The Dead See All...

[Derrick Mason Gray]

Nov 9, 2017 ; 3 am

 

Two inch platform boot soles propped against the inside window of the sedan, her back pressed against the cool leather seat as her long form lay along the bench. The lip of the neck of a bottle of Jefferson's Presidential lingered delicately on her fingertips as the edge of the base rolled lightly back and forth on the floorboard, the bottle still three quarters full as she "stared" at the ceiling of the moving vehicle, fingers guiding the precious bottle's path.

 

It had been a deadly gig. Five and a half hours straight before she finally killed a last string on the guitar and had to call it a night, the crowd disappointed but at the same time exhilarated in their exhaustion. It had taken some time to find band members that could keep up with her relentless practicing and inhuman stamina, who enjoyed music at their very core the way she did, willing to play until their fingers bled and their body gave out. But the current boys had a real love that came through to the last notes.

 

She had showered at the club, knowing full well if she had gone home first she would have collapsed in bed saturated in sweat and woken up cold in the morning. She always kept her worn sack at the club with a spare top and jeans. Free fingers were resting on her raised thigh, plucking gently at a threadbare spot. While some paid a fortune for their jeans to look like hers, these were originally solid when she bought them. Years of wear had made them incredibly soft and near see-through in places where the fibers had worn thin. She hadn't bothered with a bra under the beige long sleeved soft crop. After a gig her skin was so highly sensitive it chafed easily. Wet hair had only been combed through, strands trailing damp streams over the leather as they coiled and draped onto the floorboards.

 

Her bed was calling.

 

[npc]Isn't that the guy from the ammo shop?[/npc]

 

Dark lashes closed, gray pupils rolling behind them. For being one of the only people that knew she was blind, Cage could be a real idiot.

 

[derrick]… I don’t know Cage…. is he toting a gun and speaking in a funny accent?[/derrick]

 

She hadn't bothered to sit up from her reclined position to "look".

 

[npc]…obviously not, clearly he…. oh… funny Gray… nah, he just wandering with a bottle into the cemetery of all places.[/npc]

 

Cemetery? What was he doing in a place like that at this time of night? And this far from his place?

 

Feet unattached from the window as the long form unknitted itself to get into a sitting position.

 

[derrick]..pull over.[/derrick]

 

[npc]..hell no… this aint exactly our territory and you aint packing. I am taking you home.[/npc]

 

Hand ran over her head, combing damp strands back to dangle down to her exposed waist in back as she pulled the bottle up and resealed the top.

 

[derrick]..said pull over Cage… or you want me telling Gaspari you scammin' at the blackjack tables in his club?[/derrick]

 

The stutter was almost cute.

 

[derrick]… pull over and go home Cage.[/derrick]

 

The car was slowing. Cage had a healthy respect, or perhaps it was fear, of Gaspari.

 

[npc]..how the fuck you always know that shit Gray?[/npc]

 

Smirk lit her lips as she rummaged in her sack for the shades. She had taken her contacts out after the show so she didn’t have even a hint of normalcy to the nearly white irises and pale gray pupils.

 

[derrick]… I see all..[/derrick]

 

The round shades were opaque and iridescent blue as they slid over her ears, hand pushing the door open as the car stopped at the curb.

 

[derrick]…mean it Cage…go home… or your ass is turned in.[/derrick]

 

She didn’t wait for his grumble. Slamming the door closed and listening to him drive away as the old tattered sack was pulled over her shoulder, the bottle of Jefferson's swinging at her hip as she breathed in the cool night air. Instantly the musky spice of the earthy cologne struck her. They had only crossed paths once but that was all it took for scents to carve into her memory, they were her "visual" markers. People thought scents were the same, but to a nose that could shame a dog, the exact same cologne smelled different on different people, their own natural oils mixing to make it unique. His reminded her of laying on wet grass still warm from the day's sun. Feet moved, letting the soft thump of heavy sole give her the location of the wall that surrounded the cemetery. She was too tired to go wasting energy on her ability so she resorted to the "site" she had lived her entire life with. The echo location gave her the location of the opening, sensitive hearing only detected a single breath other than her own in the cemetery and his scent gave her where he was inside.

 

Shoulder leaned against the wrought iron gate as the head tilted slightly "watching" him. She was unrecognizable from the first time they had met in his shop if not for her amazonian stature.

 

[derrick]…visiting dissatisfied customers?[/derrick]

 

Faint smile licked her lips as she tucked a thumb under the strap of the sack over her shoulder, her other hand still letting the bottle of ambrosia dangle by her hip.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

Skin was still hot, tie pulled loose several hours earlier. It had been a good pass for something decent, but with this cold nothing was ever the same. Just didn’t feel right, so that led to a bottle, and a quiet exit at last call.  Since he was the host of the whole shindig, and had paid for the lot… he really could do whatever the hell he wanted after he paid the bill- which included leaving it behind. 

 

Fresh whiskey in his gut kept his skin warm so he didn’t have to, the bottle quietly tapping on worn gravestones every once in a while when he felt the need to rouse the dead, sometimes muttering to himself before taking another drink.  He wasn’t drunk, but he damn near wanted to be.  Could drink like a fish, the rich and their crystal decanters. Probably was swiped across his gums when he was teething and put in his bottle to keep from crying.  He found the cheapest usually gave him the most bang, but it also meant it tasted the worst. Considering the jazz crew that were supposed to be from the Easy, it was a fitting end to a disappointing night.  Fake accents, bad jazz, and ladies that wouldn’t leave him alone while he tried to listen.

 

He really did need a séance with the dead.  Was the only group that didn’t talk during a damn show, his footsteps on the ancient paths quiet and he wandered.  This world, didn’t terrify him like it did most.  Thrill seekers, “ghost hunters”, they didn’t get it.  To commune with the silence was to listen to the world.

 

"…visiting dissatisfied customers?"

 

[jojo]They’re the only ones that don’t complain.[/jojo]

 

Lash lowered hazel surveyed his visitor at the gate on his second lap around the cemetery, reaching upward to pull his tie completely off and lay it around the back of his neck. Top button was undone.

 

[jojo]Seems I’ve overdressed this time.[/jojo]

 

He took another long swig, the swallow of the caustic liquid easy as he slid his free hand in his pocket.

 

[jojo]Welcome to my office away from… my other office,[/jojo] the humor was dark.  [jojo]And, do we club when we’re not clubbing people?  ..or whatever it is you do with those knuckles of yours.[/jojo]

 

The Cajun definitely had a more distinct lack of need for bullshit, if that was even possible, when he was nursing a bottle.

 

[jojo]Or, have you come to complain…[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

Swill. He was drinking swill. The scent was offending. It was a midgrade at best. Strange that she would become such an alcohol snob considering her life after poshville had been not just poor but street poor. She had expensive taste for even the Bakkhos. It was her one real indulgence.

 

Sensitive ears listened as the bottle tapped against stone every once and a while, brow lifting slightly at the muttering. Drunk? Might explain him wandering around a cemetery but somehow he just didn’t seem the type. Eyes closed behind the shades, allowing her a moment of not pretending to be sited. It was quiet here, the world wasn’t pressing in on her senses the way it did everywhere else. Strange, but she could understand wanting to seek solace here.

 

[derrick]…visiting dissatisfied customers?[/derrick][jojo]They're the only ones that don’t complain.[/jojo]

 

Smile slid over her lips as shoulders betrayed a soft chuckle.

 

[jojo]Seems I've overdressed this time.[/jojo][derrick]..eh… more likely I am underdressed.[/derrick]

 

She wasn’t exactly dressed as the headliner of Bakkhos at the moment. A fact she had not really thought about till that moment. High class attire just wasn’t her thing, her closet was filled with a handful of Bakkhos approved wear but the rest was old tattered jeans and worn out tanks. Most were worn out in the same places, where the guitar and strap rubbed for hours on end.

 

She almost cringed as she heard him drink from the swill again. God… why did people even bother to drink that stuff?

 

[jojo] Welcome to my office away from… my other office…. And, do we club when we’re not clubbing people? ..or whatever it is you do with those knuckles of yours. [/jojo]

 

Brow lifted a bit over the iridescent blue shades. She could have been offended, if she offended easily, which she didn’t. Shoulder pushed against the wrought iron to stand up once more. She was quiet, something that usually sent other Bakkhos scampering for cover, but they were horrible at reading her, everyone was horrible at reading her. Long strides were measured as she approached him, the thud of sole on earth vibrating enough to tell her when to side step a stone. Drawing up about four feet in front of him she paused, the cocked head betraying her studying him…. or perhaps thinking, before the thumb slid from the strap over her shoulder and the hand outstretched, fingertips upward showing off the torn up digits, two still marked with a line of crimson that seeped through where the strings had finally won. It was something she didn’t share with many… she wasn’t really sure why she was sharing with him.

 

[derrick]…no I don’t club….. I play.[/derrick]

 

Words were quiet before the faint shrug came. Torn apart hand slid into the soft pocket of her jeans as she stood there "studying" him. The scent was almost hypnotic if not for that damn swill he was drinking.

 

[jojo]Or, have you come to complain…[/jojo] [derrick]Oh…definitely to complain…[/derrick]

 

The bottle of Jefferson's was extended in offering.

 

[derrick]…about that pisswater you are stinking the place up with.[/derrick]

 

Smile was quiet.

 

[derrick]….even the dead don’t need to be smelling that stuff.[/derrick]

 

The bottle in her extended fingers was shaken gently to encourage the taking, dark beckoning liquid sloshing softly inside.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

Mischievous expression that always seemed etched on his features even in concentration became even more so at her ‘not complaining’ chuckle.  He wasn’t in the mood for complaining so it was at least a plus for him, and her of sorts.  He wouldn’t have to tell her to fuck off.  The Cajun wasn’t in his place of business, he didn’t have to be nice in public, but he did at the moment feel overdressed.

"..eh… more likely I am underdressed."

Now wasn’t that damn near curious, the reaction at his next words brought another perplexed rumble of thoughts through his brain.  If he wasn’t so hellbent on erasing the night from his memory like a bad taste he probably would have been concerned.  He wasn’t.    Until she moved forward… nah, he still wasn’t, taking another drink.  Drunk couldn’t come fast enough.

"…no I don’t club….. I play."
 

Brow rose slightly, gaze sliding over the worn fingertips before a rather disinterested and amused expression fell over his features.  Wasn’t this just a wonderful revelation.

 

[jojo]Oh, do you now?  I hear that a lot…[/jojo]

 

He had almost finished the bottle, taking another drink.  He was sort of known for musician searching.  Friend of a friend, who knew a person, that heard a band.  A bit like his own reputation.  The jazz lover paid well, and now… in this new world anyone that paid could find someone that wanted to be paid- regardless of if they deserved it.

 

He laughed quietly at her offering of alcohol.  [jojo]Nah..  had a horrible evening. The perfect end is to take my medicine of my own making… with horrible whiskey.[/jojo]  He watched her for a long moment, lips pursing in thought, no longer amused.  [jojo]You play huh?  Don’t think people really know what that means anymore.  Which kind are you?  College… under the tree cool type, groupie to actual talent…[/jojo]  he kept walking forward on his original path, bottle swishing back and forth between his fingers.  [jojo]…underground angry punk girl band?  Scream into a microphone?  Set a guitar on fire and kick it off the stage?[/jojo]

 

He stopped and looked at her again.  This time he chuckled at her, clearly amused.  Where a normal half-drunk man at three am would sound like a complete asshole, his “tirade” was unmistakably… jaded.

 

[jojo]You play.  I hear that a lot.  Most recently… from a band that happily took my money this evening. Said all the right things ,[/jojo]he’d started walking again… so slow he was merely meandering, bottle tapping again on one of the same gravestones as before.  [jojo]I paid for…[/jojo] fingertip touched his upper lip in thought, [jojo]I paid for a quiet club…  I got three dozen people that wouldn’t shut up so I could listen. I paid for a band that claimed to be from the now swamp that used to be my home and could play my stories.  I got…shit.[/jojo]

 

He stopped again, polishing the bottle and setting it on the pedestal of a weeping angel.  Hand in his pocket jingled some loose change, three pennies pulled out.  Two were placed next to the bottle, the third flicked in the air with a small ping and was held in his palm where it had been caught a moment before being placed next to the others.

 

[jojo]Hear a man say ‘cher’ enough in a fake accent you just want to burn the world.  Anyone can be anything now.[/jojo]  Both hands slid into his pockets, eyes wandering over the marker.  It was one of his favorites, a smaller replica of one of the angels from a cemetery that was now under water and infested with alligators.  [jojo]Always thought there'd be more of me left, one musician at least.  Thought we could survive the end of the world, maybe we were all just too tired of fightin’[/jojo]  He knew he had an accent, it was unusual.  Only those from there knew a genuine one.  The Cajun tended to articulate a little better in his normal life, a smooth southern drawl that screamed old world gentleman, but when slid with enough alcohol to drop a horse the clip rolled out as clear as the day he left.  He inhaled softly and swallowed, sounding a bit like a sniffled sorrow when in reality he was just tired. Tired of everything. Maybe it was a little of both.  An incredibly melancholy expression moved its attention to her. [jojo]Why you here? I know it’s not about my product, my product is perfect.  You followin’ me then?  Pretty common knowledge I hire musicians, but I don't casting couch...[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

[jojo]Oh, do you now? I hear that a lot..[/jojo]

 

Reply was soft.

 

[derrick]ya… so do I...[/derrick]

 

Way too often. She still on occasion got recognized from before the fall of the world. People creaming themselves for a chance to prove they were good enough to play with her… or better yet… play her. It was enough to drive a person back into seclusion.

 

[jojo].. had a horrible evening. The perfect end is to take my medicine of my own making… with horrible whiskey. You play huh? Don’t think people really know what that means anymore. Which kind are you? College… under the tree cool type, groupie to actual talent…underground angry punk girl band? Scream into a microphone? Set a guitar on fire and kick it off the stage?[/jojo]

 

Strange. Words that Bakkhos would be hiding behind walls because they feared her retaliation for, didn’t even prickle her nerves at all. They never understood her. Strides were lazy as she kept a good six feet off his left side as they "strode" together. Foot falls paused when a particularly large stone structure was identified. Palm softly laid along the front rubbing up the weathered carvings. She had never spent any time in a cemetery before. Words were quiet as the torn up fingers studied the hundred year old obelisk with an odd affection.

 

[derrick]…anyone that bothers to answer that question doesn’t really play.[/derrick]

 

His steps had halted. Her back was to him, a position that would get her scolded by Gaspari but she didn’t feel a threat from the ammunition supplier… just a raw, worn out….jaded nature. Like many he was searching for something since Resonance that he time and time again failed to find. The headliner couldn’t mind read, but some creeped at her insights. It was amazing what people betrayed of themselves in the subtle sounds of their breath, their tones, their words.

 

[jojo] You play. I hear that a lot. Most recently… from a band that happily took my money this evening. Said all the right things.[/jojo]

 

Brow lifted over the iridescent blue shades as she turned, wet back leaning against the obelisk, skin goose fleshed as the wind softly wandered through the cemetery with them bringing the winter chill on its fingers. He was moving again but aimlessly. He wasn’t trying to escape the cemetery, he was seeking solace within it.

 

[jojo] I paid for…I paid for a quiet club… I got three dozen people that wouldn’t shut up so I could listen. I paid for a band that claimed to be from the now swamp that used to be my home and could play my stories. I got…shit.[/jojo]

 

Brow continued to perch a bit high, letting him tirade, listening intently as the bottle was set on stone, head tilting slightly at the sound of…change?...in his pocket. What was he doing? She was almost tempted to flush her ability and "look" at him and their surroundings, but the truth was her body had left everything on the stage and with the winter chill in the air she was likely to do herself in. Instead she assessed the sound of the coins being placed down, a third tossed before suffering the same fate. Was there meaning in that? Or just drunk oddities?

 

His accent was thicker now. It had a decidedly lyrical quality that she appreciated on a different level than the sited. There was old jazz that had that same quality. The bayou? Wasn’t that where it came from? Of course she wasn’t really sure what "the bayou" meant.

 

[jojo] Hear a man say ‘cher’ enough in a fake accent you just want to burn the world. Anyone can be anything now. Always thought there'd be more of me left, one musician at least. Thought we could survive the end of the world, maybe we were all just too tired of fightin’[/jojo]

 

Pushing from the obelisk she moved closer to him, stopping when she came right on top of another structure that once her fingers laid on the front it became clear it was a cross that came up to her chest with its arms.

 

[derrick]….fighting's what makes us musicians….[/derrick]

 

Words were incredibly soft, her "gaze" on the cross in front of her, fingers tracing the vines and small rosettes that had been carved into its flat face.

 

[jojo]Why you here? I know it’s not about my product, my product is perfect. You followin’ me then? Pretty common knowledge I hire musicians, but I don't casting couch...[/jojo]

 

Arms draped over the branches of the stone cross, the top had long ago been cracked off. He never looked at the hands of musicians… if he had, he would know that the types he was talking couldn’t be compared to her, they never had fingers that look like hers. Bottle was pulled up in front of her to take off the top and draw it up to her lips for the first time since she had entered the cemetery, joining him in his melancholy for a moment before finally speaking.

 

[derrick]…Boudreaux… I wouldn’t play for you if you offered me every red cent you have. Anyone that’s playin' for money…..doesn't play.[/derrick]

 

Words were soft, lacking accusations. Her head tilted slightly "studying" him, wet hair flipping off her back to snake out on the winds a moment before settling again.

 

[derrick]… you should remember that when you're…."hiring". If you have to grease their palm for them to play… they aint worth shit to listen to… I guarantee it.[/derrick]

 

She had never played for money. If it came to her..so be it, but that was never WHY she played. Only hacks played for money. That was why finding band members had been so hard. They came for the money Bakkhos could pay them and not for the love of playing with good musicians. Only after she had had a knock down yelling match with Gaspari that she no longer wanted Bakkhos trying to recruit musicians for her and she went out on her own did she find the current guys. They were like her… driven by the love of the music.

 

[derrick]…tell you a secret…. as confident as you are that your product is perfect… is as confident as I am that I play.[/derrick]

 

The words were thoughtful, a faint shrug lifting her shoulders before she drank from the Jefferson again. There was a strange furrow on her brow, a question lingering from days earlier. Chin lowered to rest on the cracked off head of the cross, clearly the woman did not have the normal "willies" about being in a cemetery as most. Her words had a decidedly innocent tone.

 

[derrick]What are Metairie angels?[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"…anyone that bothers to answer that question doesn’t really play."

Answer to his string of bullshit questions brought a haughty quirk on his brow, he’d heard all the answers before.  Hers was rare, but he’d still heard it before from all types.  Ones that could, ones that couldn’t.  There was no in between.  He just wasn’t sure where she fell yet.  Mob with a driver.  Odds weren’t in her favor.

"….fighting's what makes us musicians…."

He sat on the steps of a small mausoleum a few feet off the path, elbows on the stoop behind him, feet crossed as he watched her fingers wander over the stone.  Whatever she was drinking smelled really nice.  She was also wet from something and it was freezing out.  Great, they were both drunk in the middle of the night.

"…Boudreaux… I wouldn’t play for you if you offered me every red cent you have. Anyone that’s playin' for money…..doesn't play… you should remember that when you're…."hiring". If you have to grease their palm for them to play… they aint worth shit to listen to… I guarantee it."

It was his turn to be amused, the scoff light as his eyes wandered the silhouettes near the stone walls where the streetlights only cast shadows. 

 

[jojo]I know that, mob…[/jojo] voice was quiet, distant, but remarkably sober, the nickname only because he had no idea what her name was.  [jojo]Most need a hand up nowadays, maybe then something will come back to this world that it lost... just tired of striking out.[/jojo]

 

Musicians, artists…  they needed to live too.  He had no problem paying for something he appreciated if even just to make their day a bit brighter.  His parents had called him naïve for it, that true art could only be measured in what it was worth- worth meaning the million dollar Rembrandt in his father’s study.  When he came back to find his childhood home halfway underwater, the thing was half above and below the water, covered in mud.  Broke his heart.  Nobody wanted it when they were trying to survive.  Only guns, and ammo.  Humanity was priceless, but nobody cared.   He took it with him anyway.  Would figure out a way to fix it someday.

"…tell you a secret….

 

Eyes flicked back to her.

 

“…as confident as you are that your product is perfect… is as confident as I am that I play."

He nodded, conceding and going back to watching the shadows… [jojo]touché, all right then.[/jojo]

 

Warmth oozed over his skin like a brush of fur, heating up his suitcoat as he shrugged it off and tossed it to her.  Fun party cantrip that took no effort, appreciating how quiet she was but expecting curveball of sorts.

"What are Metairie angels?"

 

….and there it was.  Did she really not know?  A self-proclaimed music master had no idea what he was talking about.  Sigh through his nose was long.

 

[jojo]The only women that know all my secrets,[/jojo]  he smiled bit to himself.  [jojo]Metarie, north side of New Orleans proper.  Cemetery I cut through to get from my parents’ summer home to the French Quarter at night, and then back in the morning before I got caught out.  Road markers in the dark. Sometimes I’d stay there for hours until the sun came up, warmed up the lilacs...[/jojo]

 

A swatch of dust was brushed from his knee, quite on his macabre perch.

 

[jojo]Only thing that made the crested blazers, crystal glasses and endless parade of on the arm debutantes bearable…[/jojo] he finally leaned up, forearms on his knees as he feet were uncrossed and took a wider stance. Fingers folded together as the gaze washed over the weeping angel several yards from him.  [jojo]Dangerous at night, been through others… to other places.  Wasn’t the most obedient of sons.  When I kept on the angel path nothing ever happened to me.[/jojo]

 

Lips pursed, lower one rolled through his teeth.

 

[jojo]Player like you, prolly been there in a club at one time or another?  Surprised you didn't know.[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

[jojo]…I know that, mob. Most need a hand up nowadays, maybe then something will come back to this world that it lost... just tired of striking out.[/jojo]

 

Brow quirked slightly at the nickname. Come to think of it, other than Cage screaming "gray" over the phone during their first encounter, the man had never even inquired after her name. She didn’t mind people tagging her with names, though his choice was a dangerous one if the wrong people heard it on the street.

 

His position had changed. He wasn’t moving anymore and his voice had descended to a lower elevation. Luckily she was paying attention to his shifted position or she might have been late for the suitcoat tossed at her. As it was the flutter was instantly recognized and her hand snatched it from the front of the cross.

 

Warm. Neat trick.

 

Normally she would be stubborn, but if she came down with pneumonia she would have hell to answer for with Cage. The jacket was pulled over the arm of the cross as she slid her sack off and hung it from a branch, the bottle set on top of the stone carefully as she slid the jacket over her arms and up onto her shoulders. Cuffs were only a hair short, her assessment of his size had been fairly accurate. She slid the sack over her shoulder and retrieved the bottle as she asked after his Metairie angels.

 

[jojo] The only women that know all my secrets. Metairie, north side of New Orleans proper. Cemetery I cut through to get from my parents’ summer home to the French Quarter at night, and then back in the morning before I got caught out. Road markers in the dark. Sometimes I’d stay there for hours until the sun came up, warmed up the lilacs...[/jojo]

 

He talked about places almost the way she did. About the way they felt, smelled, not how they "looked". Brow was faintly cocked as she listened to a clear disdain for debutants and a life he was probably born into.

 

[jojo]Player like you, prolly been there in a club at one time or another? Surprised you didn't know.[/jojo]

 

Head shook slowly as her arms folded over the cracked top of the cross, cheek resting on her folded hand quiet a while.

 

[derrick]There are a lot of things I wish I would have been exposed to before the world went to hell in a handbasket.[/derrick]

 

Chin moved to prop on her hands so her "gaze" was facing him. Her mimicry of the sited flawless despite her exhaustion.

 

[derrick]Got recognized young… contracted to scum. Figured out the way the world worked pretty quick and to avoid following someone else's grand plan I quit playing and went into hiding to wait out the contract.[/derrick]

 

Faint smile licked her lips, a nostalgia in her expression even behind the iridescent blue shades that caught the moonlight from time to time.

 

[derrick]…was living over a pizzeria in California when I got exposed to jazz and blues. Neighbor was a surly old black man. I'd practice, he'd yell. We didn’t exactly get along.[/derrick]

 

The chuckle was soft, the sound dark and rich as it came for the first time completely unrestrained, natural. Her simple words were an understatement. She practiced hours upon hours a day. She had been driving the old man nuts.

 

[derrick]…our rooms were next to eachother, windows on the fire escape. His was usually closed but one day, he had it open when I was sitting out there pondering where to move to next. He had Louis Armstrong on an old vinyl playing and I ended up sitting in his window listening…learning. [/derrick]

 

Shrug was light as she pushed off the cross, she wandered slowly over to his identified lower perch, hand returning to her pocket as she nursed the sliced fingers from the cold. His breath gave her his exact location but as she came to his side her left foot tapped the first step before she caught it existed, her weight shifting to tap it with the other like a kid kicking a wall. It was a habit she had learned to hide when she had missed something. Damn… she must be tired. Arm extended her ambrosia for him, the rich bottle now dangling just in front of his features as she waited for him to stop being stubborn and continued, her weight again shifting to tap the front step.

 

[derrick]..it became a thing for us. He'd play new stuff and talk for hours about where jazz was born, about New Orleans and how I wasn’t a real musician until I had been christened there.[/derrick]

 

The smile came again, soft and nostalgic before the head shook.

 

[derrick]…ended up staying a lot longer than I had elsewhere in that dumb room over the pizzeria. But in the end, the damn label tracked me down again so I had to split one night.[/derrick]

 

She finally stopped tapping the step with the toes of her boots and turned to join him, sack slipping off her shoulder to lay on the stoop as she sat next to him, knees drawing up to rest her forearms on them.

 

[derrick]Two years later my contract finally ran out and New Orleans was on my list of places to go. But you know.. things came up… opportunities. Trip kept getting delayed. Until there was no New Orleans to go see.[/derrick]

 

Brows had furrowed. The words might be casual, but the tone held regret. Hand reached up to pull the long mahogany from her back, squeezing water out of the now very cold locks before letting them fall down the front of her once more, dangling down to the step she sat on.

 

[derrick]I learned to play jazz because of that dumb old man.[/derrick]

 

The soft tone held an affection she would never admit in words. Throat cleared as a shrug came faintly over her shoulders, the sack pulled around, top flipped over as she rummaged inside for a small bottle of amber liquid. The scent of apple blossoming as she opened the top and poured some of the apple cider vinegar over her injured fingertips. It was an old guitarist trick to soothe damaged fingers. The tips rubbed slowly together, her attention fixated on them as though they were suddenly very interesting.

 

[derrick]…shame….. would have liked to have known your angels…[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

Lowered lashes watched her accept the jacket without complaint, the Cajun learning more about her than she probably thought from simply paying attention to her behavior.  He did sell things that killed people for a living, he’d learned to be observant without catching attention, to gauge a threat.  He didn’t feel that from her.  She hadn’t come within four feet of him though since she’d made herself known, but was comfortable enough accepting his jacket.  Afraid to touch him after his warning?  Not sure.  He listened quietly, the cheap buzz starting to throb in the back of his skull to pay his penance, her confession she’d never been to his city truly surprising.

"Got recognized young… contracted to scum. Figured out the way the world worked pretty quick and to avoid following someone else's grand plan I quit playing and went into hiding to wait out the contract."

Corner of his lip came up quietly, listening to her fond recollections.  They sounded like his.  When he was old enough to figure out he was a prince instead of just a real boy, he did a lot of hiding, and a lot of mischief that almost got him killed on many occasions.  He always followed through with his obligations, but spent the rest of his time on his own accord.

"…our rooms were next to eachother, windows on the fire escape. His was usually closed but one day, he had it open when I was sitting out there pondering where to move to next. He had Louis Armstrong on an old vinyl playing and I ended up sitting in his window listening…learning. "

The warm expression remained, not willing to comment and scare her off.  He had the distinct impression he was trying to feed a puppy.  A puppy that wanted something, but was doing a damn good job pretending they didn’t.  Testing him. Feeling him out to see if he was a rat or solid.  She didn’t know him from a hole in the wall based on the very short meeting they’d had a week prior.  Other than that, he had no idea why she would be here now, other than… no offer of judgment?   He had no need to, perhaps it was refreshing to not be lied to all the time.  Or maybe a bit too unconcerned about speaking his peace?  He didn’t like the way all the puzzle pieces were fitting together.  Didn’t anyone ever speak straight to her? If there was one thing on this earth he refused to do anymore, was tell people what they wanted to hear. He didn’t have the time and he didn’t have the want.

 

The ever present mischievous expression watched her decide to come closer, even to the point of “testing” the waters at the bottom of his step before wiggling the same peace offering as before in front of him.  There was enough burned off in his system at that point, he was way too sober for that time of night- accepting this time without hesitation.  The sigh of contentment almost chased away the ick of the previous whiskey.

 

[jojo]..that’s good,[/jojo]  leaked from his vocal chords as he handed it back to her.

"..it became a thing for us. He'd play new stuff and talk for hours about where jazz was born, about New Orleans and how I wasn’t a real musician until I had been christened there."
 

Side glance slid in her direction, the Cajun leaning back again with his elbows on the step behind him.

"…shame….. would have liked to have known your angels…"

 

Breath was barely moving in his lungs, eyes had settled on the replica of the weeping angel for several moments, the scent of whatever it was in the bottle she was playing with creeping an odd sensation over his skin. Dysphoria.  The quell of sorrow for a place that no longer existed, supplanted by several sensory illusions that it did, and others dashing him to reality.  The hum of alcohol in his blood, the scent of what she was playing with… he’d smelled it before, the cemetery, the quiet of a time of night nobody was out except those that wanted to be. But, the cold.  It was an angry mistress. Dashing.

 

[jojo]…should have never left[/jojo]

 

His silence spoke volumes, the mischievous lick dulled from his eyes as he surveyed his haven.  He was an odd duck, someone who could charm a room full of people for days on end, but when it was over they didn’t know anything more about him than they had come in with.  He knew how to turn the conversation to the other.  Make them feel welcome, draw attention from himself.  He was an extrovert with an introvert sense of self.  Too many demons maybe, regrets.

 

[jojo]Nanny brought me to the French Quarter when I was…  hell, couldn’t have been more than five.  I remember it like walking through a garden, sounds were scents and they meandered on from one to the next like the mixing of perfume in a flowerbed.  Accents…so different than mine proper, music… instead of feeling it in your bones like an orchestra it was pulled into your soul.  You breathed it.  Dreamt about it.  When you thought, it wrapped around your emotions...  it made you feel though it.[/jojo]

 

Fingers tapped a-rhythmically on the step absently.  It sounded like nothing but an errant twitch, to the careful observer it was an intricate set of patterns woven together gently from both hands. The movement stopped as abruptly as it started.

 

[jojo]Spent the next decade playing hide and go seek with my family duties.  Decided to leave when I didn’t want them no more. Thought the world had more places like it, I wasn’t disappointed, but nothing ever compared.  Came back after deciding to… awol from the fabulous party in Rome.  Was nothing left to come back to.[/jojo]

 

Lower lip was rolled through his teeth.

 

[jojo]..wish you’d had a chance experience it too, no party like it.  Things there, never recorded… gone forever ‘cept in my memory.  Can't play, so they stuck there with nowhere to go. Hoping someday I hear something close.[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

It was oddly…..comfortable, talking with her ammunitions supplier. In the last hour she had said more than she did in days with the Bakkhos. She hadn't had this much conversation since…….

 

Brow dipped hard, annoyed that for the second time the cop crossed her mind. What the fuck was up with that?

 

[jojo]…that’s good.[/jojo]

 

Shaking off the dark shadow that had crossed her thoughts, the smirk slid over her lips at his almost wistful praise for the drink.

 

[derrick]What? You thought I was offering you something second rate?…decided step up from the swill you were inhaling. Shame the company doesn’t exist anymore.[/derrick]

 

It was her turn to be almost wistful at the last. It was rare anyone shared something as rare as out of business high end liquor, let alone with a stranger. It was just one more thing that made her an oddity.

 

[derrick]….would have liked to have known your angels.[/derrick]

 

Long fingers still wisping of the apple cider vinegar reached for the bottle in his hand. She was sharing… not giving it over. He had gotten very quiet as she lightly grazed his cuff before fingers found the top neck of the bottle and pulled it over for a long draw then handed it back once more.

 

[jojo]…should have never left.[/jojo]

 

Brow lifted slightly as she leaned back on her elbows. Her wet hair was beginning to absorb into his coat which had lost its earlier warmth. Now damp it began to assault her with his scent. Thick unpainted lashes closed behind the shades, shoulders lifting to breath in the saturated front lapel. Wet, the cinnamon came through with the musk. Strong odors were typically avoided by the headliner. Her sense of smell rivaled that of most bloodhounds. But this felt almost like… like warm guitars on dewy grass. She couldn’t explain it.

 

Brow puzzled downward at the thought as she listened to him talk once more. Again he described the way she did, the sounds, the scents, the perfume of flowerbeds and music, drinking these into the soul. She had never heard a sited person describe things this way, as a matter of fact she had more than once been teased for describing things this way. Because walking on black streets through red buildings was so much better?

 

She preferred the way he described it. An ear absently atuned to the a-rhythmic drum of his fingers. There was a ghost of understanding that she was with a kindred spirit, a thought so fleeting it didn’t really have time to solidify but yet underlay her level of comfort.

 

They both lingered in the quiet, the night, the liquor, and their regret.

 

[jojo].. wish you’d had a chance to experience it too, no party like it. Things there, never recorded… gone forever ‘cept in my memory. Can't play, so they stuck there with nowhere to go. Hoping someday I hear something close. [/jojo]

 

Arms folded over her knees as she listened to the winds, his words trailing through her thoughts. Parties were not really her thing… which was strange for a musician that was as hardcore as she was. Voice was quiet.

 

[derrick]… he once told me I sounded like a little white girl that had swallowed a big black woman.[/derrick]

 

The soft chuckle rumbled in her chest like the rich rum, hand running over the top of her head to whisk back the wet strands.

 

[derrick]…I was fifteen.. kinda took it as an insult.[/derrick]

 

Smile was a bit impish as her chin rubbed over her folded arms.

 

[derrick]…looking back… it was probably meant as a compliment.[/derrick]

 

Cheek rested on her arms as the "gaze" fixated on him.

 

[derrick]…who knows. Perhaps we will yet get a chance to see New Orleans live again. Heard it was underwater before… hurricane or something…. but came back. Least that was the story he used to tell… about its resiliency. That it couldn’t die.[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

He could feel his vicinity cooling, the marble beneath him cold and chilling his skin through the thin tailored wool of his suitpants, and the crisp fabric of his cotton button up.  She was cold as well, he could feel it… heat was a thing, a wave, like light- he could feel it and manipulate it like some magus could with air or fire.  Such a minute thing, so sought after by those who would rather let him burn than be free.  Gods, he hadn’t thought about that in a while- pushed away like bad food.  The Cajun carefully began engaging a delicate warmth that was slowly warming the marble beneath him.  It was chilly out, and he could be a gentleman.  She liked his neat tricks, was fun to keep her on her toes with what he was capable of… and oddly enough he didn’t want to be alone in his melancholy at the moment, watching the shadows shift as the trees moved under the streetlights.  He could stay out there all night and keep himself from freezing to death, he wasn’t sure she could.  There was something odd about her he still couldn’t quite put his finger on, no closer to figuring out what was bothering him than happily losing his sobriety for the evening.

"… he once told me I sounded like a little white girl that had swallowed a big black woman."

A warm, rich, sultry laugh bubbled up from the depths of his gut, fingers reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose in the midst of his chuckle.  It was the most noise he’d ever made in her presence, the normally demure personality only punctuated with bouts of quiet “fuck-offery”, but never loud.

"…I was fifteen.. kinda took it as an insult.…looking back… it was probably meant as a compliment."

[jojo]Most definitely. My nanny could sing like the world spoke through her… for a scrawny little rich white boy it was mesmerizing.  She passed when I was eight, left on my own to sneak out and find where her soul had gone.  It all goes somewhere.[/jojo]

 

He didn’t speak much about his superstitions, he wasn’t a nutter, but he definitely believed kindred spirits merely traveled to another place to become the passion of another.  New Orleans wasn’t a place that shied from death, it was a part of everyone, all the time.  Even so, he missed her… terribly.  It had come to mind more than once that his love of music was a quest to try and find the woman he’d wished was his mother.  He would have given everything he had to live in that loft with her over the old club.

 

"…who knows. Perhaps we will yet get a chance to see New Orleans live again. Heard it was underwater before… hurricane or something…. but came back. Least that was the story he used to tell… about its resiliency. That it couldn’t die."

 

Eyes had focused on a scuff of the toe of his shoe, frowning slightly.

 

[jojo]Been there.  My old estate, around the city.  It’s gone.  The hurricane, there were people there then, a community that refused to die.  Now, there’s nobody but gaters and ghosts.  It ain’t coming back.[/jojo]

 

Sigh was long, brow furling slightly as he glanced over at her.

 

[jojo]You said you had other resources at your disposal, I want no more payment other than what we agreed… but if you got contacts, I can pay you to send them my way.[/jojo]  Still relaxed back against the step, his lips pursed.  [jojo]Trying to find everything.  Anything from the old town that I can salvage.  Furniture, sculptures that aren’t in twenty feet of water, I’ve even found bottles of cognac.  Iffin’ you know of anyone that has that capacity, can you send them my way?[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

Weight shifted, a hip pulling up to "look" at the seat under her the moment it changed a single degree in temperature, her sense of touch so incredibly attuned to her environment. The tug of a smile came up the left corner of her mouth as the warmth spread out under her. The soft words were almost under her breath.

 

[derrick]….really is a pretty neat trick.[/derrick]

 

She hadn't thought about New Orleans for a long time now, and therefore not thought about her teen years and the life she had led running from her contract label. Terrance had been such a short time and yet a big education for her. She might never have started learning other genres of music if not for the old black man. He hadn't known she could sing until he caught her on the fire escape one day singing Linda Hopkins… well it had only been a matter of time considering how often he had played Linda for her. That’s when he had told her she had swallowed a big black woman. She had been so huffy about it, it was a while before she sang for him again. Looking back she sort of regretted that.

 

Brows lifted at the reaction from the ammunitions dealer. His laughter bubbled up deep and rich before he pinched the bridge of his nose. She chuckled herself, though for her it was more for the enjoyment of listening to him. It had been a while since she had listened to the world and heard something unique.

 

[jojo]My nanny could sing like the world spoke through her… for a scrawny little rich white boy it was mesmerizing. She passed when I was eight, left on my own to sneak out and find where her soul had gone. It all goes somewhere. [/jojo]

 

Brow quirked upward. She had never heard death spoken of like that. Then again, death in her world tended to be a cold and soulless affair. Chin rested on her folded arms once more, growing thoughtful as he spoke.

 

[jojo] Been there. My old estate, around the city. It’s gone. The hurricane, there were people there then, a community that refused to die. Now, there’s nobody but gaters and ghosts. It ain’t coming back. [/jojo]

 

Head turned to look at him, a brow raised before she sat up and leaned back on her elbows once more. A faint smile had ghosted over her lips.

 

[derrick]Terrance would say you have lost your way talking like that…[/derrick]

 

Long abused fingers plucked at the seam at the side of his coat, the sensitive tips always managed to find the out of place and instantly fiddled with it. Her head shook slightly.

 

[derrick]He used to say the place had life, and it was that life that touched the people and made them special, not the other way around.[/derrick]

 

Shrug was faint, she didn’t really understand having never been there, but she knew it had meant so much to the old man.

 

[derrick]….then again.. maybe he just was a crazy old man.[/derrick]

 

The quiet lingered again. It was an easy quiet. Too often she was stuck listening to asinine small talk because people couldn’t stand the silence between words. He seemed to understand and appreciate the value of the unsaid.

 

[jojo]You said you had other resources at your disposal, I want no more payment other than what we agreed… but if you got contacts, I can pay you to send them my way. Trying to find everything. Anything from the old town that I can salvage. Furniture, sculptures that aren’t in twenty feet of water, I’ve even found bottles of cognac. Iffin’ you know of anyone that has that capacity, can you send them my way?[/jojo]

 

Head tilted "studying" him before nodding.

 

[derrick]…I will see what I can do.[/derrick]

 

She was thoughtful a moment before the nose wrinkled up in an impish expression of curiosity.

 

[derrick]…did they really have drive through bars there?[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"….really is a pretty neat trick."
 

A lazy smile surled across his lips, hazel eyes cooled on the grass as he worked to warm up himself and his companion,  [jojo]too bad can’t make the party more interesting.  Didn’t exactly get proper permission to leave the sunny Italian countryside.  Always on the lookout for new former friends trying to damage my calm.[/jojo]

 

He should have gone back home after the Event instead of staying with people that promised him safety.  Disoriented and trapped with the many that couldn’t figure out what had happened to the world- or themselves- he fell in with the wrong crowd.  He should have stuck it out and gone back to do what he could to help.  It was a noble thought, but he was as useless as a child back then, trying to help would have been pointless.  The Cajun couldn’t go a day without burning himself or others, or passing out in a blur of bloody nose.  There had been some reprieve, unlike other rogues he didn’t blow his ass up.  He knew exactly where his limits were, and exactly what part of them not to fuck with.

 

"Terrance would say you have lost your way talking like that…"

Her words pulled him from his thoughts, his answer cryptic and quiet.

 

[jojo]Lost my way long before that.[/jojo]

 

And again, he should have never left.  Thought there was another world out there.  There was, but nothing ever came close to what he’d already experienced in the swamps.  His anxiousness to break free had cast him out, excommunicated him from ever being able to return.  It was his own damn fault.  He should have been there.

 

"He used to say the place had life, and it was that life that touched the people and made them special, not the other way around."

He was unobtrusive for a while save for his extending warmth that had successfully pulled the chill from the marble underneath them, unmoving and silent in his thoughts, a long sigh breaking the stillness.

 

[jojo]We just understood death.  It was all around us, reminding us that it was just beyond each turn.  We sought life, because… who knew when you’d have another chance.  It made you fearless, and your world free.  We saved ourselves over and over, and the moment we needed help from the world, the world was too busy.[/jojo]

 

With that, he asked for help.  It wasn’t a pride thing, it was a need to do what he could to keep everything he knew from slipping into obscurity.

 

"…I will see what I can do."

Nod was faint, one forearm had come across his stomach, intertwining his fingers with the others above the elbow that was resting on the step.  Body language and all, people said if someone crossed their legs toward you, or leaned their weight in your direction they were interested… or friendly… or some such nonsense.  His attention was toward his leaning arm, away from her, shoulder closest to her raised to accommodate his arm crossing his body- so much so that he had to look over his shoulder slightly to look at her.  He wasn’t sure what was making him faintly uncomfortable, the fact that he couldn’t turn the conversation back on her?  Couldn’t slide the attention off of him with his easy southern charm?  Her questions had made him pull things from his subconscious that he had happily hidden away. It was still an open sore, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it yet.

"…did they really have drive through bars there?"

 

[jojo]..hell, they had drive-through liquor stores, and even places where you could buy skulls right around the corner from them.[/jojo] smirk light, profile to her, wrist shook quietly to twinkle his eclectic collection of hoodoo charms for emphasis.  Errant fingers came up to swipe a few times at the rooster tail of silky dark butter amber hair at his forehead that he could never quite get to lay down properly.  [jojo]You need a ride home?[/jojo] voice was decidedly quiet.  He wasn’t going to make her feel like she had to stay there with him if she had somewhere to be.  [jojo] Spent about six months once with a bunch of monks in Tibet just…not talkin’.  I’m my own company.  You don’t have to keep me company if you don’t want to.  Though it’s nice to have someone that ain’t tryin’ to amuse me, or balking at my choice of haunts.[/jojo]

 

He’d warmed up a bit again, trying to let the dogs lie.  Maybe it was good for him to sort it through for once, normally he just ignored it.

 

[jojo]Don’t talk about the old Easy often, get a little homesick.  Please don’t think I’m trying to brush you off.[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

[jojo].. too bad can’t make the party more interesting. Didn’t exactly get proper permission to leave the sunny Italian countryside. Always on the lookout for new former friends trying to damage my calm.[/jojo]

 

[derrick]yeah…. funny how they like to do that.[/derrick]

 

Her words were quiet, the soft expression having hardened again, the frown deep above the opaque shades. A former manager had found out she was alive in New York and tried to claim rights to her once. Needless to say that wasn’t a really smart move considering her new "family". But it had opened up the simple thought that others might come hunting for a piece of her. A few in her past had been….violent. She could take care of herself, that was not the issue, it was just the thought that she forever had to look over her shoulder for who might be coming.

 

[jojo]Lost my way long before that.[/jojo]

 

Her hardened expression softened again, head tilting to "watch" him. Demons. The world had always been full of demons. People were just more acutely aware of them these days. She listened to his silence. People said much in their silence if one knew what to listen to. He was shutting her out in his silence, the quiet breathing betraying to her that he was conversing with his demons. The long sigh that broke the stillness refocusing his attention.

 

[jojo] We just understood death. It was all around us, reminding us that it was just beyond each turn. We sought life, because… who knew when you’d have another chance. It made you fearless, and your world free. We saved ourselves over and over, and the moment we needed help from the world, the world was too busy.[/jojo]

 

He spoke like Terrance had. With a real reverence for the place. She had never lived anywhere that she felt a real connection to. The only place she got that feeling was on a stage which explained why she would play until her body literally gave up, anything to not step out of that pure feeling of… home.

 

She understood, and she promised to help him find what was left of that world.

 

The body language that spoke of rejection was lost on the woman, but the renewed silence was not. It was a cooler silence, less accepting of her company. Was she intruding now on his solace now? Or were his demons drawing him in? Her question carefully timed to draw him back in the event it was the latter.

 

[jojo].. hell, they had drive-through liquor stores, and even places where you could buy skulls right around the corner from them.[/jojo]

 

Brows lifted.

 

[derrick]….skulls?[/derrick]

 

Ok that was….weird.

 

[jojo]You need a ride home?[/jojo]

 

Single brow remained perched upward at the quiet question, her own response as quiet.

 

[derrick]My company and bourbon not to your liking?[/derrick]

 

She was always direct… sometimes to a fault.

 

[jojo] Spent about six months once with a bunch of monks in Tibet just…not talkin’. I’m my own company. You don’t have to keep me company if you don’t want to. Though it’s nice to have someone that ain’t tryin’ to amuse me, or balking at my choice of haunts.[/jojo]

 

Her weight went back on her elbows more, letting her back soak some of the warmth from the marble, her damp shirt struggling to let go of the cold.

 

[derrick]…well…..being one that too many people try to "amuse"… I don’t have a desire to blow smoke up others asses either…. as for the haunt….[/derrick]

 

Head leaned back, hair pooling on the warm marble beneath as the thick unpainted lashes closed behind her shades, moonlight reflecting in the blue circles. Nostrils flared as she drank in the scents of damp cool greenery, of masonry that still bled their fragrance of mortar when wet, ears enjoying the silence after five hours of hard core playing.

 

[derrick]… had I known there was such peace in the city, I would have found a cemetery to haunt earlier. [/derrick]

 

The quiet was delicious on senses that were worn thin from the day. Her home was one of the few places she found such solace. Push had helped her to find it, apartments below, beside and above her all purchased by Bakkhos to ensure no one lived in any of them. The walls reinforced with sound barriers to give her a void of sound in her home. They had done it so she could practice without the neighbors complaining, but in truth it had more value in that it silenced the world out when she needed to rest her senses.

 

[jojo] Don’t talk about the old Easy often, get a little homesick. Please don’t think I’m trying to brush you off.[/jojo]

 

Head remained back, the damp hair coiled on the marble was warming up as she pondered his words a moment before quietly answering.

 

[derrick]..sorry…had no intention of making you homesick. Just never talked with anyone but Terrance about the place. I guess I always thought a bit of his recollection was marred by nostalgic memory. Sounds like it really was the way he described.[/derrick]

 

Sigh was soft in her chest before the soft words were added.

 

[derrick]…makes me regret more that I didn’t make the time to go.[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"yeah…. funny how they like to do that."

[jojo]..you have no idea,[/jojo]  his own softly relaxed words deftly hiding the flush of pain that prickled under his skin at the thought of the evil he was still avoiding.  He could still feel it, even now.  Burning of his skin, the inability to breathe.  He had done that, with his own hands. Implications had been staggering then, he was still afraid now.  Of himself, of the potential he could have reached if he had let them unleash his hell on earth. It was not ethical for someone to have that kind of destructive power.  He had done the right thing, letting the heaviness of his old world lift away as she asked more about his home.

"….skulls?"

[jojo]..mojo capital of the world,[/jojo] it was almost an afterthought.

 

"My company and bourbon not to your liking?"

[jojo]Don’t want you to feel obligated to entertain me.[/jojo]

"…well…..being one that too many people try to "amuse"… I don’t have a desire to blow smoke up others asses either…. as for the haunt….  … had I known there was such peace in the city, I would have found a cemetery to haunt earlier. "

[jojo]Has its charms… can hear every note you played echo in the silence can’t you.[/jojo]

 

He believed her, finally having made the connection to what she'd put on her fingers.  She was a player.  The silence after watching gigs was a fond memory, walking through cemeteries to get back home, hearing the entire contents of the night’s venture whisper softly into his ear like the other side of life was playing it back to him.  He missed that, now, it was just silent.

 

"..sorry…had no intention of making you homesick. Just never talked with anyone but Terrance about the place. I guess I always thought a bit of his recollection was marred by nostalgic memory. Sounds like it really was the way he described."

[jojo]…and more.[/jojo]

"…makes me regret more that I didn’t make the time to go."

 

He was really unsure where it had come from, something from their conversation had been percolating in the back of his brain.  Maybe the fact he wasn’t finally alone in his quest, that someone was appreciative of the things he loved.  Why in the hell hadn’t he thought of it before?  Could he do it?  Of course, he was a businessman.  Could he do it and still stay under the radar?  Doubtful.  He would need a partner. Brow cocked slightly at her, then went back to watching the shadows move.

 

[jojo]…too bad someone ain’t opened up a small club here somewhere.  Hell, I got so much salvaged stuff from Bourbon Street in my flat it could fill an Easy size club with nothing but.  Surprised nobody tried it yet.  Maybe they have and I’m a little late to the party.[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

[jojo]Has its charms… can hear every note you played echo in the silence can’t you.[/jojo]

 

Sunglassed "gaze" turned to him before "looking" back out into the expanse of the cemetery. Thick unpainted lashes closed behind them.

 

[derrick]…hmm…really?[/derrick]

 

There was a haunting silence before the sound came, soft at first, then the hum in her chest built in volume. There was rum dripping in the sound, dark, sultry and old school. The haunting melody was familiar to many, but her version lacked the rock montage that had bastardized the original song. The slow bluesy jazz rumbled with a dangerously sensual vibrato before lips parted and granted the dark cemetery a voice, the sound came right out of a 1950s jazz hovel. Her preternatural hearing had given her from an early age a voice that could chameleon into nearly anything she wanted, it came so naturally she didn’t even know she did it, and the lengthy gig earlier in the night had left her vocals raw in a way that suddenly brought light to Terrance's words… if one closed their eyes… there wasn’t a lanky white girl in the cemetery… there was a big beautiful bold black woman whose soul cried for a time that didn’t exist anymore.

 

[derrick]There is a house…. New Orleans…. they call the Rising Sun.

Its been the ruin… many poor girl… look at me…am only one.

If I had listened what my mama said.. I'da been at home today.

…Bein' young…bein' foolish…I let my gambler lead me astray…….[/derrick]

 

((Song Version))

 

Even as the raspy voice fell silent, the sound lingered through the stone sentries of their open all night "club". Head tilted, listening to the hum still against marble and stone. It had that raw feeling of the vinyls that clicked and popped.

 

A soft breath exhaled her lips as the head tilted still listening, a soft ghost of a smile playing on her features. For a moment he wasn’t there, nothing was there but the sound and the silence and the ghosts that watched over the dead.

 

[jojo]…too bad someone ain’t opened up a small club here somewhere. Hell, I got so much salvaged stuff from Bourbon Street in my flat it could fill an Easy size club with nothing but. Surprised nobody tried it yet. Maybe they have and I’m a little late to the party.[/jojo]

 

Head shook as she "glanced" his way, eyes still closed behind the dark shades as fatigue had stripped her of her natural tendency to keep up the "hoax" of being sited. Head leaned back again to let the dark mahogany strands warm on the marble once more.

 

[derrick]… there isnt. I would have known about it…. heard it… by now. The last time I heard real jazz and blues music was before everything went to shit.[/derrick]

 

Raw fingers flexed as the head shook slightly.

 

[derrick]…and then it was only recordings… didn’t hear anyone playing it live[/derrick]

 

But something was churning behind the masked expression as brow puzzled down thoughtfully over the shades before "glancing" his way.

 

[derrick]…wonder if it survive here now….. I mean half the crap being played is ghetto techno that I wont touch. Rest is rock for the most part, save for some cheesy piano bar stuff I hear from time to time.[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"…hmm…really?"

He didn’t believe her.  She truly had never done it, or heard the entire night of songs echo in the silence of darkness, sung back in haunting clarity by eternity itself.  What she did next caught him absolutely by surprise.  He was rarely surprised, lashes lowering, breath pausing in his lungs without prompt.  Not wanting to miss a sheer second, the warmth washing over his skin was not his doing, not realizing how cold his world had been without it until he could truly say his blood was singing to him again. Cajun blood ran hot, firing an incredible want to hear more, chin dipped almost to his chest, the need for his old world becoming more crushing and somewhat satiated at the same time.

 

Where the hell had she come from?

 

He watched her a long moment with an unreadable expression, loathing to break the silence after she was finished and mention a club.  It would never be something he could head, not without a ‘ghost writer’.  He didn’t trust anyone that much, probably never would.

"… there isnt. I would have known about it…. heard it… by now. The last time I heard real jazz and blues music was before everything went to shit."

[jojo]Shame. Probably why I can’t find any decent musicians in this town,[/jojo] he watched her from an innocuous side glance.  She was looking at him with her eyes closed, noting she’d done something of the sort several times.  Was she drunk?  Odd.

"…wonder if it survive here now….. I mean half the crap being played is ghetto techno that I wont touch. Rest is rock for the most part, save for some cheesy piano bar stuff I hear from time to time."

 

[jojo]…doesn’t need to survive, it lives on its own.  New Orleans didn’t live that long because it was popular, it just never died because it lived in everyone. Anyone that walked its streets took a part of it with them, even if they never came back, they never left.[/jojo]

 

He was quiet a while.

 

[jojo]Not about surviving. It’s about living, and playing.[/jojo]

 

The Cajun finally leaned up, forearms on his knees and fingers intertwining between them, hazel the color of gray slid to the side under the calm brow before they went back to watching the shifting darkness.

 

[jojo]You don’t need to hear anyone play it live cher,[/jojo]  words were incredibly quiet, the term of endearment often thrown around by many.  To him, someone that had been brought up to speak ‘proper’, it wasn’t used lightly.  Fingers played with the rooster tail at his forehead that always had a mind of its own.  [jojo]What’s your name?[/jojo]

 

The Cajun’s demeanor had changed. It was always warm, friendly, easy to talk to… now there was a depth to it that most never saw.  He was truly interested, someone from home… except, she wasn’t from home. The oddity of it wasn’t lost on him.

[Derrick Mason Gray]

As her voice carried and haunted the stones of the cemetery, it did not elude her that he had suddenly stopped breathing beside her. Oddly enough it made her self-conscious, this was not her normal singing genre. She "could" sing anything and everything, her nearly inhuman eardrum could tune to any genre with a natural fluidity and the deep rich tones of her own voice gave anything an almost hypnotic sensuality… but just because she "could", didn’t mean she actually DID sing everything.

 

Voice faded after the first verse, letting it die a haunting death as it echoed through the night air. Chin dipped slightly, hiding behind the opaque shades as the moon gave the blue tainted lenses a haunting iridescence. A faint color seemed to taint her cheeks and damp ears, perhaps it was the cold biting at her skin. Long fingers reached up to rub an ear absently to make the warmth in its tip go away.

 

[derrick]…wonder if it survive here now…..[/derrick]

 

[jojo]… doesn’t need to survive, it lives on its own. New Orleans didn’t live that long because it was popular, it just never died because it lived in everyone. Anyone that walked its streets took a part of it with them, even if they never came back, they never left. [/jojo]

 

Terrance haunted his words. She had heard this before. But what she meant was in New York it might not actually be able to live. New York had a habit of crushing so much. Things struggled to live in the concrete jungle.

 

[jojo] You don’t need to hear anyone play it live cher………What's your name?[/jojo]

 

There was a pause as the features glanced his way, the tone in his voice had changed. Sensitive ears detected genuine interest for the first time. Had she suddenly become familiar to him? There were times she realized she probably should have changed her name after the Nevus event. Her stature was enough to often raise a few brows as people thought they had seen her before, but once her name was given with it, that faint glimmer of awareness often turned into full recognition. She kind of liked a certain anonymity from her life before. There was still a violent manager out there that she had never confirmed had died in the apocalypse of the world.

 

[derrick]…most call me Gray….[/derrick]

 

Words were quiet, husked with the strain of excessive use that gave it that bluesy raw rasp. Long abused fingers brushed some unseen lint from the threadbare jeans at her thigh.

 

[derrick]…or Mason.[/derrick]

 

Of course only the cop had ever called her Mason. "Derrick" had died out when she had left home…. long before the Nevus event.

 

Faint smile tickled her expression as she wrapped her arms loosely over her knees and laid her cheek on them to "look" at him. The lift of a brow giving her a decidedly Cheshire cat expression.

 

[derrick]…somehow "Mr. Boudreaux" doesn’t quite seem to be right at the moment either.[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

He smelled it before he noticed it in the darkness, warm skin always had a scent.  It was something he had learned to recognize early.  His warmth often illuminated it more so, something about the soaking depths he could penetrate.  The marble beneath him smelled of earth, of sandy dust that most never realized existed at its very molecular core.  The smell of pungent apple on her fingers, the blush of her skin illuminating whatever still lingered from where she had been playing.  Ever shifting irises studied the sunglasses that she’d worn both times he’d spoken to her.

 

Sunglasses in the dark, the oddity finally sunk in.  Glance his way studied deftly after he asked her name.  It was a bit too…cautious?  Maybe not intended, but it gave the inkling that she didn’t trust his intentions.  He couldn’t blame her, she didn’t know a damn thing about him.  Except, their contract. There was at least some kind of discretion there that she trusted him with.

"…most call me Gray…."

[jojo]I got that.  Your driver tends to talk a bit loud on the phone,[/jojo]  he knew he was divulging the depths of his attentiveness when he looked merely busy.  No worry came with it, there was no harm in it and she probably already knew he was that keen.

"…or Mason."

[jojo]Gray to your driver…  all right, Mason it is I suppose,[/jojo]  he went back to watching his shadows, voice almost inaudible.  [jojo]That’s quite a ghost you got haunting you there Mason.  Haven't heard it's like in a really long time.[/jojo]

 

Expression softened in response to her body language.  She had divulged some sort of secret, and seemed to be waiting to be betrayed by it. She had mentioned she was sought after, but honestly… he had no idea who she was.  Out of the country in the middle of nowhere before the Event, and wrapped up with the Order after.

"…somehow "Mr. Boudreaux" doesn’t quite seem to be right at the moment either."

 

He chuckled slightly, [jojo]that god awful name I rattled off in my shop during our deal banter?  That’s me.  Prodigal only son to the oldest family in the Easy.  Seems like we all wanted to become someone else.[/jojo]  He glanced at her over his shoulder and mirrored her smirk, [jojo]Carroll is what I prefer. Josef,  and you better be buying me dinner.[/jojo]  He let the silence sit for a long time before finally being completely frank, [jojo]Truth, I'm just a selfish listener.... I don’t know you from Adam, I just want to know your name.  I was gone around the world before the Nevus, and I was in Italy after.  I’m the last one into a club, and the last one to leave.  I listen, I appreciate, I go home to silence and bourbon, and I find that name again if I can.[/jojo]  Fingers played with his loose tie absently, [jojo]you need a ride somewhere?  I have an incredibly impractical car in a lot a few blocks from here.[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

There was a faint quirk to her lips as he divulged that Cage talked too loud on the phone. He was right there, especially that the guard was talking to someone who could hear cockroach climb a wall in another room. It was interesting that her supplier had noted the name over the phone. Meant he was a man that paid attention to the details, of course, she had already noted that much.

 

[jojo] Gray to your driver… all right, Mason it is I suppose.[/jojo]

 

The swallow that ran down the long neck was a bit thick. It was strange to hear the name on the Cajun accent. That soft Jersey accent had been the only way she had ever heard it before. For the briefest flash it was unbearable, but the very next second it made it more… tolerable. The weight of the abandonment somehow made…lighter.

 

[jojo] That’s quite a ghost you got haunting you there Mason. [/jojo]

 

Head snapped a bit sharply at him before realizing he was not referring to the long absent cop that haunted her thoughts.

 

[jojo]Haven't heard it's like in a really long time..[/jojo]

 

Smile was a bit lopsided, almost apologetic for her gifts as the shoulders gave a faint shrug, hand running over the still damp locks.

 

[derrick]….has its moments I suppose.. [/derrick]

 

"Mr Boudreaux" now seemed so formal. Of course in deals she would revert to it again, it was her habit when she put that damn monkey suit. But here. In the dark. In the quiet of the cemetery. The formal name sounded downright corny.

 

There was that Cajun tainted chuckle again. It drew an unsolicited smile from her lips.

 

[jojo]….that god awful name……That’s me. Prodigal only son to the oldest family in the Easy. Seems like we all wanted to become someone else…[/jojo]

 

Brow quirked slightly at him, hearing again the strange recognition of a kindred spirit.

 

[jojo] Carroll is what I prefer. Josef, and you better be buying me dinner..[/jojo]

 

Brows lifted, it was her turn to have a melodic chuckle roll from her chest.

 

[derrick]….just dinner? You give it away cheap.[/derrick]

 

The chuckle faded softly into the comfortable silence that seemed to come easily between them.

 

[jojo]……. I’m the last one into a club, and the last one to leave. I listen, I appreciate, I go home to silence and bourbon, and I find that name again if I can….. You need a ride somewhere? I have an incredibly impractical car in a lot a few blocks from here.[/jojo]

 

Silence and bourbon. Sounded a lot like her life. A ride huh? Smile slid over her lips, brow lifting coyly.

 

[derrick]…you trying to pick me up?....... or ditch me?[/derrick]

 

Humor was evident in her tone, not mistaking his line for either. Chin lifted into a biting wind that decided to haunt the cemetery. It helped keep the mind awake, her body was slowly beginning to remind her that she had not slept in quite some time and she had left every ounce of energy on a stage she had abandoned more than two hours ago now.

 

[derrick]….dawn is coming…[/derrick]

 

The night sky showed no signs of lightening up, but she did not need visual cues, her internal clock told her these things. Hand rubbed over the damp hair again, smile quiet on her lips.

 

[derrick]…I could probably use a ride.[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

There was something else, other than his acknowledgement she wasn’t just one of those that claimed to be a player and were no more than a hobbyist that couldn’t remember shit.  She was an odd one at that, layers upon layers.  Complicated.  He liked complicated, weird as it sounded to most.  It meant he wasn’t the only one.  He had made peace with his complicated demons to a point, he was always looking for others that could give him an inkling on how to kill the rest.

"….has its moments I suppose.. "

He glanced at her when she smiled, the seemingly eternally relaxed Cajun enjoying it for a moment.  He liked to make people smile, chuckling again as she chided him for being easy.

 

[jojo]..and why not, too much hanging over the world’s heads to not enjoy what you want, when you want it.  Who knows if you’ll be alive tomorrow to have it again.[/jojo]

 

Words were casual, and completely sincere.  He waited for nobody, cared nothing for anyone’s criticisms or threats.  Did what he wanted, when he wanted to and never looked back.  But, he also was not going to sit out there all night, and she didn’t seem like she should either.  She was tired, he’d decided.  He knew a great deal of functional drunks- himself included at one time- she didn’t feel that way to him.  So, he was inclined to be the gentleman.

"…you trying to pick me up?....... or ditch me?"

[jojo]I find you interesting, and that intrigues me.  I don’t use pick-up lines on anyone… it’s a bit gauche.  If I want someone to have a drink and come home with me, I just ask them.[/jojo]

 

There it was.  If he liked someone, he was frank about it.  His Cajun blood refused to play games. When it ran hot, there was no eluding to anything.  Everything about him was straight to the point in a gentle way.  With the exception of where the Order was concerned, and a few unfortunate recent incidents… he’d come to a point where he no longer was hiding from himself.

"….dawn is coming…"

[jojo]Always has to.  Shame sometimes, that calm that comes over the world just before is a magic that can’t be duplicated.[/jojo]

 

Eyes watched the sky for a long moment, finally rolling forward to stand and walk quietly down the few steps, hands gently in his pockets and his loose tie fluttering slightly.  He hadn’t expected her to accept his invitation for a ride. It had dawned on him that it was very possible her driver might be circling and he would have a shadow.  Not one of his most bright ideas, but he couldn’t leave someone to walk alone- no matter who they were.

 

[jojo]Keep the coat, not going to risk warming the air around you, unless you want a suntan. It’s not an exact science.[/jojo]

 

He held out his hand to help her up and make the trek to the lot his car was parked in.  Still enough time to drop her off and go home to silence and a nice glass of bourbon before the sun came up.  Shop was closed tomorrow, the thought of sleeping in a guilty pleasure he indulged whenever possible.

[Derrick Mason Gray]

[jojo].. and why not, too much hanging over the world’s heads to not enjoy what you want, when you want it. Who knows if you’ll be alive tomorrow to have it again.[/jojo]

 

There was a thoughtful quirk to her brow as she pondered the words. They were true… they had always been true… but it was odd how him saying them now held a strange ring of clarified truth. Perhaps it was the absolute exhaustion that was racing to run her over, or perhaps it was the exhaustion of the heart that had been jumping at shadows and hoping for something that never came from a man that had all but vanished. For all her "rocker" past, she had lived fairly prudish. She was a rare soul whose sex and drugs had been the music. Her only guilty pleasure had been, and still was, the booze.

 

Her tease on being picked up or ditched was again met with a "serious" response that lifted a quizzical expression unsure what side she fell on of his "explanation".

 

[jojo]I find you interesting, and that intrigues me. I don’t use pick-up lines on anyone… it’s a bit gauche. If I want someone to have a drink and come home with me, I just ask them.[/jojo]

 

If it was true…and her sensitive truth "radar" had not detected any hitch in breath, tremor in the words or change in pitch that were calling cards of lies… then it was refreshing. Everyone was always tossing some line or another at her. Asking her to "finger my instrument" or worse. Jersey had been like that too. He had played her straight the whole time, right to the very end. He had never once given her indication there was more than a partnership of hunting between them, only her own silly dreaming had whispered for more.

 

Lips faintly puckered as a soft huff murmured in her chest trying to again push away the haunting "ghost". As she spoke immediately after of dawn coming the expression of self frustration came off instead as a faint disappointment that the night was coming to an end.

 

[jojo] Always has to.[/jojo][derrick]…pity about that.[/derrick][jojo]Shame sometimes,[/jojo]

 

The soft rum tainted chuckle murmured in her chest as they both seemed to pine for the night at the same moment.

 

[jojo].. that calm that comes over the world just before is a magic that can’t be duplicated.[/jojo]

 

The soft "mmm" of agreement came as she nodded, chin resting on the arms folded on her knees.

 

[derrick]…I like the quiet. After the gig is done… and the drunks have passed out… and before the morning commuters have managed to get their coffee pots to brew….the time between when the world doesn’t press in on me…….[/derrick]

 

It was a revealing statement. Words trailing off. She never talked this much. Damn she was tired. Long fingers reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, opaque glasses pushing upward to reveal the ridiculously long unpainted lashes, but as the thick feathers lay closed on her cheeks her secret was still protected, glasses falling back down once more before they supposedly opened again behind.

 

Sensitive ears heard him begin to get up, she was a bit loathe to get off the warmed marble but if she didn’t she would be asleep soon and THAT was a problem. She rolled to her hip away from him and grabbed her sack to draw over her shoulder as her other hand planted on the top step to get up. She could have stood straight up but it had been a trick she learned long ago when she figured out that people sometimes offered their hand for a lift and she missed it, causing them to get suspicious or take offense. It was second nature to her now, this way she just seemed to miss the offer as she pushed herself up, snatching the bottle they had been sharing from the step below before standing tall, free hand laying on the small of her back to stretch the long spine. She had stiffened up.

 

[jojo] Keep the coat, not going to risk warming the air around you, unless you want a suntan. It’s not an exact science.[/jojo]

 

The smile lit up with an easy chuckle.

 

[derrick]Suntan?... the horror! People might start to think I go out during the day.[/derrick]

 

Of course she had been in his shop during the day, but she was more on the "night" shift than anything else these days. She stepped off the marble to stand beside him, listening to the soft breath billow from his nostrils and lips, the warmth enhancing the delicious scent of the expensive scotch on his breath that had managed to dissolve the odor of that pisswater he had been drinking.

 

[derrick]You know… the last impractical car that gave me a lift… I had to hang my legs out the window.[/derrick]

 

Chuckle was warm again as she polished off the last two shots worth of the deep amber nectar before stuffing the empty bottle back in her bag. The damn little clown car of one of the bodyguards couldn’t have accommodated her height if she had tried to fold herself in half.

 

[derrick]… if that’s the case I would have to say walking might be better.[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

So many ghosts- none of which, were from any inch of ground in the lonely cemetery surrounded by its affront of stone walls and motionless statues.  Such was his luck. 

"…I like the quiet. After the gig is done… and the drunks have passed out… and before the morning commuters have managed to get their coffee pots to brew….the time between when the world doesn’t press in on me……."

[jojo]..almost like it isn’t thinking about how to destroy everyone’s calm, like it forgets for a moment to be so harsh and cruel.[/jojo]

 

His own voice was incredibly quiet, the hazel closing itself for a long moment to just listen to the shifting trees and occasion shuffle of leaves against stone.  He didn’t want to go, but it was also not a good idea to overstay a welcome.  Even the dead and silence could be impatient at being intruded upon, he was superstitious enough to give them their moment before the world percolated back to life again.  Hands slid into his pocket as she seemed to not need his assistance, or his suntan.

"Suntan?... the horror! People might start to think I go out during the day."

Chuckle was soft.

"You know… the last impractical car that gave me a lift… I had to hang my legs out the window."

[jojo]Nah, not impractical in that way.  Just not a bullet proofed glass or utility vehicle everyone seems to drive these days.  A bit more…  Great Gatsby if you prefer.  Course I got a practical one… but where’s the fun in that?  Finer things make the world a bit more bearable,[/jojo]he began to walk toward the far entrance opposite where they had come in, the gated lot on the other side, [jojo]or at least bring some kind of smile to my face after a night of bad jazz.[/jojo]

 

Passing the large iron gates, he paused a second to watch the quiet street and crossed it, following the somewhat aesthetic black wrought iron fence line topped ominously in razor wire.  A playful two finger salute was tossed at the attendant before pushing through the turnstile and trailing his fingers over the smooth fenders of his nostalgic baby.  Leaning on the fender, he nodded toward his coat.

 

[jojo]Keys are in my coat, unless… you wanna drive this beast.[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

There was his chuckle again. It had its own melody and was easy on her ears, dangerously calming. As he began to move she followed his lead.

 

[jojo]…. Course I got a practical one… but where’s the fun in that? Finer things make the world a bit more bearable,….or at least bring some kind of smile to my face after a night of bad jazz.[/jojo]

 

Chuckle was soft as she followed at his side and a half step behind his left shoulder. It let her avoid having to engage her abilities, rely just on her nearly inhuman hearing as his steps told her all she needed to know about their direction and the elevations of the terrain they were walking over. This way she managed not to trip over a curb she was unprepared for in her exhausted state. She had far outstayed his company. She should just walk home now. She was risking exposure. She drew up to a stop as his voice betrayed turning around, the sound of his clothes brushing something smooth telling her he was leaning against most likely his car.

 

[jojo]Keys are in my coat, unless… you wanna drive this beast.[/jojo]

 

Chin lifted as her hand went into the pocket and retrieved the keys. The smile came first before the very warm and natural laugh bubbled up out of her chest.

 

[derrick]..umm….[/derrick]

 

The keys tossed up gently, easily caught again by the long abused fingers. The smile turned to a lopsided sheepish grin, hand scratching the back of damp hair.

 

[derrick]…its not that I am being driven around because the car is bullet proof or something. I just sort of… never learned to drive.[/derrick]

 

Nose scrunched up as the chuckle came again, something devilishly impish in the sound.

 

[derrick]…I may… or may not… have taken out several city blocks and totaled the last car I attempted to drive…. a pretty expensive car at that.[/derrick]

 

Lance had been pissed beyond words. Sputtering and spitting when he had seen what was left of his Lexus. It hadn't exactly been her fault. They had been attacked unexpectedly on the street, Gaspari had been shot. She had tossed him into the back seat and jumped into the driver seat, learning very quickly that her map wasn’t really good enough to drive by since moving items became confusing quickly to the mind that didn’t always understand what it was "seeing" and that she had a lead foot that didn’t have the instinct it was supposed to for the use of a brake. She went over quite a few sidewalks, took out a fire hydrant like a bad movie stunt and managed to wrap the car around a light post at the end. Gaspari had been incredibly amused that his blind bodyguard had been the one to drive the getaway car…. Lance who owned it… not so amused.

 

[derrick]…we're highly more likely to get there in one piece if you do the driving.[/derrick]

 

Keys tossed up one more time before she tossed them at him. The pause was calculated, waiting for him to make a move that would tell her which side of the car was the passenger side. If he didn’t she would need to engage her gift to take a side "naturally".. and in her current state, she was risking a nose bleed and likely an oncoming headache.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"..umm…."

Brow cocked, watching his keys appear from the coat, her reaction failing to inspire much confidence to the subject.  Such was life, he had offered and wasn’t going to take it back unless she refused. He might have loved the car, but he liked adventure more.  The thought of tearing through the streets with her at the helm was enough to tick the corner of his lip up a bit.

 

"…its not that I am being driven around because the car is bullet proof or something. I just sort of… never learned to drive.  …I may… or may not… have taken out several city blocks and totaled the last car I attempted to drive…. a pretty expensive car at that."

Expression was amused, yet not, eyeballing the keys as no longer an option for her to hang on to.  Chuckle was warm, and definitely entertained.  Fingers pulled from his pocket to silent request the small ring with a wiggling surrender of his fingers.

 

"…we're highly more likely to get there in one piece if you do the driving."
 

He caught them easily, flipping through the antique things as he passed around to her side of the car and unlock the door to hold open for her.  Automatic locks weren’t even a thought in their heads when this sleek beast was made, so he hoped she didn’t take offense to the logical gentlemanly gesture.  Winding around to his own side, he slid in and turned the key, the engine rumbling to life in its own sensual way.  He let it warm for a long moment, pushing the clutch and moving the gearshift back and forth slightly to gage if it was ready to drive.

 

[jojo]Takes a minute, it’s not a Lexus, but still a helluva lot sexier.  No seatbelts, but I’ll be gentle.. [/jojo] the humor was easy.

 

He flicked a few more switches, the convertible top wasn’t the warmest of things in the cold but the heater billowed out full-fledged warmth in a matter of moments.  They didn’t make them that way anymore, the auxiliary units a very different version than the modern luxury.  Clutch was engaged easily, backing out of the spot and making his way toward the gate to tip a nod toward the attendant and pull out onto the empty streets.

 

[jojo]Where to?[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

She could get used to that chuckle. It was a warm and easy sound.

 

She had no doubt he would make the snatch of the keys when they were tossed, the soft jangle disappearing as it met the flesh of his palm mid-flight. He moved past her, her feet glued a moment as the ears listened attentively. The soft creak of the hinge betrayed it opened towards the front…..that was the passenger side. Sack was adjusted on her shoulder as she made her way to that side as he headed for the driver's.

 

Hand slid on the roof to gage its height and how much she was going to have to fold herself up to get inside. While it was short, she quickly felt the space in front as her foot slid in. Bigger than expected. She listened as he flipped switches, air beginning to hum from the vents as the car began to move.

 

[jojo]Where to?[/jojo]

 

Where to indeed. The hotel? If she got seen being dropped off by him, there were some among Bakkhos that would mark him for sure. Her place?... then he knew where she lived and Push would be pissed if he ever found out she had been so "careless". Though frankly, her "radar" on people tended to be dangerously accurate and he didn’t read as a hunter looking to make her his next trophy.

 

That….. or she was really tired and walking herself happily into a trap.

 

She doubted it.

 

Sinking into the seat her legs a bit folded in the space but not comically so as often was the case, head dropped back onto the seat as she let her body completely give up the fight. As heat began to billow from the beast, oblivion would be easy to fall into. But she was snatched from its grasp as the top began to move and sneak the cold tendrils in among the warm gasps of air. It was enough to remind her she was not in bed and not alone. When was the last time she was "not alone" at this hour… and with a guy no less. The thought tainted her lips with a secretive smirk at the corners. Damn but she lived an uneventful life at times.

 

[derrick]212…..W 10th street.[/derrick]

 

It was a strange location. An area not overly populated. A fact she enjoyed as it protected her some from the "noise" of life. The address was a six story old brownstone. She lived on the top floor with no one else in the building. Thick unpainted lashes were closed behind the opaque shades as she let her head relax back, lull of his animal's engine "coo'ing" her to a state of complete relaxation.

 

[derrick]You know… there is an old boarded up place on 10th that used to be a jazz club. Little door on the street that goes up a dark set of stairs to a small club that to this day has a smoky smell even though its locked up. Found it by accident from the roof. I go sometimes to play… good acoustics.[/derrick]

 

She neglected to cover her yawn as hips adjusted on the seat to let her legs bend differently.

 

[derrick]….might be some things in there you would like for your collection.[/derrick]

 

She had already pilfered the dusty instruments. The best of which was a wicked strat, edges smooth from some other musicians weathered hands holding it hours on end. It had been well loved and still sung beautifully.