(Untitled)

[tragic_mask]

So Melpomene's in the bar. Nothing new. She's sitting in the corner, boots propped up against a neighboring chair; a cigarette butt smoulders in the ashtray by her side. As always.

But, the strange thing? She's got a harp-like instrument set up on an end table, and she's polishing it meticulously with a cloth and slim bottle of something greasy-

Comments

[tragic_mask]

Of course, Melpomene only knows about the small and curious part. Narration, after all, can only go so far.

"I played, a long time ago." A reminiscent smile plays on her lips before being snatched abruptly away.

[tragic_mask]

"Actually, it's a lyre," she says, giving him a sharp eye.

"I've been other places. Been away from my home-- and most outside don't appreciate the music."

She flicks the cloth across the top of the lyre, and a small speck of dust flutters down.

[balletrat]

*Tall, black hair, luminous eyes . . . all right, that's not exactly a unique description around the bar.

Nonetheless, it's worth a shot. And the harp has to be a clue.*

Pardonnez-moi if I've got the wrong person - you wouldn't happen to be Melpomene, would you?

[tragic_mask]

No, probably not.

Melpomene looks up, and she gives a polite smile.

"I am, in fact. But I'm afraid I am unable to return the favor of knowing your name," she says, slipping into French-- guessing by the phrase and the accent.

[balletrat]

*Meg's face brightens, a little, as she responds in her own language.*

Sorry, I know you wouldn't know who I am - I'm Meg Giry. I was told to find you by a boy - er, Billy, I think - who said he'd promised you help with a party?

*With a slightly sheepish grin:* And apparently I'm the help. So.

[tragic_mask]

"Some of us have to be in the background, sometimes. But I'm sure there will be plenty of time for dancing, too."

Melpomene runs her fingers lightly along the strings of her lyre.

"So tell me-- what is it you can do?"

She smiles at Meg, big and amused this time.