Demon x Human

This an RP forum for @Ducktard and me.

The demon Raum stopped before opening the door to his residence, taking a last glance in the hallway mirror, to make sure his disguise was working properly. He was using his powers of illusion to hide his very large horns and to normalize his eye-color, as humans didn't really take kindly to people who seemed to be ascosiated with the devil at these times. They already seemed to look oddly at him when he wore all black. Not that he couldn't have forced his way, but it really wasn't worth the hassle to create panic. After all, it was their world he was sort of entering.


He decided he was satisfied with the way he had hidden his more visible "abnormalities" and left the house, making his way to the Concert House. He supposed normally his days were rather boring, but the days he spent time there, he was mostly largely entertained and he even dared say happy. Music was a human invention he really could get behind. It was impossible to be bored by it because it would always, always find new ways to move and touch the mind, like an endless source


Eventually Raum was seated in the Concert Hall, along with the people of the town who could afford sitting there. They were all chatting and laughing, about their own gossip and secrets, of which Raum found none interesting or really important, but he supposed the reason for this was his old age. At an age of nearly 160 years old, much of what might have seemed important when he was 20, now seemed mind-numbingly mundane and un-important. Not that he was very old for a demon. He wondered briefly weather or not he would care about anything in a hundred years. Raum hoped this wasn't true. He didn't have a lot of time to reflect over it any longer, because the people around him turned more or less silent, as the music began filling the hall.


All the way until the interlude, Raum's mind was filled with nothing but music, as if he was being transported to a different world entirely, not thinking and only feeling melodies and tones, seeing colors and images of beautiful scenery. It was almost harsh to be returned to reality so suddenly when the interlude began. He really had little interest in the goings-on of this, so he stood up to have a little walk to stretch his legs.

Kyran peeked from behind the heavy velvet curtains that hid him from the public’s view. He looked around the concert hall’s admissions area. Full house. He smiles to himself, pride welling up inside him. He never tires of feeling grateful and fortunate for being where he is.


Well, he never seems to tire of feeling anxious either no matter how many times he’s performed in front of crowd. His heart begins to race, his hands cold and sweaty. The cello in his hands felt slippery.


“Feeling nervous?” his fiancée approaches him from behind.


Was it really nervousness he was feeling? He thought for a moment, then decided, “No. Anticipation,” he smiles at her.


She smiled back. “You’ll do great out there,” she kissed his cheeks before going off.


He hopes so. For the past few weeks and perhaps even months, he’s noticed a slight tremor in his hands. Occasionally, he would loss feeling of his fingers and other times he would experience pain or slight discomfort. Fearing that was getting worse and worried that it would affect his career, he had gone to see a doctor though they seem to have no knowledge of his condition.


The unknown condition greatly hindered his practice and he worried that he wouldn’t be able to do concert. But today, there hadn’t been any sign of tremors, pain, or discomfort. He closes his empty left hand, opens it, and repeats the action several times to test his evaluation.


Yes, his hands were in perfect condition, he confirmed. Yet he felt strangely unsettled by this. He shrugged off the feeling and decided to give the crowd his best performance.


Silence engulfs the crowd as he steps into the stage. When he reached the center, he bowed silently and took the seat without saying a word. He refused to speak during his performance. If he played with his soul, then no words should be necessary. Music speaks and tonight, it speaks for him.


A collective gasp escapes from the crowd as he begins to play the seemingly endless number of notes. He immersed in his own music, letting the succession of deep, full notes of the cello drown his ears. It was exactly because he was in this state that he immediately noticed the slightest change as he played the last few notes of the sonata. The crowd didn’t notice it, because it only lasted a split second and it was undiscernible to the untrained ear, but he knew that that final note was flat. Flat, because for just a split second, his fingers went numb.


After he finished his piece, he bowed again to the crowd before hastily leaving the stage, feeling anxious once again. This time, though, it wasn’t because of anticipation but of fear.


As he entered the back stage, all of his most important persons awaited him with delight on their faces, ready to congratulate him. The expectation in their faces compelled him to mask the fear that was building up inside him with a humble smile.


They began showering him with praises when he came close. It was supposed to make him feel confidence, proud; instead it filled him with dread and the desire to get away from them grew.


"Thank you for the kind words. I appreciate it. If you don't mind, I would like to take a quick breath of fresh air before the interlude ends."


He didn't wait for anyone's reply. He set his cello down as carefully and as quickly as possible in it's case before walking out of the concert hall. He went out the backdoor, and into the cool night breeze.

As some other humans exited the Hall during the interlude as well, Raum quickly withdrew to the outside of the hall. Solitude was something he couldn't really stand,but if there was something worse, it was solitude in the company of others. Even though their interests and interactions sometimes seemed tedious and trivial, there was one thing he envied. The fact that they were having interractions at all. He himself was nearly always by himself.


He was a demon, and there was a boundary of how long he could keep his traits hidden, and the townspeople who had seen him around were naturally sceptical of him. He lived outside of town, he often wore all black clothing. He skulked around mostly by himself, and he rarely participated in any town activity that didn't involve music. And unnbenounced to himself, he also gave off a dark aura. No one really knew his name. The loneliness even a creature such as himself could feel was sometimes overwhelming.


Raum decided to have a stroll around the building, as to distract these thoughts, thoughts he felt he should be too strong, or un-caring to have. They rendered him more lonely, there wasn't a demon in his life to whom he could tell about this, without being ridiculed and maybe even assaulted. He was sometimes tempted to agree with his own fathers assesment that he wasn't really cut out to be a demon at all. Walking didn't really disperse his thoughts he noticed, as he nearly walked into a figure at the back of the building, stopping only a few inches away from him. He stepped back a few steps


"I apologize, I was not paying attention to where I was going," Raum apologized, with his rather dark voice which didn't really match up with his appearance. He recognized the man as the performer he had come to see today, and he smiled lightly, unable to read the man's expression very well, as even though he had had nearly 78 years to learn how to do so while living here with the humans, he still hadn't quite mastered it. "I loved your performance it was beautiful," he then said.

He grimaced as the stranger praised him. As he thought, nobody heard the flat notes. He knew that the stranger’s words had no hidden meaning behind them, that it was simply just a praise. But he couldn’t help but feel as though he had cheated this person.


“I-I…” he stammered, feeling compelled to tell this stranger about his private mistake. He cleared his throat after before he blurted out his inner thoughts. His internal worries were not something that he can simply tell a stranger, and even if he did, the stranger would probably just laugh at him and call him silly for overplaying such a seemingly minor mistake. He wouldn’t understand.


“I thank you for coming tonight. I’m Raznic—” he offered his hand to the amiable stranger “—Kyran Raznic.” He paused. “But you obviously know that from the program already,” he said as he let out a low chuckle. “Do you frequent my concerts?” He realized that the question sounded rather self-important. “I meant to say that I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you in the crowd before, Mister…?”

Raum took the hand offered, his own hand was dressed in black, rather thick gloves, as it always was when he was among humans, to hide his black, and more importantly, slightly clawed nails. There was no reason to be inpractical just because he could hide them with his powers after all.


"Black, Raum Black," He said. Demons didn't deal in last names, and Black was a commonly used name which demons often took when they needed to introduce themselves, and one that the townspeople already knew him by. "I'm sad to say I've never had the pleasure before, I've recently been out of town, if not I'm sure I would have caught more, it was very enjoyable indeed."


Raum had recently had to vacate his house over some territorial disputes with a demon living near the forest edge of the forest which begun just behind Raum's house. The dispute had been rather tiring and completely without any merit, as Raum had been living in that house for 78 years and whatever this other lowlife thought, he had no claim to Raum's town. Luckily, Raum had been the stronger, older demon in the dispute for once, being able to avoid a physical fight all around. Raum had never concidered himself vain, but he'd rather not have ugly scars in his face or otherwise nonetheless.

"Mr. Black," he repeated, acknowledging the stranger's name. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said with sincere apology in his voice. "Well," he thought for a moment, "I suppose it's only a shame if you enjoy music. Do you enjoy music, Mr. Black?"


He asked out of sheer politeness. He was not in the mood, really, to strike a conversation; but he found that the humble exchange with this gentleman was keeping the more dreadful thoughts at bay. Perhaps he is only running away and the conversation was a mere distraction from the thoughts that seem to consume his psyche, but the relief he felt from it was so...liberating.


Perhaps, he really was just overplaying the mistake. Perhaps, nothing is wrong and it was all in his head. Perhaps...

Raum sensed no discomfort in the human, and kept his serene content face. Gone was all thoughts of his woes and focused was all his attention on this conversation. It was quite pleasant actually, and he often wished he had friends to communicate with. But as he'd concidered before, the humans seemed to notice something strange about him and didn't want to be ascociated with him, and the other demons... Well they all thought Raum was too mild mannered, or as they put it, too weak to bother being friends with.


"I adore music," He replied, his eyes lighting up just a bit, a slight gleam of excitement. "Music is such a wonderful thing, it transposes the Heavens the Earth and Hell, time and space, age and wealth. It can speak to all, if one lets it. It doesn't matter who you are when it comes to music." He'd gotten quite lofty he realized, sounding much like an old sentimental man, despite looking like he had just entered his twenties.


"Excuse me, I got a little carried away, I'm sure you already know this being a musician and all." He smiled lightly. "I've always admired people in your line of work, envied your ability to create."

Kyran smiled thoughtfully as he internalized the the gentleman's response. Mr. Black love for music was unmistakable; he saw it in the way his eyes lit up and in the way he spoke of music in such a high regard. It was rare, even for a musician like him, to see someone who saw music in such a profound light. He knew that Mr. Black was not talking about his music particularly; nonetheless, it made him proud to be in the profession that this man so obviously admired. He felt fortunate and grateful for the chance to invoke emotions in his audience, to speak to them in ways words never could. Wasn't that what he always aimed for in his performances?


"I don't mind it at all, Mr. Black," he said to him, "I completely understand the way you feel. Your perspective on music is quite uplifting. It isn't something I hear from people often; a philosophical exchange on the topic of music is quite uncommon, even in this profession." He gave a melancholic smile as he realized the regrettable truth in his words.


Being the firstborn in a family of musicians, a profession in music was not something he initially chose for himself. But somewhere along the hundreds of performances he had sit through, he had seen how music touches the depths of the soul and he had grown to love it and decided to dedicate a part of his life into perfecting his craft. Yet almost ironically, the more he is consumed by it, the more mechanical it seems to become. Read the music sheets and memorize every note, every element; omitting even one is unacceptable. Pay attention to the rhythm intended by the composer, you mustn't deviate from it. It is not your place to question or change what is written, it is a sign of disrespect. You must play how the composer intended the piece to be played!


Play the piece as it is written; those were the words his musical virtuoso parents had drilled into him over and over again as if music was a dead thing that can only be deemed perfect if played with calculation. A number of many musicians in his generation seem to think this way as well.


So a dynamic, living perspective of music, like Mr. Black's, was something much like light in a dark tunnel. It reminded him why he played the cello in the first place.

"I believe I know what you mean," Raum replied, thinking that he himself had never met a fellow demon who apprechiated music the way he did. Most of them saw it as something foolish humans did, something beneath them. Raum felt the opposite way, for him, music was something above them. And himself. And everyone.


Having lived as long as he had, Raum had of course thought of making an attempt at creating his own music. No music teachers would take him in, but having so much time on his hand made it not impossible to teach himself the piano. He had however, quickly discovered that whenever he himself played something, it became... In lack of a better term, soulless. He could play many pieces identically to the originals, but... It never sounded the same. It would always give off a sense of dread and emptiness. The demon had found that no matter how much emotion he invested, it did not matter.


The same happened if he tried to compose something. It always sounded... Off, out of place, ugly. Raum didn't even want to think what humans passing by might find in his music, when he himself, a creature from Hell foud it abseloutely abhorrent and disgusting.


"I believe it might be time to head back inside soon, thank you for taking the time to speak with me," Raum said, bowing slightly, before he began making his way back inside the hall.

"Ah, yes, it is time to head back in" echoing Mr. Black's remark. "I hope the rest of my performance doesn't disappoint you, Mr. Black," he says softly, completely aware that Mr. Black would not be able to hear him, before returning to concert hall through the back door.


As the time for his second performance draws in, he becomes aware of the slight trembling of his hands. He wasn't quite sure if it was the nerves or something else entirely. He wished he was able to tell Mr. Black of his worries that night. It's odd to want to tell a stranger about such serious matters, but if there was one person he didn't want to disappoint in the sea of faces in front of him, it was Mr. Black.


When he begins to walk the center stage, an accompanist follows him. He turns to him, and dismisses him which brought confusion to his face. After a wordless exchange, the accompanist hesitantly exited the stage. A hushed, confused discussion came over the crowd. It was understandable; the following set piece, Herr Schubert's Arpeggione, was written in the programme to be performed as a sonata for the piano and violoncello and was supposed to be played with a pianist. But Arpeggione's fast, playful notes were in complete opposition of his current emotions, and he felt that he would not be able to portray the piece the way it should be. It was unprofessional, perhaps, and selfish, but he wanted to play something more appropriate.


He bows to the crowd silently before taking the center seat. He softly begins to play the slow, somber notes from the Prelude of Bach's second cello suite, gradually building in volume. He closes his eyes, taking only the sound of the cello, and the movement of his hands against his instrument. He allows the rise and fall of the deep cello notes to take him and he becomes unaware of the curious and questioning looks in the crowd. He finishes the Prelude and proceeds to play the Allegro movement, pausing on for a short moment to hint the crowd that he had moved only to different movement in the suite. He plays smoothly and uninterrupted, lost somewhere in his mind and music, for almost ten minutes but as he enters the third movement, Courante, where there should have been a barrage of notes succeeding one after another, the music just... stop.


His eyes that were closed flies open as he looks at his own two hands in disbelief.

Returning to his seat amongst the chattering humans, Raum settled in ready to enjoy another stretch of time filled with music. He didn't like the fact that there wasn't that much time left, and he would soon have to return to his empty, tedious home. Of course, he could attempt to stay in town to pass his time, but he had learned long ago that that didn't really work very well.


The humans continued to chatter about trivial matters, that Raum half wanted to roll his eyes over, and half wished had something to do with him, so that he might care, and therefore also speak. A slight bout of shame seemed to well up in him, while he regretted the fact that he wished for friendship with humans. Maybe even for wishing for friendships at all- He wasn't even quite sure himself.


Again his self-pitying and rather gloomy thoughts were interrupted, by the humans going silent around him and the music starting yet again. He felt like he was settling down in his own mind, his very... Well he supposed he couldn't say soul, but his very being finding a mellow and relaxing, and no more upsetting or gloom-inducing thoughts were to be found.


The program-change didn't faze him much, he usually didn't read programs before seeing a show, as he felt it unescesarry, but he noticed the confusion around him for a moment. He closed his eyes and let the music fill up his mind, feeling in utter peace.


And then, it suddenly stopped. Raum opened his eyes and looked up towards the stage, as the mumbles of the crowd grew. He blinked in confusion. Something wasn't right.

Kyran's cello falls to the floor in a loud thud as he loses control of his own hands. He stares at it, motionless for a moment, as he himself tries to grasp what had just happened. He looks to the increasingly noisy crowd as the unrest grows, but he couldn't hear them over the deafening sound of his own beating heart. He picks up the cello to try to play again only for it to fall to the wooden floor, He wills his fingers and his hands to move. But--there was nothing. Move! but his fingers remained immobile.


"Kyran! What are you doing?!" he hears his father loudly whisper from the backstage.


He looks to him, then back to the audience with unfocused eyes. For the first time that night, he spoke to the crowd. Quietly, amidst the cacophony of the crowd, he says "I...can't move my hands. I can't feel anything on my fingers. I can't play the cello. I can't--I can't play music."


As the reality of the phrase hits him, he feels tears well up in the back of his eyes. But he would never let this impersonal, distant crowd to see him cry; he wouldn't if he wanted to salvage any dignity he has left after this. So to hold back the tears, he looks up toward the light that was shining on him, basking in it for only a short second before he walks off the stage with his head down, his expression unreadable.

Raum watched from his spot in the crowd, motionless. The uneasiness of the crowd seemed to grow at the same pace as his own, as the energy in the room turned from peaceful to chaos. The chatter of the crowd grew louder and louder, meanwhile Raum was attempting to see what was happening on stage.


He stared with searching eyes, only to land at the conclusion that the cellist must have fallen ill, the distress on his face couldn't be attributed to someone who dropped the isntrument on purpose. Inwardly Raum was saddened, but outwardly he was just the same. He decided he didn't want to stay here and watch this specacle any longer.


The demon stood up, pushing past confused audience members and left the Hall, breathing in the cold night air and looking up at the dark sky. He promised no one but himself that if there was ever another show after Mr. Raznic hopefully regained his health- Whatever problems he had suddenly come down with. Raum sighed. Humans were so fragile. Maybe it was best if he didn't get any as friends after all, the way they would die from him may be a bit much.


The demon began his trip back to his house on the edge of the town. He dreaded the emptiness, the dark halls and the too familiar walls with no life, but he found he had no excuse not to head home. It was late, and walking around after dark wouldn't help his reputation if someone saw him.