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"So, why is it that I'm here again?" Samira groans, raising an eyebrow at Trinity.
It's been a few months since Trinity has started her residency at PTMC. On their first day, the two definitely got off on the wrong foot. Nevertheless, Trinity has relentlessly attempted to socialize with Samira, inviting her to bars, game nights, etcetera. And tonight is finally the night, Samira's decided, to see what these after-work hangouts are all about.
"Calm down," Trinity retorts, drawing out the vowels. "God fucking forbid I want to invite my favorite coworkers over. Plus, y'know, I know how pathetic your life is outside of work— why not spice it up?" Somehow, she's both kind and cruel at the same time. Samira's confused about that— she finds it weirdly endearing.
Trinity wraps an arm around Samira, leading her into her and Whitaker's shared living space, where Victoria is sat on the floor, legs crossed, absorbed in a game of Uno with Mel and Dennis. A movie is playing in the background— a comedy. Bottoms, Samira's pretty sure.
It's nearing nightfall, a gap in the curtains revealing an array of blues, purples, and reds.
The Santos-Whitaker household is weirdly cozy, and it's then that Samira thinks that this wasn't a bad idea— what's the worst that could happen? Their fridge is covered in schedules, embarrassing baby photos of both Dennis and Trinity (mostly Dennis though, likely for Trinity's enjoyment), and magnets, and there are various candles lit around their living-room-kitchen-dining-room situation.
"Hey, guys." Samira smiles down at the three of them, sprawled out on the floor, to which Mel's face brightens.
"Samira! You're here. Glad you could come."
"Against my will, sure," she jokes, pointing a finger towards Trinity, "but I'm here. Is this a regular thing between you guys?" She asks, considering how comfortable everyone appears.
"Maybe a couple of times a month, yeah," Victoria answers. "Our lives are all pretty boring outside of our jobs, so it's nice to just... unwind, y'know."
Samira quickly realizes that her and the others have completely different ideas of what it means to "unwind," considering that even the mere act of human interaction is making her shoulders tense up. Whatever, it's the effort of socialization that counts— or, at least, that's what she tells herself.
Trinity drops herself down onto the couch, patting the space next to her, gesturing for Samira to come sit. She lifts up a black bass from the stand next to her— the Fender Standard Jazz bass, she notices. The cable follows shortly behind, bunching up in a pile on the floor. An amp, already turned on and humming, sits next to the stand, with a red Fender Squire hanging on the wall above it.
Samira's immediately in awe— she's always been moderately interested in music, possessing a decent understanding of scales and key signatures and tempo. She's never actually pursued it, however.
She used to sing, using it to escape from the crushing grief she had experienced shortly after her father's death. Unfortunately, her mother very quickly made her quit. Specifically, it was in the ninth grade, shortly after Samira had received an 82% on a chemistry exam because of the fact that participating in her school's theater program had her highly preoccupied.
Samira accepts Trinity's offer, sitting down next to her, crossing her legs. As Trinity's fingers hit the frets, she recognizes the tune immediately: the bassline of 'The Less I Know the Better,' by Tame Impala— simple, popular, the melody still holding the capability to pull Samira in.
All of a sudden, she's unable to take her eyes off of her, watching as her left hand slides up and down the frets, right hand in perfect sync, purple pick slamming the strings. The others are unbothered, still engulfed in their game of Uno.
At one point, Trinity subtly fumbles a note, fingers sliding falling short of the thirteenth fret, instead landing on the twelfth. Quickly, she covers it up, aiming to improvise over the melody instead. If it weren't for Samira's intense gaze on her, she wouldn't have even noticed the error in the first place.
Still, the melody sounds incredible, and she's regretful that she hadn't come over sooner.
Samira hums along under her breath, tapping along to the melody with her pointer finger.
When Trinity finishes, she shrugs, as if it was nothing.
"Holy shit, that was incredible." Samira muses, finger still tapping against her jeans. There's a hint of shock in her tone, which she hopes doesn't come off as mean. Trinity's a goddamn doctor— of course she's good with her hands. Samira's mind quickly goes to... other things, and she has to shake her head to snap herself out of it.
"Why did I never know this about you?" For someone so arrogant, she's weirdly hesitant when it comes to areas she's actually talented in.
"Huh? I mean, it's not exactly a secret." Pulling down her sleeve, she reveals a small wrist tattoo— a bass guitar, with various music notes surrounding it. Samira think it's hot, then quickly admonishes herself for having such a thought— what the hell? God, Trinity knows what she's doing, pulling out her goddamn bass guitar the second she stepped foot into their place.
"You're... so good. Wow." She blurts, at a loss for words.
"Thanks. Y'know, Dennis isn't musically gifted for shit—"
"I'm right here, Trinity," he groans, rolling his eyes.
"Shut up, Huckleberry," she retorts. "Anyways. As I was saying, I wanna get into the whole music thing more, and— apart from Vic— I don't really have anyone else to play with. You seem to be into it, so. Y'know. If you want to," she says, fiddling with the tuning pegs. "If you can, that is," she adds abruptly.
"Are you asking me to join a band with you?" Samira replies, expression smug. "And Victoria, of course. Wait— what does she play?"
"Keyboard," Victoria replies, inserting herself into their conversation. "I was forced into piano lessons at, like, nine," she sighs.
"I actually used to sing a little in high school, for a year or two. I was the lead when I was 13," Samira smiles, making eye contact with Trinity. "I also have journals upon journals with thoughts and feelings, if you're into that. It's kind of poetic." Definitely one of her more embarrassing hobbies, and definitely not the best one to tell Trinity Santos, of all godforsaken people.
"Are you serious? So, you're in? Hell yeah!"
"So, um, we're actually doing this?" She questions, looking up to Trinity for reassurance (and, hopefully, approval, which she'll never admit.)
"Only if you want to, of course," she says, resuming back to her usual awkward, sarcastic state. "Vic? Thoughts?" She queries, humming her name.
"Sounds awesome, Trin," she grins, giving her a thumbs up.
"Fuck yes. Um, okay. I'll make a group chat with the three of us, and we can reconvene later. With our instruments, of course."
"Are you kicking us out?" Mel asks. She's been quiet the entire time, silently listening in on their conversation. She'd failed to mention the fact that she'd picked up guitar once— never again. She'd had an exhausting day in the Pitt, and was honestly just happy to be here for moral support and company.
"No, no, of course not, Mel. Okay, so, wait— how, exactly, is this going to work?" Trinity raises an eyebrow.
"My building's got walls of steel, practically soundproofed." Good Lord. The last thing Samira wanted was Trinity hanging over at her place, with that hot-ass bass. Too late now, she thinks.
"God, thank you so much, 'Mira," Trinity smiles— a genuine one, for once in her goddamn life. And it's damn cute, at that.
Christ, something was wrong with Samira. Whatever.
"Okay, then. We can discuss this later, I want to go back to fucking around with this thing." Pointing to the bass, she sets her phone in front of her, revealing a set of tablature. Samira has no idea as to what song it's for, but luckily, she's here now, for whatever-the-hell-else Trinity's got in store.