Strings for Kings

“Hey, so, you’re the new girl, right? I’m Lucas. And you are…?” he says, emphasizing the question with an upward pull of one eyebrow. He stretches out an open hand as polite and outgoing introduction. I shake it and reply with, “My name’s Amethyst,” I gesture to his guitar, “do you play?”

“Yup. Played since I was three. And, I wouldn’t say I’m too bad…” Showing off, he performs a complex string of notes that sounds amazing.

“That’s amazing!” I exclaim.

“Do you play anything?” he asks.

“I do play piano, but I don’t have one. I’ve been thinking of saving up for it, but I’d need a job first,” I explain.

“A job, huh? Well...” he muses thoughtfully, stroking his chin theatrically, “I can make a deal with you. You say you need a job; I can give you a job. But, only if you join our band. If you’re good enough, of course.”

I stay silent for a moment, pondering on the proposal. The possibility that they have a piano, or that they're able to get one is in question. I don’t think he will let me join unless he thinks I’ve got talent.

“Okay, I’ll do it. But what is the job? What do I need for it? Does it require skill­­­-” But he abruptly grabs my hand and jerks me out of the room, shutting the door with his foot with expertise.

The End

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