The screech of the violin was unpleasant, and wasn't doing much for Mabelle's dropping mood. Clearly waking up that day was a mistake. "Of course he doesn't like me," she agreed with a quietly annoyed huff, increasingly unimpressed with Michel's unresolved issues with his uncle. "And neither do you, nor the painter that ripped me off today, or the whole fucking entirety of Paris. Great, now we have that cleared up."
Lifting her head to take a final frustrated gulp of tea, Mabelle slammed the empty cup back down and stood, turning the chair around. "But I'm not the one acting like a needy, tantruming child about it. So he's using me to piss you off, so he's mocking you for not only letting me live but allowing me into your home. Either take care of it, or get over it. But stop whining." Hauling out the cello from its case, Mabelle made an equally obnoxious scratch in retaliation.