Snippet #2609717

Farah was late.

She didn't like to be delayed if she could help it; a session musician's reputation hinged on punctuality, after all, and Farah made a point of being on time to her engagements, as much for the convenience of the other musicians as for her own reputation. There had been delays in her flight into Los Angeles, though, and now, the cab she'd called after sparing just a moment to drop off her scant few personal belongings at the allotted hotel room was taking its sweet time, too. She stood out by the curb in front of the hotel, her bass heavy in the soft case slung over her shoulder and her back leaned against the wall, and allowed herself little more than a rueful hint of a smile.

If I'm late, I'm late-- nothing to be done of it.

Happily enough, it was only another five minutes before the familiar egg-yolk yellow of the Los Angeles taxi service appeared down the street. Farah stepped away from the wall, toting her bass along with her as the cab pulled up beside the curb. The driver rolled the passenger seat window down and then leaned over; Farah had to bend down quite a ways to meet the driver's eyes as she clumsily queried, "Farah... uh, al-Suyuti?"

"That's me," Farah affirmed. "Well done, by the way, most people butcher it to high hell the first time around." She pulled the door open and stooped down to try and stuff herself into the passenger's seat, and although she had to slouch down in her seat to avoid the top of her skull popping through the roof of the car (clocking in at 6'8 had its downsides), she managed to nestle herself in fairly comfortably. With the bass in its soft case resting between her legs and held in place, she repeated the address of the studio to the driver, prompting a wordless nod from the other woman before the cab lurched back into the ebb and flow of Los Angeles traffic.

It was something like a fifteen or twenty minute drive from the hotel to the studio-- off the beaten path if ever I've seen such a thing, Farah mused as the cab pulled off the busy city streets and onto a little dirt road that cut through some sort of woodland. Not bad: a little peace and quiet was nice to have during downtime, although Farah preferred to get her work done with as little time frittered away on idle dallying as possible.

"So..." The two had kept their silence throughout the drive, and Farah blinked as the cab driver spoke up, glancing over at her. The driver's eyes flickered between Farah and the road as she navigated the cab along the winding path, and she added, "You some kind of rock star or something?"

The bassist admitted a modest grin, baring gleaming white teeth. "Flattering, but I'm afraid not. I'm just the lady they call whenever somebody needs to borrow a bassist for a day or two."

"Oh, I see." A wry smirk crossed the driver's lips before she added, "So, you get hired by any big bands? Metallica or Iron Maiden or whatever those big-time rock bands are?"

"Oh, heavens no," Farah drawled amicably. "Hell, I hate to admit it, but between you and me, I don't even remember the name of the band I'm about to be working with." The driver gave a chortle, and shook her head. "Well, at least you're doin' what you love, right?" she offered, as if in consolation. "Believe me, drivin' taxis ain't exactly my life's passion, but sometimes you gotta take what you can get to pay the bills."

"I certainly won't complain. I get paid handsomely to play music-- can't ask much more of life. And..." Her voice trailed off. And I could use the distraction right now more than ever. The driver shot a quizzical glance her way, but asked nothing more. It was only a minute or two later that the cab pulled up out front of the studio anyway; Farah unbuckled her seatbelt and then rifled around a bit in the pockets of her hoodie, eventually tugging out a wallet and digging out some cash for the fare, plus a respectable tip, of course. "Thanks," she added as she forked over the cash, and the driver nodded gratefully. She glanced up as Farah opened the door and hoisted herself out, and added, "By the way, how long you think you'll be in the city?"

The question was unexpected, but hardly difficult. Farah shrugged her shoulders as she stooped down to speak through the open window again, and answered, "About a week, I'd say." The driver gave another nod, and said, "Well, enjoy recording with the nameless wonders, eh?" She inclined her head towards where three men-- the regular members of the band, of course-- stood collected around the studio, and Farah flashed one last smile. "Don't doubt I will." She straightened up, and turned to make for the studio as the cab peeled back out onto the dirt road, and drove off.

"Sorry I'm late," she intoned as she stepped up towards the band with a friendly smile. "I forgot how nightmarish LA traffic can be. I'm Farah al-Suyuti, the person your record label's paying to lay down some bass tracks and then hit the touring circuits with a vengeance."

This was pretty out of her zone-- her name was mostly found in the credits of jazz fusion and extreme metal records-- but Farah'd always liked to take herself to new places.