Critical Sneezing

[doggo]

Ok, this story is for my dearest friend VoOs. I hope this brings you some joy. Love you girl.

That is him! No doubt, that is him, Mr Darius Villazón, right in the front row! How can I... how could I ever perform before his steel-sharp, all-penetrating gaze? I had felt a bit envious first, I had, for Albin who was given such a fantastic chance to work with S---- philharmonics. And Rachmaninoff!. I love Rachmaninoff, how deep and bold it is, and this was the second piano concerto, nothing less. My hands were moving involuntarily, my breathing ran hot like fire, I wanted to be there playing with the orchestra so bad... until Villazón's face caught my eye – his sharp, dark features, his hawk-like profile, those long, refined fingers resting against his jaw. The true demon among critics, with that signature expression of pursed lips and slightly flared nostrils signaling imminent trashing. My hands froze still, I felt cold sweat pushing through my skin, and I couldn't help thinking with horror what it would have been like if it was I who was on the stage. I wasn't envious of Albin in the least anymore. Yet I couldn't help thinking: Marvelous! It's him! The sharpest pen an ears there was! Because trashing or not, in addition to a frighteningly handsome face, Mr Villazón had an impeccable taste. Like it or not, he had the rare and resentment-provoking talent of being in the right.

He left right after the concerto, and as depressing the sight of his back was to any aspiring musician when there was still more to be heard, I couldn't help noticing that he looked strange. He looked like he had been crying. How is that possible? Was it really so that this performance had moved the demon critic to tears? Sure it was quite good, but not that special. Perhaps there was something in it that I couldn't have noticed, something that was on way too high a level for me to understand, some glimpse of genius only a masterful ear like his could catch. I wanted to know, and tell Albin. It was almost impossible to keep myself from running after him.

–

Back in the lobby Mr Villazón loosened his tie with one hand while sneezing a fast triple to the back of another. An exasperated grumble followed while he wiped the spray off into the back of his trousers. Curse this spring. Curse those horny trees. No matter where he went, the pollen was everywhere, sticking to his eyes, making them itch and water miserably, and spreading all over his swollen nasal passages, making him sneeze and sneeze to no end without any of that sneezing or blowing or sniveling frankly making him feel any better. And what was worst, it interfered with his work; he hadn't heard properly for days after this exceptionally hot and dry spell started. It perhaps wouldn't be such a huge deal for someone who didn't depend on observing the finest musical nuances for living, but to him it was a major source of irritation.

“Oh, Darius! You are here!” An older gentleman, round cheeked with only little hair left on his head and lively dark eyes, approached him.

“Robert, good to see you. How is Louise?”

“Fine, she's fine. And you?”

“Just a quick visit to hear something, complete waste of my time as I sus.... su....” Darius squinted his eyes and turned to away, rubbing his nose fiercely with his knuckles.. “Sorry...” he mumbled while frantically searching for a tissue from his pockets. An usable one, to be exact; every piece of paper his hand met was crumpled into a ball, feeling moist to his fingertips. Disgusting. These trousers needed to be cleaned too. “H'icsh!” he sneezed. Please go away, please go away... he prayed in his mind, but the itching of his nose was only at the beginning of it's merciless crescendo. “H'icsh! ...kxcth!” He could already feel something warm and wet streaming down onto his forefinger.

“Oh, you sound awful my friend. Have you caught a chill?”

“Pollen,” he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and sniffling thickly. “It's almost like the... H'etchh! Etttch! Kxsh! ...the more I sneeze, the more it sticks.”

“That sounds unpleasant indeed.”

“Excuse be...” with his hand still to his nose, Darius strode across the lobby to a cafeteria table, snatching a handful of napkins to blow in. “Hettchsh! … He... ETTTSCHOAH!” The last one made him bend over with it's power. He blew fiercely, completely soaking the bundle of paper, and reached for another handful of napkins. Damn, his throat was feeling ticklish too, making the sneezes harsher and more difficult to contain. And his ears. An the roof of his mouth. Good grief, this was like torture.

“Bless you sir, are you all right?” a waitress asked her.

“Yes yes I'b fadtastic!” he snapped, taking a few steps away from the table to tame is streaming nose in peace. For a moment he considered performing some sort of a disappearing act, perhaps taking cover in the shadows behind a row of pillars and wait for a chance to slip past his friend to the outdoor when the audience would storm to the lobby for a mid-concert break coffee or swig or whatever they had. But to his great annoyance he could see Robert approaching him already, with a drink, oh no, two drinks in his hands, frowning sympathetically.

“My dear friend, that is truly awful. Have you seen a doctor?” he asked, handing Darius a glass of brandy.

“Just ask how many. They are all just as useless.”

Robert laughed dryly. “You'd better go home, poor man... Although I feel even more sorry to whoever you will write about when on such a mood.”

Darius was starting to feel increasingly irritated by his company. “That aside, what are you doing here?”

“Oh it is my niece, who is debuting after the break. I promised to go and write something about her for a little community paper... something nice, of course... how useless... waste of time you think I know... but if I don't do it, Louise will let me have it!”

“To be a married man...” Darius snorted, and emptied his glass with one sip. The way the brandy burned his throat felt surprisingly good.

“Such a cruel one you are, to your friends as well!

The concert hall doors were opened, letting out a chattering, perfume-scented crowd. “I'll take my leave now, Robert. See you. Greetings to your wife.”

“Take care, Darius!”

…

Outside it was bright and somewhat chilly unless one stood in direct sunlight, which felt both caressing and strangely revealing at the same time. Darius was rubbing his nose with his wrist and snivelling, frowning at the distasteful, squelching sounds. He felt absolutely fed-up with sneezing, like every damn spring, and most of summer really (the colds of the wintertime were different, although unpleasant in their own way), yet not sneezing was absolutely frustrating too. On his way out he had stuffed his pockets with paper from the bathroom, shortly glancing at his face from the mirror. That had perhaps been a mistake, as the view was anything but uplifting – his nose and the surrounding skin was so red of all the rubbing and wiping, and combined with the reddened, teary eyes he though he looked like he had been punched in the face. For a man who – for a good reason, as he would be likely to add – took some pride in his looks and style like Mr Villazón, this caused the most bitter feelings of embarrasment.

“Hesschnt! … Isscht! Nnnn...-issch!” He buried his face quickly in a paper towel. “Nnnnnn..-hssscht!” Dammit, where was that cab?

“Excuse me... excuse me sir!”

“Huh... mm, yes?”

“By any chance... I mean, yes, you are, you are Mr Villazón, right?”

Darius glanced at the young, flustered woman before him before turning to sneeze one more time. “Hnnisss'ih! …yes, I am, and what is that to you?”

The woman took a step back, like she had been threatened with something, like a fist, like it took all her courage to not to just run away. “I... um...”

“I meant, who are you? I'm sorry but I'm in a hurry.”

“Oh, pleased to meet you, sir, I am... I am Nea Lind and... I am a journalist! I wish to interview you!”

Darius scratched the back of his head and sighed markedly. “Like I said I'm in a hurry. See, this is my cab. I'm sorry but I don't have that sort of time right now.”

“But... we can share a cab! Yes!”

“...what?”

“I'll interview you on your way home, I can pay the cab, see this works out well!”

Holding the cab door open, Darius was on the verge of launching a storm of objections, but when he opened his mouth he was forced to shut it again in desperate effort to stop an oncoming sneeze. “HMMM-gxih!” Trying to hold that one in really hurt. His ears popped and he leaned to the dusty roof of the car, gritting his teeth. “Hnnngkt! Ngg-ksih! ...he.... HESSSCHIGHN!” He wiped his eyes into his sleeve and tried in vain to sniffle back the watery mucus. His head was getting so blocked, it was becoming hard to breathe.

Sinking deep into his seat, Darius slammed the door shut, groaning and rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. It was only after giving his address to the driver when he noticed he was not alone. That damned girl had sneaked around the car and took the seat next to him while he was too busy sneezing to notice. “What are you doing here?” he growled, voice so stuffy it made him blush.

“We agreed to make the interview here sir, right?”

“We didn't...ah well, shoot then.”

The woman straightened up in his seat. She actually had quite a pleasant, friendly face. But her voice was quivering with nervousness. “So... what did you think of the... today...”

“I only listened to the Rachmaninoff, didn't surprise me, the usual bland thing, the pianist was too young... no, scratch that, that would make him think that he will have what it takes to really play it, to make the music happen later on... hey, aren't you taking notes, young lady?”

She had frozen still, her lips slightly apart, looking confused and... hurt. As little has he would have liked to admit it, Mr Villazón felt something unpleasant squeeze his heart a bit. “Are you...” Are you well? You look pale, he wanted to say. Or he didn't, but whatever had just squeezed his insides did. “Are you sure you are a journalist?”

“But... when you left the concert hall, I'm sure you looked like you were moved.”

“Moved? Moved!” He laughed dryly. “If enraged to the point of seriously considering starting some large scale forest fires counts as moved, then yes, I indeed was.”

“So it was...”

Darius had buried his face to the crook of his arm. “Excuse be.... Hnkgt! ah...” he sniffled wetly. “Huh.. Hittsch! Isccht!”

“Are you ill, sir?”

He was wiping his sleeve with a crumpled paper towel, a tear threatening to roll down his cheek. “Hayfever. The pollen count is off the meters today... oh I'm sorry, a... rrRRRASSCHOW!” Nea turned his face away while Darius was giving his nose a series of gurgling blows, coughing dryly in between. “I'm sorry, I can't think straight anymore. I wake up I sneeze... I get up I sneeze... I go around and sneeze all over, and it just doesn't go away. I can't sleep or hear or taste well at this point anymore. It's a travesty.” He coughed into his fist.

“Please have a sip!” Nea had dug a bottle of water from his bag, and was handing it to him.

“Thank you.” The water felt so blissfully soothing to his throat. “So what paper are you writing for?”

“I don't know, I...”

“Some small community paper? You'd better write your own review. Writing about me won't get you any friends.” The car had stopped. “Now, if you excuse me for I have a review to write and myself to feel sorry for.” He handed the driver some cash and stepped out. “Drive her home.”

“Take care, mister! Hope you feel better!”

“In a few months surely.” He turned around, waving his hand. From the window she could see how just after a couple of steps he stopped, sneezing harshly to the ground. The sun was shining brightly, there was still no sign of rain coming.

[tma]

Mmmmmmmmmm!!!! :drool:

Have I told you that musicans are my second fav. profession to have be sneezy??

:wub: LOVE!!!

[VoOs]

...

There it is again, that huge, uncontrollable, face-splitting grin. Once again, you have reduced me to a curled-up ball of giggly, blushing stupid. Oohhhohoh, he is so dreamy. Be still my beating heart. ._____.

Artsy, haughty, irritable men at the mercy of horny trees... Irresistible. You know what I like and you sure as hell know how to USE it. You nailed it all. Dear lord. That sweet, sweet torture. And I love the way you write dialogue, it flows so naturally, with just the right amount of sexy wit shining through. Guh. What I wouldn't give to be that girl beside him in the cab. Even if I'd most likely end up getting arrested for molesting Imeanwhut?

Thank you so, so so much for writing me this. You rock my socks right off. Seriously.

Here, have som well-deserved LOVE: You crazy, wonderful, talented woman.

[doggo]

I'm so glad you like it, VoOs. Love you back, and your crazy sexy art.

And thanks tma.

[haeeshoo]

That is really well written... I was disappointed when the story ended

Well done!!!

[em4]

I very much enjoy your writing, pig! I absolutely adored your airplane story from a year ago or so, and this story has wriggled its way into my heart now too. I read it before I went to work this morning and then I couldn't stop thinking about it at work.

Mr. Villazon is a very interesting character. You gotta love a fierce man struck with allergies. Such an amusing character to read about. And so many brilliant sneezes and descriptions of Mr. Villazon's misery! I also enjoyed Mr. Villazon's ignorance. I think this story has stuck with me all the more for Mr. Villazon not figuring out that Nea was a friend of the pianist.

I love that this fic just followed Mr. Villazon on a brief encounter, but I would also love to read more adventures with Mr. Villazon. Perhaps Mr. Villazon and Nea meet again several years down the road when Mr. Villazon is ailing again, maybe with a cold. My imagination is running away with me! Anyway, thanks for sharing such a fabulous story.

[Akahana]

I loved this. You are SUCH a good writer. Lots of cookies for you.

[Dusty15]

ooo oooh oooooohhh this is DELICIOUS! Thanks for sharing <3

[Sitruuna]

Haha... amazing little story. x) I don't why I read it (what a lie, I do know why I read it), but... If I was into allergies this would probably... Well yeah. *cough*

PIG YOU WRITE SO WELL THAT I CAN NOT IGNORE ANYTHING YOU'VE DONE. .___.