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It was so strange, Angelica mused, how insignificant her violin looked against a grand piano. Gazing at the instruments from her sitting position, an adorably frustrated expression on her features that betrayed her serious assessment of the situation, she made a tiny noise as she titled her head to the side. Triela smiled at her, entirely oblivious to Claes, who abruptly ceased her rendition of Chopin's Scherzo No. 2 and huffed irritably.
"What are you staring at?" she demanded, exasperated. Triela hurriedly shushed her, adding in a whisper, "Quiet, she's focused."
Claes pursed her lips and looked back to the keys. "Oh, no, now I've forgotten where I was..."
"Play Le Cygne?" Angelica suggested from her station, jolting Claes. Triela took one glance at her roommate's face and then burst into riotous laughter.
Adjusting her spectacles smartly and ignoring the blonde's amusement as it died away in the background, Claes responded, "I couldn't even begin to play that."
Angelica did not reply. She stared more intently at her violin than before.
"Triela, play Bartók?"
"Sure, which?"
There was silence. Angelica hadn't expected her friend to agree, and merely stared unblinkingly at her for several minutes. Triela seemed quite calm, as though she were humoring the younger girl. Angelica closed her eyes and shook her head wildly in an odd impression of a wet dog.
"What should I do? Should I call him?" she worried, opening her eyes and looking around the enormous room nervously. Triela patted her on the shoulder, but retracted her hand swiftly as Angelica shuddered.
Tucking her hand back under her arm, she said, "Ask Marco first. You don't want to make any unauthorized calls outside of the Agency; you could get in real trouble. They monitor all the calls."
"I-I don't want him to know I went out yesterday," Angelica replied, grasping the chair tensely as she envisioned how angry her handler would be when she finally told him the truth. "I never asked him if I could go. Henrietta just took me with her."
"Well, he's going to wonder where you got all the new clothes," Triela said bluntly. She rested her head on the top of the chair and watched Angelica sideways. "Can't hide it forever, you know?"
She nodded, slowly. "Y-yes, but..."
"Just say you missed going outside and Henrietta forced you into it."
"He-he won't understand," she said, shaking slightly. "Oh, I'm scared. Claes, please, can't you play Le Cygne? It always calms me down."
Claes sighed. "You know, I never asked you two to sit here and watch me play the piano. Fine," she conceded, smoothing out the top of her skirt and resting her hands on the piano keys. The room instantly went hush-hush. Claes cast a sweeping glance at the two girls. "But don't expect it to be perfect," she added.
"Would it help if I hummed?" Angelica suggested meekly.
"No, just be quiet," she replied, a bit more harshly than she wanted.
The drapery hung limply beside the tall windows, a thin layer of barely visible dust covering them as they framed the sunlight that poured in. And yet, as Claes began to play, Angelica felt as though the curtains should start to move themselves, making ripples in the delicate fabric. She wanted to snatch up her violin and play the song with Claes, as imperfect and horrible as it would sound.
"Ange?" came Triela's voice, mildly concerned with a tentative edge. Angelica made no signs of life, except for the tears that had started to issue from her closed eyes. She was slumped over in her seat, her head over the top of the chair, her breathing slowed.
It was over all too soon. Claes's fingers rested upon the final note, allowing it to fade quietly and slowly. Triela began to shake her friend's right shoulder, and said, "Ange? Ange, wake up." Her voice seemed urgent despite her light chuckling. Angelica stirred and wiped her tears away on the ebony sleeves of her dress. She looked up and smiled at her blonde friend, seemingly unaware of her short nap, and Triela sighed, relieved, for reasons that the dark-haired assassin didn't know.
"It sounds much better with a cello accompanying it, doesn't it?" Claes said, staring out the window. "And my solo piano version isn't exactly perfect, either—"
"It was wonderful. Th-thank you," Angelica added as an afterthought.
She could tell Claes smiled at that moment, even with her back turned. "You're welcome. Never ask me to play it again until I have it perfected."
"Well, I've got combat practice," Triela said, standing up and heading towards the door. "Hilshire's probably looked for me all over the place." She rolled her eyes and waved farewell to her friends.
"Bye, Triela," Claes and Angelica chimed in unison, the latter raising her arm but pausing halfway, then lowering it. She 'hmm'ed and twisted her body back to its place, staring into the murky blackness of the piano again.
It was then that Claes caught her attention. She lifted her spectacles just a tad from her face and was rubbing at the corner of one of her eyes. "Claes?"
Claes straightened her glasses and shot Angelica a look. "What?"
"I— nothing!" Angelica exclaimed. "I was...wondering if you c-could teach me to play Le Cygne on my violin. Once I learn the basics."
"Of course, why wouldn't I?"
She twisted the corner of her dress in her hands and gazed at her shoes shyly. "I...I don't know."
Claes crossed her arms and smiled again. "Have you been studying?" she asked.
Angelica fidgeted. "Um, not really..."
She had expected Claes to suddenly grow testy with her, but instead, she continued to smile, and Angelica was more bewildered than she'd ever remember being.
"Well, then, are you getting better at target practice?"
"I'm not sure. Marco never tells me if I'm doing good or not. I hope I am."
"Hmm..."
They were both silent for a moment. Claes tapped one of the keys on her piano and Angelica sneezed. When Claes turned to her and stared, a questioning look playing across her face, Angelica replied quickly, "They-they never clean this room, huh?"
"I suppose they don't... But I'm just glad I have somewhere I can go where I'm alone. The dust doesn't bother me," Claes said. Angelica nodded. "But it would be nice if it were a little cleaner in here."
"...Yes," Angelica agreed, her tone slightly miserable and off-putting as she gazed at her feet and swung them back and forth in a rhythmic motion.
"You shouldn't worry yourself over that boy you met," Claes said. "Just don't do anything drastic and you'll be fine. Alright?"
"Mm... Okay."
"Good, then. We'll pick this up next week," she said, and with that, began attempting Scherzo No. 2 once more.
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It was only ten o'clock in the evening when Angelica returned to her dorm room, exhausted. She felt a wave of gratitude wash over her once her door finally closed with a click, then slumped into the middle of the room, at a loss over what to do. Outside, she could hear the footsteps of her fellow cyborgs, most returning from dinner in the downstairs cafeteria to the comfort of their beds and, to a select few, their roommates.
But Angelica's room wasn't equipped for two people. It was smaller than Henrietta and Rico's and contained only a single-person bed, not a bunk. She often wondered who had lived in it before her — if anyone — and maybe if they had been lonely. She wasn't exactly an emotional person, as feelings sometimes hit her at inopportune moments, yet in retrospect, there always seemed to be a sense of unease in her bedroom. From the first time she stepped foot inside it, something was amiss.
She walked over to the mirror sitting next to her dresser and looked into it. She knew she smelled like gunpowder — it had been Marco's idea to drag her off to the indoor shooting range as soon as lunch was over, and that was exactly where she remained for several hours. Her head still reeled with the sound of bullets being fired repetitiously.
"...Tired," she concluded, and then stumbled to her bed and fell onto the comfortable, springy mattress, into a land of white sheets and soft pillows. She opened her eyes and found the corded telephone sitting on her end table, then recalled the cellphone number written on a tiny piece of scrap paper. She kept it in one of the drawers inside her dresser, hidden between her favorite brightly-colored sweater and a white button-up shirt.
Perhaps her judgment was clouded that night, because she got up and went over to her dresser, opened the second drawer from the top, and searched for the phone number. She extracted it with sleepy triumph written on her features, and tottered awkwardly back to her bed. She then stopped, staring hard at the words written clearly on the paper.
"Perro..." she mumbled. "Damiano... Perro..."
She lifted the phone off the hook and gazed at it in her hand. "Why would they give us phones if they didn't want us to use them...?" she reasoned, smiling. Inching closer to the end table, she brought her right arm over and started to dial his number.
The phone buzzed for a minute, and then picked up. Angelica sat upright, feeling anxiety and nausea impact her simultaneously, as a voice she recognized said, "Sì?"
"H-h-h-h-hello..." she answered, voice quivering. The person on the other end seemed to burst with joy. "Ah, Angelica, it's you! I didn't recognize the number calling — because there wasn't one! My caller I.D. just said 'private number' on it. How are you?"
"I-I'm fine, is this Damiano?" Angelica asked, although she knew the answer.
"Yeah," he affirmed. "Are you calling me from — where did you say you live? A dormitory?"
"Yes. But I can't talk too long, I just wanted to let you know I—"
"Listen, Angelica, I'm going to be in Napoli, visiting my grandmother for two weeks," he said sharply. "During my stay, I'm going to switch phones. I'll be back in Rome for a short time, I margin maybe three days, and I'll be staying at a hotel in Parioli. In the meantime, I'd like to know if maybe we could meet at some point so I could give you my new number."
"I...I don't know," she replied. "I'd have to ask m-my han— brother! I have to ask my brother if he could drive me there." She had started to fidget with the hem of her dress, when a knock sounded from her door. She squeaked, pulled the phone away from her ear, and, covering the receiver, called, "Just a minute, please!"
She brought the phone back up and cut Damiano off mid-sentence. "I'm so sorry, what were you saying?"
"I-I was saying," Damiano began, tone slightly apprehensive, "Couldn't you just get your father to bring you like he did before?"
"Ange?" came a muffled voice, tentative.
"Eeeeh..." Angelica whined, watching the door. She wasn't quite sure what 'eh' meant, but it seemed to sum up her distress very well. "Um, Damiano, I have to go now, can I call you back, ummm... Tomorrow?"
"Sure, I was about to retire when your call came in. Have a good night."
"Y-you, too. Buona notte."
She hung up with wild ferocity, almost smashing the phone into its cradle, before bolting to the door and opening it. Her eyes fell upon Henrietta, hands neatly behind her back. The small brunette was noticeably worried, and it showed in her question. "Are you all right, Ange?"
"I-I-I-I-I'm fine!" Angelica lied, her voice higher than usual. "Uhm, Henrietta, have you ever made a phone call?"
"No," she responded, head tilted and her finger poised by her mouth thoughtfully. "Giuseppe told me not to without his permission and I've never known anybody's phone number. I know Triela's talked on the phone in her room, though."
She suddenly stopped. Her eyes seemed to widen to extreme proportions as she gazed at Angelica, and her lips were slightly parted as she came to a horrifying realization. Angelica promptly covered her mouth with her hands and squeaked, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to call him!"
"Wh...wh...who?!" Henrietta burst. "Not... Mr. Scutese?"
Angelica regretfully nodded.