joshua ₪ 011
Who: Joshua and somarium
Where: Cafe Des Reves
Style: Either or
Status: Very open, because Kat is overdue for one.
Scattered across the tabletop of one of the various seating areas in Cafe de Reves was a disorganized array of papers. Not just any normal papers, but music sheets containing measure after measure of complex melodies. Quarter notes here, sharps there, flats all around, and rests where rests normally wouldn't go. Accompanying the papers was familiar teenager, slouched in a large, comfortable chair. His violet eyes critically surveyed the notes on the papers below. Occasionally, a scowl would grace his ethereal features, and without warning, the notes would scurry across the paper, rearranging. And just like that, they'd be a different melody. As if the sheets had been printed anew.
Resting on the edge of the table was a cooling coffee. Every once in awhile, the cup would shake, usually subsequent to the melody altercation. A few times, a splotch of brown liquid would mar one of the papers, and the ashen-haired teen would mutter something distasteful under his breath and attempt to brush the sheet clean with his hand. It didn't work out too well. There would be a stain.
It went without saying that he was a bit oblivious to the world, and the fact that the Music he was toying with was actually resonating in the Cafe. A soft, almost pleasant little tune, carrying on the wind. Nothing too powerful or invasive, but distinctly there.
Where: Cafe Des Reves
Style: Either or
Status: Very open, because Kat is overdue for one.
Scattered across the tabletop of one of the various seating areas in Cafe de Reves was a disorganized array of papers. Not just any normal papers, but music sheets containing measure after measure of complex melodies. Quarter notes here, sharps there, flats all around, and rests where rests normally wouldn't go. Accompanying the papers was familiar teenager, slouched in a large, comfortable chair. His violet eyes critically surveyed the notes on the papers below. Occasionally, a scowl would grace his ethereal features, and without warning, the notes would scurry across the paper, rearranging. And just like that, they'd be a different melody. As if the sheets had been printed anew.
Resting on the edge of the table was a cooling coffee. Every once in awhile, the cup would shake, usually subsequent to the melody altercation. A few times, a splotch of brown liquid would mar one of the papers, and the ashen-haired teen would mutter something distasteful under his breath and attempt to brush the sheet clean with his hand. It didn't work out too well. There would be a stain.
It went without saying that he was a bit oblivious to the world, and the fact that the Music he was toying with was actually resonating in the Cafe. A soft, almost pleasant little tune, carrying on the wind. Nothing too powerful or invasive, but distinctly there.