Snippet #2617915

"Oh, no, thank you," Farah answered with a polite smile. And it... uh, just kinda went silent from there. Not that Farah minded; she was being paid to lay down the bass lines, after all, not to be the life of the party. She simply strode over to the doorway of the studio, and took herself a seat down on the steps leading up to the door, leaning back and idly fiddling with the rings on her long fingers as she waited.

She wasn't much one for idle contemplation. Never had been. Still, though, she was looking forward to this-- not just to the studio work, to playing the music and exploring new horizons in music, but to the touring as well. She'd quickly discovered that the gigging life was a very different story when you were a metal musician; jazz gigs were fairly tame affairs in airy little clubs, where the general energy was laidback, chilled out, that sorta thing. Metal shows... yeah, there was nothing chilled out about playing those: it was all flashing lights and raucous shouting and sweat and heat and stress, not normally a combination of things Farah liked to have going on on her life.

But she could use the distraction now. Hell, that was mostly why she'd taken this job in the first place: jazz gigs weren't gonna cut it right now. She needed heat and sweat and yelling and noise. She needed something to get her mind off... off that. Something to ensure her facade of utter composure and coolness didn't start cracking under the pressure, 'cause god knew she was startin' to feel it.