[doHTML]<center><img src="http://i10.tinypic.com/6g3xd2d.png"><table width="406" background="http://i12.tinypic.com/4oz9i6x.png" cellpadding="10"><tr><td><font color="#20253c" face="arial" style="font-size: 7pt;"><div align=justify><i>just so for the people lurking on this thread understand, alice is visiting her brother at the music university, and um... james, i can't remember what we said for what was going to finally work for them to meet, but i'm still half asleep so i can't remember exactly... so i'm hoping this can work? he can be on the street practicing or something. -shrug.- >_<; oh, and um. i haven't rped in over a year, so i am incredibly rusty. ): so pardon this post in advance </i><br><br>

warsaw was different from st. cygne. dear alice couldn't place it exactly, but the layout, or something about the <i>feel</i> of this place seemed so remarkably foreign than her own home. she held her bags in her two hands, walking off the train (after boarding an ocean liner for a week) that she had called home for the couple days. a uniformed man came up to her, and offered to take her bags. chivalry, she thought happily. the bags were heavy and glad to give them so someone who could actually carry them. he lead her to a horse and buggy carriage, which she boarded and told the driver<font color=#6c6964> “the warsaw music institute, please,”</font> she said in her best polish. He smiled and clicked the horses into gear. Alice smiled, peering out into the window, looking at the city. <BR><BR>

a little while later the horses stopped, and alice got out, paid the man, patted one of the horses, then stood still to get her bearings. In from of her was a large building, newly constructed in the roman style. She smiled: this was definitely a place for Peter. She walked down the street to a small hotel, got a room and organized her stay, put down her bags, then walked outside again. She had planned to see him tomorrow, because she knew she would be weary from the traveling, and didn't want to have too much excitement in one day. A little ways down the road, alice spied a quaint cafe similar to ones back at home. She was glad to see a little bit of familiarity, and walked down to the cafe, her dress swishing with every step.<BR><BR>

she wore a simple dress that she used to travel in, a lovely plain maroon dress that was long sleeved and went down to her ankles. She hated how constricting it was, but that was the fashion. She wore a black hat similar to a fedora but not exactly, and light makeup but with lips stained the color of her dress. She ordered a cup of coffee, paid, and took it outside, leaning against the adjacent building, and sighed.</font></div align></td></tr></table><img src=http://i6.tinypic.com/4pvpzia.png></center>
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<i><font color=indigo>We were going to have them meet at the Party Peter was throwing for Alice's Arrival, remember? Well if you don't, you've my AIM so just IM me and I'll remind you. Lawls.</font></i>

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Not quite a violin or a viola.. Yet it was in some odd sense. Ivory keys taken clearly from a harpsichord or from one of those new "Pianos" notched into it's side as if God himself had designed it with his ink tipped stylist. A sweet song that played both sounds in succession filled the small area of the street. Living at the institute was all well and good but how was he to make any money to continue his personal musical pursuits if he did not, in some way, get the funds needed to peruse this evident passion?<i><font style="font-family:georgia; font-size:10px; color:indigo"> Well, one could steal.. and believe me.. </font></i>Thursday wouldn't hesitate to answer if one posed to him this very question, <i><font style="font-family:georgia; font-size:10px; color:indigo"> I do a very good bit of that, as well..</font></i> but he did have some sense of moral compass and thus, played his creations on the street corners, paying for what he needed when he could and taking what he needed when he couldn't.

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Call him not a rule breaker for he was far from that.. well.. Lets be all true and honest, Lark DID break a good many rules but it was always in, what he thought, was his and the rest of the student body's best interest. Did the rest of the student body want to hear him spouting his views on how he thought the Spanish guitar's potential could be doubled by a simple jolt of electricity? He doubted it and like wise, he didn't want, couldn't stand the jeering looks he got from his classmates. Not that Thursday wasn't a tough boy, he was, but he was a touch too proud to take any of that kindly.

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So instead of sitting in on another lecture on conventional music theory, Lark found himself with feet planted squarely on the street's cobblestone, just as it always had been and where he sometimes felt would always be. Blonde hair was flipped to the side as his right hand took the bow, fluidly licking at the thin strings while left not only held the violin-piano steady but ran up and down the sides of it's neck, pressing down solid white keys, the most delicate trickle of ivory complimenting his playing exquisitely.

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Eyes as violet as it's flower's name sake spotted a young woman leaving the shop, cafe' in hand. Sauntering with all the debonair he could muster (which was for the boy with the small smile, not much) he took his place in lock step with her, his footsteps tracing hers as she attempted to find a table or perhaps went to her home where, undoubtedly by her dress, she'd have enough food or money to give him, if not for his playing just so he would leaave the poor dear alone. He wasn't able to speak to her, jaw used to hold the instrument steady but was able to let his eyes speak for him, grinning gently, only enough to seem non-assuming and good-natured.

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