Joan didn’t really have a need to be in the store. She hadn’t played an instrument with any serious commitment; she always told herself she’d get into something badass–bassists were sexy, weren’t they?–and never did. But she’d spent enough days, lazing about while René had been drooling over instruments he really did play, leafing through records and listening to people test the waters with the options available, that music stores were homey. They had a nice vibe, and she had a while to kill before the bus she needed was going to stop.
She spent some time talking herself out of buying a Runaways record she didn’t need–if it’s already downloaded and on disc, Joan, you do not need it on Vinyl!–when the sound of someone who knew their shit pretty well made its way over to Joan’s ears. Movie scores, always fucking awesome, and it sounded nice from the tiny little room where the strings hung. She drifted towards it, figuring she’d hear it better. Joan hadn’t been a groupie in a while, but old habits died hard. She couldn’t not approach a musician.
And there was the girl she’s talked about bright, red, angry fucking with. What were the damn odds? She leaned against the door, letting her play until the song finished and died off.
“Hey there.” She entered more fully, taking the other seat. “Sounded pretty sick.” She was a sucker for musicians. They had a habit of becoming people she was infinitely more interested by tan anyone else. Lacey’s fault for being awesome in front of her. “I mean–I don’t know shit about violins, but still.”
Verona had once seemed like a large city to her, two months ago when she just got off the taxi and she didn't know the place or the people in it. Now, it didn't seem particularly large at all. She saw the same faces, for the most part, wherever she went, whether it was at a nightclub, or the flower market, or even the furniture store. Exhibit A would be her audience, one of the people who participated in her, 'what colour is fuck' survey.
A small smile made its way to her face as the other woman said her compliments, Lacey lowering the violin from her shoulders so she was just holding it. At least she still had the talent. She hadn't actually played the violin since way before she left South Korea. Six months ago, maybe? Right around the time she stopped wanting to produce music with her manager.
"Thanks," she spoke, the smile widening a little. She always felt a little awkward when it came to compliments, mostly because she didn't know what to do with them other than thank the person. Compliments never really mattered to her, not because she got them a lot, but because it was her own opinion that truly mattered. "Oh no, trust me, you'd know if I sucked. Do you play an instrument? For some reason, I can totally see you as a drummer."











