bad luck || moronprince
Today, Enker had spent his time out on the streets of Paralia, playing mournful tunes of his own composition for passers-by, using an old violin that ended up making people flinch more than anything at the sharpness of the notes and the... screeching. Yes, he was aware that he wasn't the best violinist in the city. Or even in the top twenty. He wasn't even sure there were twenty other violinists. But he was also aware that practice makes perfect, and surely if he stuck at it he'd get somewhere sooner or later.
(Monomaniacal obsession was the term that had been used once or twice by people who ought to know, one that he rejected, despite having been single-mindedly focused on music to the exclusion of all else since he first picked up a violin.)
In any case, he was done for the day, and had packed up his instrument in an old and battered case and made his way to the train station. He'd collected just enough to pay his way back home, so all he needed to do was buy a ticket and...
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no no no.
His pockets were empty. Wallet missing. Even a frantic check inside his violin case didn't turn up anything more than a rising sense of panic that was quickly moving towards anger. No no no I can't be here all night. I have to practice and write compositions and so on and so on, a fairly intense internal narrative.
Running out of ideas, Enker spun to face the nearest person, failing to get more than a couple of words out after tripping over his own tongue. "Hey--please, could you--"
Fingers crossed his evident panic would communicate what his powers of speech couldn't.
