(Untitled)

[jackdriscoll]

The time is mid November, 1933. The weather is cold, crisp, an appetizer slightly less similar to the main course itself. Jack Driscoll is in his music room polishing something stringed and wooden. It is not his guitar, which is leaning against the piano. It's a violin, perhaps Jack's best-kept secret. He doesn't expect any visitors tonight, which

Comments

[song_tra_bong]

Out on the street, a leggy blonde takes the stairs to Jack's door two at a time, then knocks.

She draws her coat a little closer around herself and hums harmony to the faint strains of music.

[jackdriscoll]

Jack can't hear the knock. His maid, a mousy black woman prone to popping up where Jack least expects her, does, and asks "Who is it?" over the violin music.

[song_tra_bong]

"Mary Anne Bell," she answers.

"I'm a friend of Jack's, though he's not expecting me."

To say the least; worldhopping is generally an impediement to paying a visit.

[jackdriscoll]

The maid tilts her head, looking perplexed as she opens the door. Her confusion doesn't relent as she sees Mary Anne. She's a blonde. Hadn't the papers said he'd spent the night out with a redhead, once? But that was weeks ago. Things might've changed. Nervously, she smiles, as if apologizing for being confused.

"He's in the music room," she replies. From said room, the notes only intensify. Someone is getting into the music.

[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne smiles back as she steps inside.

"Thank you."

The music room might be difficult to find...except for the fact that it has music coming from it. She slips off her coat and leans against the doorframe, not wanting to interrupt.

[jackdriscoll]

Mary Anne should consider herself fortunate. Not many people know Jack even has a music room, much less where it is.

But Jack finishes his song in blissful ignorance right until the end, as his rather delayed spidey sense tells him someone is at the door.

Seeing that the woman at the door is not his maid, Jack ends the song in one shrill musical note of bzuh?

[song_tra_bong]

The woman not his maid is grinning.

"Think that last one was a little sharp."

[jackdriscoll]

"..."

[song_tra_bong]

"I have rendered you speechless," she sighs.

Redundant as that may be, someone has to do the talking.

"Clearly it's the dress."

Bar was kind enough to provide something suitable for the time in a lovely shade of blue. And one of her knives clips ever so well to the garters.

[jackdriscoll]

"You...saw me playing the violin."

Clearly this is an abomination unto the Lord. Looking nice is not.

[song_tra_bong]

She nods slowly.

"Yes, I did."

Headtilt.

"Unless that was a trick question and that's really a viola."

[jackdriscoll]

"Not a trick. It...I don't...people don't know..."

Jack seems to think that coming out as a violinist is kind of like coming out of the closet in 1933. As both muns involved in this thread have noted, Jack's priorities are not straight.

[song_tra_bong]

This mun believes there is a joke in there about coming out of the closet and straight priorities, but she can't put it together. Oh well.

Mary Anne is trying not to look amused since this is clearly a topic of Deadly Seriousness.

"And nobody will, if you don't want them to. Though I don't see why. You play very well."

[jackdriscoll]

He has gay priorities? Which, considering how prone he is to emo, is not a true statement. Woe.

< / wordplay >

Jack looks quickly to the piano. Are those red spots on his cheek? Aww.

"I only play around my sister. And when I'm alone."

[song_tra_bong]

"Well..."

This requires pondering. And no mentioning of the blush.

"I can either pretend to be your sister, or I can hide under the piano and we can pretend you're alone."

These are the only two options. Clearly.

[jackdriscoll]

Jack has many actor-like qualities. He can feign a certain emotion, he can memorize lines and recite them with power, but he cannot, for the life of him, pretend as if an audience is not there. Which means this suggestion is a no-go.

"Um."