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!!vGFyxi9fnOL 06/20/11(Mon)19:06 No.27010570
File1308611193.jpg-(64 KB, 691x1024, 1305946264227.jpg)
 >>27010410
Good point, old chap.
She'd take along her cello, set down her small sitting-stool, and set to play. Strong tense music would fill the barn. To Applejack's mind it's a country song from out west, something low and aching.
Her eyes focus in the middle distance. She doesn't need the music. She has it in her blood, in her soul. Rocking of the cello and faint trembling in her bow tells her it's perfect. Years in the Conservatory have taught her well, but so has the aching swell in her chest each time she sets to play.
Applejack finds herself stepping closer and closer, as if approaching a shrine to beauty. The notes wrap around and through her, drawing her closer to the gray mare in her stark shaft of sunlight.
Mid-movement Applejack is a breath away from Octavia, sight-unseen by those gorgeous violet eyes. Applejack is staring at beauty, Octavia staring off INTO beauty -
And without thinking, without so much as a blink of an eye, her slightly chapped lips reach for Octavia's, her head now quirked back, ear against the long slender stalk-strings of the cello.
The music stops. The contented groan from the gray mare is music enough. |
