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multiversallogs2011-12-12 05:38 pm
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Entry tags:
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
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He pulls his coat closer against his body, rubbing his arms briefly. "How long have you been out here?"
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"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?"
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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."
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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?"
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"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."
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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."
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'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?"
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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.
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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.
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"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."
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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.
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"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."
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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."
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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."