Curse Chemistry

[Maeve Blodeuwedd]

15 Aug 2019-

 

She made sure to lock her apartment behind her before darting down eight flights of stairs and out to the sidewalk to hail a cab.  She was headed for Omenwich square, where anybody who was somebody tended to hang out.  Today's recreation was purely out of habit, and she didn't stop to question why she kept up with this fruitless routine.  The weather was holding nicely so she wore one of her white boho dresses, covered in lace and elaborately crisscrossed in back.  Tossing the gold chain of her quilted buckle purse over her left shoulder, she waved her hand in the air at an eager cabby.  The driver stopped, Maeve climbed in, and they were off.

 

  

 

Despite the apparel, Maeve's business was anything but flourishing and money was tight (hence why she lived on the cheaper side of town and had to cab in). She wasn't going to the Upper West Side of Manhattan to shop. At least not for material things.  There was a lot to gain from going to the famed, magical square; but she wasn't there for any of that either. She went 'window shopping' for a prodigy, someone to inspire. Or to be inspired. 

 

The cab dropped her off in front of the Dark Horse Crossroads.  She put on her sunglasses and glanced around. She had lived in NY for a year now, and in all that time.... She sighed at herself.  She needed to find purpose.  Even if it was supporting someone elses. She was losing sight of herself and that was never good.  Especially as a Leanan Sidhe.  She chose a direction and started walking along the cobble stone streets. It was a beautiful piece of real estate, the history in this district was art in and of itself.  She smiled at the thought, not for the first time, and considered herself lucky to have her escape.

[Kelan Bishop]

He sat comfortably on the ground, his back against the brick wall of a building he didn't bother catching the name of. It was his first taste of freedom in over a week, and he was enjoying the anonymity of being outside, doing nothing more than doodling on a sketch pad as people wandered through the Square. Charcoal dusted his fingertips as the small piece flew across the paper, a smudge of black on his cheek from licking a finger and applying it to what he was working on.

 

Lost in his work, he completely missed Maeve's arrival in the square. It had been a while since they'd seen each other. It felt like years, really. She had left LA long before he had, seeking a return to the colder northeastern corner of what remained of habitable North America, where she would have better access to things, as he understood it. She was still very much a mystery to him, despite the time that they'd spent together. After a while, he'd eventually made his own way to New York. At first, it was to open up a second shop on this side of the continent. But with New York being the veritable hub of the East Coast and almost all traffic that came into this side of the world, he'd never managed to get back out to LA and had eventually closed the shop there.

[Maeve Blodeuwedd]

There was a street performer on the edge of the square, a man with steel drums, bringing a taste of the Caribbean to the Northeast.  Maeve pushed her sunglasses up on her head like a headband, keeping her hair out of her eyes as she smiled at the musician.  It was nice and refreshing music, flavorful, but not very advanced.  Didn't mean it wasn't enjoyable.  She swayed to the beat, imagining palm trees, and suddenly missing the west coast quite a lot.  Her eyes got misty for a second, but she smiled through it, choosing to appreciate the positives and discard any negative or hurtful thoughts. 

She'd done enough pining, she'd told herself that months and months ago.  But it didn't stop her from feeling the effects now and again.  It was a strange kind of emotion, a lovely torment, missing someone so much that you would punish yourself with nostalgia and any mirage of that moment resurfacing in the present.  She smiled at it.  It was a strong emotion... if she had a prodigy right now.... she could do so much with feelings like this.

 

The drummer wouldn't do, though.  She appreciated his art, but he wasn't quite "there".  On the level she needed for her kind of work.  It was a particular thing. And she'd been more particular about it ever since...

 

Maeve, sighed at her own angst and sat down on the grass, leaning back on her arms and submersing herself in the music like a beach bum bathing in sunlight.  It was a strange cross over of her two homes: the one she left behind and the one she adopted here, but there was beauty in that too.  At the end of the song, she would tip the man, but for the time being she wanted to show her appreciation.  He smiled back at her, beaming with pride and satisfaction that he had an audience.  She returned the smile with one of equal pleasure.  

 

She was unaware of who else was in the square, sketching away with charcoal on his face... just the way she remembered him.