Call it a spark of insanity, but Atticus had just about had it. The cold, the isolation, and lack of sleep had finally gotten to him. The star projector Hope had made him helped him sleep on more than one occasion, but for some odd reason his mind couldn't be put at ease enough to let him sleep. He'd read all his books over and over, played all the
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"What are you playing?" She asked, just incase this was something new she'd never heard before.
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He slowly stopped and inquired. "Have you ever played before?"
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When she heard the somewhat tinny notes of an electric piano, she felt a little burst of... hope. Heading towards the recc room, she stopped just to watch Atticus play. He looked happy and she was happy to see it.
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ooc:I have permission to move Jessie.
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"Hello," she said quitely, she didn't want to disturb his playing too much.
(ooc:Angelo-mun has given permission to move Angelo)
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Not wanting that experience again, he stayed outside, ears pressed close, just listening. He'd never admit it, but Atticus had a way with music. If anyone asked, he was merely leaning against the wall to rest himself. After all, he was an injured man.
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