Siren Song [open]

The whine of a bass guitar lilted through a thick fog of distortion, bandaged fingers turning at the knobs on the head of the instrument. Esther leaned against a carpet-padded wall, bass slung across her shoulder, and plucked a few listless chords as her hands glided up the frets. A band was only good as the sum of its parts, and they were missing their fourth wheel. She'd slipped the girl from the club an Esper message about today's session without saying a word to the others. A part of her wanted to see if she'd sink or swim when it came to the first impression. Now it was just a waiting game.

Esther clicked her tongue impatiently. If this didn't work out, it was back to square one...

To Inigo, everything was a drum.

He drummed on the kitchen counters to the car dashboard to upturned pots and pans to his thighs when nothing else was available. There was always some sort of beat that his feet were tapping along to, in some sort of necessary rhythm of life that was as much of a significant aspect of his life as breathing was. Click! Static. Pop! His headphones were plugged, matching Esther's own click of the tongue. Quickly going over the rest of his equipment once more - pedals placed comfortably, toms and cymbals precisely measured and arranged, and...

The dark-haired student took a seat, pursing his lips against each other. The drum set towered over him in a shadow, and inwardly, he groaned. "Did they move the taller stool to one of the classrooms again?" Of all the things that would've prevented him from practicing properly, it had to be the goddamn chair. Was this seriously the highest he could pull it up to without completely disassembling it?

Esther barely looked up from her own tuning. "You'll grow into that kit someday, sweetie. Can't you just plop a textbook on it for right now?" And drink lots of milk, and eat your vegetables. They had plenty of time to find that damn stool later...

Shut up...

People will think you look dumb...

Stop talking to yourself...

Everyone had those moments. Those times where they were talking to themselves and got caught doing it. Either they thought they were alone or had a lapse in judgment-- either way, it was something that even the brightest and most competent public figures did once or twice.

Rooney didn't do it once or twice.

It wasn't because she was lonely. In fact, it was the opposite, she did it because she knew somebody would hear it. When she talked too boldly or too strongly about a certain person, her chest would ache and her palms would clam up. When she was feeling particularly edgy, she would push her luck, using these symptoms to see just how far she could go without going too far.

Once she almost threw her phone down the street. She wound up and rushed her arm forward but stopped it just in time, like a pitcher caught balking.

That day, the first day she arrived in that city, was one of those days where she felt a little... irritated. She didn't know why. Perhaps it was in the air, the less-than-great transit to North Dakota (of all places), but she walked with a certain look in her eyes. It wasn't the best first impression for passers-by on the street, but she was never one for impressions at all.

Her friend usually made her presence aware in the form of a missed heartbeat, the kind of feeling Rooney would get when she remembered something important. She let out a soft gasp as her friend stirred inside her, right as she was walking through campus for the first time.

"Shut up in there," Rooney said, holding her heart. No one was around. Rooney bit her lip and shook her head, stepping harder as she made her way to the dormitories. In her clenched fist was a key, the ridges digging into her palm.

Her heart stirred again. Rooney cursed.

"You're not coming out," she spit under her breath. "You're never coming out."

A burning pain went up her arm. In the past that would have scared her, but Rooney just punched herself where it originated. When the pain went into the other arm, Rooney punched herself there as well. It was a short routine, but long enough and enough of a sight to catch the eye of a student, who was passing far away. Rooney saw her too late, a pretty girl with tied-up hair. She didn't know why, but embarrassment crashed over her. In an effort to seem natural, she grabbed the first door handle, flung it open, and disappeared inside.

She stayed there for a while, doing nothing and taking in nothing. Only her self-hatred pulsed inside her, that and the airy leaping feeling of her friend's laughter deep beneath her sternum.

It passed soon, probably quicker than it felt. She took in where she was then, and that's when she heard it, the bass guitar. It sounded rough, like the kind you'd hear before a punk show.

She drew on.

A soft and melodious hum came from the corner of the room, a rhythmic strumming mimicking the voice that filled the air. The acoustic guitar rang through the studio, conflicting with the chords her own friend and bassist Esther plucked. Despite the stark difference in their sounds, Rosemary kept her melody quiet, nearly lost in her own music. The corners of her mouth seemed to tug up without her permission as her voice began to speak out with coherent tones. While no words were spoken, it was clear a new song was forming in the young blonde's mind.

Her song was broken by her bandmate's voices. Curious eyes perked up and her short hair bounced as she shuffled on her stool before glancing at Inigo, barely catching the last of his question. With a small giggle, she rested her flower encrusted guitar on its stand and sat up straight. "Don't tease him, Esther," she chirped. "I think my stool's a bit taller, we can trade." Rose stood and pressed the chair forward with a gentle gaze.

Giving Esther a withering look from the corner of his azure eyes, Inigo mumbled under his breath with a muffled voice, "You can't say that when you're shorter than me..." The sweet whispers of their vocalist's humming fell apart soon after, but a polite smile revived on his face with Rosemary's offer. "Thanks, Rose. Sorry that we need to trade." As he stopped up, straightening himself before pushed the chair toward the (even more) petite girl, he heard the door click open.

Another female student, this time with a fluffy bed of shadows spilling down to her shoulders for hair and a murky shade of green irises, not unlike father's. Their bassist had mentioned that she found a guitarist at MKUltra recently, mentioning that she had strange wires for ear lobes that make her stand out as much as that furry clan, boasting their white hair and wolf ears like those old cat ears that emoted... What were they again? Necomimi neurowear? Whatever - they were a thing of the distant past. The newcomer didn't have ear plugs dropping down like Esther said she would have.

She was that girl that was talking to herself, wasn't she? Inigo dismissed her as being of much importance at first - they were all gifted if they walked through Beata's campus -, but when her footsteps sounded toward the studio, he took more interest. But this wasn't their new guitarist. Not even close. Keeping his smile plastered, Inigo waved his hand in the dark-haired girl's direction, settling himself on Rose's former stool behind his drum set.

"You're not a face I've seen around school yet. Are you lost? Or were we being too loud already?" Yup, this was definitely a much better height to play at. Rose was a life savior. His fingers pressed to play the click track connected to his headphones, testing the sound as he dialed the volume back and forth to the comfort of his hearing.

Christine headed down the hallways with her guitar strapped to her back, looking for the studio. Once she got closer, she heard some music echoing down the hall. She smiled. At least she knew where the studio was now. Chris followed the girl, twirling one of her audio jacks nervously. Peering in, she noticed that Esther was the one with the bass. There was a boy sitting behind the drums, a short-haired girl near a flower-decorated acoustic, and another girl who seemed slightly out of place like she had just stumbled upon the studio; following the music as Christine had done. "Am I late?" she asked, not having heard anything that had been said previously.

"You don't have to baby him. He's grown." Well, half-grown. "It's just banter. Band-ter." She just rolled her shoulders, imitating a rimshot with a few punchy chords. C'mon, she knew Inigo could be touchy about his vertically challengedness, but that burn was worth at least a cymbal tap. When she heard the door click, she didn't bother to glance up, at least right away. It was only the second click and Inigo's out of place greeting that made her raise her head, and instead of one newcomer, there were two. Esther clamped her hands over the fretboard, feeling herself fade into the carpet-padded walls as she fell silent, the familiar effects of her gift, her breath stilling, hearing sharpening. Many children her age were still testing their limits, if their powers had manifested at all, but growing up in this city, she knew the rules.

Chris was here, like promised, their key and savior. But it was the dark-haired stranger that caught her attention. Esther spoke, breaking her gift's spell as she popped back into the conversation. "You're right on time, Chris. And it looks like we have an audience too."

How did she not notice the girl sitting right there? Rooney lowered her gaze and rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly feeling out of place. She should have known where she was going before opening the door. Still, it wasn't every day that someone talked to her, or noticed her without her bursting into flames or something. She found herself raising her eyes with a half-smile, knowing this was more of an opportunity than anything.

"I'm sorry, I just heard some music in here," Rooney said, as if that were her reason for stepping in in the first place. "I'm new, I just flew in today."

Turquoise eyes rolled as Cailin spoke, but a low chuckle escaped her soft lips regardless. She enjoyed the little band-ter the group always partook in, but before she could assure Inigo it was no issue, two new faces joined them in the studio room. While one carried a guitar case behind her back, the other came seemingly empty-handed. She could only assume the former was here to play with the small band, but her head cocked sideways at the other girl.

Rose quickly glanced at Cailin, her eyes momentarily filled with confusion before she brought her attention back to the newcomers. So the girl with the guitar and strange looking earlobes was Chris, yet the other didn't seem to know anyone here. Nor what was going on for that matter. A sweetness that could not be matched plucked the corners of her mouth upward as she nodded in greeting to the new student. "Welcome to Beata then! It's always nice having new faces to hear us play." She pulled the seat Inigo offered in return for hers close and plopped down, picking up the guitar once again for a sense of comfort.

"And I'm guessing you're our new guitarist?" she mused with a look towards the bassist that clearly said 'It appears someone didn't tell us about this.'

Part of him wanted to punt Esther all the way to the other side of the school; another part of him felt his half-assed expression twitch awkwardly into a smile, his palm coming up to cover his face before anyone could notice. A wry laughter silenced before it could surface, his shoulders trembling slightly in return. Blue eyes stared intently at the entrance, and soon enough, their new band member waltzed right in. Esther really wasn't kidding about the strange ears Chris would have. They were kind of cool, actually.

Inigo's brow quirked upward when the other girl spoke, doubly so when Rose seemed out of the loop. "Did I forget to tell you about Chris? My bad." It must've slipped his mind to mention it after he heard Esther's conversation at MKUltra the other day.

Chris nodded awkwardly, setting the guitar case down and opening it. "That's me. I think. I hope? I dunno. Esther just told me you guys had some sessions together and that I should drop by sometime." she said. And then she continued to stand there awkwardly, more comfortable with music than she was with real people. Definitely not b/c Wild isn't sure what to do. Nope.

Esther shrugged in complete innocence toward Rosemary, with a raised eyebrow toward Inigo, fingers absentmindedly drumming against the body of the bass. "This is Chris. Chris, this is the band." So many names, so little time. "Rose, all you need to know is that she can shred, and if you give her a chance you'll sound like an even more beautiful little baby cherub."

"It can be like an audition. We can play together, see how it goes. Something basic. Some Nirvana?" She offered the new fish a flicker of a smile. "I'm Esther, by the way. Do you want to be our first critic?"

A critic, huh? It sounded like a participation job, one step lower than playing the triangle, but Rooney supposed she was the one who barged in. They could have been assholes, or pretended she wasn't there at all. A part of her wanted to deny the invitation, to leave before her friend got impatient and set fireworks off in her rib cage, but she ignored the impulse. She couldn't live by that oni's rules, not anymore.

"Sure," she said simply. She tried to add something, something witty or insightful or anything, but all she could think was to say her name. "I'm..."

She paused.

"...err, Ichigo."