The afternoon sun streams through the tall windows of the city conservatory, casting long shadows on the stage where the orchestra is slowly assembling. The murmur of musicians tuning their instruments fills the air, a familiar prelude to practice. Among the bass players, a gap stands out conspicuously where Louis normally would have been.
“Where’s Louis?” murmurs Emma, plucking a few warm-up notes on her double bass. “He’s been gone for a while now.”
“Yeah, it’s not like him to miss this much practice,” adds Jonas, glancing towards the empty space. “Especially not without a heads-up.”
As they speculate, the door to the auditorium remains ajar, offering a fleeting glimpse of the world outside. Just then, Roxanne passes by the open door. She pauses, her eyes briefly scanning the interior, lingering on the empty spot among the bass players. Her expression is blank, tinged with melancholic resignation, as if forcing herself to detach from concerns about Louis. With a slow, almost reluctant shake of her head, she continues on her way, her steps echoing faintly down the hallway.
The scene shifts from the sunlit order of the conservatory to the dim, pulsating heart of an underground warehouse. Here, Louis is in the midst of a different kind of rehearsal. Surrounded by stacks of speakers and makeshift lighting, he stands with a bass guitar slung across his chest, plucking out a rhythm under the watchful eyes of Arven and Isa.
“Remember, it’s not just about hitting the notes. Feel the groove, let it carry you,” Arven instructs, his voice competing with the reverberations around them.
Isa chimes in, her fingers deftly adjusting a knob on an amplifier. “And forget some of that stiff classical posture. Rock is more… laid back, more fluid.”
Louis nods, his fingers awkwardly adjusting to the new instrument—so different from the upright bass he is accustomed to. He plays a few bars of a rock riff, the sound raw and more visceral than anything he’d played in the conservatory.
“Better,” Isa says with a nod, a small smile cracking her usually serious demeanor. “You’re getting the hang of it.”
As Louis grows more comfortable, the music they create together begins to take on a life of its own. The warehouse, with its graffiti-tagged walls and echoes of rebellion, feels worlds away from the structured elegance of the orchestra. Yet, here, Louis feels a different kind of harmony, one that resonates with the deepest parts of his soul.
The session continues, with Isa and Arven introducing Louis to the core of their setlist, steering clear of the generic AI-generated tunes that dominate the airwaves. Each song they play is a statement, a pulse of life in a world that often feels too controlled, too sanitized.
As they wrap up for the day, Louis feels a surge of exhilaration mixed with a pang of conflict. In this clandestine gathering of defiant musicians, he finds a spark that promises something more—a promise of freedom, of expression, of finding his true voice.
Isa grabs the remote and plops down on the old, battered couch. She flips through the channels, the screen flickering with various ads and reruns of old shows, until she lands on a news channel. The headline is ominous: “Local Authorities Crack Down on Illegal Rock Performance.”
“Check this out,” Isa calls, her voice drawing the others’ attention to the TV.
Arven, handing a cold beer to Louis, glances at the screen and scoffs. “Again? These guys never give it a rest, do they?”
Louis accepts the beer, his fingers wrapping around the cool surface. He takes a seat beside Isa, his eyes fixed on the footage of police raiding a small venue, the chaos of the scene a sharp contrast to the peaceful end of their own session. “Does this happen often?” he asks, the reality of the risks involved starting to sink in.
“More than we’d like,” Arven replies, leaning against a wall and taking a long sip from his drink. “It’s a cat-and-mouse game. We play, they chase. Keeps things exciting, I guess.”
Isa shakes her head, her expression a mix of annoyance and defiance. “It’s not just about excitement or the thrill of it, Arven. It’s about making a statement, showing that they can’t just silence us.”
Louis nods, the weight of his decision to join this world becoming more real. “Doesn’t it scare you, though? The risk of getting caught?”
Isa glances at him, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Sure, it’s scary. But what’s scarier is a world where we can’t express ourselves, where everything is monitored and controlled. That fear, the one that tries to crush your spirit, makes taking the stage worth it.”
Arven claps Louis on the back, a grin spreading across his face. “Besides, it’s more fun when there’s a bit of danger involved. Keeps the blood pumping.”
Louis smiles, the camaraderie and passion of his new friends infectious. “I guess I’m starting to see it.”
The group’s attention returns to the TV as the reporter continues, detailing the repercussions for those caught in the raid. Louis watches, his resolve hardening. This isn’t just about music anymore; it’s about a fight for freedom—his freedom to be part of something genuine and powerful.
As the news segment ends, Isa turns off the TV and stands up, stretching her arms above her head. “Enough of that gloom. Let’s talk about tomorrow’s session. We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to get you ready for the our next gig, Louis.”
Louis, feeling a surge of excitement mixed with nerves, nods eagerly. “Can’t wait! Thanks for letting me join. It feels right, being here with you guys.”
Arven smiles, finishing his beer. “Welcome to the band, mate. It’s going to be one hell of a ride.”
Isa nods, a determined glint in her eyes. “We’re going to shake things up, just you wait and see.”
As they begin planning their next practice session, the warehouse fills with a sense of purpose and anticipation. For Louis, his path forward is clear now, lined with the sounds of bass lines and the solidarity of new friends who share his passion for music and rebellion. His time at the conservatory seems distant and disconnected from the vibrant, raw energy that now surrounds him. This is where he needs to be, where he feels alive.
As the evening wraps up and the deep, resonant notes of the session fade into the cool night air, Louis steps out of the warehouse with a feeling of exhilaration. The gritty chords and raw energy of rock music have fully gripped him, pulling him further away from his classical roots. Each throb of the bass under his fingers solidifies his resolve; he is not going back to the conservatory.
With the night around him buzzing with the city’s subdued energy, Louis drives through the quiet streets, his mind racing with possibilities. Tomorrow, he will return to that makeshift haven, as a committed member of the band. He is ready to dive deeper into this new world, to learn and grow under Isa’s and Arven’s guidance while Sona is away.
Isa’s determined voice still echoes in his head, “We’re going to shake things up, just you wait and see.” Louis believes her. Every part of him is ready to face whatever challenges come with being part of something so vibrant and defiant.
Louis, snapping back to reality, sees his conservatory pin on the dash of his car. Reminding him his formal training, his past philharmonic achievements. With a decisive motion, Louis drops the pin out the window, leaving a small metallic clink as it hits the road behind him.
A farewell to the past he knew all too well, the orchestra that he played in for years. He feels that it is time that he moves on. For the rest of the night, he wonders where the band will go and what they may one day achieve.
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