Participants:
| Scene Title | A Sight For Sore Eyes |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Someone is back. |
| Date | September 1, 2009 |
A comfortable place, located in the basement of 14 East 4th Street. The red brick walls are covered with memorabilia from various icons of rock and places in rock history, creating a feel similar to that of a Hard Rock Cafe.
The left wall has two bars separated by swinging doors which lead to and from the kitchen. Directly across from the entrance is a two foot high stage with all the equipment needed for acts to perform there. The right wall has three doors marked as restrooms: two for use by women and one by men.
Thirty square feet of open space for dancing and standing room is kept between the stage and the comfortable seating placed around tables which fill the remainder of the Cellar.
The lighting here is often kept dim for purposes of ambience, and when performers are onstage the place is loud enough to make conversation difficult. Just inside the door is a podium where location staff check IDs and stamp the hands of those under twenty-one with a substance visible under UV lights at the two bars and by devices the servers carry. On the podium's front is a sign with big black letters that just about explain it all: If You Don't Like Rock 'N' Roll, You're Too Late Now!
Another month has started. She's been in Nuked York City for a few days beyond a year now, and what a year it's been. Etched apartment walls, revelations of it not being Sylar who nuked the city, becoming a rebel who at times engages in armed actions, having come to terms with bisexuality and having lost her lover, so many things experienced and survived. Vanguard, the Moab raid, T.Monk's counsel. And now Norman White, whatever the Vanguard remains might be up to, Humanis First, the Suresh Center, her continuing avoidance of the public eye and keeping things she owns from linking to her name.
Once again, as the day crosses the top of the thirteenth hour she's in the Cellar. No one else is here yet, but the door is unlocked. People aren't expected to show up for work until 14:30 or 15:00 today, but she allows for the possibility just the same.
Her red Fender Strat is plugged into an amp and resting on a stand, but she isn't playing it now. Instead she's got an alto sax in her hands and is teaching herself to play it using sheet music for rock tunes read only once.
The door creaks open. A familiar shadow crosses the door, a shadow that hasn't seen the place in months. He's carrying a familiar looking backpack and a couple of duffels. He pauses before taking a few steps into the place. He just stands there and smiles, and says nothing.
She's busy. Eyes are closed, Cat blows into the reed and moves her fingers on the applicable parts of the instrument. It's a decent job, but it's also clear she's still getting the hang of hitting the notes just right. Muscle memory and mental memory are different things, even though she's got nimble fingers. The tune is part of a Springsteen song, as if she were seeking to channel Clarence Clemons.
Her clothing is black; a sleeveless t-shirt which shows she's acquired a bit more definition in her arms while remaining feminine and dark shorts with athletic footwear. The stage is prowled as if she were a panther.
Kinson takes a few steps forward into the light. He knows the song she's playing, knows the Clemons solo she's channeling, and sings in his whispering voice, "Radio Nowhere… is there anybody alive out there… This is radio nowhere… is there anybody alive out there… is there anybody alive out there…?"
The voice draws her out of the reverie exhibited onstage and the source of it is sought out, eyes opening. When they settle on the man, a smile slowly spreads. "I don't know," Cat teases. "Is there?" Her posture is open, inviting his approach to the stage after a terse instruction. "Lock the door, if you would."
He is watched, physical appearance now being compared with the memory of him at their last encounter. The choice of song for her is perhaps uncharacteristic, it being so new and her having such a taste for classic works, but she does venture into newer tunes on occasion and it is, after all, still the Boss.
Kinson takes a few more steps closer to the stage, letting the lights hit him a little. He is quiet, still, but he drops his bags. He's home.
The instrument is allowed to hang loosely across her chest as she watches the man and waits for him to step up on stage, her stance still inviting. "It's good to see you back," Cat greets further. "Interesting travels?" No commentary yet on how interesting life here has been. That will come in time.
Kinson steps up on stage and takes the last few steps towards her, closing to just a mere couple of feet. "Not in the Chinese curse use of the word interesting, but interesting enough." he smiles softly, "You're a sight for sore eyes." he grins.
"Yes," Cat agrees, "I am." She uses no more words at the present time, choosing instead to unplug the guitar from the amp where she had it and take it with her. She leaves the stage and goes to lock the door. It takes no more than a minute or two doing that and moving to the passageway where the internal elevator hidden from the general public is.
She waits there for him to join her, the intended destination seven floors up, for activities to be conducted behind closed doors but not in her own bed.
That Mother is now a resident in the penthouse too will be covered another time, among so many other things.
