Meadowlark
Part: Largo
By: Loralei Fairhill
Rated: PG-13 (for language)
Genre: AR



I'm back again, minna-san. Although I can't 
promise I'll finish this little number anytime 
soon. I have really hard classes in school this 
year, and I've got mounds of work waiting for 
me. I'm happy I have my muse back, though! So 
you haven't lost me, but I'm going to say this 
right now: come spring, I'm gone, because my 
schedule will be twice the craziness it is right 
now. :( I hate to do it, but I've got to. Oh, 
and PLEASE write to me if you liked this!! ^_^


Dedicated to all those music teachers and 
fellow music students who know how truly hard 
it is to impart your love for the sound without 
having to sometimes be a bit harsh.



     The maestro rapped his baton against his 
short, black music stand to get the attention of
the orchestra; it was the only way for him to stop 
their warm-ups simultaneously and concentrate
on the piece of music they needed to tackle together.
     "B flat Major concert scale!" he barked over 
their not-so-silent murmurings. It took them quite 
a few moments to comply with his order. Sighing, he 
flicked the baton back and forth to keep the beat. 
Once again, the violins were behind, and the tubas 
were flat. Much to his chagrin, the drums decided 
to play with his mind and took the tempo of the 
simple scale too fast. So fast that the flutes 
had to stop; there was no way even their accurate, 
able-to-fly fingers could keep up.
     "Stop!" he commanded. "Silence!" Unfortunately, 
the sea of people in front of him had other ideas. 
Maybe it's something in the food that we feed them 
before they play, he thought, unsmiling. It was 
time for him to step down and show them who was boss.
     He hit the music stand one more time with his 
baton (for good measure), and walked angrily out 
of the room. 
     The silence ensuing was exactly what he had 
planned. Now if only it hadn't taken him cancelling 
the rehearsal to achieve it!

     He quickly ran out of the building, not noticing 
the petite woman who was following him carefully. He 
loosened the drab paisley tie from its tightly wound 
position around his neck as he reached his sleek black 
sports car that was parked a few feet from the hall 
next to the curb.
     A fluent strain of curses ensued when he reached 
it; the parking meter had mysteriously emptied again, 
and he had a very costly ticket sitting ever so 
innocently on his windsheild to pay.
     Sighing again, he walked around the other side, 
careful of on-coming traffic, taking the ticket with 
him, and opened the door. He looked up as he did so, 
and suddenly, the unnoticed woman was noticed.
     He grimaced. Not another one! he thought 
wretchedly. As if my day hasn't been bad enough, now 
I'm going to be on "autograph signing duty!!" Unbeknowst 
to him, he had said the last part aloud.
     The woman laughed, a high, light sound that 
shocked him right out of his bad mood. He took a better 
look at her before getting in his car and shutting 
the door. Long blond hair flowed from two buns 
adorning either side of her head, and bangs floated 
gently down to touch the alabaster skin on her 
forehead. Two bright sky blue eyes stared into his 
with a frank expression. To his outrage and amazement, 
she opened the passenger's side and got in herself.
     "What the hell do you think you're doing in my 
car, young lady?" he asked in his most stern, fatherly 
bass voice. It was a hard act for him to pull off, 
especially because his normal voice was a baritone, 
and he wasn't a father yet. He didn't even have a 
girlfriend; he was fresh out of college and just 
trying to make ends meet, so he convinced himself 
that he didn't have the time.
     She laughed again. Ah, but he thought he could 
get use to that bright, wonderful sound flowing from 
her mouth so easily. If every admirer had her laugh, 
he mused, life wouldn't be so very difficult.
     "Do you do anything except laugh?" he asked 
teasingly, and she immediately sobered.
     "As a matter of fact, I do," she replied 
flippantly. "That's why I've been following you. You 
see, I have a proposition for you," she told him.
     "And what makes you think I'll agree to your 
‘proposition,' or that I even want your help doing 
whatever it is you propose?" He couldn't just accept 
offers from random people. For all he knew, she was
just another crazy woman who wanted to get her hands 
down his pants as fast as possible.
     "From the look on your face . . . I'd say that 
you're probably thinking I'm some crazy lady who 
wants your body," she said.
     "Will wonders never cease? The lady is a 
mind-reader as well as a stalker!" he quipped.
     She growled in frustration, suddenly displaying 
unladylike behavior towards him. "Would you stop 
kidding around and listen to me seriously? I want 
to help you with the orchestra."
     It was his turn to laugh. "That bunch of 
failures? They're going to amount to nothing. There's 
no way in hell I can get them to turn out one good 
piece of Mozart this side of next year. Whatever 
you do, you're going to be in for it as bad as I am."
     "They're not failures," she said quietly, 
"they're wonderfully talented musicians, if you'd
just give them the chance!"
     He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You talk as 
though you're one of their raucous band," he said 
suspiciously.
     "Maybe I am," she replied. "Does it matter 
all that much? What if I told you that together
we could make them play as they never had before? 
What if I told you that I know every single person 
in there was once great or has the potential to be 
that way? What if--"
     "Enough already! I see your point. Where do 
you fit in here, though?" 
     "What do you mean?" she asked innocently, 
her blue eyes wide.
     Oh, God, her eyes are like a sonata played 
on the sweetest violin of all, he thought. What
am I doing? Damn it, I'm going mushy on myself! 
"I mean, what will you get out of this? Everyone 
I've ever met seems to want something or other 
from me, even those bozos in that concert hall 
over there. Give me one good reason why I should 
let you help me."
     She was more than angry, she was outraged. 
To think that the man thought she wanted something 
out of this! "I get self-satisfaction from just 
knowing that we're going to be amazing with you 
conducting," she said through gritted teeth. "Not 
everyone wants something from you, you know! And 
I already gave you several reasons. So either 
take my deal or leave it!" she said shrilly.
     "Woah, hey! I didn't mean to offend, lady. 
I want them to play! But . . . I know you do
want something from me, even if it's small and 
insignificant. . . ."
     She lowered her head, admitting, "I want the 
chance to prove myself. Let me play with you in 
the orchestra, and I swear, we will be great," she 
vowed.
     He let out a slow breath, thinking 
distainfully: Everyone has to want something. 
"Fine. But I have to hear you first. What 
instrument?"
     She shrugged. "Take your pick. I play all 
the strings except the bass or double, flute, 
clarinet, oboe, saxophone, french horn, harp. When 
asked, I'll play the piano, but that's not usually 
a concert instrument, and I sing as well both soprano 
and alto parts," she finished, once again smiling. 
She had one up on him, finally.
     His mouth hung open, flabbergasted. So many! 
And she was just a small little thing sitting meekly 
by his side. . . . "How about all of them?" he asked, 
grinning along with her. This talent, I have hear 
this talent! She must be a musical genius to play 
them all!!
     "Name the time and place and I'll be there."
     "Tomorrow, five o'clock sharp, the concert hall 
behind us," he said, jabbing the air with his thumb 
towards the somber marble building. For some reason, 
the thought of seeing the woman sitting next to him 
gave him a sense of great joy he'd never felt before.
     "I'll see you then," she said mysteriously, 
and got out of the car. She slammed the door, and 
waved to him from the curb as he drove off, then 
started her own ardrous trek home. What waited for 
her would not be pleasant, but necessary to deal with. 
She sighed unhappily. Well, atleast I have the hope 
of becoming my dream, she reminded herself. Her 
day seemed incredibly brighter after she remembered 
that one fact: Darien was going to give her a chance.





Comments, questions, criticisms, helpful hints, ideas,
things for me to help you with (ie pre-read or edit, I
just need you to ask me first before sending it on over
. . .) send here:

Loralei1300@aol.com

Just keep the flames away. I don't like being toasted,
and I'm sure you won't appreciate being burned back. I
only turn mean when I get bashed, b/c I can't stand a 
person who has no respect for the work I've poured into
all that I write!! If you don't like that policy, kindly
keep it to yourself, b/c I have no intention of changing
it. Oh, and have a nice day, minna-san!! ^_^