(no subject)
Melpomene is at the piano. She's staring at it like's a foreign object-- perhaps it is, at least for now.
Finally, she begins to play, long fingers put to use (for something besides holding a cigarette). It's a soft, tinkling tune, and it speaks of summer.
As she moves through the song, Melpomene can feel the warmth of music in her fingers. (She wouldn't mind company.)
[ooc: open until it scrolls.]
Finally, she begins to play, long fingers put to use (for something besides holding a cigarette). It's a soft, tinkling tune, and it speaks of summer.
As she moves through the song, Melpomene can feel the warmth of music in her fingers. (She wouldn't mind company.)
[ooc: open until it scrolls.]