Tony tries to apologize, fails;Nina Myers tries to plant seeds of doubt;Asmodean talks music

[chelleuncurled]

Michelle comes downstairs and sits at the Bar.

She is not even close to happy.

She orders a mimosa, because that doesn't count as drinking in her mind.

It looks like she didn't sleep all that much last night, either;

Comments

[chelleuncurled]

"Everything is fine, Mr. Natael. I just didn't sleep very well last night."

She takes another sip of her drink and thinks that there's too much orange juice in it.

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean nodded calmly, but gave her a look. His dark eyes said that he knew she was lying. His voice and movements said nothing of the sort.

"I hope you rest better then."

He paused, and gestured gracefully to the harp.

"Would you care for some music?"

[chelleuncurled]

Because Michelle has not learned the lesson that his music is *evil* - she nods. "Okay."

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean nodded.

"Very well, then."

And he played the March of Death.

A grim, powerful piece that was not as much a funeral march, but rather an anti-wedding march. Everything that wedding meant: love, trust, commitment, respect, intimacy. This piece spoke of the opposite. The bard poured his despair, loneliness, hopelessness, hatred, and resentment into the music, as if trying to tear the audience asunder with it.

Truly sublime.

The bard glanced up at Michelle as he finished with a sigh.

[chelleuncurled]

Michelle finds herself blinking back tears. She takes a breath, searching for words and failing.

"That was very...powerful."

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean gave a solemn nod.

"Music speaks."

He meant a lot with those two words.

[chelleuncurled]

"Did you write that yourself?"

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean nodded.

"I did. It is the last movement of the Grand Passions Cycle, considered to be the finest piece of music I ever wrote."

He paused and with a touch of sadness in his voice.

"It was one of my earliest pieces as well."

[OOC: *pimps Asmodean's conversation (and dance) with Nina*]

[chelleuncurled]

Achieving fame too soon turns many musicians to drugs and alcohol, not usually evil.

"The Grand Passions Cycle?"

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean nodded calmly.

"Yes, the piece I played for you was the final movement, the March of Death."

[chelleuncurled]

[ooc: Asmodean/Nina! Talk about your OTPs]

"How many movements are there?"

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean considered for a moment.

"Three."

[OOC: ...That pairing scares me. Most pairings I suggest/partake in are scary though.]

[chelleuncurled]

"Do they have names?"

[ooc: Aw, but it's the perfect match!]

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean nodded.

"They do."

He paused.

"The first movement is the Breath of the Creator, and the Second Movement is A Heart of Flame."

[chelleuncurled]

She nods, "Did you perform them or did an orchestra?"

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean considered.

"Over the years, they have been played by many groups of musicians, myself included."

[OOC: Asmodean/Nina: theirloveissoevil?]

[chelleuncurled]

[ooc: Asmodean/Nina Theirloveissolookingoutforthemselves]

"How many years?"

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean thinks for a moment.

"I wrote the piece in my late teenage years so... Quite possibly for over three hundred and twenty five years."

[OOC: Indeed.]

[chelleuncurled]

She blinks at the number, "Do people live longer where you're from?"

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean nodded.

"Yes, while physiologically no real difference exists, my use of the One Power affords me a much longer lifespan."

He paused.

"I will possibly live upwards of nine hundred years."

The bard's age while ambiguous looks to be in his late-twenties, early thirties.

[chelleuncurled]

Michelle nods, trying to hide her surprise at that statement.

But she's really not in the mood for small talk right now and her drink's getting empty. And she's not feeling any better.

[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

Asmodean notices, her lack of drink, and taps the bar with a quick whisper.

A new drink appears for Michelle, but the bard wanders off in pursuit of other patrons.

[chelleuncurled]

Michelle eyes the new drink but may or may not actually drink it.