Snippet #2642424

And so, exit Farah al-Suyuti.

It was evening by the time she emerged from the studio, bass slung over one shoulder-- a warm, dry Los Angeles evening, the distant sound of traffic mingling with the warbling of cicadas and the gentle ruffle of the breeze through leaves. She crossed the steps leading up to the studio in one loping stride, and then settled down to perch on the highest one, cradling her bass between her legs.

She'd been figuring on calling that cab service again when she yanked her phone out of the pocket of her jeans and began flicking through the contacts. Scrolling down to 'Taxi service', however, brought her straight to the name 'Taki', and she hesitated, her long finger wavering between the two contacts. There wasn't much point calling now, she tried to reason with herself-- she'd come all this way to LA to make herself scarce, after all-- but she couldn't help that little twinge of stubbornness, that desire to fix it herself that had as often gotten her in trouble as it had gotten her out of it. Finally, gnawing on her lip, she pressed the touchscreen over Taki, and brought the phone to her ear.

It rang, and rang, and rang, and went nowhere, and that didn't necessarily mean there was nobody on the other line to hear her calling. She frowned, but waited until the plastic voice of the operator invited her to leave a message, and then summoned up a smile. "Hinan, Nataki," she began, attempting a voice that was blissfully ignorant in its cheer. "Just got done with my first jam with this band. It's pretty unfamiliar territory, I must admit, but I'm enjoying the thrill of trying to adapt to a new style. Anyway, I hope you're well-- I just wanted to... just thought I'd call because--" She tapered off abruptly, suddenly far less confident in herself and in this call, and frowned dourly. Just wanted to what? she demanded of herself, before shaking her head ruefully. Stupid idea. Would've only made things worse.

She set the phone down and then deleted the abortive message before it could send, before calling the taxi service.








Farah was long gone by the time Gabrielle was ready to go marching out of the studio with Evie in tow-- she was set on the two of 'em hittin' the LA bar scene with a vengeance, livin' it up, maybe a fistfight or tw-- okay, maybe not so much that-- but you could imagine her surprise when Kai of all people piped up, "... perhaps I could go for a drink or two."

It was the voice of somebody who really wasn't sure this was a good idea, and Gabrielle's reaction was the reaction of somebody determined to prove that doubt 100% right. "Now who're you and what'd you do with K?" she demanded, before chuckling heartily and clapping the guitarist amicably on the shoulder. "Sure, man, come with us. Hell, E's got a pretty good idea, even though I'm pretty sure she only suggested it 'cause she don't wanna go drinkin' with me alone." If she was in any manner insulted by the notion, it was little indicated by the broad grin on her face, nor the enthusiasm with which she bounded out of their little nook of the studio, narrowly avoiding slamming her guitar into this or that wall as she went.

She all but rocketed her way over to the door into Azmodan's part of the studio-- which is to say she slammed facefirst into it. She stepped back, blinked, and then was all grins again as she shoved the door open. "Hel-lo!" she boomed, as if she were attempting to greet somebody on the other side of the Atlantic and not a group of people two feet away from her. "We were talkin' about goin' out for some drinks and we figured, hey, we're sharin' the studio with y'all, might as well get all friendly and rub shoulders and such, right? So how 'bout it? I'll even buy the first round. Unless any of y'all's into those fancy cocktails that cost more than my apartment, ain't payin' for none of that shit."