Peter Petrelli (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spongetastic) wrote2009-06-11 03:26 pm
spongetastic) wrote2009-06-11 03:26 pm
Entry tags:
Writers Muses: Translate
The two sat together in box seats, situated for a perfect view of the stage spread out below them. Better still, they were the only ones in the box which allowed them to hold hands without causing a scandal. Refraining from public displays of affection was clearly difficult for them both but where they were and what they experienced compensated for that. Currently they were in an opera house listening to Idomeneo.
It would have been fantastic enough to hear it in an ordinary opera house. But to be sitting among Munich nobles who were hearing the opera for the first time was overwhelming. Gabriel could hardly grasp it and he was sitting there taking it all in.
Peter surprised the man earlier that day with the tickets. Gabriel hadn’t been to many operas before and Peter certainly made sure that the first time was something memorable. Not only had he gotten tickets and reserved a private box for the two of them, but he also arranged for them to be driven to the opera by carriage.
It was all so wonderful Gabriel couldn’t even form words.
Now they were here in their seats listening to performers sing out the music penned by Mozart only a year ago. Not hundreds of years. Mozart was still alive, perhaps somewhere in the audience listening to the debut.
Peter became immersed in the story. He hadn’t been to an opera since he was a child, and he hadn’t appreciated them at that young age. Now that he was older he could see the beauty in the songs and the emotion expressed by the performers.
“Peter…” He felt Gabriel touch his leg and he turned expectantly toward the man beside him. “What are they saying?”
“What?”
“It’s Italian, isn’t it?” Gabriel bit his lip anxiously. “You can understand what they’re saying.”
“Well… yeah,” Peter admitted with a sheepish look. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that they were listening to a foreign language. “But you know, Gabriel, you don’t need to speak Italian in order to understand what’s happening.”
“Why not?”
“Just look.” Peter pointed to the stage, where Idomeneo was lamenting over the fact that he had to sacrifice his own son. “Don’t listen to the words. Watch them, and listen to the sound. That’s as much a part of the storytelling as the words.”
“Oh.” Gabriel focused on the stage, frowning thoughtfully.
“Was this a bad idea?” Peter asked him worriedly. “I thought you would like it.”
“I love it,” Gabriel assured him. His hand drifted along Peter’s leg gently, causing small shivers to ripple through the other man.
“I can teach you Italian if you really want me to,” Peter offered, leaning forward to briefly nuzzle his nose into Gabriel’s hair.
“I’d like that,” Gabriel responded softly. “But I think we should be paying attention to the opera right now.”
“You’re right.” Peter chuckled, pressing a brief kiss to Gabriel’s cheek before turning back to the performance.
Even if Peter couldn’t understand a word, he would’ve enjoyed the opera just as much. The music pulled him with its rise and fall, its powerful surges and slow laments. Unconsciously he reached for Gabriel’s hand as he listened to Ilia sing out her love for Idamente, and smiled as he met Gabriel’s fingers halfway. Some things didn’t need to be translated.
It would have been fantastic enough to hear it in an ordinary opera house. But to be sitting among Munich nobles who were hearing the opera for the first time was overwhelming. Gabriel could hardly grasp it and he was sitting there taking it all in.
Peter surprised the man earlier that day with the tickets. Gabriel hadn’t been to many operas before and Peter certainly made sure that the first time was something memorable. Not only had he gotten tickets and reserved a private box for the two of them, but he also arranged for them to be driven to the opera by carriage.
It was all so wonderful Gabriel couldn’t even form words.
Now they were here in their seats listening to performers sing out the music penned by Mozart only a year ago. Not hundreds of years. Mozart was still alive, perhaps somewhere in the audience listening to the debut.
Peter became immersed in the story. He hadn’t been to an opera since he was a child, and he hadn’t appreciated them at that young age. Now that he was older he could see the beauty in the songs and the emotion expressed by the performers.
“Peter…” He felt Gabriel touch his leg and he turned expectantly toward the man beside him. “What are they saying?”
“What?”
“It’s Italian, isn’t it?” Gabriel bit his lip anxiously. “You can understand what they’re saying.”
“Well… yeah,” Peter admitted with a sheepish look. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that they were listening to a foreign language. “But you know, Gabriel, you don’t need to speak Italian in order to understand what’s happening.”
“Why not?”
“Just look.” Peter pointed to the stage, where Idomeneo was lamenting over the fact that he had to sacrifice his own son. “Don’t listen to the words. Watch them, and listen to the sound. That’s as much a part of the storytelling as the words.”
“Oh.” Gabriel focused on the stage, frowning thoughtfully.
“Was this a bad idea?” Peter asked him worriedly. “I thought you would like it.”
“I love it,” Gabriel assured him. His hand drifted along Peter’s leg gently, causing small shivers to ripple through the other man.
“I can teach you Italian if you really want me to,” Peter offered, leaning forward to briefly nuzzle his nose into Gabriel’s hair.
“I’d like that,” Gabriel responded softly. “But I think we should be paying attention to the opera right now.”
“You’re right.” Peter chuckled, pressing a brief kiss to Gabriel’s cheek before turning back to the performance.
Even if Peter couldn’t understand a word, he would’ve enjoyed the opera just as much. The music pulled him with its rise and fall, its powerful surges and slow laments. Unconsciously he reached for Gabriel’s hand as he listened to Ilia sing out her love for Idamente, and smiled as he met Gabriel’s fingers halfway. Some things didn’t need to be translated.