<span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=20&amp;t=53761&amp;p=409820#p409815"><span style="color: #5d89ba">Melody Elizabeth Taylor</span></a></div></span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Thursday, 5:45 PM</span><br/><br/>Thursdays were always busy for her but today, it seemed, was simply not her day. Starting at 8:30 am, she had non-stop lessons until 5:30 pm, a grand total of 17 lessons ranging from voice to classical guitar, from jazz to rock. She was getting less sleep now than compared to what she got at uni, thanks to her doubling the number of students she accepted and her addition of free 'trial' lessons. But that's okay, thanks to moments like these. Her desk was cleared off, save for the body mat draped across the maple surface. Her classical guitar, practically her own child, rested gently on the mat. Earlier in the day, her string snapped while tuning, giving her no excuse to do one of her favourite things to do, clean and restring her instrument. With a warm mug of coffee and headphones softly singing tunes of Spanish music, she began the placid process of removing strings, scraping grime from frets with steel wool, reapplying oils and polish to the finish of the surface of the guitar, all before tying the new set of strings onto the guitar. She loved being entranced in the process, lost from the mindless movement while also being so focused on the little details. It was second nature to the musician. Now, with all the done; the guitar laid to rest in its case, waiting for the strings to set, Melody crashed onto her bed.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Thursday, 9:23 PM</span><br/><br/>At the announcement of brownies, Melody left her room for what seemed like the first time for the day. Between back-to-back lessons and a string snapping, the young teacher didn't have time to take a break or eat lunch even.  With her hand wrapped in wire from her strings, she began searching through the drawers in the kitchen. "How early is early-morning?" A soft voice called out, briefly glancing over her shoulder as she awaited an answer before averting her gaze as she fumbled with the contents of the drawer. "I could use a ride downtown. My car's still in the shop." She had hoped that between the extra intake of students and busking for a few hours during the week, she could save enough money to rent out a studio for both lessons and recordings while she searched for a full-time placement at a school. "Finally..." She murmured, pulling a Ziploc bag from its container. She turned, leaning her back against the corner formed by the counter as she took the coiled wire from around her hand and sealed it in the bag. With that taken care of, the woman was lured by the rich aroma of chocolate, the realization of her hunger as she grabbed two centre brownies from the tray and returning to her spot. "Mm so good.." She whispered, almost in an embarrassed manner with a hint of awkwardness. She was the newest addition, she was still adjusting and felt weird enjoying the homemade goodness.