[Music will always draw in Verso, each bar of the melody tugging him nearer as though he were attached to invisible strings. And a piece such as this one, carried down the darkened streets, weaving through the crowd of those trying to escape the power outages in the buildings nearby? One that wefts familiar?
What a funny feeling — allure and curiosity and dread, pressurized into a heavy ball-bearing in his chest. But he can’t avoid investigating, he needs to confirm with his own two eyes that the musician is precisely who he thinks it is.
By the time he arrives, she’s likely already pulled in a crowd. The strings of her guitar have equally enchanted the people here, calmed by it, maybe, in the sea of disarray that Panorama seems to inhabit. Smiles on their faces, murmurs of approval between them. Verso halts at the edges of the crowd, refusing to nudge past the diameter of it. Yet he’s tall enough to see who’s playing.
It is Lune.
Verso gives no indication of emotion; no one has the privilege of seeing what he feels. He merely stands, quietly, and watches.]
no subject
What a funny feeling — allure and curiosity and dread, pressurized into a heavy ball-bearing in his chest. But he can’t avoid investigating, he needs to confirm with his own two eyes that the musician is precisely who he thinks it is.
By the time he arrives, she’s likely already pulled in a crowd. The strings of her guitar have equally enchanted the people here, calmed by it, maybe, in the sea of disarray that Panorama seems to inhabit. Smiles on their faces, murmurs of approval between them. Verso halts at the edges of the crowd, refusing to nudge past the diameter of it. Yet he’s tall enough to see who’s playing.
It is Lune.
Verso gives no indication of emotion; no one has the privilege of seeing what he feels. He merely stands, quietly, and watches.]