Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26958589-20170220030946/@comment-3991308-20170221031945

The viola, Daulius believed, deserved every bit of recognition the violin had. It should be granted solos, gratuitous applause – plus, like, violas went deeper, for Andersen’s sake. Surely there was some sense of worth in that.

Unfortunately, the orchestra leaders lacked the ability to see the awesomeness of the viola in the way Daulius Song did. Time and time again, did the nightingale hover outside their rooms, demanding for some better treatment – a five minute solo would be preferred (though so desperate was he at this point that he was willing to settle for a single minute).

That day, after another harsh rejection from the orchestra leaders, Daulius was in a state of melancholy (or rather, disappointment overdramatified). He was packing up his darling viola slowly, as forlorn people should be doing.

It turned out, that despite his slowness, someone else was even slower – a flutist.

He knew her. Well, not knew-knew. Daulius simply knew that she existed, that she played the flute, and that she seemed (in his opinion) pathetic enough to guilt people.

“Yo,” he said, once he sauntered over. “You look like some sort of tragic heroine. Can you help me?”