renee's hand, Marie continued. And continued. "I'm Marie, but you can call me Heracles if you want to. Most of my squad does. 'Captain Heracles,' that's what they call me. Pardon my toplessness, it's just that I'm having trouble deciding what I want to wear to the ceremony. Something tight and simple, I'm thinking, but I don't know if I should go for the floral print tank or the pastel blue blouse. I mean they both go with this skirt, so what does it matter. What did you say your name was? Renee? What do you do, Renee? That is, of course, assuming you do anything at all, but by the look of you I doubt you made it in here on money, no offense meant of course."

Somewhere in the long shaking of hands, Renee caught a glimpse of Marie's untamed growths of armpit hair, which Marie thought suited her frame and general demeanor quite nicely.

She was...touching her? Renee frowned, her own hand being cold and unable to reciprocate the tight grip that the other had.

The female was immediately seized with the desire to get away from this Marie person, who was blabbering on and on about nicknames and names and dirty fingernails.

"It's not dirt, it's oil paint..." Renee muttered under her breath, though she doubted that Marie would even realize that she'd spoken at the rate she was going.

"What do you do, Renee? That is, of course, assuming you do anything at all, but by the look of you I doubt you made it in here on money, no offense meant of course."

This snapped Renee right back into the conversation. She didn't want to talk about what she did, especially with someone she'd just met.

"You know," Renee started, "That when a human uses the phrase, 'no offense,' it is obvious that the receiving party will take offense no matter what?" Her lips curled into a frown, "Don't fuck with me-- what I do is my business and mine alone."

She snatched her hand back from the other woman, then proceeded to exit, pausing in the door frame, "And by the way, the blouse works better."

With that, Renee was gone, and made her way into the lounge. Anywhere was better than with that Marie woman.

Gin moved quickly through the courtyard.

He walked with his head down and his duffel bag pressed close against his body, as if he was afraid it would be torn from his side the moment he loosened up. Occasionally, he would brush against another student--bump into their unaware backs or catch onto their elbows--but he didn't stop. He didn't even apologize. After all, it was their fault for standing in the middle of the road; there were other places--better places--to socialize in than a crowded walkway.

By the time Gin located his room, which was further than he would have liked, the strap on his bag had made a comfortable notch into his shoulder, burying its enormous weight into his body. It sank into his joint and, not for the first time, Gin regretted having brought all the things he did.

Exhaling deeply, the brunette raised his hand and knocked loudly on the door; his knuckles rapping smartly against the wooden panel. But, after a minute's pause and no answer, Gin figured that no one was home and helped himself to the space.

Inside, the room was no different from his last. The two beds were pushed against opposite walls; their frames an aged, but common wood with plastic finish. The desks, unoccupied and empty, sat at the foot of the bed--the furthest away from the singular window, which oversaw a boring scenery of trees and more trees. In general, the room, with its threadbare carpets and white-washed walls, was like any other dorm in any other university--hopelessly uninviting, terribly impersonal.

Setting his luggage onto the left-hand bed, which groaned under the newly introduced weight, Gin rubbed at his aching shoulder. Next year, he decided, he was going to invest in a rolling suitcase.

AXE made it to the dormitory without too much difficulty despite the fact that he'd been playing playing guitar the whole way there with a bag in tow. His fingers were aching a little, he'd torn half of his ligaments following excessive playing and other finger-based activities during the summer and had made little to no time for recovery.

Taking a pause to open the door to his room, he slid inside with Alissa's neck going in first and walked to the bed, dropping the bag with one hand with a loud thud before sitting down and finishing his one man jam session with holy orders, a tune he'd overheard in an arcade once and actually quite enjoyed.

He paid very little attention to the actually quite dull decor of the room. Pulling his guitar stand out of the bag and setting up his precious tool, he would rummage through the rest and focus on its upcoming disposition. His yellowing, numb fingers doing a relatively poor job at handling the more technical items. He ended up accidentally dropping a frame to which he paid no particular attention, inside was a silver CD. He took a pause to reminisce his old days as he sat there, looking down at the broken glass.

Tristan finally found his room and was about to enter when he heard music from inside. Another music major? Figures the school would pair them up that way... He listened for a moment, glancing down towards his own guitar. Maybe he and his roommate could have some jam sessions together in the future...

He shook his head, knowing he was getting ahead of himself. He realized that the music had stopped while he was busy not-quite-reminiscing, and sighed. Better get the whole "first meeting" thing over with. He knocked on the door, a polite warning of intrusion, before opening it and stepping inside.

However, once he had done so, he found himself in the position of having no idea what to say. To cover up this fact, he busied himself with putting his bag on the bed and setting his guitar case on the floor. He carefully opened the case and took the guitar out to see if it had gone out of tune since he'd last checked it, oh, say, that morning when he first woke up. He sat on the bed and looked at an arbitrary spot on the wall, just thinking as he checked the notes, his fingers on autopilot as they did something they'd done countless times before.

Atreyu turned to look at his new roommate. Another music major, huh? Well... at least they'd have something in common. His last roommate was an artist who couldn't draw without complete silence, so their relationship had been strained at best. He wasn't expecting a sudden friendship or anything of the like, but someone who could understand and wouldn't get in the way of his creativity would be a nice change of pace. Maybe this year would be tolerable after all.

Without a word, he watched as the other young man tuned his guitar, something which he appeared to be doing without effort. This kid was no newbie, though considering he was at this school to begin with that was pretty much a given. He seemed to be using the standard tuning, which was pretty much the norm for most songs. Atreyu liked to mess with the tuning and scale down to drop A#, A♯-F-A♯-D♯-G-C replacing E-A-D-G-B-E. It was a tuning mostly used by metal bands but he occasionally used it in other genres. Of course, he hated limiting himself to the idea of a single tuning. When he mastered an instrument, he typically abused all of its possibilities and his guitar was his favorite amongst them all.

Finally, once the young man finished his tuning - something he chose not to interrupt out of respect for music rather than for his roommate himself - he extended his hand. "I am Atreyu..." He let out nonchalantly. "...let's not get in each other's way. Alright?" Tristan would have no way of knowing, but this was a sign that he was already on Atreyu's good side. He made a decent impression and the fact that he didn't introduce himself right away was proof he wouldn't be annoying. If he accepted to shake the dark-haired young man's hand, he would silently be agreeing to a pact of mutual tolerance.

Tristan looked up from his guitar and up at his new roommate. A slow smile spread across his face as he shook the offered hand. "Tristan. Deal." Seemed his roommate didn't hate him. That was a good start. Having people hate you got old fast. He'd learned that from fanatical haters, and then even his own former band.

He glanced down again at the guitar that had been his father's. He ran a hand through his white-streaked hair, took a breath, and began playing one of his dad's old songs. Lucas Nocturne had been a famous enough musician, and his tragic young death had made him even more so. But that had been thirteen years ago. Hardly anyone he met these days seemed to have a clue who his dad was. Maybe having people forget about you was even worse than having them hate you...

His mind began to wander as his fingers once again went through motions they'd done countless times before, betraying that this song was one of his favorites, one he played quite often. He liked to play it whenever he felt sad, which essentially meant that he played it every single day.

"Lucas Nocturne, huh? Nice... that one's one of his best in my opinion." He let out. Atreyu was a hardcore musician and an even bigger music lover who could appreciate all genres, so it was no surprise he would know Tristan's father. He never actually personally met the man, despite his rather successful career he wasn't from the same generation. Not knowing the name of his roommate he continued. "Did you know he has a kid who's in music as well?" He let out, getting back to his side of the room and grabbing his precious guitar Alissa, a custom model based on the EET FUK explorer. "Not quite on par with his old man yet, if you ask me. But he's getting there. Check him out if you have the chance."

With that, he tuned his guitar to fit the standard codes. Something which he did silently, he knew exactly how to tune his guitar, he'd played too much with the same exact one to screw that up. "Mind if I join?" He asked, raising his hand as if to prepare for his first note but waiting from his roomie's response. He didn't want to break a deal he had just made a minute ago.

Tristan's face froze as he heard himself talked of in such a manner, but he quickly recovered himself. "...Did you know he dedicated this song to his son?" he asked, more casually than he realized. After what Atreyu had just said, it would be awkward to suddenly say who he was right now. And actually, it could be kind of nice if his roommate didn't know who he was. He'd be judged on his own talent, not on how well he compared to his father.

He wondered if Atreyu had been enough of a fan to recognize the guitar. It was his father's favorite, one he'd frequently used onstage. Atreyu hadn't so far, and maybe if he played the song, he'd be distracted. "Sure, I don't mind." His fingers had been playing by themselves for all this time, and he decided to loop back to the beginning, to give more time to distract his roommate.

Atreyu smiled. "Really? I didn't know." He frankly uttered. He was a fan, but being fond of so many artist, he wasn't exactly an hardcore one, the only reason he knew about Tristan at all was because he went into music himself, he didn't know if the man had any other children and unless they started their own musical careers, he had to admit he didn't really care to know at all.

"Thanks, been a while since I played this one." He let out before following in on the song, his expression almost an amused one. Unlike his usual persona, the young man actually felt alive when he was in the middle of playing, it was a nice change of pace. Despite stating that he hadn't played the song in a while, Atreyu followed through without any mistakes. He'd played the song a few times in the past so there was really no excuse for a fuck-up, though it was the first time he played it for someone other than himself. "When you think about it, the lyrics make more sense now that I know who it was for..." He let out, half to himself, as they were playing. Lucas Nocturne had some great expectations for Tristan, if you trusted the lyrics of this song, and it was no wonder when you considered how his kid turned out.

Since the two guitars were tuned differently, the two sounds weren't exactly the same. There was no dissonance however, it was more like a perfectly united melody, two different sounds merging to become one. "Tristan, huh? Same name as Nocturne's kid... He's got the same guitar too... could be a copy though..." He thought to himself as he began singing the lyrics of the song. His voice was raspier and deeper than the original singer's due to his excessive smoking, but the notes and intonation were right so it worked. "Bah... He'll let me know for sure someday... not like it matters, anyway." He ultimately thought, dismissing the idea that he may be sitting across Tristan Nocturne. He was in a horrible position to judge the fingers of a man based on who gave birth to them considering how horrible his own parents were, and it's not like he could tell for sure from what little information he'd been given so far.

Tristan wondered as he played if Atreyu even knew the band had broken up. Probably not. He considered singing along with the lyrics, but didn't trust his voice not to crack. He'd only been five when his dad wrote this song, and he'd died a year later. Tristan hadn't really understood what any of it meant until many years afterwards.

He had to admit that Atreyu had some serious skills; but then, he knew that before he'd even entered the room. In some ways he was almost flattered to be referred to listen to his own music by someone like this. Atreyu was right about one thing though: Tristan still didn't match up to his dad's talents.

When they finally finished the song, he let it hang on the air for a few moments, savoring it, before looking up at Atreyu. "So what else do you play?" he asked, curious; surely this guy didn't only play songs that were fifteen years old. He blinked a moment; he hadn't actually really looked at Atreyu's face earlier, but now that he did, he was sure there was something familiar about it. Eh, it's probably just my imagination... he thought to himself. Lots of people looked similar to each other, there was no reason why this guy should be anyone he'd ever seen before.

"Hmm...?" He pondered, looking up to Tristan, his gaze had wondered off while he was singing and he'd lost himself in thought. Still, this guy had some talent and the first impression was good, so he could perform a song or two for him. Tuning his guitar back down to Drop A#, he cracked his knuckles and danced his long nails over the body of the guitar. He hadn't played any of the songs from his latest band since their break-up three years ago, so it felt weird to mentally prepare for one.

"This one never made it on record, the other guys couldn't follow... so it means nothing if I play it, right?" He wondered before running his finger along the bass cord and wrapping his left hand back around the neck of his guitar. Being left-handed and all... He began playing a decently paced heavy melody, something which would belong to 80s speed metal. The melody was heavy on the lower notes and he played in a way that it seemed like two different guitars were playing, holding some notes while continuing to play - a feet which required an insane amount of dexterity and practice - but what followed was simply horrifying.

The tempo kicked up towards the middle of the song at a 6.5NpS (notes per second) pace and he played at this rhythm for a good minute. By the time he was done his index and middle fingertips were bloody, but he continued to play on the tone he'd used at the beginning as a single drop of blood danced down the cord. When he realized he was bleeding, he came to an abrupt stop. "Oh... sorry..." He let out, getting some bandages from a small bag on his night shelf and wrapping them around his fingers tips. "I messed up... my fingering was off and at that pace you end up cutting yourself with that kind of mistake..." He sighed. The song was impressive, but he'd injured himself in the process and hadn't gotten to the best part. Guess that was the price to pay for trying to show off after slacking off for two years.

Tristan almost smiled and laughed, about to say something along the lines of "Yeah, I remember seeing my dad fumbling with the bandages after he'd gotten carried away," but stopped himself. First of all, it wasn't cool to hide behind his dad's experiences instead of his own; second, he still hadn't told Atreyu who he was. Instead, he set his own guitar back in the case and fiddled absently with one of his white streaks. "Maybe after they heal a bit you'll play it again for me. It's been a long time since I've heard playing that intense, even on a recording..."

He closed the guitar case and slid it under his bed for now, going back to his bag to start putting stuff away properly. Anything to keep his mind from obsessing about his dad right now, even boring, mundane, organizational stuff. It would be clear from his body language that he had no expectations of Atreyu playing for him again, but his words made it clear that he'd be open to it if Atreyu wanted to. It wasn't in his nature to assume much of anyone or to take things for granted. He'd lost too many things in his life already to assume they'd always be there...

"Give me a day." Atreyu let out with a smile. It wasn't just for Nox, he was anxious to try out that song again. Somehow, he had a bit of his motivation back, just a bit, but enough to set himself back to trying seriously. "They'll have scabbed by then." He uttered as he snapped the bandage, it was a clean wrap around each individual digit that didn't limit the motions of his hand, it was obvious that he was used to this type of quick fix. With those words, he wiped the cords of Alissa with a clean cloth to make sure he didn't get any blood on them and set it back on its stand. He could afford battle scars, but his guitar couldn't.

"You heading to the lounge once you're all set? Might be a good idea for a new student..." He asked, his tone back to its disinterested neutrality. If it wasn't music, it was barely worth talking about. That much would be clear even in the eyes of Tristan from his little interractions with Atreyu. For some reason, he felt driven to make a proposal which was completely out of his own character. "If you ever plan to start a band let me know, I could do vocals... lead or backup guitar... I have a bass too." It might've been just momentary, but right now Atreyu had one pulsion; the need to get back into music.

Tristan heard Atreyu's admittedly disinterested advice that he should head down to the lounge, and considered it. Maybe if he could stay on the edges again it wouldn't get to him. He decided against bringing his guitar down. Too precious, not to mention large. It would be easier to escape a crowd if he were unencumbered.

When he heard Atreyu's offer to start a band, he slowly turned around, a grin spreading wide on his face. A band of all-elite musicians, all here on their own musical talents... They would blow his old band out of the water with their skill; he'd probably never have to worry about being stuck with all the work, these people would all be pros on their own. He'd never have to stop working on a song because his bandmates couldn't handle it. Now that...could definitely be something interesting... "...I'll keep that in mind..." he assured Atreyu, the almost wicked grin still plastered to his face, his sunglasses making him look almost demented.

He realized that he'd already decided to go down to the lounge and there was nothing for it but to go try. He grabbed a fresh pocket notebook (for writing any song ideas into immediately when he thought of them) and turned towards the door. "...See you around," was all he said before leaving the room to make his way to the lounge.

"Yeah..." Was the only reply that came out of Atreyu as Tristan left the room. Leaning back into his bed and crossing his arms as a makeshift additional pillow, he looked up at the ceiling with a relaxed expression. He didn't particularly feel like going down to the lounge. But perhaps he'd take the time a little later. At any rate, he wouldn't be part of the crowd that poured in when the doors opened, that much was for certain.

Thinking back about this little last minute practice, his mistake and the prospect of starting a new band, Atreyu was expressionless. It was an unexpected turn of events for him to find a roommate who was so compatible with his own lifestyle. "Huh..."

Shifting around to the side, he would run his hand down to his pocket and pull out his Viceroys, fidgeting with the edge of the pack as he allowed himself to think back to his first day at this school. In comparison to that, this year was beginning rather well. Almost ridiculously so. "...maybe this year won't suck after all." He let out to nobody in particular, reaching out with his leg to kick closed the door Tristan had left open for him.