multiversallogs | 001 : the ground is hard, and the view is much nicer from the sky

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001 : the ground is hard, and the view is much nicer from the sky

Who: Bonnie and you
What: Busking! And possible adventures.
She's just playing in random spots, for now, but she's the curious type so we can have whatever kind of adventures you like! If you'd like empath/odd visions adventures, please hit my plotting/powers post over here
Where: All over. Is there somewhere your character is likely to be? Bonnie does odd things, so she could be busking in the oddest of places. If you can't decide, park or street corner or some random, shady part of town all work just dandy.
When: ALL DAY. All night, too.
Warnings: Bonnie's mind is scary place and she's got a severe drug addiction, so narrative could be dark/violent and allude to that, at the very least. I'm open for these threads going all over the place, I'll edit as necessary.
(If anything happens in a thread that is warning worthy, maybe slap it in the subject so that people have a heads up before I edit here?)

And here's a clip of Zooey Deschanel singing, just because I can.

There are times when have a guitar cradled in her lap and strings singing under her fingertips can make all kinds of dark things slink away. And sitting here, just sitting and playing, it makes things seem like they aren't so bad, because sitting and playing could mean that Rowan is pulling a coin out of an old lady's ear, or a long row of handkerchiefs from a six year old's sleeve. Tasha is eating fire, swallowing it whole and smacking her lips as the flames are absorbed without a trace of pain, and Gabe... Gabe is keeping an eye on them all, their absurd little family, frowning thoughtfully as he wrestles with a balloon animal that was meant to be a dog but wound up like a giraffe.

The scene in her head doesn't match up with what's around her, but that isn't anything new. Most times, she prefers it, even if today is when she sees is what she wants to see. The images jostling for attention are light and happy, let her relax and lean against the wall at her back as if she belongs here. Songs tumble in a casual, easy pace, her guitar the superior instrument to her voice, which is soft – might be self-conscious, if she weren't so dreamy. She doesn't mind so much; without her, the guitar wouldn't be able to play, and with the guitar she doesn't mind singing here and there.

So here she is, guitar case open, imagining a whole grand show that isn't there. Maybe she and her guitar have seen better days.

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His feet are killing him by the time he pulls his coat on and steps out of the Glory Shada and onto the streets of the now very familiar neighborhood of Mog Hill. It's late now that his shift-- twelve hours today, thanks to another support staffer calling in sick-- is over, and the sun's been down for a few hours now. He's okay until the wind picks up and the cold bites into his skin, causing him to wince a little in discomfort. His body may be regulating its temperature more effectively now that his burn scars have been taken care of, but Rex is still somewhat sensitive to the cold, so the weather compounds his unhappiness as his aching feet carry him toward Griss Twist (a neighborhood he really hadn't envisioned himself living in, but, well, the apartment was cheap, which put it in his price range).

A frown's fully set in his face by the time he trudges up to the bar he lives below, and he pauses at the entrance. It's actually quiet tonight-- totally dead, imagine that. Rex relaxes, smiling imperceptibly, and moves around, turning a corner to get to the side entrance.

What he's not expecting is to nearly walk right over a woman who's sitting back against the wall, playing a guitar. He practically trips over his own feet to keep from colliding with her.

"Sorry, I didn't see--" He stops himself short, staring at her. There's a split second where he thinks it's her, Wichita, drifting into his life again. But no, it's just dark, her hair's similar enough, and Rex is lonely enough to actually miss his ex right now. Once his eyes settle on her face, he knows there's no mistaking this woman for anybody he knows.

"Sorry. Uh." He furrows his brow and looks down at the guitar case. "Panhandling or practicing? Because if it's the former... you probably won't find much here."

Slowly, because it takes a while for the words to register, that there's a different source of sound, and it's not Rowan quietly telling Gabe that isn't really the right way to make an elephant. After a few seconds, though, she opens her eyes, tilts her head to look at Rex intently. Her hands keep on playing, unfaltering, but the singing (soft as it was) fades into silence.

"It's fine." There's a distinct Louisiana twang and lilt to her voice, which was stubborn enough to stay no matter how long she was out of the South. (Then again, could be that being lost in your own head so much made your voice fixing to parrot everyone around you pretty much impossible.)

Amusement plays around the corners of her mouth, and though she glances down for a second - shy - her curiosity forces to her look back at him, intent. "You're here, though." That was a good start. You just needed one for an audience, and where there was more, others stopped too.

Never mind that the Sun's down - that's like a minor detail.

Rex looks around as if to confirm-- yes, he's here and nobody else. He brushes his hair awkwardly with his fingers and laughs a little. "Yeah, but. I'm not much of an audience." He never had much appreciation for the arts, after all. Music's fine as background noise, some extra stimuli as he works on projects, but he doesn't care for it either way on its own terms.

He pulls his coat closer against his body, rubbing his arms briefly. "How long have you been out here?"

"A while. Kinda just wander 'round, y'know? There's so many different places to see in this city, things to know." People to meet, voices to hear. She kind of prefers it when there aren't too many folks around, just because of the effect it has on her head, but that doesn't always serve so well when you're trying to make money. She's not the most functional person out there, but even she understands that.

"Been out here a coupla hours, I guess." Something in her gaze gains a new clarity, a momentary sharpness as she looks at him - a brief moment, before that dopey little smile softens it again. "What about you? You talk to ladies in the cold all that often?"

"It certainly offers some fascinating sights," he muses, although the "fascinating sights" he's thinking of are his xenian patients. The rest of the city he can take or leave-- preferably leave, since he doesn't even want to be in a world where magic works in tandem with science, where he'll have to begin his projects again from scratch. There's an endeavor that he's not looking forward to after losing two years worth of work on the Barge.

Rex watches her carefully, although his expression is soft, somewhat friendly for now. That moment of sharpness isn't lost on him-- is it an act? Is she high? Or something else? He shakes his head as he sticks his hands down in his pockets. "No, I think you're the first lady in the cold I've chatted up-- here, anyway. I live--" Here, actually, but he's not going to say that to a stranger, no matter how harmless she seems. "Around. I was just on my way home when I saw you. Or nearly fell over you."

Edited 2011-12-16 06:51 (UTC)

Bonnie just idly changes the song she's playing, nothing particularly recognisable, just a mess of notes that seems to come out pretty well from the jumble. Whether it's the music or his comment that makes her smile isn't entirely apparent. "You know how to make a girl feel all special, huh?"

There's something liberating about being out here, talking to a stranger at night. Even just innocent conversation; Clara kept her on a tight leash. "Is bein' out in the cold botherin' you?" She tilts her head, not quite sympathetic or concerned. It might be both, really, but there's that odd element of the dulled slipping back over that clarity of before.

"I'm Bonnie. How about you?"

"Do I?" he counters, brow arching. Rex figures she's just teasing, but what if she's not? What if this is... flirting? He can't really tell either way-- he's never been good at navigating casual interaction beyond the basics. So he just glances away with a slight smile on his face, then shrugs one shoulder as he considers how comfortable he is-- or isn't-- in this weather. "A little, but I'm-- I've always been sensitive to the cold." Well, not always. Just after his accident. That half-smile broadens to something a little less awkward and a little more charming when he looks back at her. "It's what I get for being from California." Not that Palo Alto never got cold, but most people associate the whole state with beach weather, so he might as well play it up.

"I'm D--" No, Dr. Lewis is too formal. "Rex." He leans down some and pulls one hand out of his pocket, offering it to Bonnie. "Pleasure to meet you."

The prospect of finding employment had already begun to weigh on Charles’ mind, but today had been set aside for familiarising himself with the city –in more ways than one. He wasn't openly broadcasting his telepathy; he wasn't reaching into people's minds to find their deepest, darkest secrets. But as he wandered, he makes a habit of picking up on the surface thoughts of the people around him (those that he was able to read, anyway). A sort of telepathic equivalent to over-hearing snippets of conversation as you went about your daily business.

As he rounds a corner on his way towards the centre of the city, Bonnie's daydream catches his attention. Xenian minds were almost like splashes of colour in a sea of grey, but there was also something profoundly moving about those images. They resonated with how much he missed his own newly formed family.

Hands in pockets, he ambles over but also keeps a comfortable distance. "Hello." And to keep the conversation going, "You play very well."

Just as well Bonnie'd turned up with her guitar - without it, things like getting money would've spiralled past anything she could control real fast. She hadn't moved herself out of the Inn yet, because that required initiative that she didn't have, a nudge to take herself from a comfortable place. Could be she wound up outta there from not being able to cover the rent, anyway, so what was the harm in sticking around until she got pushed out?

'Sides, worst came to worst, she could sell her blood. It wasn't even close to ideal, the thought made her skin crawl, but it was what she knew how to do. Trade and exchange, that was what Clara called it; free access to blood meant a roof over her head, so offering bits and pieces could mean smaller things, right? She didn't have it all worked out yet, preferred not to think about it - maybe that's why her mind is so stubbornly leaning towards the happier things, right now, the lull some kind of act of mercy from her own mind.

"I had lessons." Something disjointed hangs in the way she says it, makes it roll awkwardly off her tongue. "Everybody has something they do well, right?" Good things, sometimes, and bad ones. It might be forward, but she observes him for a moment, still playing, smiling ever-so-slightly. "What are you good at?"

"Oh, a few things." False modesty, your name is Charles Xavier. "Science and chess are the ones I can talk about. And on a similar note to yours, I used to play piano when I was younger, but I was expected to."

Pun intended, although not included in the 'cultivation' experience of private schools and a well-to-do family.

"My teacher used to spit while he talked," and he makes a slight face. He's hoping the humour will put her at ease as well as give him some time to get to know her a little more. He's content to stick to simple psychological observation for now.

That does make her laugh, even just quietly, head ducked for a moment as she mulls it over. "Mrs. Desmarais never spat, but she could get all kindsa mad if ya'll didn't get in there to practice a couple've times a week. She taught me piano and readin' music and stuff."

Looking down at the guitar, she smiles again, but there's an undercurrent to it, memories that she doesn't like rushing to the surface, like blood to a bruise. "My Grandpa taught me the guitar." And she loves her Grandpa, she does, he was a sweet man - but that's the problem. Was. She can tell herself that 'cause she left everyone was fine, but some part of her knows better. She frowns, shakes her head, and pauses in her playing for a moment, rubbing her nose.

Ever taking things out of order, in odd bits and pieces, Bonnie rests her hands on the guitar and looks at Charles. "What are the ones you don't talk about?"
Whether she's being naive or curious and playful, that's hard to say. She has to snap herself away from the thoughts about her family, though, before things get out of hand.

Edited 2011-12-15 23:02 (UTC)

Luckily Charles is willing to cause a distraction. He can see the turn in conversation has caused a slight falter in mood and --when she asks-- he gives a quick look up and down the street. Not that anyone else around them will see what he's about to do next. This is between him and Bonnie.

"How about I show you?" There's a slightly excited undercurrent in his tone (he's only been able to show-off in this particular way very recently) and a boyish grin as he rocks on his heels for a minute, bringing two fingers to his temple.

With a snap of his fingers and a quick utterance of, "Abracadabra," he lays his hand out flat and a small yellow canary appears in the palm of his hand. It looks real, it would even feel real if Bonnie touched it, and it's hopping around and chirping at the end of his fingertips like a real bird would. But it's not.

"I suppose in most magic tricks it should be a dove, but I always find these little fellows to be much more cheerful."

Immediately Charles offers to show her, she leans forward, never mind that faint prickle of apprehension, of fear in her gut. If ever Bonnie had a trait that got her into trouble - made her think maybe doing something stupid might not be so bad - then her curiosity was a big part of it. Sure, not the sole problem, but definitely a piece that kept some pieces clicking together when they should have been tossed out.

And besides, Charles seems plenty nice. Sure, she hasn't made contact, tried to keep herself in the dark on purpose, but she wasn't getting any scary vibes off him. If anything, it was like feeling something soft feathering against her skin, tendrils of loneliness and loss that echoed, no matter how smiley and bouncy he might seem.

With the little canary bouncing around in that delightful, abrupt way that only birds seemed capable of, Bonnie can't hold back the little smile dancing about the corner of her mouth. "You're right." She isn't jumping up and down, or anything, but the smile widens, and she's definitely happy to see the little thing. Still - she can't ignore certain little things, and she looks up towards Charles with a softer expression. "You should do more things that make you happy."

Ah. A little forward, maybe, but there's something pointed about her words, specific, even if her tone is as vague and dreamy as ever.

The comment is forward, but all it does is make him stop and consider her for a beat. Then he looks away, smile becoming smaller as he ponders, to release the little canary into the sky and wait until it flies out of sight before dropping the illusion altogether.

"Happiness would lose it's meaning if it weren't balanced by sadness," he says as he watches the little bird go. "Like all emotions, it's transitory."

His head ducks, and then he looks at her side-on. "But you're right, there are things that help. A good book, a cup of tea. A friend." He's thinking about his own friendships as much as a quiet, aside observation to himself that Bonnie could also use some. This city wanted people to hit the ground running, which wasn't easy for everyone.

Then to change the subject back, "I can tell when other people have talents, too. I hope you don't mind."

As unnerving as it is having someone just lay open that he knows, could know, will know what she can do, when people have done all manner of awful things once they knew, the canary and Charles general... Charlesness that he gave off, it didn't have that feeling of something sharp and dangerous being dragged inescapably close. She watches him for a moment, mulling over that maybe there's a better way to describe it than person-ness. In fact, she's sure she's thought it over before, but her mind is a maze, where the hedges have grown out of control and become a jungle with a life of their own, vines that snatch thoughts and memories away or push them on you until you can't think or feel anything else.

Her gaze is blank for a few moments, eyebrows furrowing just a little, before a smile finally appears. "Cloud formations. Don't you think people are kinda like 'em? Everyone can look and see different things, and they got all kindsa meanings. Maybe there's some that are the same kind, but none of them are ever the same. And they change all the time, even if you can't see it." Or, maybe they did. Seems like they'd have to, so far up in the sky, all exposed. Even when they're calm and peaceful, they don't hardly seem like they could be static. Leaning a little closer, she studies his face, his expression. "I dunno about all the details, but I think I like whatever kinda cloud you are."

She doesn't lean back, but moves her guitar, scooping odd bits of change into her pocket before laying it down in the case. No intention to just move or nothing, not yet, but it's nice to have her arms free. "Ain't much of a talent."

Once again, his smile broadens. "Cloud formations. That's a wonderful way of putting it."

And, since Bonnie has given him her seal of approval, he takes the small liberty of pointing nearish to her and asking, "You don't mind if I, ah --?" He moves from where he was standing to crouch in his chosen spot although he makes sure to leave a polite distance between them. "I feel somewhat rude towering over you. And at least this way you can get to know some of the details."

Any passers-by can double-take at the well dressed man sitting on the pavement all they want. He does what he likes.

"I suppose it all depends on how much you use a talent. I was a child when mine manifested, so I've had a lot of time to practice. At first I started to hear these murmurs when no one was talking. Then I realised it wasn't conversations I was hearing; it was other people's thoughts." It had been thrilling and terrifying at the same time. And lonely, too. Not to mention he had been exposed to things that children shouldn't know. "And then when I became really good at that, I started to experiment with what else I could do."

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001 : the ground is hard, and the view is much nicer from the sky

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