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Post by ISA KRISTOFF on Mar 21, 2015 5:42:42 GMT
her laughter reminds him of being underdressed, of secret cigarettes and houses smelling of rotted wood and crumbling. this isn't the future or reunion he'd have imagined - he never thought of these things, the way the storm doesn't look back into its wake. (the way the boy caught in its eye can't see past the storm) his lips twitch into a faint smile, with all the regal restraint of one who refuses to be amused by anything. "a legend." he'd like to be - his reputation has begun to precede him, and in this case it's trailing behind. "they must be leading happy and dull lives if they're still talking about a teenage boy you knew for a year in school.""what are you doing here?"
MAGALI ZOHAR |
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Post by MAGALI ZOHAR on Mar 22, 2015 2:49:36 GMT
isa smiles, just barely, and she's reminded of the boy she once fell a little bit in love with, before love became more than an umbrella term for admiration and fondness. now she realizes she was in love with what isa represented, the antithesis of happy and dull—an idea, not a person. she isn't so different from her parents after all, magali thinks wryly. "very happy and very dull," she agrees. "papa got invited to teach at the university here, where i majored in classical music." "maybe you rubbed off on me all those years ago, because i decided to try for electronic music production instead of becoming a violinist like my parents wanted. we're not on very good terms right now. they think i've gone temporarily insane." |
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Mar 22, 2015 19:49:20 GMT
Post by ISA KRISTOFF on Mar 22, 2015 19:49:20 GMT
its out of habit that isa doesn't speak much of himself. even to magali, who already knows what he'd prefer nobody know. he remembers his hands on her hips, the way he could wrap his fingers around her skinny wrists, remembers passing her those cheap cigarettes - innocent things, and their blowout. the kind of blowout that was a weekly occurrence in isa's house persisting for years in hers. "congratulations." his tone is flat and ingenuine. "how's that going?" there's a hint of pride, that she's done something more worthwhile and interesting than what her parents foresaw for her. that he's the reason for it, if only partly. "i'd like to hear sometime." if he hasn't already, isa assumes she hasn't had much success with it yet. but it takes a lot of luck and time to build up any sort of renown. MAGALI ZOHAR |
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Post by MAGALI ZOHAR on Mar 24, 2015 3:55:54 GMT
magali shrugs—somehow the rise and fall of her shoulders appears delicate, deliberate. "not very well," she speaks frankly. "but it is what it is. i have a few tracks online under the name sfz—i'd be surprised if you've heard any." |
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Post by ISA KRISTOFF on Mar 26, 2015 2:36:46 GMT
he shakes his head - isa doesn't make much of a point to seek out music; but neither has he made it a point to see out magali. fate is a hokey word and a stupid idea. the door chime goes off, someone stomping snow onto the mats; and isa doesn't look over. not until a hand waves - excusez-moi. with a note of dread, he glances over, then back to magali. "a friend of mine is playing at prophecy friday. come down, we'll talk then." he says almost as an afterthought. MAGALI ZOHAR/fin i guess |
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