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

"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. >>;