Supernatural Preferences and Imagines

On Stage- Sam

The Drama director came into your band class asking for a clarinet, flute, french horn, trumpet, trombone, bassoon, and oboe for the play this year. Your school plays usually got a big turn out and so it was crucial that the pit had all the instruments required.

Since you were one of the two oboists in class, and the other was a unmotivated senior, you had to step up.

Your audition was the twelve major scales and a sight-read piece from the musical. You waited for the violins and cellos from orchestra to finish their auditions before you went up.

Auditions were terrible for you. Double reeds were unpredictable and your tone changed with the weather. However, since you were familiar with the music from the play— Aladdin— your audition went smoothly. You were given the part and practice schedules the next day.

It was 'Stage Day' in which the stage crew, actors, and pit band members had to come and build the set. It was an impressive set, admittedly, with platforms the actors would climb and a large temple that could be reversed from the kingdom to the Cave of Wonders. Even the pit had their own platform. You would be getting a costume to make you look like a street musician.

"Hey," a boy your age came over with a hammer. You were busy with your own work that you didn't hear his greeting. "Hey!"

You looked over in shock— someone was actually talking to you!

"Oh, hello," you responded quietly.

"I'm Sam." You glanced over to him again and noticed that he was quite tall for his age.

You shrugged. "Hi, Sam." You went back to your work of painting one of the platforms.

You noticed Sam shift his weight, debating on whether or not he should say something else. You wanted to ignore him. You weren't very good at talking to people, you preferred to express yourself through music. Eventually, he gave up the internal argument and started securing the posts.

-.-

"Alright," shouted Mr. Tipton, the director, "let's run Arabian Nights with the band. From the top, everyone."

Mr. Olney raised his baton to cue in the actor and the pit. With a collective breath and the swish of the baton, the music filled the air. Chords, melodies, harmonies... The band sounded great.

"Oh, I come from a land, from a faraway place/ Where the caravan camels roam-"

"You're late!" shouted Mr. Tipton. Mr. Olney cut the band off. A few people continued playing before the noise died away. "Again!"

And so went your night, playing and stopping. Mr. Tipton would scream instructions at the actors, and boy, you were glad that you were not one of them. You were relieved when practice was over. Your hands were cramped from playing the passages over and over and you felt like the Joker because of your sore lips and cheeks.

'Wanna know how I got these scars?' you thought to yourself, while massaging your jaw. You walked with your oboe back to the band room.

"Woah!" Sam came running over. "What is that?" He gestured to your oboe.

You sighed, getting this question a lot. "It's a clarinet."

"Really?"

"No, it's just an oboe."

"It's gorgeous!" Sam exclaimed, catching you off guard.

"Yeah," you agreed. "I guess it is."

"The buttons are so close to each other!" You groaned to yourself as he began to follow you to the band room.

"I'm used to it," you muttered. Your hands still hurt from so much playing, though...