<<Vaclava>> texts Emily “Good evening, darling, did you ever talk with Alice about me? I was thinking of practicing on the pianos at the museum, wondered if she’d like to meet there?”
<Alison Spektor> is wandering about the first floor of the museum, quietly eyeing some of the artwork there.
Emily texts back: Last I heard she was already there for the evening, you could probably catch her hanging out there.
<<Vaclava>> txts back “great minds, as they say. thank you emily!”
<<Vaclava>> will drive down there in her delachappelle
<Alison Spektor> looks down as she passes by the various people also moving about the museum, but she does pause in one of the rooms where some old violins are currently on display.
<<Vaclava>> glides into the museum in her shiny black leather stage shoes and black velvet ao dai, looking around to see if she notices alice downstairs.
<Alison Spektor> is not hard to find walking about looking at some carefully preserved sheet music, her fingers taping out against the side of her leg as she reads them.
<<Vaclava>> heads over in her direction, trying to make out what the song is just by the rhythm of alice’s fingers
<Alison Spektor> ‘s hands seem to be playing the music she is looking at, and she seems lost in it, as if playing it perfectly in her head.
<<Vaclava>> stands nearby, waiting to hear the music itself inevitably in her ears
<Alison Spektor> stops as the music she is reading ends, though Vaclava hears it just as clearly as she seems to. She turns and looks Vaclava over, then recognition clicking in her warm hazel eyes. “Oh, hi.”
<<Vaclava>> blinks and smiles “Hello, Alice. Emily told me I vwould vfind you here.”
<Alison Spektor> tilts her head, her brown curls cascading down one side. “Oh. I see. And you were looking… for me?”
<<Vaclava>> nods “You could say that. It’s rare I meet someone else that hears the music the same as I do.” she gestures to the papers without looking at them. “I do lofve those romantic era concertos. Efveryone is alvways so obsessed vwith the Beethovfens and Mendelssohns, Tchaikovskys, et cetera…but there are so many others like Dvorak or Vieuxtemps whose vfoices go unheard
<Alison Spektor> listens to her for a moment, and her fingers tap briefly before she nods a little. “There’s a message there. A lot of them left messages.”
<<Vaclava>> smiles “They aren’t alvways such subtle messages, either. Dvorak’s lofve of his country shines through in efvery composition. Efvery note seems to cry out about the beauty and passion ofv Czecheslovakia. But vwhat message do you hear in this one?” tilts her head as she listens more closely.”
<Alison Spektor> looks back to it briefly. “Loss… it ends too soon.”, she says quietly. Her footsteps don’t even echo inside the room as she steps across the floor, hardly making a sound herself.
<<Vaclava>> follows quietly “Ah, but is it loss ofv lofve? Or friendship? or lifve itselfv?”
<Alison Spektor> tilts her head and studies Vaclava for a moment, seeming a little uneasy. “So what do you hear?”
<<Vaclava>> looks thoughtful “Innocence. Joy. Vwhen vwe are young it’s ovfervwhelming, each new experience, and vwe seek it out vwith arms open vwide…”
<<Vaclava>> “And then one day vwe start noticing the pain and the ugliness that go along vwith evfen the most enjoyable things….vwe become jaded and ifv we experience the joy…it’s ofver so vfery, vfery quickly.”
<Alison Spektor> takes out some paper and scribbles away for a moment, then folds it and hands it to Vaclava. “I need to go… but… when you are ready, come find me here.” (The whole note is written as music.) She moves back and then away, as Vaclava looks at the paper and looks up again, Alice has disappeared completely.
<<Vaclava>> blinks, taken off guard, she studies the paper and will read the music, listening for the message.
<<Vaclava>> will wander off to play some more and practice and think about that message more later.