Prompt: Originally Mine
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You both like larry stylinson.
You: Harry Styles was the son of one of the most famous classic music composers, so he was forced into music from a very, very young age. As in, his mother would play music against her pregnant belly so he would 'hear' it. From the time he could walk and talk, he was playing music. Guitar, piano, flute, violin, you name it, he could play it. His chief instrument was the violin. Just something about the way he held it made him feel wild, like the classic 'fiddler on the roof'. He privately called himself a fiddler, though the 'proper' term was violinist. By the age of sixteen Harry could play a large variety of different instruments and was all lined up to begin learning how to compose music. But that wasn't what he was about. He didn't like having to follow the notes so much, so how was he going to be able to write them? He wanted to perform. He wanted to provide the sounds for films and plays, not the notes. He had a row with his father over it, and was this close to actually leaving the house. Because Harry's father was very well-known, the fight had made it into papers and most everyone in classical music group knew what had happened. It was because of this that Harry was sulking in the car, every instrument he owned surrounding him, as Mr. Styles drove him to Mr. Louis Tomlinson's house. Louis was even more well known in the classical music world, mainly for his piano. He ran an academy for aspiring musicians, but because of Harry's father's influence, he was getting private lessons. He had to stay at his house for an entire summer, just to learn how to compose. The curly-haired boy thought that Louis would be very pretentious. Harry was extremely annoyed as he got out of the car, and only grabbed the violin from the car, not bothering to help his dad. He turned to the man standing outside of the impressive home with a scowl on his face. (You're Louis, don't be afraid to make him mean!)
Stranger: "You must be Mr. Styles," Louis drawled, his arms crossing over his chest as he sent a scrutinizing gaze over the young lad. Yes, he had heard what Harry was capable of. Was he impressed? Not in the slightest. He could probably do what Harry could in his sleep, on some very heavy sleep medication that he took in prevention towards his insomnia. "Well, get inside. We have a /very/ limited time to get you up to my standards." He insisted, nodding towards the large doors that lead into his ornate home. Sending a pleased smile towards the boy's father then--not for bringing the boy, of course, but for the large sum of money that came with him--he shook his head as he headed for the trunk. "Please, don't bother. I'll have someone out right away to gather those for you. Once again, thank you very much for bringing your son along. I'm sure you'll be very impressed with what he'll be capable of at the end of the summer."
You: Harry rolled his eyes and walked towards the doors without so much as a goodbye to his father. He held his violin tightly to his side, honestly a little nervous. He'd heard all about Louis' standards, how most children collapsed under Louis' instruction. But Harry wouldn't break. He was not going to compose; he wouldn't be forced to do something he was not at all good at. Harry's father, of course, just smiled and nodded a little bit. "Thank you very much for taking him in. I'm sure you'll get him writing in no time." Harry's father wasn't the talkative type, a trait Harry had inherited. If only he'd inherited his ability with writing notes; then they wouldn't be in this mess.
Stranger: "I'll do what I can," Louis insisted, a smug smile growing on his lips. Of course he'd have the child writing in no time; there was a reason parents sent their children to him. He was the best of the best, and parents who wanted the absolute best for their children would send them directly his way. After wishing Harry's father a safe drive and thanking him once more, he was headed inside as one of his house workers bustled outside to tend to Harry's luggage. "Come along," He muttered with the utmost nonchalance towards Harry, not looking towards the boy as he headed down the hallway, into one of the large music rooms he held sessions in. Taking a seat in a leather armchair, he nodded towards the boy's instrument. "Well, get that out, will you? Show me what you're capable of so I know what you're doing wrong."
