Bernie wonders to herself quietly who this Idunna might be (she certainly wasn't here right now) as she quietly takes up her side of the room, unpacking her stuff; books on musical history, compilations of sheet music (whether they were classical or compilations she'd made herself to perform covers) and a few romantic manga for herself, as well as obvious necessities such as clothes, toiletries.
Taking pride of place on her bed for the moment was her violin case, however; a large, pink plastic case, covered in stamps and labelled 'Berenice P.', a birthday gift from her grandmother. Inside was a well-crafted piece of art; Bernie's violin, her pride and joy, her beloved instrument. It wasn't a Stradivarius or something fancy; instruments like that could reach into the millions and, though the Pagtakhans were well-off, they weren't exactly wealthy. Still, it was Bernie's violin, and it had served her well, and in her eyes it wasn't the instrument that made the music, but the performer; the instrument was just the performer's partner. Her tutor had instilled that in her as a child and she'd carried that on ever since.
On her desk, she places down her laptop, a decent machine all things be told, mid-range, decent performance and good enough for what she needed it for (homework, Internet and recording her performances, if she felt like doing some), along with a small photo of her and her family, posing happily at a dinner about two years ago (it was her little sister's birthday, Bernie recalled). Anything to give the place a little touch of home.