Beauty of the Moment

The sonata ended with a high and colourful tone, initiating the last act of the musical piece, Remion was so fond of. With bombastic ecstasy, the voice of the songstress returned, ringing in his ears, while he sorted the parchments and brushes, inside of his atelier. Soon, his students would arrive for today’s lesson, and Remion was a perfectionist. Even compared to his peers.
He had to pull some of the blinds in front of the wall-less west front of the building, in which his little domain of Art and Aesthetic was hidden in. The glass front presented at time a beautiful and inspiring view of the city below them. More than once did he spent nights here, just marvelling at the perfect chaos of the urban madness and its, by times, offensive and expressionist architecture. His people were artisans in every way. Noting about them or their surroundings was crude or misshapen. Perfect and pure, the peak of everything, just like the Albnur themselves. This obsession with detail and aesthetics made the Guild of Artist so venerated amongst their people, giving Remion a certain status amongst the higher class of the city. No wonder, that he was an asked for Professor of Arts at the Royal University, as he was the master of the detailed perfection, without being outdated or narrow-minded to new forms of expression, like some other established artists.
Remion took a deep and indulging sip of the spirit in his ivory-coloured cup. He halted for a moment, letting the last few branches of the sun above the city, which painted the clouded horizon in crimson red colours, fall upon him, while the singer’s voice from the phonograph edged herself into an ecstatic state of being, inviting her listeners, as well as Remion, into an outer-worldly sphere, just for a moment. Loud and proud, her voice led ahead of the other instruments, before she abruptly stopped, and with her the musical piece. A compositional joke. A taunt for the listeners, to take away bliss just at the right moment, letting them lust for more afterwards.
Remion could not help himself but laugh. “Oh, blessed Guertor. Jokester of the musical world and bane to all decency that you are!”
Continuing with his preparations, he walked over to the ‘Thing’ under the dark velvet blanket, sitting right in the middle of the room, surrounded by several wooden chairs. As it was standing on its literal pedestal, with a deep runlet around it, it was to be the centre piece of Remion’s lesson today. His student’s parents paid well to have their offspring tutored under him, and it was time to move on with them from mundane tasks and topics to the real reason why they came and what they were hoping to witness.
“Shall you shock and satisfy them, you little curiosity!” An unintelligible noise could be heard from underneath the tall square. So much money spent on this, Remion would make it count every bit he paid.
He was torn from his almost loving and caring obsession with the piece, as the main door opened carefully, two head curiously pocking out from behind.
“Yes, you may come in.”, Remion said patronizingly. “I’m quite aware of the time of day.”
He was not, as he had lost himself a bit. But his students did not have to know that. They probably were waiting outside the atelier for minutes already.
One by one, the young students of the Arts came into Remion’s holy cathedral of expression. Young men and women, chattering with each other while taking their seats around the blanked ‘Thing’, some of them eyed it curiously. Unlike Remion, they have already spent their day around the university, with this lesson being just one of many. But, while some tried to hide their excitement, Remion knew how venerated he was amongst many students at the University. How many of their parents spent fortunes on the University, just because he was lecturing at it.
Most of the youths came from better families. Those who could afford such prestige as learning at the Royal University. But some of them managed to gain either patronage from other prominent artists, who saw potential in the young minds, or they received official support by the State, due to their born talents. Remion, unlike some of his kind, who loved to mingle and gain the affection of the richer students and their families, instead always bet his money the prodigies and the naturally talented. Those, who entered his domicile due to their abilities, and not parental money. More and more did he remove names from his mental list of those, who he should foster, and those, who will leave this University one day to live of their family’s fortune.
Like all Albnur, the students were pale and slender. No striking flaws in their narrow faces. No off proportions. At least from the perspective of their people. Black, iris-less eyes, smooth long hair, elongated auricles. The peak of evolution. Or at least the closest thing the Albnur found in their part of the universe so far. Although it would go against their very nature, to assume some other species above theirs.
Slowly, Remion wandered over to the phonograph, turning the machine off and facing his students, who waited for him in silent anticipation.