Will they or won't they?

Posted on Wed Apr 16th, 2025 @ 13:26 by Alastair Temple & Liana Zhao

Chapter: Besieged
Location: Supply closet
Timeline: Tuesday evening, February 9th, 1993
4371 words - 8.7 OF Standard Post Measure

The space in question was little more than a storage closet, though a fairly large one. It was a bit deeper into the wing, beyond the music classroom, and Al had cleaned it out for the occassion. He'd chosen this space because of its secluded location and the fact that at this time the moon cast its light through the window, giving the old, stone, space with the vaulted ceiling a lovely rustic feel. A small table had been set up, with a vase of roses that upon closer inspection turned out to be a (very recently) painted cardboard standee rather than actual roses.

Various candles had been lit and placed around the space to add to the ambiance, casting their low key flickering light, dancing in the shadows cast by the moonlight. A black and red design tablecloth with little motifs of black birds and roses covered the table, upon which stood two glasses, a pitcher of tea, two plates, a few packets of instant noodles (chicken flavor) and an electric kettle for the water. The whole setting was completed by a strategically placed boombox quietly playing a CD of romantic classical music. Piano and violin pieces, that Liana probably recognized. Yes, it included Chopin's Nocturne in C# Minor.

Al had dressed up, though compared to his normal already rather fancy outfits chosen even for his daily goings-on, it wasn't actually that much fancier. Pressed pants over heavy leather boots (he was still a metalhead), a burgundy button-up longsleeve shirt, a black brocade vest and a velvet jacket. A simple top hat completed the outfit, though that he took off the moment Liana made her entrance.

In the end, practicality had won out. That was not before an inordinate amount of indecision had trapped Liana in front of her open wardrobe for far longer than was sensible. It was a difficult situation to manage, both in terms of juggling responsibilities and grappling with the pendulum of conflicting emotions that saw her mood elevated by anticipation in equal measure to the eventual plummet of stress and worry. Least favourite was the guilt, the sensation of not doing enough to bring Claire's people home, and its inevitable clash with the fluttering of happiness doing its absolute darndest amidst violent opposition. She'd spent the entirety of her shower chastising herself, and the time spent on makeup and hair re-tweaking her attempts to separate her personal life from professional obligation. There needed to be space for good things, and this time spent with Alastair was the best version of such permission Liana could currently imagine.

And so, much like him, she was more or less a slightly better polished of her usual self. To ensure they complimented each other, she had opted for black, and the long-sleeved, high-necked dress shaped a little higher in front than back was completely without embellishment but for the impression of pocket-flaps, which weren't functional but gave definition to the waistline. It was absolutely something she might have worn to a work meeting but there had been care taken to adjust other aspects; she wore her hair down, for a start, held back from her face by the sparkle of silver hair-slides so that the heavier eye makeup was not lost beneath the curled strands. The single string of pearls sat at the base of the neckline as if designed specifically for the task, joined only by the matching studs in each ear, and she had ditched the thicker wool stockings for the incrementally-colder sheer. Boots had been replaced by black heels and somehow the overall effect was a compromise between freezing and wearing an overly-glamorous blanket, which could be one way of describing her usual layers. Liana slowed to take in the effort, the stretch of a slow smile extending as each detail was appreciated. He was creative, she'd give him that much. Then again, she was already well-aware of that.

"You've been busy." Liana tore her eyes away from the painted flower to inspect the final element, trying not to linger too long away from direct eye contact despite the fact that Alastair's outfit was definitely worthy of extended admiration.

"Well, I figured you were worth the effort," he offered with a smile, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on the back. "You look great. Love the dress, and your hair down works for you," his baritone rumbled, a soft inflection to his words. With a swift motion he pulled out her chair for her and offered a seat. "Let's just - forget about the world for a little bit and enjoy the little things, ok? You deserve a moment of rest and relaxation."

"How on Earth did you get those?," Liana asked of the painted flowers as she sank into the chair and then allowed curiosity to tempt her fingertips to trace the outline of one of the cardboard petals. It was a better conversation than the one that would eventuate if she attempted to process the prospect of deserving anything right now. It mattered that Alastair thought so, at least, and more so that he had taken pains to be responsible for delivering on it himself.

"I asked Rebecca to help me with that," Alastair admitted as he took his seat opposite her when she'd sat down. A flick of the finger to activate the electric kettle, setting the water boiling, as he reached for the packets of instant noodles and set about distributing them across their plates. "So, yes, it's a McMillen original. Going to be worth a whole lot one day. Maybe we should get her to sign it," he chuckled. "To be honest, this isn't how I pictured my first time cooking for you to go."

The comment quickly dominated Liana's attention, enough that any consideration of the fact Alastair had made public some variation of requiring fake flowers at short notice was quickly squashed by a more pressing reason to laugh. "To be fair," she pointed out, "This is as-good, quite specifically, to anything I've managed so far." Reaching across, she grabbed one of the empty packets and studied it affectionately. "You even found my favourite." More to the point, he had paid attention enough to her usual selection to hazard a guess.

"Yes but those weren't dates," Alastair smiled. The water boiling, he went about preparing the meals, even as he changed subject and spoke in a more quiet, serious tone. "One thing I've been wondering, about Temple of Zhao ... You've seen a lot of what I'm writing, specifically parts for you to play. It's - well, very different from what you're used to," No lie. She was used to playing first violin, lead, challenging parts that relied on virtuoso playing, emotional commitment - while most of what Al had written for her was simply layering upon the rest, repeated arpeggiated ostinatos, some times even simple, single notes repeating to accentuate the melancholy of the metal. Only in their dueling solos was there any need for true technical playing, for someone as trained and skilled as her to show her skill.

"Is it still - ... enjoyable for you? Music so simple compared to what you're used to?" Such was the difference in character to the classical pieces she was used to and the metal Alastair wrote. Temple of Zhao's music wasn't about individual skill, wasn't about the hand of a master upon his or her instrument, sweeping up the audience with expertise - instead, it was about the whole, the sum of the parts. Melancholy, the pensive gloom that took the listener on a journey.

At the very least, the question seemed to provoke surprise. As was her wont, Liana allowed the gentle astonishment to show without rushing into a response, always careful with her words and inclined to invest time on getting them right. A faint smile eventually tugged her lips sideways, at least partial anticipation of what might have prompted Alastair's concern, though she was equally as unwilling to make assumptions without clarification at the very least.

"There are a lot of ways to approach musical performance," Liana ventured finally. "The expectations of mastery were drilled into me at a very young age, enough that there is still a compulsion there, at times, to agonise over perfection." She was honest enough, at least, to admit to that. "Classical works are almost sacrosanct when it comes to interpretation; the pinnacle is preordained, you're just pouring yourself into getting as close to the top as possible. There is comfort in that," Liana continued, her brow flickering as she sought to put the experience into words. "An individual artist's mark is in the nuances and the emotional connection, it's like..."

Here, she paused, searching for the right analogy.

"Following a well-trodden path, but the wildflowers either side are from your own garden."

She huffed soft laughter, judging it to be the best she was going to come up with for now. "I miss the orchestra though." This was a confession she hadn't voiced for many years, and yet she trusted Alastair with it, knowing he understood what had brought an end to that pursuit. "Playing with an accompaniment is one thing but the accompaniment is never designed to do more than support the soloist. Creating music as part of an ensemble is..." Liana shook her head gently. "Very different. A lot less lonely, for one thing. And now," Liana continued after a moment's pause for musing, "the change in genre is an entirely different experience. I haven't done anything new with my music for a very long time, Alastair. I've certainly not pushed myself to be part of the composing journey. From the time I was born, my relationship with music was decided for me and now...it's like starting again. Yes, I am absolutely enjoying it."

That answer made Alastair smile. "Oh good. I'm very glad to hear it - part of me was afraid you'd get bored just playing things that are - well, not unlike practice and warm-up, but played in anger," Such an interesting turn of phrase. It fit the style though, metal was not about beauty, like classical. There was little whimsy. It was not - ... pleasant. But it was full of emotion, of a very raw nature. "Mind you, I got well sick and tired of even my most favorite of our pieces when we toured Europe and the Americas. Playing the same setlist night after night after night."

By now the meal was ready to eat, though still quite hot. Fresh fruit juice poured into glasses to complete the setting, as he reached over to rest his hand on hers for a moment, smiling. "Well, bon appetit."

It wasn't anywhere near the lobster bisque she'd had that fateful day now deemed by the press to be their first date, but in light of everything, and taking into consideration the effort still made, Liana enjoyed the sensation of warm affection that accompanied the delivery of noodles. Using a fork, she twirled strands around the prongs and then lifted it as if to propose a toast. Then, with a soft chuckle, she paused to blow on the steaming mouthful and opted to wait a moment before trying to eat.

"I don't think I would ever class your style of music as boring," she pointed out, continuing the conversation while she waited. "As for my part in it, I think the goal is simply different. A soloist tells the story alone, given the accompaniment is usually more about constructing the setting than delivering the narrative. Learning how to be distinct without necessarily standing out is, if anything, a lot more challenging. I don't think I'd have time to get bored."

"It's moot anyways, we're not gonna get a chance to get bored of the same thing over and over as we're not going to tour with this, even if the album is successful," that was still a pretty big if in Al's mind. "After all, it's just a side project. Our real job is here, working with these kids," He'd deemed he'd waited long enough now that the food would be cooled enough, so a bite he took. Alas, turned out it had not yet quite reached a suitable temperature, leading to an awkward moment of waving his hand in front of his mouth while trying to not look too uncomfortable.

Eventually the bite conquered and composure regained. "Maybe a gig or two, if there's enough demand. Should be fun to be on stage again. I've missed it," added as if he didn't just almost burn the roof of his mouth.

Watching his discomfort hadn't coaxed Liana to take her own first bite. Instead, she lingered, trapped between concern and amusement, and when Alastair seemed mostly recovered and done talking to try to cover it up, her features crumpled into a sympathetic smile. "Wouldn't that require recruiting a few more members? Though I suppose," she added, hesitating before she reached across to gently wipe a stray noodle from his chin with her thumb, "We'll need some sort of session hire to cover parts of the recording." Making a show of clearing away an invisible amount of broth as an excuse to brush the back of her fingers against his jaw, Liana then retreated to conclude, "Unless you intend to play everything. I certainly won't be much use on anything percussive. My father never did quite tempt me into learning drums."

"Growing a beard, best thing I ever did. I very much enjoy those touches," Al chuckled, placing a soft, barely-a-kiss on her hand. "We'd definitely need some extra hands if we're going to ever play any of this live. The thing is, though - doom metal is in general not nearly as technical as deathmetal, what we used to play in Somnium Tenebris. I'm fairly confident I can play anything that I'm writing for drums, bass and keys. Especially in the comfort of a studio, with chances to redo. The only real technical parts I'm writing are for lead guitar and violin, and, well - we've got those covered."

"And with any luck, the world will come to its senses so that we can get on with it."

It was difficult to avoid bringing the conversation around to the glaring obstacle of being confined to the Institute. Nevertheless, Liana had promised herself she wouldn't stray into darkness tonight, even if she felt somewhat obliged to surround herself with it in an attempt to somehow keep it from doing more damage. Reaching for her tea, she swallowed back the change of topic and opted for a more light-hearted attempt.

"Once my father catches wind of it, we may struggle to avoid recruiting an outside percussion...ist.."

There was a moment of dawning clarity, food partway to her mouth, before Liana lowered the fork to rest against the side of her bowl. "I've just realised something." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "The magazine; local or international?"

"Uh. International. Though English language only, but you can find it in the better music stores across Europe. Why?" Al answered.

"I am going to have to call Papa, if he doesn't beat me to it." The prospect didn't seem to worry Liana so much as burst the bubble of privacy a little sooner than she would have liked. It was a silly thing to covet, perhaps, but being able to savour something that was just her own amidst so many provisions for the well-being of those around her was...appealing.

"D'you think he might - ... Ooooh. Oh," the same moment of dawning realization hit Alastair, and he chuckled when it did. Said chuckle then became a full-blown laugh of merriment and amusement. "Oh that'll be something if he comes across the article and the pictures," Though when he put two and two together his amusement turned into a genuine, warm smile. "Didn't you once tell me he's a drummer of sorts? And you think he would be keen on playing for us?"

Though she remained frozen in thought for a moment longer, there wasn't anything about Liana's expression that conveyed alarm. If anything, it would have been more concerning to deal with her mother's reaction on top of everything else going on, but she was less likely to find out right away. If there was one thing Liana had always been able to count on where her father was concerned, it was keeping her secrets.

"I think he'd be capable," she eventually roused herself to respond, at least clarifying that she'd heard the question. "Whether he could find the time is another thing, though he does keep making overtures of visiting." Chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful, Liana then washed it down with tea and exhaled softly, her tone turning confessional. "I haven't mentioned you by name to him." Her smiled was almost apologetic. "He knows a little of what we've been doing but I haven't gone into details. Yet," Liana added. The secrecy certainly wasn't anything to do with concern over Alastair himself, she just knew her father.

"Oh that's fine by me," Al waved away any doubts or insecurities she might have had. "He's your father, you know him best. Up to you how much you tell him and when," Part of him was looking forward to one day meet the man he'd heard so much about. Liana's mother, somewhat less so. Mostly he was low key afraid she'd disapprove of him for being a metalhead, though it would be easy enough to state that he was a teacher first and foremost, independently wealthy, with a secondary income. All that wasn't a concern for now though.

For now there was music, softly adding to the background. There was food, and while you'd be hard pressed to call it good food it was simple and honest, and somewhat of a staple food for the two of them. There was ambiance from the candles and the standee of the vase with roses, but most importantly, there was good company. Company that didn't rely on constant, deep conversation to be enjoyable.

---

"All things considered, there are worse places to be confined to."

With the meal finished and only a tea left to nurse, there had been ample time to pull their chairs closer to the solitary window still responsible for the persistent ribbon of moonlight through the parted drapes. A mutual lapse in conversation had left space to enjoy the view of the loch, which was mostly a series of shadows cast against a backdrop of midnight blue. The stars were out for a change, peeking through the intermittent cloud-cover, and Chopin had put in an appearance at last. Recognition had pulled Liana from her reverie and she had smiled, shifting her gaze from the view to the man sitting beside her before stretching a hand out towards him.

"Thank you. I needed this."

"Turns out, so did I," Al quietly replied. His eyes followed her hand towards his, and he gently curled his fingers around hers. A moment's hesitation before he rose, taking care with her hand and arm, and with a simple, warm smile invited her up as well. Then, once they were both standing, another slight moment's hesitation before stepping closer and wrapping long, strong arms around her in a warm embrace, swaying to the music, the gentle tones of violin over piano - the piece that she had been playing when they first met. Eyes closed, simply enjoying the moment.

"I've wanted to do this for almost as long as I've known you," he quietly admitted, his normally warm and rich baritone barely above a whisper, as if interrupting the music was heresy.

It was tempting not to respond, not because Liana found the admission uncomfortable, but because the combined warmth of being wrapped up in another's embrace and the gentle thud of a musician's heartbeat against her ear was potent enough to warrant protecting the silence that allowed her to bask in it. Still, Alastair's words coaxed a slightly-delayed smile, and though sleepy eyes fought to remain open, there was strength enough left to her voice to at least match his volume for an eventual response. "What's quite remarkable is, I don't think I would have minded at any point." Liana paused to consider and felt she should add, "Being alone has become quite the security blanket."

"Hmm. It has. Which would explain why this is all a little bit intimidating," Alastair admitted, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Liana's. The height difference made it a little bit awkward, but that just added a charm to the situation, he gaslit himself into believing. So many more thoughts racing through his mind, though he didn't voice any of them. The silence, the comfort, the warmth of the moment needed no narration or discussion. So instead, he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head, with an unseen smile.

Though considerable effort was made, Liana found it next to impossible not to ponder the choice of words. She was certainly better now than she had been earlier in her career at drawing a line between professional conversations and just being with friends and family, but the urge was there, to poke and prod deeper. This was more responsible for her eventually lifting her head than the gentle affection breathed against her hair, though the latter was certainly responsible for the reciprocated gentleness of her tone.

"Do I intimidate you?" It was a genuine query, born of tender curiosity without offense.

Al considered a moment, even as Ennio Morricone's Le Vent Le Cri came on. He always loved that piece. The sweeping melodies, building, taking the listener with them, then gently setting them down again at the end. Quietly he hummed along with the piano intro - no. Bad Al. Li first, music second. "You? No. The situation does, a little bit," he started to explain. "I'm nearing forty now, that's just a few years off. And I've never really had a normal girlfriend, or anything resembling a standard romantic relationship. I was a homeless bird through my teens, then a musician - I had groupies."

"I don't know how this works, never done it before. Wouldn't know what to do - at least, not intellectually. I'm just - going by the seat of my pants, here. Winging it, to keep it in the theme of birds and fiery flying cryptids. But you?" He paused a moment, trying to find the words. Still his voice barely above a whisper, as befitting their physical proximity. "You - ... calm me. Soothe my heart. When I'm with you, the storm inside settles. I don't know how any of this works, what I'm supposed to do, but - ... For you, I want to do it right."

It was moments like this where Liana was forced to confront the very real possibility that she'd never successfully abandoned the romantic fancies of her youth. It was not to be forgotten that, in her search for purpose after leaving her musical scholarship, she had flung herself into a nomad's existence that had culminated in quite a frivolous disregard for practicalities. She'd married impetuously, not because the man in question had been a poor candidate necessarily, but because it hadn't been anywhere near what she actually wanted. An excuse to attempt anonymity, a dabble in the kind of life her mother kept insisting was the better option. Lie upon lie built on omissions and what she'd been left with was the cavernous emptiness of guilt and regret. Liana had never forgotten the sensation of losing herself entirely, and it was reasonable to argue that she'd turned the experience into motivation that had produced a far better version of herself, but the fact still remained that she had once had a capacity to act the fool.

She didn't think Alastair was giving himself half the credit he deserved, by comparison.

"Well you're in luck," she settled on warm humour as a buffer. "I don't intend on being a normal girlfriend." The merriment in her eyes picked up the flicker of candlelight as she studied his expression, and only then, did Liana permit herself to dip into her own nervousness. "I have no track record I'd care to draw upon, Alastair. Is it too trite to say that showing any caution is reassuring? It feels like my entire experience has been one impulse followed by another."

She settled a hand over his sternum.

"Just be Alastair. As truly and authentically as you know how. I learned the hard way that there's no better substitute for transparency and communication, and I think you will find, I'm not as demanding as you might expect."

Once again, her lips twitched.

"Unless you've opted to underestimate me."

It was a relief to finally flirt openly.

"In which case, good luck."

"Well, I'm estimating you very highly, so - uh - ... Not sure where I was going with that one. It kinda got away from me," he snickered, before settling once more into a gentle, warm smile. One that spoke of comfort and feeling at ease, despite his earlier comments about the situation itself being a bit intimidating. Scary even. Such was the influence of her company, the storm inside easing, as he put it. "Just be Alastair, huh. I can do that. I'm pretty sure I can, at least."

"And ... I think Alastair would very much like to kiss you, if that's not too forward to suggest."

She was too old, surely, for her heart to skip a beat so easily. Too old to believe in fairytales and wise enough to know they weren't all they were cracked up to be; and yet, there was room, perhaps, for a little whimsy. Liana smiled without diverting her gaze, her eyes locked with his as the hand on Alastair's chest drift down to slide into his much larger one.

"I know him to be an exceedingly brave man," she murmured. "I trust him to make the call."