Don't blow it

Underground Sound 
Theophania cracked up.

“I own a bakery. You’re welcome to swing by; it’s freshly open ‘round this time. I’ll even give you a discount.” I’ll be good, she meant, which of course was an implication of variable honesty, greatly dependent on her progress in classes and her mood as otherwise influenced by the sun, stars and moon. She liked this little quick-hearted woman, with her dry wit much more subtle than Theophania’s own.

“My great-great-great grandmother originally bought it sometime between the 1840s and the 1920s,” she said, as if this was helpful information, rather than a time period ranging from the invention of the saxophone to when it was first used in jazz. The years tended to blend together, and decades were only marginally easier to distinguish. Just the other day she had brought her beloved sixties van to the mechanic, and was surprised when they exclaimed over its vintage appeal (and outdated features).

She scribbled out her information, along with Sweet Tooth Bakery, because there was no harm in advertising.

Again, her eyes drifted to the crowd.

“I’ll await your call--once she’s all done, I’ll be joining classes.”

 A bakery - a vampire that owned a bakery. And while she didn't go out of her way to shit on the dreams of other people, it took a good measure of her control to keep from snorting. How'd that work, anyway? Was there no taste testing? What if she wanted to try a new recipe - sense of smell could only carry you so far? A quick bulleted list of growing questions that she would save for a later date, possibly for one of those bakery visits if indeed the repair went well.

 She twisted the note around, made sure that she could make out the other woman's penmanship clearly and there was no confusion. Sweet Tooth - Ms Day seemed like the sort of a pun in there, but this was probably safer in the end. "We should have no problems with the classes filling." Shockingly, there wasn't an influx of brass instrument hobbyists - she withheld that remark.

 "Regardless, I'll hold you a seat until I get this all sorted for you. I'll be in touch, Ms Day." Treating the case like it was an instrument of her own, mindful as she took it from the counter and set it behind for a priority project the day following. Holding her hand out to shake on it once she taped the note to the case so it didn't get lost in the shuffle.

At least Theophania had music.

The future was uncertain--her own ilk, outed beneath the blistering sunlight? Talk about a hit to business. Not that her customers knew, or suspected, but still. She felt vulnerable, with her bakery hours and her ageless face. Looking constantly young, too-young for her money and her experience, used to be an advantage. She was attractive. Now she wondered if it made her suspicious.

But, if she could go get her saxophone, she could learn how to play that and pretend nothing had been tilted on its axis. Jazz was like that. Soothing; it took you away from the world.

She’d wondered if Underground Sound had closed down, though she hadn’t the technical saviviness to look it up, so the voicemail had been a pleasant surprise.

She kicked open the door.

“Hello again,” she said, and waited until she was closer and her voice was hushed to say, “Pleased to see at least you haven’t run for the hills. How is my beloved instrument?”

 In all reality when she had left the voicemail with the good news, she had half expected that she would never see the woman again. A whole slew of people both dead and living who'd started clinging to their hiding places and holing in as if preparing to weather a storm. Then again, based on their first interaction with one another, she supposed she should have known better than all that.

 She'd had just enough time to straighten up before the vampire came up to the counter, enough time to pull her ticket and enter the first few digits into the computer. "Ready to come home - the replacements were a bitch to find but, thankfully not impossible. Some of it's a year later model but - fit wise it worked. Just might effect your estimate next time you take it to the Antiques Roadshow." Doubtful, she seemed sentimental about it and really, in the climate they lived in, Adina knew she was in no position to judge.

"You keeping your bakery going?" Somehow, daylight versus nighttime considered, that felt like an infinitely heftier risk.

Theophania ran her fingers over the saxophone, checking insignificant dents and hidden scratches by touch alone. She remembered each of them because she was the cause of most of them. The little shifter had, indeed, taken good care of her beloved instrument. She snapped the case closed.

“It’ll only affect it if they know about it; they’re a lot less thorough than you think, especially on that trashy show,” she said.

She sighed.

“I am. College students need somewhere to eat no matter the hour.” Several of her regulars, of animal and undead persuasion, had vanished after the news dropped. If Theophania closed her bakery and went into hiding, how would she fill the endless nights? With other hobbies?

She shuddered at the prospect.

“You gonna keep this little place going?”

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