//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: Octavius 
// by Master Koschei 
//------------------------------//

	Octavius took his final bow, smiling at the roaring audience.  He had finished his performance and received a standing ovation.  He expected no less; he was a master cellist, after all.  He turned and grabbed his cello, gave one more nod to the still raucous applause, and departed the stage.
He placed his cello in it’s hard case and snapped it shut, placing the bow in it’s own case.  He slung the large instrument over his shoulder and glanced in his mirror.  His face was sweating a bit, probably from the bright spotlights that had shone on him while he played.  He quickly readjusted his slightly messy black hair and walked out of the dressing room into the relatively quiet hallway.
He made his way towards the exit, shaking hands with various people in the lobby of the large building, thanking them for their praise and congratulations.  He eventually made it outside, moving towards his car.  He opened the back door and set his cello neatly down in the seat, making sure it wouldn’t be able to move.  He nodded when he was satisfied and closed the door, getting into the drivers seat.  He cast a quick look at the clock in his car as the battery came to life; it was 9:30 at night.  He considered going to his hotel, but decided against it for now.  The night was still young, and there was merriment to be had.

He stepped out of his car, dressed down in a white button up shirt, slacks and a pair of black dress shoes.  He had removed his jacket and tie, laying them inconspicuously over his beloved cello; while this part of town wasn’t known for theft, he wasn’t going to take a chance.  He pressed the lock button on his keys and tucked them into his pocket, walking towards the bar.  He usually liked to end a good performance with a good drink.  Octavius wasn’t a drunk by any stretch of the word, but he could appreciate a good beer as much as a fine wine.
“Gin and tonic,” Octavius told the bartender as he sat down.  The man behind the counter nodded and prepared the drink, handing it to the cellist.  Octavius took a drink and set it down, swirling it slowly, looking at the ice floating in the mixture.  He heard murmurs involving his name in a nearby booth.  He looked over to see three young women whispering excitedly, pointing at him occasionally.  Octavius turned back to his drink coolly, waiting for the inevitable.  Apparently, even the younger generation could appreciate classical music.
As expected, one of the women stood and shyly made her way to the man, sitting beside him at the bar.  He had already finished his drink and ordered another one.  He turned his gaze to her, as the glass was set in front of him.  He looked her up and down, quickly assessing her.  She was about 5 foot 4, relatively short compared to his 6 foot 3.  She had smooth, straight blond hair with brown roots and a good amount of make up on; this woman was very concerned with looks, and not proud of her natural look.  She had on a fairly short skirt and a tight fitting shirt; she came to the bar to find a man.  She had striking blue eyes and pale skin; she took care of herself, also evident in her slight figure.
“Hey, mister,” she said airily, twirling her finger in her hair.  Octavius sighed internally.  “My friends and I were wondering if we could maybe get you to sit with us?”
Octavius considered this a moment.  This woman probably knew who he was, though it was apparent from her dress that unless she had changed like he had, she had not come from his performance.  Casting a quick glance to her friends, he realized it was also very unlikely they had been there.  As a matter of fact, judging by her breath, she’d been at the bar for a while.  Another glance at her eyes revealed a slightly dazed look, and they were a bit dilated.  This woman was drunk, and her friends probably were too.  Octavius reached a conclusion.
He smiled at the woman.  “I’m sorry, miss,” he said, sounding deeply remorseful.  He had to try not to laugh.  “But I am otherwise engaged this evening.  You see, I was supposed to wait here for a friend of mine.  They’ll be here soon, and I don’t want to disappoint them.”
The woman had a look of extreme concentration on her face, as if trying to process what the cellist had just told her.  Again, Octavius had to bite back a fit of laughter, instead drowning it in another drink.
Octavius watched as she stood and disappointedly walked back to her friends, muttering something about “Stupid prick” as she swayed back to her booth.  Octavius smiled as he turned back to his drink.

Octavius sat in the driver’s seat of his car, listening to one of his own masterpieces on the stereo.  He wasn’t quite drunk, so he decided to chance the ten-block drive to his hotel.  He rolled up in front of the complex and pulled into his usual parking spot.  He opened his door and stepped out, a bit wobbly, pulling out his cello from the back seat and making his way to the entrance of the building.
The doorman greeted him and pulled open the large glass door, revealing a grand interior with fancy chairs and couches and tables spread throughout the lobby and a rather ornate front desk.  He strolled right up to it proudly, his cello in tow.  He pressed down on the small bell, the ching resonating through the mostly vacant room.  The clerk smiled at him and told him, “Good evening, Mr. Melody.  Yes, your bags are already waiting up in your room.  Here is your key.  Have a wonderful evening, sir.”  Octavius nodded and departed, heading towards the elevator.
As he got in, he pushed the button for the eleventh floor and watched as the stainless steel doors closed quietly.  He tapped his fingers against the back wall anxiously; while he’d never admit it out of pride, he was a bit claustrophobic.  He felt an involuntary jolt of panic shake him as the elevator slowed on the seventh floor.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was simply another person getting in the small car.  It was a woman with blue hair, dark and light, and a pair of purple sunglasses over her eyes.  She had on a white hoodie and some black jeans, with some large headphones over her ears, blaring that ghastly, what was it, DUBSTEP that everyone was into nowadays.  Octavius grimaced as he also noticed this woman was about his age.  He tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to look at him.
She gave him a big smile and slid her headphones to her neck after pausing her ‘music’.  “Hey there!” She held out her glove-covered hand to him.  “My name’s Vinyl.  What’s yours?”
“I am Octavius,” he said, cautiously taking her hand and shaking it.
She smiled at him again.  “Nice ta meet’cha, Octavius!”
“I wish I could say the same,” he said, eliciting a confused look from the woman.  “Your ‘music’ is too loud, miss.  I would appreciate it if you would turn it down.”
The woman’s smile faltered.  “Aw, come on, dude!  Don’t kill the wubs!”
“Your ‘wubs’, as you call them, are a grievance upon my refined musical tastes, and I do not wish to sully my finely tuned-“
“UGH!” The girl made a face at the man and groaned.  “You are such a stiff, man!  You need to chill out and relax!  Here…”
Against the man’s protests, she placed her black headphones over his ears and scrolled through her iPod.  She must’ve found what she was looking for, because she smiled and pressed play.  Octavius braced himself for the worst, squeezing his eyes shut.
A calming piano was heard, playing some basic chords.  There was a harp added in, then some flutes, then clarinets and saxophones.  Eventually, there was an entire ensemble playing.  Octavius closed his eyes and relaxed slightly, forgetting this obnoxious girl and this tiny elevator, which had continued its ascent to the eleventh floor.
Just as Octavius was about to start conducting, as he usually did while listening to classical, everything changed.  The instruments started to change pitch and bend and mold where they hadn’t before.  Some new parts were added, some electronics inserted into the piece.  He liked it.  It made the old song feel new and revitalized.  He smiled slightly, losing himself in it.
All too soon, the elevator reached the eleventh floor.
Octavius opened his eyes to see Vinyl staring at him with a smile.  He cleared his throat awkwardly and removed the headphones, handing them back to her.  She took them, but kept smiling at him.  He looked around uncomfortably, trying not to look at her.
“You liked it, Tavi.”
“No, I did not.  And please,” he added, grabbing his cello and stepping off the elevator.  “Don’t call me Tavi.”
Vinyl followed him, looking at the case on his back.  “What’s in there?”
“The body of the last person who asked what was in my case,” he replied sarcastically.  He approached his door and removed his card key from his pocket.
“Cool,” said Vinyl, undeterred.
Octavius sighed and turned to her.  “It’s a cello, ok?”
Vinyl feigned disappointment.  “And here I thought I’d met an awesome murderer.  I’m just a boring ol’ DJ.”
Octavius shook his head and opened his door, stepping into the room.  He turned to look at the blue haired woman.  “Alright, Vinyl, this is where we part ways.”
Vinyl gave him her signature smile.  “See ya later, Octy!”  She skipped merrily back down the hall to the elevator.
“Don’t call me Octy!”  Octavius watched as she disappeared around the corner and sighed in relief, closing his door.  He turned to his well made bed, which at that moment seemed to be calling his very name, inviting him into it’s warmth and comfort.  He stripped off his clothing and pulled on some shorts and a tee shirt, tossing the discarded clothing in a heap on the floor, uncaring right now.  What he wanted most was to sleep.