Sybelle applauded lightly the pianist as he bowed and left the stage; he was good, no doubt one of the best she had seen yet, and he was handsome. She watched him go: dark hair, fair skin, dark eyes, perfection. The epitome of masculine mortal beauty, in her eyes. But there was no more time for such trivial musings. She was on, and the stage beckoned her now.

The case alread awaited her on the stage, lying neatly on an elegant wooden table. It was open, revealing the beautiful instrument that rested within. She made her way up the short flight of steps and moved quietly across the stage. All eyes were on her, and she loved it. The lights, already dim, shifted amidst the tinkling of glasses and hushed whispers. She reached for its neck and lifted it to her shoulder. Her fingers twined about the bow and brought it to the playing position.

Her left-hand fingers tapped their way across the neck as she drew out the long, steady, dark first notes of a delicate song played in minor. The mortal faces that stared up at her turned to blur as she focused only on her current task. The dark notes wailed out, chilling and crisp. The temp increased and her fingers flicked faster across the fretless neck. Tapping, sliding, she rocked gently on her heels and smiled. The music reached its peak, cascading down in a few final moments, and ending in the longest and darkest note yet.

Too distracted was her mind to listen as she left the stage. She had no concept of how long it had been or if anyone had even applauded. She took her seat, violin back in its case, in a distant table: cold, remote, and secluded once more.

OOC: Oooh, can I bring Cassandra here so she and Sybelle can have a play-off? (She plays the violin.)

((Most certainly.))

It was nice, Cassandra reflected, to listen to a violin played by another. In her line of work, and her life in general, it was rare to be able to simply sit and listen. And the music was enjoyable, though it touched neither her heart nor her soul. That is, if she still possessed either anymore. Well, the heart she knew she had, numbed and cold as it was, but the soul she sometimes wondered about.

She wondered if Nick had carved it out, or simply strangled it so it lay limp inside her.

The music ended and ice-blue eyes, pale as water, blinked. Her turn then, now wasn’t it? Again it was time to slip into character, which wouldn’t be so hard. Those pale eyes suddenly brightened and sharpened an almost electric sizzle to them. Long pale fingers flexed around the handle of her case, stroked it almost lovingly.

A violin was lifted out, and she brushed her knuckles over the smooth wood for a moment, seeming to have forgotten the crowd. Then she turned to face them, and a sinful smile played on her soft, slicked lips. Her hair tumbled, a wild riot of dense sable, and the faceted crystal drops at her ears glittered; she was made for the spotlight. Every eye was on her, and she teased and taunted shamelessly. The smile seemed sent right to the violinist that had come before her, a challenge of sorts.

Then Cassandra placed bow to string, and began to play.

Forgotten was the darkness and smoky air of the bar, banished by the warmth of the violin’s song. Where the earlier violinist had played of fright and edges, Cassandra played of summer, warmth and cheer. Her bow arched, dancing playfully across the strings as her fingers marched alongside, and it seemed the notes that were birthed washed the air with gold and birdsong. She played of youth, children running and laughing through soft green grass, with the sky hummed with the thick buzz of honeybees and butterflies.

Notes, sweet and syrupy as honey, warm and comforting as sunlight, bled from the elegant instrument she held in her hands. Cass’s smile had gone from wicked to reminiscent, and when she finally ended, the eyes of those watching were blurred with memories of sun and cheer.

She gently placed her violin back into its case, and her pallid eyes were nearly smug in the dim light.

Sybelle watched the other violinst as she played and seemed to detect in her something completely opposite of herself. This other woman played golden notes of sunshine, love, and warmth. Sybelle's notes were cold; they told of blood, murder, agony, and pain. But the strange part was, this other violinist did not appear to be nearly as jubilant as her notes claimed she was.

She applauded as the quick, warm tune drew to a close, and took a sip from her glass of water. She was tired, and the smoke from the various cigarettes was starting to irritate her eyes. But she had to wait to get paid. That was all that mattered, anymore: getting money and moving on. It was a tiresome cycle, and she loathed it.

The notes that were still dying played back in Sybelle's mind. She felt almost sickened by them, now, sickened by their false happiness and endless cheer. Who on earth could tell of such notes? Who on earth had something to be that over-joyed about? She lowered her glass, perhaps a little too quickly, and winced as it clanged. A few eyes turned to her, but she paid no heed.

The man with the money, the one who had hired her, appeared from the smokey darkness beyond the stretch of the lamplight. Sybelle smiled as he approached, and he did the same.

"Here you are, miss. Thank you for playing for us tonight."

"Of course, it's no trouble at all. Perhaps I can play again some time in the future."

"You would be welcomed."

Her hands closed on the money and stored it in her right boot. She swore she'd leave...in a few more minutes.

Tunes.

They floated through her head still, though her piece and her time had ended. She could play another of course, but she wouldn’t be paid for it, and Cassandra had an aversion to doing things without, what was the word? Remuneration. Recompense. Yes, that was it. Both of them worked fine. Closing the case and stepping off of the stage, the curvy woman sauntered back to her seat, playing it up for those that watched.

They expected sexy, and Cass was more than capable of meeting such an expectation.

She strutted down the stairs, crossing her long legs teasingly when she sat, and absently trailed a hand through her wildly curling hair, which tumbled around her face in untamed ropes. A flutist was up next, her instrument shrilling and warbling pleasantly enough, though Cass hardly noticed. Her mind was no longer on the music, but the money.

Cass was, naturally, getting paid for her performance, but she was now scoping out the men in the audience. There were plenty of suitable prospects, and she was trying to gauge the width of their wallets. God, but she was tired…

Sybelle eyed the other violinist curiously: my, but she was the little actress, wasn't she? Sybelle did not know whether to smile with pride at her charm or turn her face in simple womanly disgust at her flaunting manner. She settled for neither and stood up, walking quietly to the other table. She did not swing her hips as she walked, no, not tonight. She was not intending to steal some random man from his perch and keep his money in return for...services. If she had to go through that again just now, she thought she might die.

No more mortality, thank you. No more sleazy mortal men with their cheap, plastic words and their chipping, painted glamor. Disgusting. Look at them, eyeing that other woman like she is some kind of toy.

She hesitated as she reached Cass's table, and slowly swung down into the seat across from her.

"Do you mind if I join you? If you do, please tell me. I merely wanted to inform you that you play very well, though, to be honest, your music is a little too sweet for my ears. Do you play here often?"

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Cass looked up, a little surprised at the appearance of the other violinist. She masked it almost instantly however, a polite smile skating across her lips. "Be my guest." She replied in a neutrally pleasant voice, her low, honeyed voice neither annoyed nor friendly. The curvy violinist, though only a teen, had learned quickly that it never paid to be overly friendly or aloof.

"I merely wanted to inform you that you play very well, though, to be honest, your music is a little too sweet for my ears. Do you play here often?"

Cassandra was not insulted by the comment, though one perfectly plucked eyebrow arched gracefully. She leaned back in the chair, her cool, pallid blue eyes steady on Sybelle's. Her smile did not waver and nor did it sharpen as another's might; mostly because Cass half-agreed with the other woman. "Really? To be honest, it felt a bit that way to me as well." She shrugged, gazing out at the crowd again.

Would she pick one tonight, or would she wait until her pantry was completely bare?

"I like to pretend I know what it was like to be happy..." She whispered quietly, her words not really meant for the other woman's ears but for her own.

Sybelle tilted her head back ever so slightly as if to say "aha." It made sense; Cass had never really seemed like the completely naive, always happy type, even when she had been playing. So it made sense that the violinist Sybelle had seen on stage was more of a guise than a person.

"Then I guess we have a lot in common already, Miss Violinist," she smiled faintly, her fingers twisting thoughtfully through her hair while her chin rested on her hand and her elbows propped themselves on the table. "Would you like a drink or something? You look like you could use one."

Sybelle pulled her hair from her face in annoyance and allowed her eyes to shift around the room. People were milling about as usual, oblivious to the two or to anyone else who had a problem...aware only of themselves and how they felt inside. And this is one of the main reasons I dislike humanity so much...so mindless, thoughtless, careless, inconsiderate...

Turning her eyes again on the other, Sybelle wondered at Cass's age. She looked so young to be here, so child-like and girlish, and yet so grown up at the same time. It was slightly baffling, and soothing, too.

OOC: Isn't Sybelle a human? I was just wondering 'coz she's sort of railing against humanity...

(Yes, she is a human, but she's not a very happy one. ^.^)