Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining {Lalia!Blitz}

Casio Fiske.

I think my violin instructor at the Conservatory is starting to suspect me. Today has been a day of constant criticism. Casio, you usually have such perfect technique. Why do you keep slurring your notes on the down beat? The music is right in front of you. Read it. You can't just play it however you want. Again. Start from the beginning. So I did. I started over. I played it exactly how she wanted me to.

Like that, the song lost its soul. It could have been played by a machine.

I trudge into the nearest cafe I can find, because more than anything right now, I could really use: "A strawberry milkshake, please. The biggest one you have. With whipped cream... and extra whipped cream. Can I do that? Extra whipped cream? Like a moun-tain on top. And a cherry. No, no, no — two, wait, no — three cherries. Yeah." The girl working the register looks me up and down, but I don't flinch. I am so serious right now. "If you can't fit that much whipped cream on top, I'll take it in a bowl on the side." Mentally, she's obviously wondering what kind of ridiculous manchild has just walked into her cafe, but she takes my money and I snag the nearest seat while I wait, violin set down on the floor beside me like a shadow.

It takes a second before I realize that I've claimed myself a seat at an occupied table. Something awkward and apologetic crosses my face until I catch sight of what she's eating. My mouth cracks into a giant smile. "So, obviously we're supposed to be friends." Right on cue, the world's biggest strawberry milkshake is set down in front of me. I just look at her like: Right? No seriously.. Right?!

Casio Fiske.

"Didn't you want some milkshake with that whipped cream?"

I'm already going beast on this milkshake, a spoon in each hand and too much giddiness to be embarrassed. I look up at her long enough to realize there's whipped cream on the tip of my nose — and is my tongue long enough to lick it off? Also: How have I lived this long without figuring out if I can touch my tongue to the tip of my nose or not?! I refrain from finding out right now and wipe it off with a napkin. "Crazy talk," I reply, because she says that like there's such a thing as too much whipped cream.

Yeah right.

She redeems her blasphemy by swiping a taste with her finger and backtracking with a stamp of approval. I cram six more bites into my mouth in the time it takes her to follow up with half as many questions. I may not enjoy being a music machine, but I have no qualms about being an eating machine. "Mph!" I confirm from around another spoonful of strawberry amazingness. I swallow. "That's mine! Violin, yeah. Good eye." I can't hide my love for that hollow piece of wood, but that doesn't mean I know how to come right out and say: I'm even better at playing violin than this milkshake is at being delicious. Instead my face screws itself up with bumbling modesty and I skip ahead to the next question. "If that wasn't a word before, it is now." That's how that works. I'm pretty sure.

"What have you got to apologize for? I'm the one who can't remember to swallow before talking." Ohhhhh, my grandmother would be so maddddd. I get about five swats upside the head every time we have dinner together because of forgetting my table manners. Luckily, cute little old ladies like my grandma have approximately the same strength as a kitten. "Strawberry milkshakes though. I don't understand how there are people who don't order them."