Sat. 12/07/2250 – By Nicole Adams
Adrian really wasn’t looking forward to meeting Deirdre and Jericho again. Not like this- Rhea injured, limping still on the leg that had received the awful wound, and with the knowledge that his sister had been the one to deal the blow. He’d thought he was free of her- and yet she’d shown up, a ghost of his past, and she’d done her best to kill him and Rhea both. Was it too much to ask, to be rid of her for good?
He was driving again, since Rhea was hurt, but relying on her directions to the bookstore. It was in a busy part of Chicago, shops of all kinds lining both sides of the street. The sidewalks were crowded with people and cars took up most of the available parking.
“There it is,” Rhea spoke up, sitting straighter and barely hiding the wince as the wound brushed against the edge of the seat. Adrian slowed the car and slipped into a spot, pleased to find one within easy walking distance to the bookstore; cutting the engine, he got out and glanced over at Rhea as she found her footing.
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Sunday, 12/08/2250 – By Rebecca Green.
Like a flowing river, notes spilled from the hairs of her bow, each one fashioned by the tingle of strings that stretched the length of her fingerboard. Even as she played, the swan maiden would reach up and tighten or loosen the pegs that millimeter she could tell was off. Her song briefly halting for each change, but every few beats she did it again.
Aelita had always loved the violin. She poured her heart and soul into the instrument more often than not. She had been learning since she was three, piano a bit earlier. Of course simple stuff then, but quickly Aelita had grown used to playing proper pieces by the time she was seven, and it only had flourished from there. She’d been in the advanced symphony from the moment she became a third year, and first seat violin since fifth.
The wooden instrument meant everything to her and she was good at it, one of the best. She had to be. Her fingers were steady, her arm careful to contain the piece of art in her grasp. Dropping it would have to be her worst nightmare, Aelita couldn’t imagine losing it, not anymore. Not when her father had been the one to pick it out with her when she turned sixteen and had outgrown her last.
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