Oh, wow! Would you look at that! another chapter in less than a year, who would have thought? x)

It's still short, and I'm thinking about fusing it with the previous one, since it's its second part and they were not supposed to be cut. So, I will keep it up for a month or two, then I'll just combine them to make a 10k chapter.

Legato

by Hazel Liebovsky

Chapitre Huit (deuxième partie)

Eyes fixated on the violin case in front of her, Isis breathed in and out slowly. This is it. Her fingers were surprisingly still as was her heart. In other times, she would be plotting her escape, or pace, or overthink. That was her thing: overthinking. But this was not a normal time, and the thing that was preventing her from doing these normal things was her anger.

"You're not worth the trouble."

Rage, really.

Isis averted her gaze again. Not worth the trouble? Really? She was going to show her what 'not worth the trouble' had. How could she even… okay, fine. She had a responsibility in this, but it was not a reason for Shizuma to just… the violinist blew through her nose and started warming up again to take her mind off things. She was going to go up on that stage, and she was going to spill all her anger through the music, throw it square at the audience and then fucking leave. That was what the conductor had asked her, right? Well, Isis was going to deliver.

Fifteen minutes later, the violinist stopped her gymnastics. Ears alert, she waited for Shizuma to finish. She could hear the music on stage. Oh, the pianist was professional to the core, nobody would detect how furious she was, Shizuma would not allow it.

She waited, and waited until the last note rang. It was followed by a pregnant pause before applause rose in the room, as well as a series of stifled coughs and a few odd whistles. Isis waited a little more, until the noise subdued. Still seething, the violinist finally stepped on stage. The light blinded her, and she remembered to kick the ends of her dress as she walked to avoid tripping, like Chikaru had told her.

Isis felt Shizuma's stare from the other side of the stage as she bowed to the audience. When their eyes met, the message was clear in the barely veiled glare:

Didn't think you would show up…

The other woman answered with a glower of her own.

Fuck you…

Shizuma's nostrils flared. She breathed deeply to calm down. Keeping face for the audience, the woman corrected her slightly slouched posture. A sign that they should both get ready. Another pause. And so, it began.

They argued.

Stroke for stroke, key for key. A battle of strength. Isis' violin climbing over Shizuma's piano. Oh no, you won't… fingers a blur on black and white. Keeping up. Louder. Louder again. Fingertips on strings, pinching, gliding. Muscle flexing rhythmically. Piano growling. Powerful.

Bow in furious motion. Notes. Higher. Higher still. Catch me… sauntering in between the thunderous pace of the imposing instrument and its equally imposing player. Taunting. Together in frenzied fury. Exchanged glares. Together again. Push. Pull. To bring the piece to its violent climax.

With a swift move, Isis ended her movement, taking deep, lungful inhales as if she had spent the last twenty-four minutes underwater. She did not hear Shizuma's fingers come to an end, seconds after she did. They glanced at each other again, chests heaving with their breathing, ears ringing with the vestige of the raging notes. The tension between them was still palpable.

And then a clap. And another. And a thousand more, as hands were playing their own distorted symphony in a standing ovation. The whistles came again, more daring and louder. A few bravo's could be heard among them. It broke the women's trance. Shizuma gathered herself first and stood up, joining Isis at the center of the stage. She reached over, offering her right hand to the violinist.

We are not done.

Jaw clenched, Isis gave a firm handshake, before they both turned to the audience and bowed, flashing stiff smiles at the completely oblivious public.

-0-

What came after a representation never failed to bore Shizuma. The whole little game of fake humility and equally faked admiration. However, the woman had organized this little reception with something else in mind. For Isis' sake, before… everything that had happened. She knew exactly who would be coming, and knew it would not take long for them to be turning around the violinist. Like rabid dogs drooling over their prey.

Right now, though?

She could not remember why it had seemed like a good idea, at the time. She did not want them circling around Isis at this moment. She wanted to finish what they had started. Their argument. To get it all out, once and for all. From the other side of the room, she kept watching the violinist like a hawk, barely entertaining the guests who had been trying to keep her attention for the last hour.

One last furtive look between them and it was settled. The pianist moved.

"…eally liked what you did. It was incredible." Isis turned her head to see who was talking to her again. "The way you handled the piece. I've rarely seen something like this in my life," his blue eyes began to shine as a seductive smile spread his lips. "Kreutzer is known to be a diffi…"

She dozed off, nodding absent mindedly while scanning the heads to spot Shizuma, or at least see where she had gone. "Yeah…sure…" she replied, so out of it that she did not even bother to answer in French. Where is…ah! There. Blue yellow eyes caught a glimpse of silver hair disappearing through one of the exit doors, discreetly.

"…So please, call me?"

The masculine voice drew her out and the violinist gazed at him again. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The charming smile dropped suddenly, Sébastien clearing his throat. "I would like to keep in touch with you," he switched to slightly accented English and handed her a little white card. "Your performance was stunning and I think we could do great things together," he grinned again. "Call me, okay?"

She looked at the card. An agent.

Feeling that his speech did not have the desired effect on her, the man went on, undeterred. "I know that working with someone such as Miss Hanazono is a thrilling experience, but imagine what you could do alone."

Isis darted her eyes back and forth between the card and the agent who was still grinning down at her. After one last glance at Shizuma's empty spot, she spoke. "Let me think about it," and started to walk to the exit the conductor had used.

Sébastien froze, the grin faltering when she left. Confused and feeling very much like he had just been stood up.

Another pair of eyes had witnessed the whole scene. His game, the subtle flirting under the compliments, laying down his boyish charms. He had really given it all. What a pity.

Claire smiled.

It did not take long once they came back.

Shizuma only had the time to close the door of the hotel room before feeling herself being turned around and pushed against it, lips crashing violently against hers. It was not a kiss that they were sharing. An aggression, a mutual and consented intrusion. Rough and bruising as teeth grazed on skin and heated tongues explored for the first time. The older woman did not stay still, her hands ran up Isis' hips, to her breasts briefly, before going around and blindly fumble with the zipper.

They stopped kissing, Isis taking Shizuma's lip between her teeth as they parted, making her mewl in both pain and anticipation. She ducked slightly, forcing the conductor's head up when her mouth attached itself to the spot just below her jaw. Shizuma felt dizzy for a moment, her eyes rolling back and her hands slowing in their fight with the zipper. Heavy breathing filled the room. She swallowed, the assured strokes of the swirling tongue at her throat making her moan.

Her left hand finally came to life to bury itself in Isis' hair and tug, forcing her face up. The older woman did not look at her eyes and what was happening inside them. No, hers were claimed by Isis' swollen and parted lips. She leaned down, gave a swift lick at the violinist's upper lip before trapping it in her mouth and sucking. Still kissing, Shizuma moved forward, her right hand on Isis' middle as she pushed her further into the room, towards the bed. Her steps faltered when one of her shoes came loose, making the conductor lose balance and lean heavily on the other, who took the opportunity to switch their position and manhandle her, bypass the bed to push her up on the desk in front of it.

Shizuma growled when her hip connected painfully with the edge of the table before she sat on it. Isis' body crashed against her, legs parted to accommodate the standing woman, her hands went back to the zipper on the violinist's back and tugged again. Shizuma's teeth sank painfully on the side of her neck. Isis let out a surprised yelp before digging and racking her nails on Shizuma's exposed thighs in retaliation, stroking the fire within the conductor's body. It made her whimper.

More… More…

The gown started to come loose. As soon as it pooled on the floor, Isis claimed her lips in a bruising kiss, her hands leaving their spot on her thighs. One found refuge in her hair, untying it and massaging her scalp while the other removed one of the straps of her dress.

Fingertips danced on the violinist's newly exposed midriff. Tickling, stroking, feeling the muscles tense beneath, contrasting with the feverishness of it all. Her thumb traced a burning path from Isis' navel up the underside of her bra-clad breast, making the woman shiver and deepen their kiss. She did it again, and again, every time going a little higher, under her bra, barely touching and then a little lower, towards her underwear. Teasing to the point she drove Isis mad with lust and trepidation, efficiently turning her into mush.

Shizuma gave her that irritating smirk when they parted. Before the conductor could taunt her again, Isis grabbed the back of her thighs, forcing her to the edge of the desk and dropped to her knees, disappearing under the dress. The other did not have time to register what was happening before she felt it. A muffled cry came out of her mouth. Amber eyes widened, her hips answering instinctively to the stokes of a burning tongue.

The woman could not control it, or what was coming out of her mouth. Stifled groans, barely able to catch her breath. Both of her hands clutched the edge of the table, knuckles white, and head thrown back. Isis set the pace, and Shizuma could only follow, not able to do anything else. It went on until her legs began to quack slightly around the other woman's head. Until she started to feel the first glimmer of bliss tugging at her brain. By that time, the woman knew she was being excessively loud, but she could not bring herself to care.

And then Isis stopped.

Shizuma froze, mouth agape. Eyes that had been shut tight the moment the violinist had started, were now open wide, and dazed. They stared dumbly as the other rose from her position, licked her lips, and shot her a winning, smug grin.

Serves you right.

She exhaled loudly. She was going to kill this woman. Who the hell even does that? In a blink, Shizuma pulled Isis by the neck and kissed her again, teeth out and ready to bruise, to make her pay. Her hand traveled down, racking the woman's back, running beneath her underwear to squeeze the supple flesh, before coming up again until it reached the bra and unfastened it in a swift motion. Not giving Isis the time to think, she ducked down. The conductor felt fingers treading through her hair, clutching and urging her on all the same. She moaned, feeling the woman shudder and breathe out through her nose and teeth as her mouth mapped Isis' chest.

Shizuma's hands took over and she kissed a burning trail up to the taut neck. Her teeth nibbled at the violinist's chin gently before their mouth found each other again in a slow, languid kiss. With both hands on her chest, she shoved Isis away, efficiently startling her. The woman took a step back and lost her balance once her knee came in contact with the edge of the bed. She fell on it with an 'oof', casting a confused look at Shizuma until she saw the other stand to remove her dress and the rest of her clothes.

Now fully nude, streetlights drawing dancing shadows on her body, the conductor was met with a slacked jaw and glazed over blue-yellow eyes. On another occasion, she would have savored the moment. It was, after all, her favorite part. But tonight, she did not want to wait, or tease.

More… More…

It was Isis who surprised her, this time. The violinist reached over, taking her hand to lead her to the bed, using the momentum to flip Shizuma on her back and lie on top. That first skin to skin contact was electrifying, the older woman could not help but sigh wantonly. Isis began ravishing her throat again. Her hair tickled the conductor when she traveled down to her upper body, casting deliciously light caresses all over. Hips started to move on their own against Isis' stomach, to alleviate the tension building in her body. Shizuma let out a pathetic whine, she was too far gone to care. With half a mind, the woman reached down to tug at the violinist's underwear. Isis' head lifted from her chest, shifting position once she understood Shizuma's intention and removing it herself before settling back, with the woman's leg underneath her, putting a light pressure. Amber eyes widened.

Finally…

Hips bucked again, meeting Isis' flexed thigh. The conductor felt the hiccup more than she heard it. Moist breath on the side of her neck, mouth licking the soft flesh. The body on top of her shifted again, the woman supporting herself on her forearm as fingers caressed their way down, and down again past her navel. They shared a look before Isis finally touched her. Shizuma released a shaky breath. The experimental almost feather-like caresses soon turned into burning touches and the older woman found it harder to keep her eyes open or her mouth shut. Isis shifted again, now frankly straddling the conductor's leg as they moved in unison. Shizuma felt strands of hair tickling her collarbone and chest, before open mouthed kisses replaced them. One of her hands traced Isis' back again and grasped at the supple flesh below, urging her on and making her gasp.

She could feel it again, in the way her hips had attuned to the violinist's every stroke and were not responding to her anymore. She could feel it in the way her arms had started quivering, in the way the body atop of her flexed and moved.

When Isis sank her teeth at her pulse point and sucked, Shizuma completely lost it.

Body twitching, she groaned, long and drawn into the violinist's ear. Her body tensed, relaxed, only to tense again and make her leg flex rhythmically. She barely had the time to recover when the woman above her stilled, back arching forward before tumbling down, panting heavily through her mouth. Hearts pounding, limbs tangled, they tried to regain their breathing.

It did not end here.

Until the wee hours of dusk, they were awake, their bodies aching with exertion, their minds still reeling with anger and pent-up frustration. Until they finally gave into a fitful slumber, both delirious with exhaustion when the first rays of sun filtered through the room, casting a blue-tinted hue.

-0-

Shizuma woke up alone. The room was dark and silent, the other side of the bed cold and undisturbed, no trace that another being had been beside her. For a second, she thought her mind had played a trick on her and everything that had happened last night was just some twisted dream. The woman turned her head to the right, spotting the dress she had worn for the concert. It was thrown askew, half of it precariously lying on the table. A shoe was by the door. Her gaze shifted to the ceiling and Shizuma breathed deeply, eyes closing.

Not a dream.

If anything, the familiar buzz in her body right now was enough indication that it had actually happened.

Not a dream.

She remained still for a couple of minutes, her mind blank, completely focused on exhaling and inhaling slowly. Finally, the woman moved, wrapping the sheets around her, an unusual show of self-consciousness. The soreness in her body amplified as she stood up, marks and small bruises making themselves known, especially the spot on her hip where she had hit the corner of the desk, when Isis had pushed her on top of it. Shizuma ignored them, frowning lightly as she tried to locate her purse in the dimly lit bedroom.

Her phone read seven forty-two in the morning. She had less than an hour to shower and pack before leaving for the airport with Isis, as they had agreed before coming to Paris. She turned around, looking at the wall she was sharing with the violinist. The woman focused on her earing, in hopes to catch something, anything from the other room but came out empty. Soundproof.

What have we done?

At eight twenty sharp, the pianist stepped in the hall, a butler walking right behind and carrying her belongings. Nothing in her demeanor betrayed her exhaustion or the turmoil raging in her head. She scanned the lounge and came to a full stop when she spotted Isis, sitting on one of the sofas, eyes slightly narrowed behind her glasses, visibly engrossed in the same book she had been reading ever since they had gone to her family's place. Her hair was mussed from blow-drying and she had not bothered to do anything more to it. She was using her suitcase as a footrest, with one leg propped up on it as she waited. Their eyes met when Isis glanced up from her book, sensing Shizuma staring at her. She looked visibly tired, but aside from that, her features were completely blank.

Nothing.

No surprise, no anger, no awkwardness. Shizuma thought she would feel grateful, as the 'morning after' with her other conquests back in the days tended to be a tricky affair of treading on thin ice. Sparing one's feelings while trying to maintain a somewhat cordial relationship. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest, as she saw Isis get up and walk towards her.

"Ready to go?"

"Ah…" Shizuma felt bile rise in the pit of her belly and averted her gaze. "Yes."

The violinist gave her a curt nod and went to the reception, her right hand scouring in the bag blindly to fetch her wallet. Shizuma followed silently, not even trying to argue about paying both bills. Her eyes kept moving from the reception desk to Isis' profile, zeroing on the spot near the hollow of her neck. A spot she remembered retracing once with her tongue, and then with her teeth.

"We hope that you have enjoyed your stay in Paris." the same man who had greeted them upon their arrival was now sending them off. He threw one last suspicious look at Isis. She answered in kind this time, narrowing her eyes. Daring him. The receptionist cleared his throat.

They both paid and left. The ride back to the airport was deafeningly quiet. Only Isis' small occasional yawns were disturbing it, while Shizuma pretended to be too focused on the road to break it with words. It was not awkward per se, but it was not comfortable either. The kind of silence that occurred when two people had run out of topics to discuss, or were not bothering to try. The conductor was finding it harder and harder to take deep breaths, the lump in her stomach expending every time she inhaled. She frowned and started to breathe through her mouth, discreetly.

What's going on?

She had never felt like that before—after spending the night with somebody. Not necessarily feeling giddy either, but it was like her whole body was now rejecting the events of yesterday. The initial anger that sparked it all had vanished, leaving a sentiment of unease in its stead. Shizuma threw a quick glance at Isis. She was looking out of the window, her hands rested atop the violin case on her lap. Fingers were tapping and pinching rhythmically on the back of her left hand, playing a mute melody. Last night flashed before Shizuma's eyes as she remembered Isis sprawled on her back, those very fingers racking her side, down from the side of her breast to the dip just before her hip. The short nails leaving ephemeral red scars in their wake, urging her on.

She refocused on the road.

The airport was a blur, Shizuma did not forget to take her pills before the flight, as a result, the woman was already half asleep the moment they sat on the plane. Isis alternated between looking at her phone and the window, before yet another attendant told her to turn it off. No words were exchanged and soon enough, they both fell asleep.

-0-

They walked side by side in silence after coming through customs. Again, Shizuma tried to find something to say, to break the ice, but words refused to come to her. The conductor shook her head, this time blaming her uncooperative brain on the drowsiness of the medication she had taken before the flight. Another attempt was aborted when she heard her name in the distance.

"Shizuma!" Dennis repeated again, waving his arm above the crowd.

The women exchanged a long look. She moved towards him, Isis following behind.

"Long time no see," the man gave a hug, enveloping her with his height. "I thought you were going to just walk by and pretend you didn't know me."

Shizuma managed a small smile. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to," spotting the suitcases, she went on, "Business trip?"

Dennis grinned, shaking his head. "I convinced Miyuki to take a few days," it took a while, several massages and the promise to stop fussing over her so much. She was pregnant, for God's sake, not amputated.

The woman acquiesced, giving him another smile. "Good." only then did she remember the third person still standing behind her. "Oh…" stepping aside, her hand motioned to the violinist. "I apologize. Dennis, this is Isis, my concertmaster."

They nodded at each other, the violinist shifting the strap of the case to shake his hand. "We haven't met. But I remember you from the orchestra's first representation," he said.

Shizuma's body tensed at the recollection. Isis' eyes clouded for a moment before she got herself out of it. "Yeah," her lips curved up. "We can't really see anything when we are on stage. With the lights and all."

He laughed. "I bet!"

Turning around, Shizuma found Miyuki walking towards them, two cups in her hands. The conductor felt a surge of warmth at the sight. She was even more beautiful than usual; her skin was glowing. She looked happy and relaxed, even though her trademark expression was carefully neutral. A big grin appeared on her face, not even caring about the steaming cups, Shizuma maneuvered around them to embrace her, surprising the other.

"Be careful! I almost scalded you," her tone was playful.

"I don't care."

She tightened her embrace for a second before pulling out. Miyuki took the opportunity to give a long, appraising look at Shizuma. She immediately noticed the exhaustion through her smile, but what caught her attention was the odd light in her eyes. Something is not right, she thought. An eyebrow rose in question.

Shizuma gave a small nod. We need to talk.

Miyuki answered with one of her own, sighing internally. What have you done…

Their little exchange did not go unnoticed by the other people around them. Only Dennis voiced his thoughts, looking back and forth between the women. "Are you two actually having a mind conversation, right now?"

It was enough to break the spell. They broke apart, Shizuma turning to him. "Jealous?" she deflected. They were totally having a mind conversation.

"Very."

The other woman shook her head, giving a cup to Dennis so she could greet Isis properly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Miyuki." The concertmaster already knew who she was, as per Shizuma's stories, even if they had never been formally introduced before.

"Isis," another smile appeared on her face.

Isis…? The one that had vehemently refused to give in Shizuma's whims? She casted a fleeting glance to the conductor, another silent question. Another mute exchange between the two friends and Miyuki sighed. Of course… she decided to leave it at that for now. It was not the time to talk about these things. The woman brought the paper cup to her lips and was going to drink when she felt a weighted stare.

"It is decaffeinated, Dennis," she cut before he even had the chance to speak, and then took a sip.

"I didn't say anything," he retorted.

"You didn't need to."

Shizuma was positively lost, not knowing what was being discussed or why Miyuki had started drinking decaffeinated coffee. Isis was thoughtful for a moment, eyes went down to her middle before twinkling in realization. She shared a small nod with the mother-to-be, mouthing a discreet 'congratulations', and receiving a secret smile.

Dennis sighed in despair, looking at his cup for a minute and up again, at Shizuma and Isis. "We still have time. Do you want to grab lunch before leaving?" His grinned, pointing at the woman with his head. "God knows she will be craving something to eat right when we board."

Miyuki threw him a heated glare. She was absolutely offended. Just because it was true did not mean he had the right to expose her like this.

"Uh…" the conductor was hungry, indeed. She had not had anything since the day before. She was not sure her stomach would cooperate with her, though. The lump had taken its quarters there since she had left France and it was feeling quite at home. Still, it was rude to turn down an offer, especially since she had not seen the couple in a while. "Of course."

"I have plans. I'm sorry," Isis gave them an apologetic smile when they turned to her. "I need to go, but another time?"

Dennis nodded, offering his untouched cup to the concertmaster, since he was not going to drink it anymore. She gladly accepted, and took a sip, the warm liquid heating her empty stomach.

"I will see you at work?"

Blue yellow eyes blinked at Shizuma for a second, surprised that she was being spoken to. "Yeah," the concertmaster answered after a pause.

She waved goodbye, took her suitcase and walked to the exit. Amber eyes did not leave her out of their sight until she disappeared in the crowd.

Her eyelids felt heavy, but Isis forced herself to stay awake and focus on the television, sighing again. Her eyes stared at the grotesque characters on the screen, blinking rapidly. She felt herself drifting away again.

Don't fall asleep. Don't fall aslee—

"What's that?"

Her brain did not have the time to process the words before chubby curious little fingers poked at her collarbone.

"Ouch! Hey!" She winced, catching the digits mid-air as they were getting ready to probe again at a spot where Shizuma had bitten her. "It hurts, stop it."

Big blue eyes looked up at her expectantly. They had been lying on the couch, watching cartoons and eating junk all afternoon. The eight-year-old had snuggled comfortably against her baby-sitter, completely focused on the television until something else caught her attention.

"What is it?" She asked again, turning away from the screen so she could face Isis.

"Mosquito bites."

"Doesn't look like a mosquito," the little girl came closer, eyes squinting in concentration. "It looks like teeth."

"Vampire."

Mini eyebrows rose in disbelief. She was absolutely not buying it. Isis sighed internally, missing the years when she could bluff her way out and make the girl believe almost everything, like that time she had convinced her to eat fish by pretending it was 'Brazilian chicken'. The concertmaster smiled fondly at the memory. Growing too fast, kid… she looked back at the television, hoping the brat would get the hint and drop the subject.

It worked. For a full minute. Then:

"Is it a hickey?"

"It's not a hickey."

"It looks like a hickey."

"It's not a hickey." The kid rolled her eyes. Definitely growing too fast… Isis gazed down again. "Where did you learn that word?"

"School," she answered like it was obvious, and then launched into a long tirade about how a boy from her class had proudly paraded with a nice purple bruise on his neck and pretended gap-toothed Mia, from class B had given him a hickey.

Her babysitter was appalled, mouth hanging. "Wow," she drew the word out, shaking her head. "You know he's probably lying, don't you?" They were eight, for heaven's sake. The kid nodded slowly, still perplexed. "Look, when I was eight, I ate sand and jumped in puddles. I did not give boys hickeys. He probably got bitten by a bug."

"But he said—"

"It's a bug, I'm telling you."

The little girl huffed. "Fine," she mumbled, shifting back to her former position.

Isis circled her tiny frame and squeezed, dropping a kiss on her head.

-0-

Going back to work felt strange after the two surreal weeks Shizuma had spent abroad. Not only had it been the longest holidays the woman had ever taken since she started her career but also the self-inflected hermitage of the past week at her summer house had done absolutely nothing to ease her mind. She was torn, anxious at the idea of seeing Isis again and what it meant for them now. Shizuma had not tried to contact her once they parted ways at the airport, nor did she expect the woman to do it either.

She felt the desperate urge to apologize, though. For what exactly, she did not know. Did she regret that night? The pianist certainly regretted the harsh words she had spat, days prior. Especially after that discussion at night on the beach, when she had so passionately proclaimed that she would be patient with the other woman, would let her open-up when she was ready, would be there for her, because Shizuma cared.

A bitter smile spread her lips as she entered the building. They had grown so close, possibly closer than Shizuma had ever been to another human being during her adult life – Miyuki excepted – but of course, she had to ruin it, like she always does. Or they did. Somehow, the woman could not shake the feeling that Isis was partly responsible, too. Fine, she had been unnecessarily cruel with her words: being tipsy on alcohol and anger did not help her eloquence, but there had been a sliver of truth underneath them. Isis could not keep doing what she was doing. She was hurting, it was obvious, and turning away every olive branch she was given, whether they came from family, friends, or Shizuma.

Maybe that night had been another way to deflect?

The woman breathed through her mouth, still confused. Her brain kept running those thoughts in circles, when it was not replaying the events of their night in Paris in full HD. Rinse and repeat.

Shizuma shook herself out of it and took the last step to the concert room. She was greeted by the sight of her musicians laughing and talking with each other. Catching up, recounting their holidays. One of the horns saw her walk up the main alley and tapped on another's shoulder to warn him. Soon, the chatter quieted down and the room erupted in cheers and loud claps.

She couldn't help it, she grinned.

They had heard about the concert in Paris, how could they not? Even if she had not said anything, there had been the article in that magazine before, not to mention the critics, journalists and other vultures who had attended her representation and spread the word. Clearly, they had done a really good job.

Walking up on the dais, Shizuma mock-bowed and gratified the musicians with another bright smile. "Thank you," when her eyes landed on Isis, the concertmaster gave her a nod with curved lips. "Thank you very much," she refocused her attention on everyone. "I hope that you have enjoyed your holidays…"

Her sentence was cut short when Philip entered the room. "Ladies and gentlemen," he was beaming. "I have news!" the man waved the white envelope he was holding.

Shizuma turned around with a quizzical expression. The man walked up to the stage, giving her a long hug and then handing the envelope. "I did not open it. I was thinking about waiting until you all came back to do it together."

Amber eyes dropped to the piece of paper. "It's from the production company," she read out loud. The concurrence. Paris, China, and them.

Faces turned stony and grave. All the mirth that had been present a second ago vanished replaced by a skyrocketing tension. Shizuma looked up at the musicians, giving them a reassuring smile. Or so she hoped it looked reassuring. She was boiling with apprehension inside. It was their moment of truth, they were going to know if their creativity had paid off. She casted another glance at Isis who was now biting her lip, leg bobbing up and down rapidly.

Fingers slightly shook as the conductor finally opened the envelope. The musicians were all intently focused on her face, on her eyes darting back and forth on the paper as they absorbed the words. Her expression was carefully blank, vestige of her Etoile days.

After two minutes of stillness that felt more like a century to the musicians, Shizuma cleared her throat and sighed loudly.

"We are going to New York…" they stared, incredulous. Finally, finally, the woman let the biggest grin spread on her face. "And we are going destroy Paris' philharmonic orchestra."

END OF THE FIRST ARC.

Okay? Not okay?

THEY FINALLY BONED. WOOP. Only took seven irl years for it to happen! Let's see if you can guess how long it took in the story's timeline.

Funny tidbit: Paris' philharmonic orchestra was dissolved 40 odd years ago. It's just called Paris' orchestra now. I added philharmonic for dialog fluidity.

Parts of the last two chapters were written seven years ago when Legato first started, and I just cleaned them up. Parts of it, namely the smut was written at 3 am on a cold, cold Tuesday a week ago. Many thanks to Layla Hamilton for reading over it and for her precious advice. And for letting me ramble about the story out of the blue.

Among other things, I was/am not confident in my ability to convey something that I saw very clearly in my head but could not translate into words. Also, I did not intend for it to be three pages long, or be this explicit, woops. But hey, it looks like I'll be back on a regular schedule now. Not making promises, but you can expect a few odd updates from time to time. I will finish this thing.

Hazel.