A tall, thin, and visibly young woman steps out first. Her blonde hair is swept into a messy ponytail, and she adjusts the maroon tie around her neck nervously. The click of her dress shoe's heel is muffled only slightly by the rough carpet and the musicians. We watch as her hands fall back by her sides, smoothing out the edges of her navy blue suit as she takes her place at the far right.
"That's Violin," Rosie whispers, "All business. She's seems young and inexperienced, but she's just as cunning as any of them."
A shorter woman follows. She's the epitome of a typical Strings noblewoman: elegant and carries an air of "I'm just a little bit better than you. Just a bit". Her hair is the same shade of golden blonde, tucked neatly into a bun and fastened in place with bejewelled hair sticks. Her collared white top hugs her curves, and her long, magenta skirt brushes against the ground as she walks.
I rack my brain for images in the recent news.
Rosie nods. "Head of the law sector. She'll use your own words as a weapon. She's also a former general of the army."
I shiver as Viola's muscles ripple under her shirt. She could easily pin me pretty easily.
"They're going in ceremonial order," Rosie leans in and whispers. "Cello's gone, so next is Contrabass..."
"...and then the Concertmistress," I finish.
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