towerofanimus | One More Time With Feeling

Characters: Marceline and anyone interested in jamming
Setting: Room 2-01 or floor 14, your choice!
Format: Prose but I'll match you.
Summary: She's put the feelers out for people to play with, and now it's just a matter of who will come join her.
Warnings: Shouldn't be any but if anything happens I'll fix this bit.

The door was left open, practically habit when she wasn't asleep now, or when her roommate wasn't in, and Marceline was kicked back over the bed, the axe bass laying across her lap as she idly picked at the strings. She wasn't thinking up lyrics, or really even playing a set tune; if someone came in she'd pick something but right now it was just a progression of chords. A warm up, in its simplest form.

A more public area would possibly have a better effect, and be easier to reach, Marceline figured. Plus she could plug in her amp and really go to town, legs slung over the arm of a chair casually as she threw something together, spur of the moment. She'd practiced enough, and all she ever did was play anymore, without anyone to drag her out for adventures. She was going to play as if she had an audience, at least while she sat up here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Arthur Kirkland," he responded courteously, placing a hand against his solar plexus to give her a casually polite, but still very cordial bow. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss."

Idly, England realized that his own bass must have been left at home, since it wasn't present in his trunk or anywhere else in the room. He hadn't given it much thought. It had been a little while since he had last played it; he often had other things to worry about. But seeing someone else with musical inclinations was starting to make him a little nostalgic for his music.

"Marceline," she grinned, fangs poking over her lip from the width of her smile. This guy was old school, and it was kinda neat. The only other people she'd seen do that were servants or people being sarcastic, and he didn't seem like either. "Nice to meet you too."

She started strumming again, more for something to do with her hands than anything, before she started in her questioning again. "So you play anything? 'cause, no offense, but I kind of get that sort of feeling from you." Granted, she thought it was something like the violin, or the flute, or something of that sort, but it wouldn't hurt to ask.

Her fangs were regarded with a note of intrigue. He wondered what sort of species or race this woman was a part of -- she almost looked similar to that boy he had seen once in the cafeteria, but she didn't have horns, and her skin wasn't exactly the same. He straightened after she introduced herself. Lovely-sounding name.

England had to chuckle a little at her remark. "You'd be the only one to get that feeling," he quipped. Most people couldn't believe he actually played rock music. "I've played a number of instruments, actually. Mostly piano and violin." Those two were out of aristocratic obligation for the longest time, but he did eventually come to find personal enjoyment in them.

His eyes took on a sparkle of amusement following that. "Though my favourite -- and personal forte -- is the bass, as the case seems to be for you, my dear."

Arthur's last remark got Marceline to stop playing entirely and look up at him in awe. "No way. I mean, I guessed the violin, but the bass too?" This guy looked like an aristocrat, and not many of the ones she'd run into had a taste for playing the bass, much less for listening to it- the Duchy of Nuts being different (as the case usually was it seemed). A laugh found it's way out of her throat, and her grin turned almost excited. There was actually someone she could talk music with, for the first time in a long time. It was a nice feeling.

"That's pretty awesome. Compose your own music too?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Her enthusiasm was catching. It was rare that he really found anyone to talk to regarding his tastes in music -- most wrote him off as a frump who would only listen to the classical genre, which tended to preemptively turn people off of conversation with him about it.

England laughed softly. "Awesome" wasn't a word that he heard applied to him very often. It was nice to hear. "I'm glad that you think so," he began. "I have composed in the past, however it's never been a particular talent of mine. My skill lies in playing what others give me, and improvising."

He could actually write lyrics pretty well when he was in the mental state for it, but the music itself was more of a challenge. "And you?" prompted the Englishman. He gathered that she probably wrote her own songs, but it was safer to ask than to assume.

"Every now and then," she said, trying to play it cool. She could do covers if she felt up to them, but for the majority of her time playing, she composed her own things. Things she thought other people could relate to while simultaneously not caring whether they really could.

She looked at the axe bass, considering whether she could trust letting him play on it. It was tuned perfectly to her tastes, and even if she wasn't reluctant to let go of her bass it was still (made from) a family heirloom. Still... "Wanna show me what you've got?" she asked, holding it out to him carefully.

His eyebrows went up a little in surprise at the offer, and he glanced a few times between her and the guitar. England was well aware that most musicians were very touchy about their instruments, and understandably so. Anyone messing around with his bass was usually met with a reaction of hissing and spitting.

"If you wouldn't mind, I would love to," he answered after a moment of consideration. He held his hands out just beneath hers to take a hold of the axe, but he didn't touch it yet, giving her another look that asked for reassurance. He knew he'd never in a million years mistreat an instrument that wasn't his, but she had no way of being sure of that.

With anyone else, Marceline would have been screaming raging furious- she didn't even let her Dad touch her axe bass. But there was a very key difference between her father and Arthur: her father had been disapproving of her lifestyle (despite how he claimed to still love her no matter what) and had been even more disapproving of how she turned the family heirloom from weapon of destruction to weapon of destruction and sweet jams. Arthur seemed to understand that a musician's instrument was an extension of themselves, like another limb, and she had little doubt that he would treat it accordingly.

"Wouldn't have offered if I minded," she laughed, handing the bass over to him with only the slightest amount of trepidation. "I wanna hear what you've got."

One More Time With Feeling

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Backtagging like whoa. >>;