[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/PLyfcLV.png[/img]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/7CEeryv.png[/img][/center]
[color=lightgray][color=E77298]Time:[/color] 11:30am
[color=E77298]Location:[/color] The Edin Theater
[color=E77298]Interactions:[/color] [@JJ Doe] Fritz [@CitrusArms] Stratya [@FunnyGuy] Lorenzo
[color=E77298]Mention:[/color] [@Samreaper] Kazumin [@Lava Alckon] Farim
[color=E77298]Attire:[/color][url=i.imgur.com/1vyPZBl.png]Dress[/url], [url=imgur.com/3K5kt8B]Hair[/url], [url=imgur.com/fUMMfAQ]Necklace[/url], [url=i.imgur.com/ueSwGrp.png]Headpiece[/url]

[hr] 

Anastasia was still dabbing at her cheeks, sniffling as she tried to recover. She had just witnessed the most tragic, moving story about a puppet trying its best in a cruel, unfair world and now she had to emotionally shift gears into Lorenzo’s grand poetry? Talk about whiplash!

But then—trumpets!

Her eyes widened in delight as the music began. [i]Oooooh, fancy! Ribbons! Petals![/i] She clapped her hands excitedly, already getting into the mood of it. 

Annnd theeeen Lorenzo spoke.

The first few words were fine, but as he went on, Anastasia’s expression slowly melted from delight into mild confusion... Then anger set in.

[color=E77298]“Oh, EXCUSE ME?!”[/color] she suddenly burst out, loudly enough for anyone in the row,  [color=E77298]“‘A man playing with his pigeon’?! Is that what we’re calling an incredible synchronization performance now with a [i]falcon[/i]?”[/color] She crossed her arms, exhaling sharply as she glared at the stage.

And then, Lorenzo called for her.

Her body froze mid-fume. Her lips parted, and she blinked rapidly. [color=E77298]“My… cello?”[/color] She slowly turned back toward the stage, her brain short-circuiting. After a moment of stunned silence, she inhaled sharply and smacked her hands against her cheeks.

[color=E77298][i] Alright, Annie. Focus. You can be mad and still do this. Multitask your emotions![/i][/color]

She stood abruptly and stomped her way toward the stage, her bright, friendly smile absolutely not matching the fire in her eyes.

[color=E77298]“Duke Vikena!”[/color] she chirped, her voice too sweet. [color=E77298]“Wow! What an introduction! So many trumpets! So much enthusiasm! And such a unique way to describe a fellow performer’s hard work!”[/color] 

Perhaps she had not been able to completely omit the passive aggressiveness from her tone. 

[color=E77298]“And of course I’ll set the mood for your poetry! That’s what I’m here for—to support the arts!”[/color] She dragged her cello out from behind the curtain then adjusted it.

With one last pointed look at the back of his head, she placed the bow to the strings. [color=E77298]“Oh, but before I begin, Dukey,”[/color] she began lowly, [color=E77298]“What kind of mood are we going for here?”[/color] She smiled innocently at him, [color=E77298]“Shall I play something exciting to match the flawless confidence of a man who just insulted our performers?”[/color] She plucked a high, mocking note before continuing, her voice growing sharper, [color=E77298]“Or perhaps something somber, a little… tragic?”[/color] Her bow glided down, drawing out a slow, mournful note that hung in the air.

She leaned forward just slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper, [i][color=E77298]“Like the tale of a poet who maybe should have stopped talking five minutes ago?”[/color][/i]
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