Street Corner Symphony (Adair.)

[London]

It had been some time since London had some anything he truly enjoyed. Perhaps since he’d arrived in raven black city. Sure, he’d played upon a street corner or two, and a number of small venues at clubs, and bars. But that couldn’t really compete with the downsides of this city.

He was alone.

It was balls-out boring.

Oh, and he’d been mauled by some woman half his size a week within arriving.

London James west had worked hard for this girl he knew nothing about. He’d done what he was told, and listened to her words of advice. He’d gone on those “quests” that she’d advised him to tend to. He’d done damn near everything for her.

So that’s what it’s like to be obsessed.

Either way, he was without her now. Heaven knew where she’d run off to without a single word, but here he was now, on his own once more. And in all truth he was simply fine with that. There was still that nagging connection between the two; himself and Abigail. He supposed this was what it was like being married. With that thought ever-present in your mind, that thought that you’re connected to someone through so much more than a simple sheet of paper.

Not that London would know much about being married. Sure, he’d had a girlfriend or ten, though only a small number of those which could be considered serious. London wasn’t a man for commitment, and this time around he’d been duped, needless to say. Damn him and his lust for beautiful women. He should have known better. He should have, but he was still a boy.

So it’s here he finds himself, within the recess of Ravenblack city, settled upon some bus stop’s bench with those hard and calloused fingertips of his plucking over guitar strings almost absently. That raggedy old har of his is still screwed atop that dark hear of soft hair, it’s questionable whether it’d even been washed since his turning, though ask any man, and they’d tell you they never washed their hats. And London was the same. It smelled of him, and only him. It smelled of his blood, and his hair, his sweat, and his essence, but it didn’t stink.

Those dark eyes of his fall downwards from the strings of his guitar before he finds himself settling forearms atop the body, leaning forth to snatch up a college ruled notebook from within that rugged case. He finds himself drawing out a rough scale, followed by an almost vague number of orbs settled upon, within, and across that grid. He observes what has been scribbled down before those rough hands of his fall back to those strings to test out what had been drawn out.

Those fingertips of his are quick upon the strings, for only a short spread of time before a large palm settles over the strings successfully silencing them, before tending towards the tune he’d previously worked out.

It’s when her fingertips are growing cold, and numb with the nip of an autumn’s night that London finds himself settling down his pen, tossing both paper and pen into the confines of his guitar case, along with the actual body of his guitar. He submits himself to simply waiting for the bus, for his ride home to that shitty apartment complex.

London pulls his guitar case into his lap, as if some child with his teddy bear. But what were boys, if not over-grown children?

[Adair Noble]

Across the road from the bus stop was a bar, though not an ordinary kind of bar. The proprietors had tried to do something different—the place was not level with the ground but upstairs. They tried to make it a private kind of bar, catering only to exclusive members. They didn’t like having to clean up after drunkards or immature youths, or so Adair assumed. It was the wrong city for them to set up shop in, so she thought. The bar only seemed to attract seedy old men; they were lonely old men, and thus perfect prey.

The poor proprietors had to clean up something much worse than sick all over the floor of the toilet or sticky beer from the bartop. Though I supposed it depended on how a person looked at it—at least the corpse was clean, and there was a relatively small amount of blood.

Regardless, the place was dull and failed to appeal to Adair much more than as somewhere to grab a bite to eat. She’d sauntered out onto the small balcony to get some fresh air and to survey the city, to figure out what she’d do next.

It was then that she caught sight of him; he reminded her so much of Kabel. A small smile graced her lips as she thought of her first childe—she idly wondered where he was, though her thoughts didn’t linger on him for long. As soon as she was certain he wasn’t going to try run away or do anything stupid, she let him be. He was a big boy; he could take care of himself.

The difference with this one, however, was that he was already a vampire. Don’t ask how she could tell—she just could. Much like a person who hangs around with gay people can immediately tell whether a new acquaintance is gay or not, regardless of whether it’s obvious.

And, just like that, Adair knew what she wanted to do next.

She glanced over the side of the balcony, as if considering jumping it. For one reason or another she decided not to, however, and made her way back through the club, traipsing down the stairs and out onto the street.

She was wearing one of her favourite yellow dresses; it was all innocent and frilly, though it clung tight to her torso and chest. The straps were ribbon-like and tied into cute little bows. On her feet she wore a pair of not-so-high heels, though they were high enough to give the impression that she wasn’t quite as innocent as she may have appeared at first glance. Her hair was pulled into a high pony-tail.

She made a bee-line for the bus stop and flopped into the seat beside the guitar-toting cutie. She propped one elbow up onto the back of the seat and crossed one leg over the other. She flashed a grin at the guy before gesturing at the building across the road.

“If we wait here long enough, we might just be given some entertainment.”

[London]

London hadn’t been expecting anything out of the ordinary of today. Why would he? After all, despite his first few weeks here being strange ones, recently his lift had been mundane. It had become what he would consider normal. Well, aside the whole being a vampire thing.

Why should this bus-ride home be anything different? By all means it should not. It was a simplistic ride home, maybe somebody would ask him for some change, and he’d deny them that privilege, but other than that he highly doubted anything out of what could be considered the norm. But it seemed fate would be taking a different turn, and there was some slinky little blonde approaching.

If there was anything London had learned in RavenBlack City, it was how to pickpocket. But if he’d learned a life lesson, it would be that he should never trust pretty little girls. It was amazing it took him this long to lock that concept down. Especially considering his sordid sort of past, and all that the women in his life had offered him; the promise of a child. Though, apparently it wasn’t his, and he truly should have known better.

Especially to the point to where he thought he could trust some random woman.

Though it wasn’t a matter of trust. It was a simple cup of coffee, and maybe he would have gotten her into bed. That was, had she been a simple normal girl. You didn’t need to trust someone to f**k them, after all. You simply needed to find them moderately attractive, or at the very least interesting. It didn’t so much matter after a long night of drinking. Only that night London hadn’t been drinking. Though luckily enough Abigail had been both attractive, and interesting, witty, even.

A dangerous combination, to be sure.

He’s half tempted to simply wander away, but something caused him to say. Perhaps her charisma, or perhaps it was because she was like him; a vampire. While London had been in this city for some time now he’d yet to mingle with any extensive number of his kind, or anyone, truly! London had locked himself up, at least socially. Sure, he went out, he played his guitar on street corners and in pubs, though beyond that there was little conversation between him and anyone, to be sure.

And in all truth he preferred it as such, it made things impossibly easier.

Instead, he sticks around, motioning that case from across his lap from relative ease, “I could use some excitement,” he confesses. While the normalcy of his life was much more simple, it was anything but exciting. It didn’t make his blood rush, or his heart thrum as a good bit of trouble did, “My names London,” he confesses thereafter, his hand smoothing to grip upon the handle to that worn case. Oh, he’d be ready to bolt if need be. Whether it be because he’d rather not get into it with this girl, or for any number of reasons. He was more than ready.

He glances towards to check his shoes to be sure they were properly bound up, “What sort of excitement did you have in mind? I’m not going to be beating some creepy old boyfriend, am I?” he guesses. She was attractive enough, with strange eyes, and a round face. Certainly beautiful enough to merit some sort of stalker or two!

[Adair Noble]

Adair laughed, once, head tilting back in amusement as she simultaneously shakes her head.

“No, no creepy boyfriend. I’m quite certain I’d be able to beat him up myself, if that were the case.” She replied, taking the opportunity to appraise this boy more closely, now that she was closer. He seemed tense, and she could only hope that his unease would wane. She meant him no harm… she didn’t think she did, anyway.

“What a coincidence, London… I’m from London.” She flashed him a grin, but did not offer a hand. He did not seem to follow that modern etiquette of shaking hands when first meeting someone; when swapping names. So she followed his lead.

“My name’s Adair.” No last name needed. Again, she was following his lead. Perhaps it would make him feel more comfortable if she were compliant.

As for the kind of entertainment, the two of them were rewarded soon enough. Adair’s mouth was about to open, to offer some kind of witty explanation. But her explanation was not needed, and was cut off anyway by the sound of sirens. It was a common sound within this city, though Adair had no idea whether the police force ever actually did any good. What did they do with all those bodies found bereft of blood? Was it a mystery? Did they try pin it on a mass murderer? Adair hoped not. That would be one busy mass murderer, if that was the case.

She wondered whether they ever found some innocent person to pin the murders on in order to sate the public, to make them feel safe. Poor sods.

Though she can’t have felt too badly about it, as she was only adding to the confusion. The corpse she’d created had been found, and the police had been informed. They rushed here all full of purpose and pomp, though she assumed they’d just hit a wall. She was quite certain she’d left no evidence behind. And if she did… well she was quite certain she’d be able to outrun them.

Along with the two police cars there came an ambulance. Did they really have nothing better to do? Though she supposed the ambulance was needed to take the body away.

“It’s not really all that exciting, really…” She confessed, the scene a little bit of a let down. One of the owners came out of the lower door of the establishment, talking frantically at the first police officer and gesturing back inside. As two of the police officers went inside, two remained on the footpath with the owner—he looked as if he didn’t want to step back into the place, as if it creeped him out too much.

Not long after the two police officers had gone inside, the few occupants of the bar started streaming out the entrance. They’d been kicked out, obviously. The place was being closed for examination.

[London]

So, she’s from London, he hoped truly that this wouldn’t become some sort of sick, reoccurring joke. Though it wouldn’t be the first time. Adair seemed so much more intelligent than that though; above making jokes about his name. They weren’t seven anymore, and a jab at his birth name was simply petty and nothing less.

Still, he couldn’t help himself, “West of London?” But, oh, wait, she hadn’t been told his last name, “See it’s funny, because my last name is West,” only nothing ever was funny when you had to explain why it was funny. Or tell them that it was. Still, it was too late to take his “joke” back. Oh, god, he was blowing this. Then again, there truly was nothing to f**k up in these moments. She was simply a pretty girl that he couldn’t bring himself to trust. She was no one special.

At least not yet.

Still, London seems quick to recover, and more than eager to move past his idiocy, “Adair, then,” his tongue settles upon her name almost awkwardly. He’d never heard one like it, especially attached to a girl like this. Though, somehow, it fit.

His head lolls then, to the sound of sirens whirring within the background. It’d become a fairly common noise throughout the recess of RavenBlack city, or so he’d noticed. Though he knew damn well this was no coincidence, and something told him that this pretty girl poised next to him had something to do with it. Once more he tips his face to stare at her in an almost accusing manner.

Never trust a woman.

Especially a pretty one.

“Are those yours, Adair?” he comes to question. There’s a slight grin curling to his lips, then. He knew. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that she was responsible for the commotion. Perhaps it was the thrum of satisfaction resonating from her form. It was the same feeling one achieved after vigorously coupling, and maybe even after an especially satisfying meal. As of late London knew more of the latter than the former.

Still, it’s not long before that bus is rolling forth with a more than audible screech to it’s tires. “Well, I’m on my way to the music shop,” he informs her, hefting that guitar from his lap and to his side as he motions upwards and to the bus, “And by the sounds of it, you should get a move on, too.” was he suggesting something? Perhaps he wanted her to come with. After all he could use a bit of mischief in his life. “What do you think about coming along with?” he offers more blatantly.

“It’ll be a good time, I promise,” Well, maybe it would be. Not all women were so much into the sensitive artist type, and not all women were so impressed by a man who could tickle the ivories, so to speak.

Still, London was almost positive a music shop wouldn’t be as dull with this woman about.

[Adair Noble]

Adair frowned, and tried to remember the exact location of her place in London; whether it was North, South, East or West. She was saved from having to answer the question, however, by London’s further explanation. She smiled, then. It was a true smile, and she felt she’d picked wisely when she’d chosen to take her seat beside this boy. London West. What a name. She wondered just how much teasing he copped at his name’s expense. Really, though, she liked it, even if she did wonder what his parents were thinking.

As he asked whether the cop cars were here, Adair’s smile only broadened and her slender shoulders rolled in a nonchalant shrug. Yeah, so what? But he didn’t seem to care. Hell, he seemed on the verge of a grin, himself. Some of their kin, these days, could be so uptight and morally bound. It was always refreshing to find one who could deal with a little commotion. What’s the use of living forever if one didn’t cause a little commotion every now and again?

Before she could reply, or make any kind of witty comment, the bus rolled forth in front of them, obscuring her vision of the commotion she’d so readily made. She was willing to sit here until it calmed down again; to watch the owners in their distress, to see the body being wheeled from the establishment by the paramedics.

But this London West was on his way to the music shop, apparently. Adair felt her spirits sink; she’d been looking forward to whiling away the time with a new companion. A new guitar playing companion. But she could not keep him if he did not want to stay. She’d lowered her eyes, nodding as she scuffled her feet idly against the pavement.

Her mouth opened to offer her goodbye, only to be interrupted. Her mouth shut as she smiled again, eyes crinkling to show her absolute agreement at the idea. Adair stood and made to follow London onto the bus.

“The music shop, eh? Can’t say I’ve been to any of those in Ravenblack, yet. Lead the way, young squire!” She laughed. She dug into her pocket for the fare she’d need to pay and followed London to a suitable seat. She did not slide in beside him—the bus was empty enough that the two of them could have two seats to themselves. No, she slid into the two chairs in front of him, her back to the window as she leaned against the back of the chairs so that she could converse with London more easily.

“What kind of music shop?” Adair asked. A CD shop had first come to mind, but seeing as the boy carried a guitar, she wondered whether it might not be the other kind.

[London]

Five coins were dropped into that open slot as the two of them boarded the bus. He suddenly recalled a film he’d once saw 40 Days, and 40 Night with Josh Harnett, where he’d brought his would-be woman on the bus for a first date. Was this anything like that? London wouldn’t go as far as to say that. She was simply some beautiful acquaintance who would more than likely get to hear him play both piano and guitar before the night was through.

In some ways this made her special. After all, London hadn’t settled his fingertips upon those cool keys for some time now. She’d be his first audience since leaving Maine. Sure, she was special. She was a different kind of woman - spunky or so it seemed, and gung-ho, to boot!

“We’re going to see if we can find me a suitable piano,” she clarifies finally, settling his spine against the cool window of that bus. He seems more than comfortable, with his knee pressed upon the back of the seat before him. Still, his fingertips touch upon the skull of that worn knitted hat of his. London truly is like some sort of young child with his constant need of one touchstone or another - between that cap of his and his guitar.

That guitar, which he settles down upon the floorboards just adjacent to his seat. His fingertips press upon the swell of her pout and those pretty eyes of his flutter closed for a short moment, “The ride isn’t long,” he assures her. He’d make this ride almost countless times before. Picking out a piano was how he thought women found picking out a wedding dress to be. It took time to find the right one - or the right fit in the case of wedding dresses. Except heaven knew he’d be using a piano far more often than he, or any other woman, would be using a wedding dress.

“London, huh?” he questions then as the bus lurches into a start, crawling from the curb and simply merging back into the casual traffic. “I’m from Maine,” needless to say he was spoiled in all things seafood. And truth be told he was spoiled in food, in general. He’s attended New York’s prestigious culinary institute, after all, something which few people could say. And despite the fact that he’d done next to nothing with that degree, he was still content with himself. After all, people spent a lot more money on something far less worth-while. Degrees were something which could be constantly resurrected, after all. An education was something everyone should invest in.

“I spent a few years in New York, though, for college.” Uni as those across-the-ponders, as Adair, called it. Either way, she still knew what he was speaking on.

[Adair Noble]

Adair nodded, mouth falling open in a perfect ‘oh’ as she understood what kind of music shop they were going to. She settled further into her seat, content as her plans for the evening settled into place. As soon as he mentioned the piano, a memory flashed behind her eyes of the grand piano that sat in the corner of the living room back home in London. Well, it wasn’t really her home any more. She was sure she’d be welcome if she went back. But it had been so long...

No, instead of calling it home she considered it the house she grew up in. That piano was just an ornament. She remembered tinkling with it a little when she was just a kid; remembered taking two lessons but hating the teacher so giving up. It had been a nice piano. It looked nice. Adair was no judge on the quality of the thing.

Yes London, London. She smiled and nodded. She bowed her head when he mentioned college. She’d planned on going to University, as soon as she and Zach had come back from holidays. That obviously didn’t happen. It made her feel inadequate, somehow. And New York, too. She’d never been there, either. She was a European baby.


“College? What did you study?” Adair said, perking up as her curiosity took hold. She followed the line of his body so that her gaze rested upon the guitar case. She guessed something to do with the Arts. Something cultural. But of course she shouldn’t judge by looks. She could be completely wrong.

She had no idea what she would have studied had she gone to University. It made her feel less sad. She probably would have done something out of obligation. Law, or business. Something dull and tedious. Something that she would have rebelled against, later in life. It was probably better this way.

Yeah, it was definitely better this way, she thought as her gaze returned to London’s face. Mmm, musicians. She couldn’t resist them.

[London]

Truth be told London did little wandering. Sure, he’d left his home town for a bigger city. But there was something utterly intimidating, and almost paralyzing about such a large place, needless to say Mister West spent little time out on the town, and painting the streets red, so the speak. Between Classes he found himself stuffed within his tiny dorm room with the roommate of the year, and despite his persistence to drag London out to the clubs, or wherever it may be that New York Women spent their time, London resisted.

Still, there came a time in every young man’s life when laundry needed to be taken care of, or groceries needed to be bought. Whatever the occasion was that he needed to exit the dormitory and brave the teeming streets of Manhattan, with those horns blaring despite those lights saying it was okay for pedestrians to cross the street. Everyone there had somewhere more important to be than in the back of some cab or in some bus, or even driving their own car, and lets not forget the occasional bike riders!

Still, it was on one of these days - on his way to, or from, the grocery store or whatever he’d been doing that fate intervened, and he’d simply happened upon a guitar center. London had more or less always been musically inclined, more-so than he was cullinarily. That was the day he’d bought the guitar currently sitting at his side. Oh, and the day he’d forgotten to take care of the groceries.

“I went to the Academy of Culinary arts,” he comes to confess. For quite some time jobs within the kitchen have long since been considered a woman’s job, and still, some of the best chefs around are male. Perhaps this was no coincidence, and males simply were better cooks despite the widely agreed upon stereotype, “Learned how to make tiny dishes and all that good shit,” Okay, maybe making those little amuse bouche was a slight embarrassing, though only because they could hardly be considered “Man’s food” due to their portion size.

Still, there was no way to a woman’s heart like a home cooked meal from their man.

It’s about then the bus jostles to a halt, but London’s none too eager to heft himself from within his seat - though he does eventually, first stooping to pluck up his guitar, and thereafter offer his free hand to the perfectly capable Adair. Perhaps later - depending upon how things went this eve - London would offer to cook for her, break out of his box some, and take a chance on another woman.

[Adair Noble]

Adair’s brow rose as he mentioned the Academy of Culinary Arts. She was urged to ask him how he felt about that now; how far had he gone with his education? How many years, and how much money had he wasted on an artform that was no longer useful to him now? Vampires, traditionally, did not eat real food. But, she supposed, that did not stop him from feeding it to other people. Even vampires needed jobs, something to give an income. Most chose to simply steal their money. Hell, Adair stole the majority of her income. It was tedious, however. She figured she ought to try and find a job. The thought made her cringe; she’d never had to think about getting a job before. Her parents supported her without complaint. But her parents no doubt thought she was dead.

She started to imagine London behind those dishes she was often served when she went out to dinner with her parents. They were always occasions to dress up, and the meal was always a three to five course meal. The dishes may have been tiny, but after being fed several of them one’s stomach always filled. She had nothing against those tiny dishes. She’d actually come to love them. Not hat she ate them anymore.

The bus then comes to a halt and London’s heaving himself from his chair and finally offering Adair a hand. She flashes him an amused, though grateful, grin before sliding her slender fingers through his own. Although she was perfectly able to get out of the seat on her own, it was nice to know there was still such a thing as a gentleman. Gentlemen were a dying breed. She had yet to discover whether Kabel was a gentleman—though she assumed, with what else she knew about him, that he had it in him. Perhaps that would be her goal... to collect gentleman. Or at least, collect men whom she could mould to her idea of what a man should be...

Yes, she’d provide a service to the women of this city.

The thought made her smile spread as she followed London from the bus, finally landing upon the pavement with the bus roaring away behind them. They were in a completely different part of town, and there were no sounds of sirens from here. That didn’t mean it was a safer part of town, it just meant nothing untoward had happened just yet.

“Let’s go find this piano then, hmm?” She suggested. Maybe she’d look for one of her own. Kabel had told her in a round-a-bout way that she needed more furniture for her home, to make it more liveable. She knew he was right, she could just be lazy where nesting was concerned.

[London]

Adair was a pretty lady. Even with those strange and mismatched eyes of hers. Adair was beautiful, as was Abby, and Aaryn before her. All these pretty women out to ruin young London James West’s very life! Or at least that was how it seemed in this moment. Then again, maybe Adair wouldn’t ruin his life the way those other two women had.

Aaryn had broke his heart just some few years ago. Not only had she broke his heart,, but she’d told him she was pregnant, with his child none the less! Oh, but it’d all been a lie. The baby wasn’t his, which naturally meant somewhere along their near five year relationship she’d decided it would be a good idea to cheat on him. And then there was Abby who, in essence, raped his integrity. She’d turned him, and made him some sort of monster, before simply abandoning him.

And women said men were unreliable!

Still, he can’t resist her almost mischievous wiles and way of being.

The rattling and rocking of that bus comes to a stop with a loud sort of sound that was the engine creaking and gears grinding. Fabulous. The two of them had arrived at his destination, and with some pretty woman in tow, at that! This wasn’t so bad, even if he couldn’t trust her! Still, this was only the first time the two of them had only just met what was simply minutes ago, and it was far too easy to make this sort of judgment.

Still, Adair was a fun girl to be around, and she was blonde at that! Both Abigail and Aaryn had been brunettes. As if that made any difference.

So with her hand in his, the young man tugs her onwards and off of that rickety old bus. He’d been here a time or two before to tinker upon the pianos on the display floor. The majority of which were just fine. Still, as most “musicians” he believed in “the one.” “The one” guitar was settled within his “free” hand, and maybe, just maybe “the one” piano would be in that store. Though the odds of that were highly unlikely.

He’d found this guitar at a pawn shop, sometime during his relationship with Aaryn. When they were getting pretty serious that was. He’d even named it after her! Delilah, that was, Aaryn’s middle name. It stung, now that he thought about it. Whatever, though, that was over, and the guitar was at least still good!

“Now,” he begins, releasing this girl’s hand, “I need you to keep in mind that we’re on a serious mission, here.” he continues onwards, offering up a widening sort of smile to the young woman, “we’re going to find a piano,” he announces, tugging her onwards and through the doors of that old shop.

It smells, well, old. Musty, and almost stale. It’s obvious most people don’t spend very much time here, well, aside London and those few employees who seemed to work there. Still, it’s a refreshing sort of scent when compared to the otherwise crisp smells of plastic and metal and industry churning around. “Is there anything that catches your fancy?” he questions, sweeping fingertips to the rim of some high hat situated near the display windows, “I’ve been having problems picking anything out.”

[Adair Noble]

Adair didn’t feel that she was the right person to help London with this serious mission. She did not know enough about the instrument she’d been instructed to help him find; in her youth, years and years ago, she’d started Piano lessons. Both her mother and her instructor decided that she was far too restless a pupil, however, and that she was best suited to outdoor activities—the kind that kept her body as well as her mind occupied. Adair had been seven when she’d last played the piano, and her young mind had had no reason to hold on to the lessons it had learned. The only thing she’d be looking for was style. Style was the only thing that would stand out for Adair.

But she would not let London know that. Not directly, anyhow. He’d no doubt figure it out on his own after they’d spent some time looking.

He told her that they were looking for a Piano. Well, that much was a given. And, as soon as they entered the store, Adair laughed, amused in her own way. “Oh, I think we found a piano.” She said, gesturing to the numerous piano’s that were scattered across the floor. “I’d wager that we’ve found a few.” Of course she was teasing him. That much, however, she figured was obvious.

She broke away from London as they sauntered further into the store. There was no one else inside, aside from the keeper of the store. He paid them no mind, for the moment. But it meant that Adair and London had the freedom to converse across the space between them, without violating the social code of quietude when strangers were near. Not that Adair would have adhered to such a code. But it still made the interaction more comfortable and free.

As for what caught her fancy...

Adair’s gaze shifted from London and to the wares in front of her. There were smaller pianos and larger ones. Some were open, and some were closed. There were shiny ones and dull ones—mahogany, ebony-black, and white. There were newer models and second-hand models. The second-hand ones looked more authentic, as if they had a story to tell. But what could she tell of the quality? Nothing.

She stayed away from the white pianos. They were too dull. She liked the contrast of the keys against the black pianos, but there were black keys, too. As she circled the room she was drawn toward the mahogany types. They were not as fancy or as contemporary as the white ones, nor were they boring and traditional like the black.

She finally laid her hands upon one of the mahogany ones; it was not a new one, but nor did it look so second-hand as to be unworkable.

“I like this one.” She said. It did not matter if London did not like it. He was more than welcome to find a different one. But he’d asked what caught her fancy, and she’d replied with perfect honesty.

[London]

“To say the least,” London agrees all too eagerly. He steps from the doorway, then, those slender fingers of his almost hesitantly releasing from that doorjamb. It closes with a jingle to the overhead bells, and a soft sort of ‘snick’ to the locking mechanism. It was quiet within as to be expected of a musty old instrument shop. Though for how much longer? Adair wasn’t the quietest woman he’d ever met, though perhaps he had the wrong impression of her.

He doubted that.

Then again, she wasn’t being loud, or obnoxious whilst sauntering through that display floor, packed to the brim with pianos. That’s not to say that he found Adair obnoxious. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was a good bit of fun that London was all too eager to indulge in. He tags along behind her quietly. Almost passively observing those pianos. He, too, was not much a fan of the plain white ones. Not only did they wreak havoc on his poor eyes they blended into a house hold just about as well as an elephant could.

Still, he touched upon them almost fondly. A note here, an arpeggio there. Nothing incredibly special. He could even go as far as to say he was ignoring Adair in these passing moments. All the while he’s silent, save for the few notes he pressed upon the various keyboards.

Nothing resonated within him. Perhaps another.

All the while Adair is tending to her own business. Her own surveying of the music room’s floor, and London doesn’t pay her any attention. He’d only been teasing when he’d said this was a very serious mission, though it seemed he’d been more sincere over that than he’d thought. A brief pang of guilt shoots through his mind, though he’s eager to shake it off. He’d make it up to her somehow, though he’s not quite sure how, yet.

There’s a break in the pianos, then. A distinct space where one was once standing, it was more than likely that this particular piece had been plucked up and sold off. Perhaps that would have been the one London would have chosen. Maybe not though. Maybe he’ll find his perfect piano beaten up and broken on some curb with a cheap wooden sign reading “FREE” under the condition that transportation was provided, of course.

Finally London lands closer to Adair, eyeing her almost critically, and then the Piano she was speaking of, “This one, huh?” he asks of her, kicking the bench out from beneath the monstrous instrument. “Sit?” he offers, mounting the seat himself. His fingers curl over the keys, and its more than obvious he knows what he’s doing. At least for the moment, up until his fingertips fumble out a rousing rendition of “Hot Crossed Buns.” A pleased grin takes form upon his mouth before he gives a quick and dismissive shake to his head.

“But seriously,” he continues, drawing fingertips along the length of the keyboard carefully, before once more settling into an everlasting arpeggio. Whether or not he played more would depend upon if Adair took the offered seat next to him.