Once upon a time I wrote a story and a partial serial about a down-on-his-luck cello player with a habit of swearing quite a bit, and unwilling partner to an egotistical violinist with a Sherlock Holmes… fetish, I think it is. They even did a review together. I’m too embarrassed honestly by it all.
I’ve never stopped trying to make it better, and failing quite a lot. It’s the story of my writing life, and why I’ll never make it as a fiction writer. My non-fiction tends to be much better anyways, and I even rely on what I learned about story structure in some of it.
Anyways: Octavia from “The Best Night Ever” being badass. Cellos are badass. They are Khorovod-levels of badassness.