Brianne Avery (carillon) wrote in praesidio_rpg, @ 2018-09-14 12:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | brianne avery, castor lestrange |
Who: Princess Brianne Avery and Lord Castor Lestrange
What: Theory put into practice.
Where: The twins' music room, to start.
When: (backdated) 13th September, afternoon
Status: Closed, Ongoing
Rating: Low
Though she still wasn't sure what to expect of the upcoming interaction with her betrothed, Brianne felt much more at ease knowing that this little experiment would take place somewhere she was most comfortable. The decision to get to know him was not one she had anticipated making, at least not until they had been married and she had no choice - there was little reason to do so before, when the arrangement between them might have been dissolved. But now... Not knowing what would happen to Fiona, but aware that making a noticeable effort to go along with her parents' wishes might have some chance of helping her, she was doing as much as she could.
Having informed two of the more gossip-prone members of her staff that Lord Castor would be arriving to see her that afternoon and to direct him to the music room upon his arrival, Bri had spent most of her morning at menial tasks while trying to keep in mind that this was necessary; reluctant as she was to do so, she would still be letting Castor see a side of herself that she hadn't been able to show Fiona, and that added more weight to the sense that she was betraying her somehow.
An hour prior to when they had chosen to meet, Brianne had set to practicing a few of the scales relevant to the pieces she had chosen to play, pieces she had known for years and that had little emotional bearing besides familiarity to her. She had dressed simply, choosing a comfortable sweater and dark jeans, choosing heeled boots instead of flats due to the difference in their height, and had pulled her hair into a loose braid. Having chosen to start with a prelude in G major, positioned in her favoured chair with her cello balanced on its end pin and held gently between her knees, she touched her bow to the strings and let herself be lost among notes and movement. Gone was the restraint she usually carried herself with, her arms and torso moving with a silken fluidity, bow and cello themselves extensions of her rather than separate pieces. She had said she would play for him, and it was far better to let him arrive in the midst of it before she had time to be self-conscious or to hide behind her usual mask.
Bri drew the last note of the prelude out, long and slow, then continued into the allemande, eyes closed and fingers trailing along the fingerboard by memory as she swayed slightly with the rise and fall of the notes.