sempre saltando

As violists went, Miyabi was just as hardworking as the next. Limited forces and critical parts meant that you had to saw away at that C string no matter the cost; no matter how tired were your sagging arms, no matter how sweaty was your desperately clutched chin rest.

It didn't help that the folds of Miyabi's neck were particularly susceptible to painful rubbing and acne. Her index and middle fingertips - sometimes even the ring - often became blackened with rosin, dirt and oils from the fingerboard, as the thick strings dug into her soft pads. But all this, no matter how indelicate and unpleasant, even unsanitary, was a cost Miyabi was proud to bear in order that she could hold her head (and chin) up as an instrumental member of the lower strings.

Augustus in Torna only made that duty all the more weighty. While Miyabi was grateful not to be the one spotlighted in the obligato, as Perun (and perhaps only Perun) could handle such a responsibility with the utmost fearless grace, she nevertheless let out a mental squeak at the prospect of being lined up on downstage right, stand partners swapped over, in order that the altos could be fairly compensated for their tireless efforts via true exposure.

It was one of Maestro Von Genbu's more recent and more harebrained contrivances, since no other orchestra in contemporaneous memory to the composition or later would spring for such a stunt, and it somehow completely rebalanced the proximity of the bass-timbre winds to their string counterparts despite the celli remaining in place. The core of the sound was what was gone, away to the shore of the ensemble.

Miyabi remained an inside player, but now instead of being able to peer unscrutinized through the maestro's wildly waving arms out into the darkened auditorium, she found herself gaze to gaze with Aegaeon's equally vacant stare. It wasn't that they weren't highly intelligent, and quite pleasant in close conversation, but to have that as your partner, throughout the concert and indeed one quarter of the entire season?

Behind Aegaeon sat a much more enticing sight: Glimmer, in high ponytail, crop top, leggings, and Hokas. A redundant hair tie on her right wrist outlined and highlighted each graceful flick of her entire bow arm in coordination with strict, targeted vibrato. Her neck and knees participated too; her entire body was tuned to arch around the cello and drive it to its utmost potential.

(Even the baby hairs that flickered about her crown!)

Now, Miyabi couldn't help being clumsy. She certainly didn't really try, at this point. If she didn't embrace herself, no one would. That was the litany, anyway, and she'd always carefully amend that she couldn't count on anyone to do so, because actually, who would it help if someone did, and she stubbornly refused, because those were the rules, dear me?

Dear me, indeed. All of this. All of that. It was apt to trap Miyabi into spirals that sapped her creative energy for the rest of the night, if she wasn't careful.

But caution could wait, here. There was just something magical about Glimmer's posture, about the way she approached their entire music-making endeavor.

It was as if every rehearsal, to her, was a performance - was the performance. It didn't matter when Zeke might deign to stop and waste time, because this phrase, this run right here, was to be its own magnum opus.

And here was the thing: Glimmer was a good player, to be sure. Even great! But she wasn't so good, so polished, so refined, as to be a superstar. That honor fell to Ethel, with her overseas education, degrees, teaching credits and solo performances mounting in the myriad multiples. That was why Ethel was principal, and Glimmer merely section.

It was mystifying, really. Miyabi had ample opportunity that fall to study Glimmer, from posture to repose - and study she did. Whenever she felt confident the other girl wasn't looking, which was always. She already kept to herself at breaks, making sure to sip some water and pretend to inspect the student artwork in the hallway by the bathrooms. Now, she had a project; a mission. And since it was a project, didn't that make it okay?

What she observed, in so many mental notes, was Glimmer's propensity to stare intently at the conductor...sometimes. To make markings...rarely. To whisper with her stand partner...almost never (that partner being Ashera sort of explained things; there was probably some sort of gnarly history afoot).

Miyabi did all of those things in a pattern and purpose so practiced as to be perfect. How else were they to get the most out of their time together?

Glimmer's choice, meanwhile, was to take the music personally, as it had been written and as she wanted to play it. She'd listened to it passively once or twice, and that was good enough. Everyone knew Rohan, so Glimmer knew Rohan. Glimmer also knew Glimmer. She had a concept of her sound and certainly of the machinations she had to exact to get it.

But she didn't really care. She didn't really want to try - or be seen trying, rather.

With a lack of focus to task like that, Miyabi would almost expect--

"Hey! Have you been staring at me?"

--that.

Of course habitually wandering (if not wondering) eyes would see fit to catch her out eventually.

There Glimmer stood, all five feet nine inches of her bent slightly at the waist as akimbo elbows thrust her silhouette into striking intimidation.

(Striking was the word for it, for sure.)

But no. Miyabi wouldn't fold, wouldn't stammer.

"I-I--" ...well... "You sit directly across from me! I would no more s-stare at you than I would Aegaeon!"

Pretty little liar.

Now Glimmer smirked, shrugged, crossed her arms. "Yeah, right. You totally don't find me sooo much more eye-catching than ol' Zeke."

This was a fair point: that Miyabi was just as truant as Glimmer was indubitable. However, situational awareness and engagement with your peers throughout the ensemble was simply part and parcel to good musicianship! Neither insistent eye contact with the page nor a death glare at the dirigent would suffice!

"I won't deny it," Miyabi sniffed, rather than make any further bold claims. She clasped her viola tighter still to her chest, so as to subsume two bodies into one and make herself smaller - inasmuch as that were even possible. Now of all times, she became nerved as to the threat of her chair creaking out of angle with the stand.

Her opponent had no regard for the state of the Manhasset. "Nuh-uh. You just did."

And just what are you going to do about it? Miyabi's spunky alter-alto ego clashed back. The thought hit her internal soundscape like a splash cymbal, however, so she only waited.

"All eyes, no ego," Glimmer tutted. No argument from Miyabi. "Just do me a favor and look at me when I look back?"

Miyabi's head shot up so fast she nearly clocked herself with her own scroll. Glimmer's smirk hadn't gentled, and she couldn't say that this was a truly mutual offering, but as in chamber music...call and response.

"I just like watching you," Miyabi said softly.

Glimmer clicked her tongue, just the faintest touch; lips parted. "...same."

(Only one word for her, of all terms - bellissima.)