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 Posted: Wed Jul 15, 2009 11:23 am
Cylar strummed. Cylar strummed and plucked and every so often would strum again. In rue, there was little else could do; he was a man born with the natural sense of rhythm and musicality this crowd sorely missed out on throughout the process of conception and birth. The more enthusiastic he got, the less enthusiastic they were; he likened it to entertaining a deaf conservative. Bringing his tuneless strumming to an end and mumbling thanks to the smattering of applause that sounded more like several people coughing in synchronicity, Cylar reveled in the following silence; it was the perfect moment, one of those in which time was suspended and outstandingly egregious audiences were forgotten.
It was at this moment that Imogen had chosen to somersault onto the stage and crash wholesale into his now three-legged stool. The Hiccup rolled onto her back, glee'd a smile and wiggled several clawed fingers over her head. Cylar, who couldn't bring himself to be angry or even frustrated by the girl's lack of boundaries because in all honesty it was the most exciting thing that had happened all day (and it was well into late afternoon), lifted Imogen onto his knees and adjusted his guitar so that it settled comfortably on top of them.
"If you behave I might even let you play a song for everyone a little later," he said ruminatively, wedging a pick between his fingers and hovering it over the strings.
Imogen responded by throwing her arms into the air and hollering: "OKAY GO!"
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Posted: Tue Jul 21, 2009 3:49 pm
Issy felt odd going out in public without her brother or sisters. She was just with her Dad today, heading out to a local park to hear some concert or another being held. Hatty had felt his little girl was lacking in activity, and though she'd been going to the youth center a lot for synchronized swimming, it still wasn't much.
The brunette glanced interestedly about at the group of kids who seemed so bored with this performance. The most interesting - or at least interested - of them seemed to be the one on the man's lap, a redhead with dark skin. The horse girl smiled, taking a seat and listening to Cylar play. Maybe it'd be good?
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Posted: Sun Aug 16, 2009 12:56 am
It was depressing -- surprising, even, of a man who was easily talented and artlessly tuneful -- that the crowd still held little interest in the man's performance; he had been hopeful, even naive in thinking he could entertain a crowd so scantily interested in anything other than tapping away at their discourteously buzzing cell phones and groping at each others erogenous zones. It was a cesspool of bad cologne and hormones.
Still, it was exposure -- the worst kind of exposure, but exposure.
And then there was a scent of flowers strangely out of place that brought Cylar's attention to back to Imogen who had begun threading daisies into her hair: the smell was sweet and fragrant, not overpoweringly so, but vaguely reminiscent of a time he had long forgotten in a place he cared not to remember. It was then that he realized she was threading daisies into her hair with her toes, and it felt so weird and on tenterhooks that the pseudo folkstar tilted his knees in surprise, sending the child in a rolling spiral over the edge of the stage and onto the stretch of grass beneath them. It felt almost melodramatic to call out her name in shock (and potential guilt) but luckily for him the situation needn't arise; Imogen had begun laughing airily and swung herself forward, scanning the ground for delinquent daisies that had escaped from her mane.
"Ring 'round rosie," she hummed tunelessly, plucking a daisy from its roots. "Pocket full of daisies."
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Posted: Thu Aug 27, 2009 9:09 pm
Issy blinked as the girl had rolled of the stage. She'd gone to sit a bit closer so as to avoid the crazy teenagers behind her, and had ended up with a few daises in her lap.
"Here joo go." the girl whispered, holding them out. "Joo drooped zees."
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