The Grand Foyer

Aimee held herself tensely as the violinist came running out. The girl was, to be frank, a sobbing mess, and she had no idea what to make of it. What had happened...?
She started forward, glancing over at the auditorium doors. Kimeko's name was called and Aimee watched as the harpist went over to the doors. Kimeko blew Aimee a kiss and her eyes narrowed as she entered. The nerve of her... was it mean of her to pray for Kimeko's loss? She supposed it was, but still...

Aimee sighed and continued on over towards Kathrine. She knelt down on her knees, picking up a sheet and handing it towards the violinist. "Are you okay?" The girl, previously poised and confident, looked as if her world had come crumbling down.

"... What?" Aimee asked incredulously. "You- You can't-" she was speechless. Would she really give up her music career because of one messed up audition? What exactly happened? What had she been told? She shook her head.

"Let's get all your stuff, first," she said, wincing as the violinist jammed her instrument back into its case. She could easily imagine the bow strings tearing, the wood scratching or cracking under pressure. "What happened?" she asked. She wasn't curious - she was concerned. Unlike most of the others, Aimee didn't care at the moment if the girl was a better player or not, whether she had just screwed up and given Aimee a better chance of making it. She reached towards the case to adjust the violin into its proper position.

Music floated out from inside the auditorium, and many of the waiting auditionees froze in their place - Aimee being one of them. She turned as the melody started, and her eyes widened at the familiar tune. A violin and harp rendition...? But Kimeko had entered alone -everyone else who had been inside, the secretary man and so on, had exited (oddly enough). Then, was it-
Aimee stopped caring as the chorus came in and she lost herself to the music. It was more than just a song - it was a feeling. It was serene, it was ethereal... It was the prime example of why Aimee loved music so much.

And it was stopping.
The end of the song left everyone in a muted silence that was only interrupted as the double doors slammed open and shut as Kimeko stormed out. Aimee raised her eyebrows - so it hadn't gone well?
Hah. But who had she played with? Little Seung Pyo? ... Probably. He was a violinist extraordinaire, after all.

Aimee gave a reassuring smile as Katherine squeezed her hand. She peered over her shoulder at Jason, who stood awkwardly a few feet away. He could handle people well enough. Crying girls, though... not so much. He edged closer and picked up the violin case, and she turned back to the violinist and listened.

Throughout Katherine's explanation, Aimee's expression grew darker and darker. She sat in silence by the time the girl finished, and her fists were clenched. To pick up a phone call during the midst of an audition... how could he? Choi Seung Pyo sounded like a nightmare! It was a shame that he and Kimeko hadn't stuck together - Aimee doubted anyone else would take either of them. Jason placed a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up. Although his expression was irritated, he nodded at Katherine. Priorities first.

She stood up, extending a hand to the violinist.
"I wouldn't give up if I were you," she said. "Even though I didn't get to hear you..." she trailed off. How could she word it? "Well, I already thought you were an amazing player as you walked through the doors. You were so calm, you see... and um, really composed. Anyone who's worthy to listen would know that." Choi wasn't worthy. At all.

"Nnnn," Aimee shook her head, grinning sheepishly. "Despite all that, I think you still look better than half the people here. Including me. I'm jealous." She laughed at Katherine's remark and gave a shrug. "Keep your chin up. I'll be sure to try my best, then. Wouldn't want to let anyone down." Aimee was surprised at the hug, but returned it nonetheless, albeit hesitatingly.
She waved as the violinist went on - Jason merely nodded his head and said "Good luck." She looked up at him, sighing.

"If it weren't for the phone call, do you think she would have gotten the position?"

He shrugged, raising his hands defensively. "Don't look at me, I'm no band geek, orch. dork... music nerd... whatever it is. But ah... what happens, happens, eh?" He nudged her in the side. "I'd love to tell you to get the position and quit on him, but I don't think I'd be the supportive brother by doing that."

Jason clapped her on the shoulder as her name was called. "Good luck, Sa-Hae... not that you need it, of course." He grinned. "That's a line severely over-used, isn't it?"
Aimee rolled her eyes at her brother. "Yes, Jason. But... I believe that's one of the only times you actually complimented me. Should I record this date down?"
"No. Not funny. Just go in there and do whatever! I'll be waiting out here." He waved and head back towards his seat.

Aimee gave him a mock-salute and turned towards the attendant. Despite all her small talk with Jason, the butterflies had come back, stronger than ever. She smiled at the man nervously and pulled on the doors, heading in and praying to the deities that she wouldn't mess up... or throw up.

Aimee backed her way out of the auditorium, tugging off her gloves with her teeth and stuffing them into her pocket. The crowd was sparse, now - what was left were a few straggling passerbyers and fans that still lingered, hoping to see their idol come around again. Her brother - sitting by the window - stood up as soon as he spotted her. He met her halfway, looking at the girl expectantly.

"I saw Mr. Posh-and-Mighty leave - nearly half the crowd followed him," he laughed, recalling the fangirls that had nearly spazzed out. "Well? Were you absolutely spectacular, or were you absolutely spectacular?"
"High and mighty, Jason." Aimee smiled wryly, shaking her head with a ginormous shrug of the shoulders. "Don't call us, we will call you. That's the polite way of saying 'you suck', is it not?"
"Ooooh." Jason nodded sagely, sucking in breath through his teeth. He gave her a sympathetic look. "That must suck. The nerve of that little git-"
"Aren't you two about the same height?"
"Yes- No. That makes no difference! I'm older than him."
"And that matters... why? You don't even know him, Jason."
"Still. He shouldn't have the nerve to refuse you - You're Aimee Mitchelle! Jason the Great's sister. Was he a complete utter twat? Did you show him who's boss?"
"Um..." She elbowed the guy in the side and started walking, pushing the exit doors open. "He was everything you - and I - expected. Mad genius with music, completely crappy personality. Massive ego... a bit like you, really?"
"I knew it," the boy ranted. "I expected as much when- Hey! I'm nothing like him."
"You're right," she laughed. "I'm guessing he's probably smarter than you."
"...Oi. I'm going to take what you just said as post-traumatic stress and let it fly by." The boy easily caught up with her and turned around, walking backwards. "What are you planning on doing now, then?"
"I dunno, you tell me." Aimee bit her lip, squinting as the sunlight hit their faces. What was she going to do? "I'll head back home first, I guess. Check with with Mom and Dad, look in the newspapers..." she shrugged again. "Do what every unemployed idiot does."
"... You fail."
"That's why you love me, no?" The two siblings walked in silence together, content with taking the Muggle route home. Subways were interesting, so why not?

"... So, can I TP this Choi guy's house?"
"No... Troll his website, instead - less evidence."

Sixty seconds in a minute. 3,600 seconds in an hour, 86,400 seconds in a day. 604,800 seconds in a week, and something-illion seconds in a month. That was a lot of time.

It had been exactly that —a lot of time— since Aimee both first and last stepped into the Hoeng-Jae Concert Hall, yet it was still exactly the same. Dryly, she fancied the thought that the building would still remain pristine if everything else in the world were to end. Its owner, after all, was a very stubborn man. 
Not much had changed for her, either. Her hair may grown, yes, life still worked exactly the same, but whatever awkwardness she felt in her everyday life seemed to lift, however slightly, from her shoulders the moment she walked through those crazy-posh doors. She wasn't really sure what to make of it, actually, but that was not something to be thinking about now, bad conscience. She took in a deep breath and let it out in a big whoosh, eyeing the front desk and the lady behind it like they had personally offended her. Moseying over with a "Hey there, checking to see if I still have a job after disappearing like a Houdini Jr?" was the only plan she had, but it was, admittedly, a rather bad one. Would her name still even be on record, or would the big man have written her out in a fit of pique after the first week?

... Would the receptionist even know who Houdini was?

To Aimee's ears, the music that drifted out the auditorium reeked of melancholy. It was one of those pieces, the ones that always left Aimee with a hollow feeling in her chest or blinking away tears. The song enough made the girl slow in her approach because she did not want to deal with whatever that was, but her stride quickly recovered from its hesitation. If she didn't do this now, she would probably run away again.

She regretted that thought promptly two syllables later. 

When the voice called out in the room, trickling like ice down her neck, she already knew who it was — of course she did, how could she not? That could not prepare Aimee for the slim figure of her former... acquaintance, however, as she turned around. She stiffened as arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a hug that made her downright queasy.
"Tanaka." There was a long pause before Aimee added on a reluctant suffix. "...san. How nice to see you again." The tone of her voice suggested anything but — rather, it sounded as if she had eaten a stack of particularly sour lemons. The harpist had a smirk on her face that would make even the devil run away, so forgive Aimee for her less-than-positive reaction but she was nothing but wary at the moment. She pulled on some half-baked excuse for a smile. "I didn't know... that you'd stayed in England, that is."

Aimee pulled back ever so slightly, shrugging out of Kimeko's hands — she would be lying if she said that the woman didn't make her uneasy. She looked as perfectly angelic as the last time that Aimee had seen her... meaning, of course, that she was probably about to spring out some evil shenanigan of a sorts. It was a Slytherin-esque trait, although judging by the people Aimee had met already, it seemed as if most of the people from Mahoutokoro were like that.

Her smile, already straining to stay pleasant, froze at Kimeko's barbed remark, and she offered a vague shrug. "And I am sure that you are fitting that job description perfectly. A harp could be an excellent choice of an instrument... if you could even get it in tune long enough." Eager to be done with their small talk, her eyes strayed toward the auditorium doors. "That's the director, right?"

“I’m sure it is,” Aimee replied vaguely. Her interest in the conversation was draining faster than quicksand; Kimeko had made her stance quite clear already, and the sooner Aimee got away the better. She would prefer to avoid getting in a battle of egos, thank you very much. Exchanging false smiles and barbed comments with the harpist would be just as pleasant as bashing her head against a cement wall.
Multiple times.

Focusing her direction wholly on the music instead, Aimee tipped her head towards the double doors. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “But it’s not perfect – that’s not the point of it, we’re not cyborgs.” Her brow furrowed as she struggled for words. “It’s the way the music cries. With the rush of the triplets and then the constant repetition…” she trailed off, shrugging. “Each of the notes resonate with a purpose. You can’t help but feel the bittersweetness that it’s trying to convey.” This was why she enjoyed communication through music over verbal parrying. Unfortunately, society didn’t seem to agree with her.

“Anyway,” the girl coughed. “I guess I’ll wait until he’s done, then, doing his… thing.” She closed her mouth, ending with what she hoped was an nonchalant smile aimed towards Kimeko. Choi was not known for his sympathetic nature... he would see her if he felt like it, but she truly did not wish to know what would happen if he didn't.

Aimee pulled away from Kimeko’s condescending hand, a jerk reaction as she glowered at the pretentious woman. She did not mind the offenses to her name, but the ignorance that Tanaka flaunted as ‘high-caliber’ was starting to fray her final nerve. Her musical depth – or lack of – was becoming apparent with her inflexibility in perception. She opened her mouth to snap a reply, but whatever would have slipped out of her mouth turned into a stammered greeting as Secretary Woo seemed to appear from out of nowhere. Was he a wizard, as well? Aimee bowed quickly, straightening from a respectful ninety-degree angle as she acknowledged his statement with a small nod.

It was only when Secretary Woo left that she allowed the smallest of smirks to curve her lips. It was a dangerous game, opposing Kimeko, but Aimee reckoned that the girl probably deserved a good bit of humiliation to bring her down from whatever pedestal she had put herself on. It did not take long for the playing to come to an abrupt stop, however, and just like that it was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head, vanquishing whatever small triumph she had felt at the one-up over Tanaka. What would Choi say? Would he demand that she leave? Yell at her? The man was an enigma, and she found her smile slipping off when Secretary Woo came back, bringing the director with him. He looked as polished, as ever, impassive and indifferent to the surroundings around him. It was in complete contrast to how Aimee herself was feeling, as she managed a polite smile and bowed deeply once more.

“Director Choi.”

Aimee watched Kimeko cling to Seung Pyo with neutral indifference. She kept her hands clasped in front of her as she met the director's eyes steadily, tamping down the urge to shift from foot to foot. His warm and caring personality - or lack of - was as apparent as always. It would be easy to avoid his icy stare and lower her head, but she couldn't lose her dignity now. It was not as if he had no reason to be angry, after all. His orchestra was one of the best, and everyone knew that it was an honour to be part of it; players changed constantly as better people replaced those who couldn't keep up. For her to disappear without any warning… well. There was probably no excuse in the world that he would accept, she guessed.

“I’m here to formally apologize for my absence,” she said, bowing again. "I recognize my actions inappropriate, and am willing to pay any penalties or compensate for any losses." What she really wanted to do was ask if she could still play, but that would be impolite. Her eyes flickered over towards Kimeko; she was likely getting a kick out of this. Even though Aimee hardly knew the girl, she knew that anything that humiliated others only fed the her ego.

Aimee could not help but fidget under Choi’s scrutiny. She was never one to hide her true feelings on any matter, but wearing her heart on her sleeve didn’t always help her. Now, uncertainty painted her face nervous as she matched the director’s gaze. A small hope had been kindling inside her for the past couple of days, no matter how much attempt she put into smothering it. True talent was rare, and she prayed that the orchestra would be desperate enough – or, just maybe, they would value her enough – to allow her to keep her spot. Severe penalty, possibly. Harsh punishment, probably. She would, quite frankly, take whatever they would give her.

Choi’s eyes were unfathomable, drawing people in like pools unmistakably deep. Keeping her own gaze was like standing before a trial, jury and all. His expression was indiscernible and she couldn’t help but look away, but his words told a different tale. If she were a poet, she would describe them like the sun emerging from what had previously been a sky hidden by clouds. She would give odes to the music she had heard from his answer to her prayers and praise the tone of his voice like a god to be worshipped.

But of course, she was no poet. Rather, she hated poetry. So confusion, quickly chased by realization and finally amazement spread across her face as she struggled to hide the grin that threatened to spread from ear to ear. She bowed – so much deeper and more honest than she would have given to any other person save her family – and let out a breath that she hadn’t even realized she had been holding. “I thank you for you kindness. I promise that you won’t regret your decision.”