Lang Noriega-Vos (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lang_noriegavos) wrote2016-11-19 12:35 am
lang_noriegavos) wrote2016-11-19 12:35 am
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[a/n: this could count as a verrrrrry late entry to the Halloween comment fic party on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
openveinwriting but it wasn't intended to be]
Lang shoved her hands into the pockets of her tuxedo pants as she watched the stage crew rearrange the stage for the second half of the concert. The giant pipe organ’s central console was pushed off one side and the rows of chairs for the cellos and violas were given breathing room in the now-free space.
On the other side, near where she stood, she watched the big, black grand piano being pushed out onto the stage. It was such a commanding instrument and took up so much space on the floor. She felt in the way, like she was imposing on people. But it wasn’t like it was a cello or a violin. She couldn’t move it even if she wanted to.
She reached behind her head and pulled her hair around, over her left shoulder, letting the curls cascade over her chest. Her eyes turned toward what little of the audience seating she could see. Most of the patrons had filed out into the lobby for intermission but a few remained in their seats, chatting quietly or reading the programs. She had watched the first half of the concert from the audience side and knew it wasn’t a full house.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Hm?” Lang turned and saw her friend Keiko standing at her side. She hadn’t noticed the younger woman come up. “Oh.” She turned her attention back to the piano. “I was just thinking.”
“I noticed,” Keiko said, tucking her violin under her elbow. “Are you going to tell me what about?”
“What I’m going to do when this is over,” Lang answered.
Keiko cocked an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Most of us go home.”
Lang smiled. “No, I mean in the spring,” she said, shaking her head.
“I hope you realize there are a lot of people who want you to stay, Lang. Yannick being one of them.”
Lang looked beyond her friend’s shoulder to the man in question. Every so often, she could hear his voice or the sound of his bright laughter as he chatted with other members of the orchestra. He was their conductor and music director, but more than that, he’d become a friend and an advocate for everyone.
“Have you thought about just taking a leave of absence?” Keiko continued.
“No, I haven’t,” Lang answered, bringing her eyes back to her friend.
“Nobody figured you had, to be honest. And you should. You don’t need to leave outright. Have that baby, recuperate, do your rock thing. Then come back to us.”
Lang shoved her hands back in her pockets and stared at her shoes. She could almost make out her reflection in the black patent. “We both know I don’t really belong here, Keiko. I have a fake music degree—.”
“And half of us had heard of you before you even got here. Most of us don’t have the name recognition you have. You may have gotten here in an unconventional way, but that doesn’t make you any less deserving. And fuck, can you play. I can see it in your eyes, Lang, this is home to you.”
openveinwriting but it wasn't intended to be]Lang shoved her hands into the pockets of her tuxedo pants as she watched the stage crew rearrange the stage for the second half of the concert. The giant pipe organ’s central console was pushed off one side and the rows of chairs for the cellos and violas were given breathing room in the now-free space.
On the other side, near where she stood, she watched the big, black grand piano being pushed out onto the stage. It was such a commanding instrument and took up so much space on the floor. She felt in the way, like she was imposing on people. But it wasn’t like it was a cello or a violin. She couldn’t move it even if she wanted to.
She reached behind her head and pulled her hair around, over her left shoulder, letting the curls cascade over her chest. Her eyes turned toward what little of the audience seating she could see. Most of the patrons had filed out into the lobby for intermission but a few remained in their seats, chatting quietly or reading the programs. She had watched the first half of the concert from the audience side and knew it wasn’t a full house.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Hm?” Lang turned and saw her friend Keiko standing at her side. She hadn’t noticed the younger woman come up. “Oh.” She turned her attention back to the piano. “I was just thinking.”
“I noticed,” Keiko said, tucking her violin under her elbow. “Are you going to tell me what about?”
“What I’m going to do when this is over,” Lang answered.
Keiko cocked an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Most of us go home.”
Lang smiled. “No, I mean in the spring,” she said, shaking her head.
“I hope you realize there are a lot of people who want you to stay, Lang. Yannick being one of them.”
Lang looked beyond her friend’s shoulder to the man in question. Every so often, she could hear his voice or the sound of his bright laughter as he chatted with other members of the orchestra. He was their conductor and music director, but more than that, he’d become a friend and an advocate for everyone.
“Have you thought about just taking a leave of absence?” Keiko continued.
“No, I haven’t,” Lang answered, bringing her eyes back to her friend.
“Nobody figured you had, to be honest. And you should. You don’t need to leave outright. Have that baby, recuperate, do your rock thing. Then come back to us.”
Lang shoved her hands back in her pockets and stared at her shoes. She could almost make out her reflection in the black patent. “We both know I don’t really belong here, Keiko. I have a fake music degree—.”
“And half of us had heard of you before you even got here. Most of us don’t have the name recognition you have. You may have gotten here in an unconventional way, but that doesn’t make you any less deserving. And fuck, can you play. I can see it in your eyes, Lang, this is home to you.”