A man in his mid-twenties enters the hall, briefcase in hand, confused expression somewhat masked by a pair of sunglasses. Where the hell did the rest of the band go? He'll have to think about this. He's glad, at least, that he's got his briefcase and harmonica, and that there doesn't appear to be a force of cops waiting for him
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By the way, there's a brilliant bar in Ravenclaw. Dunno what kind of 'gig' you're looking for, but you might be able to do it there.
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Really? Well, hey, that'd be nice.
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((ooc; Marius is from 1830 France. A harp, to him, is an actual harp- one of the big wooden things with lots of strings))
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((OOC: Makes sense, heh.))
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"You are musician?" he asks. "I am srilled!"
(Told you.)
"Vhat inshtruments do you play, Herr Elvood? Vhat kinds of moosic? I am Broadvay composer, und I am alvays on ze lookout for new talent."
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