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Syrica Hart
There are plenty of places, too many people, but something there is never enough of is common sense. Syrica isn't about to stand for that.
0 · 1,183 views · located in 
Wing City Gardens (South)
a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by pantalimon
So begins...
Syrica Hart's Story
Syrica Hart sighed with relief, leaning back in her seat. "You're welcome." She turned around, scooping a bowl from the counter of the next booth over. "And have some soup, while you tell me about yourself. Name, age, height weight..." She chuckled lightly. "Who are you, and what happened?"
Syrica Hart blinks. "I can't listen to this again." She says quietly, folding her arms and bowing her head. "I know what happened, but I can't help that..."
Syrica Hart stands up, and nods to Aiden. "I have to leave." She whispers under her breath, shadows darting to her face. "Stay safe." With this, she leaves the bar.
Syrica Hart looks up, smelling the wood of a well-cared for instrument. Her eyes travel toAllen, as she pushes herself up off of her seat and comes to silently sit by his side. Startling green eyes focused intently on the violin, she asks "Where did you find that?"
Syrica Hart allows a smile to lightly curve her lips. "Indeed." she reaches out, looking questioningly at him. "May I?"
Syrica Hart flicks her head up, hearing Fletcher's comment. "Excuse me? You're not the only good-looking Vampire in the room." She notes exasperatedly, loosing her calmness instantly.
Syrica Hart shakes her head, focusing back on the instrument. Thinking of what she could play by memory, she chooses the piece never written: Castlecalla. It begins with a trill on the D, and as she progresses through a series of harmonious notes on the lower strings and works her bow back and forth, that peaceful smile comes across her face once more.
Syrica Hart begins humming quietly along with the tune, which draws to a slow, lazy close which involves placing four fingers instead of the usual three on the G string, and takes the bow's full lenth to play. She sighs, releasing the rest from under her chin and holds the instrument and its wooden company. "Thank you, it's...it's been a while since I've played." She smiles softly.
Syrica Hart smiles, shaking Allen's hand firmly. "It's good to meet you. I'm Syrica Hart, long-time musician and writer. Et vous?" Her light French accent asserts itself as she mixes up the correct English words for those in her native language.
Syrica Hart smiles widely at Ovid, holding up a finger to tell him to wait for a moment, and gestures to the seat nearest to her. She turns back to Allen. "A pleasure to meet you as well." His hot lips burn her ice cold hand, leaving light red marks which she proceeds to ignore. "I am here to meet new people; such as yourself; and because a girl like me needs a good, healthy fight once in a while. I'm much more in shape than I appear to be." Her soft voice penetrates its way in to the man's mind, prodding around his thoughts in a way that would feel almost like trying to flex a numb hand.
Syrica Hart raises one eyebrow slightly above her right eye. "Mmmm, that is yet to be heard of. The oafs in here couldn't put up more than a minute or two of a scrap against me." She shrugs her shoulders. "But what can I really do?"
Syrica Hart smiles with only the left side of her mouth, one pointed tooth ever so slightly overlapping her bottom lip. "It's such an easy task, really, to disturb the peace. Really." The last word is a pur, as her tone of voice once more probes in to Allen's mind, gently lapping up his thoughts with intricate feelers. She vaugely senses Ovid's anger behind her, but her mind is busy with other matters.
Syrica Hart nods, not entirely focused with him but gently probing his thoughts. Her inner defense mechanism, sensing his idea of attacking her, hardens her skin to a diamond-like quality. "It would indeed seem that that would be the best idea." She turns lightly, and gracefully on one heel to slip in to the seat opposite from Ovid. "Hey, how're you?"
Syrica Hart stretches her arms, placing her hands in Ovid's line of vision. "Hmmm?" She says lazily. "And what would that reason be? I'm alright, by the way."
Syrica Hart places her hand over Ovid's, shocking her, although she gives no sign that it hurt. "Something, because the word 'Nothing' never is truthful." Seeing the wolf, she is not surprised. Her probing in to his mind had revealed something...not quite regular, even for somebody int he bar. "Unless, of course, you are non-existent. Though, even that could be argued, because then you're still doing something; you're busy not existing."
Syrica Hart fiddles with each one of Ovid's individual fingers. "It was my fault, actually. Fire and lightning; nobody really knows what they can do to each other. Or if it's good or not." Her tone implies she's talking about more than just the elements. "So what's been going on with you lately?" She smiles openly, tilting her head back to yawn before resting her chin on the table.
Syrica Hart looks up, paying slightly more attention. "Mmmmhmmm. A team for what? I'm good for lots of things."
Syrica Hart smiles. "All of humanity do you-" She coughs, a little but of blood speckling the table. "Did..." She looks down at the unexplained arrowhead sticking through her chest, and slumps to the table.
“
Shadowy Figure: The man in the corner of the room, slings his bow back over his shoulder, his assigned assassination complete, and phases out through the wall.
”