Another Musician


gillian_icon.gif sable_icon.gif

Scene Title Another Musician
Synopsis Gillian finally meets Sable, and the musical contingent at the Lighthouse grows. Also, Gillian… do not dare cast aspersions against the Beatles!
Date May 8, 2010

The Lighthouse

Let's ask no questions as to why Sable was not awake and fully functional upon Gillian's return. Some depths were not meant to be plumbed, and much that's left out is done so for good reason - if only because such details are boring, inconsequential. As for why the day has rolled along as far as 'almost dinner' and Sable has still not managed to cross Gillian's path, or Gillian Sable's, is simple bad luck. Strange, perhaps, considering just how loud and restless the yellow eyed girl is, but maybe Gillian had actually important things to do, things that Sable would be either unaware of, or assiduously avoiding.

So it's with the knowledge of Gillian's return, but no first hand knowledge of Gillian herself, that the young musician sits, cross-legged, in the bunk room, acoustic guitar resting in her lap and in her hands, back propped up against the bottom of her own bed. She has a variety of papers scattered around her, though papers more in the 'various kinds, various lines, various shades' way, than the 'important business papers' way. They bear the mark of a busy pen, marked with short lines in small blocks, assembled in no immediately discernable order.

Whatever work these papers represent demands a break, and Sable seems to be taking it. Her eyes are closed, and she's strumming her instrument, singing in a noticeable but not overwhelming south-western accent. Not hers, but it fits the song, which has a Texas Country sound to it.

"Big brown eyes, and a gust of wind,/And the cherry burns the corner of the page that says 'The end/Is coming soon,' but not soon enough./Restring all your guitars. Pack up all your stuff."

The important things included personal time with a lot of the kids, hearing their concerns and their little whines, everything they couldn't say on the phone, and wanted to share just with her. Hailey thinks she discovered a new aspect of her ability, for one, and Joe doesn't like Paul, and Lance and Paul have gotten into too much trouble already—

Whether or not Sable is outspoken, Gillian's trying to do far too much in the first hours of her return to really stop and meet everyone. With Aaron moved into her room with her so that Tasha and Colette can continue to share a room, she moves along, catching the sound of a voice from the hall and stopping to look inside.

Well-tanned, thanks to a week in Vegas, the dark haired woman looks different than how she may have looked a few weeks ago— less tired, less pale.

"How many musicians do we have in this house," she mutters in a raspy voice not made for singing.

An unexpected visitation! Sable's eyes snap open, though her hands still strum the strings. Yellow irises lock onto Gillian and, shortly after, Sable is smiling. She has an audience! "Well, ain't you precisely what someone hopes to open their eyes to," she says, breaking from the slightly mournful country tune and switching over to a classic Blues turnaround - dudda da dudda da dudda da dudda da da ~ badum dum - before pressing her fingers to the strings and silencing the instrument.

The younger woman gets to her feet, letting the guitar swing to her side by its strap, and steps over her moat of papers, hand outstretched, "Fear I don't know precisely who you are, hon, but that's a misstep I'll gladly fuckin' rectify. Name's Sable."

"I heard a little about you," Gillian says with a nod, glancing over the girl for a few moments before moving in and falling onto one of the nearby bunks. It even makes a firm plop sound, when she impacts the matress and falls back as much as she can, without slamming her head into the wall. It's probably not the most role-modely thing that could be done, but the house is ran by people who are not all that much older than the kids already.

"I'm Gillian," she says, as she straightens back up. "You were mentioned on the phone the times I was able to get through." The landline continued to work most of the time she was gone, even if cellphones had died. It allowed her to know the house was more or less safe. She probably would have come back more quickly if she only had cellphones to rely on.

"There's actually a Las Vegas coffee mug downstairs for you. I bought coffee mugs for those of you I didn't know too well."

"Aw, now I wonder what was said 'bout me," Sable says, her hand reaching behind her to scratch at the nape of her neck, "'course I'm sure it was nothin' particularly interesting either way." She tilts her head, pulling the guitar strap up over it, releasing herself from its grip. She sets the instrument down on the floor, propping it against her bunk. "Y'said somethin' about other musicians, though? Forgive my sense of fuckin' priorities, but any chance you imported a decent fuckin' drummer with you? I dunno the music scene in Vegas, mostly microphone swingers 'n' shit, right?"

Sable cracks a crooked grin, "'n' thanks for the mug. That's pretty damn thoughtful, I 'preciate it. Next time, just so y'all know, I could really use a top knotch PA. Just if it ever comes up." And if Gillian decides to spend a few thoustand dollars on a crazy girl.

"No drummer, I just know Aaron plays guitar and keyboards," Gillian responds with a shrug as she keeps eyebrows raised at the young woman's style of speaking. "Brian hears you talking like that around the kids, he'll give you a look. Fuck knows I talk like that myself, but he usually glares at me if he catches me," she even looks toward the door, to make sure none of the real little ones are around. It's not like they haven't heard worse, though…

"And I didn't go to Vegas to bring anyone back. Who would want to get imported here right now? Have to be out of their god damned minds. I know I am, for coming back here."

"Hey, Keith Moon was fuckin' crazy," Sable says, with a shrug, "I've no problem with crazy drummers. I'd be awful picky if I sorted for sanity, y'know?" Oh drummers. The yellow eyed girl rolls her shoulders, "I keep a lid on it for the most part when I'm around the rodents. Catch myself more than I drop myself, y'know? But yeah, I ain't gonna fuck with Brian. Man's got almost as many guns as Savannah's got old folks," Oh Savannah. "If there's another musician around, though, mebbe I should meet 'em. 'course," Sable leans against the frame of the bunk, "I'm much more interested in gettin' to know you, hon. What's your story?" Her teeth flash in a grin. "Spare no detail."

"Don't mention the guns too loudly. Last thing we need is Magnes to find out about them and try to get into a pissing contest with who needs them most," Gillian says, looking toward the door again. Not for the runts this time. "I'm not sure what to tell you— I'm Brian's long lost twin sister who got reunited with him last year, decided to help out here so he didn't have to do it alone." When she looks back, she grins. "And I'm really not joking about the long lost twin sister, thing. We had blood tests. Made me glad the only time he hit on me, I rejected him."

Sable gives a snicker, "Poor boy has got all his passions in fuckin' spikes. All or nothin' with him, huh?" speaking of Magnes, "We're comrades in arms, him and me, 'course. I mean t'speak no ill of him." She turns, her shoulders pressed back, her feet sliding out a bit. She crosses her arms, head twisting to let her keep looking at Gillian, "Shit, that's awkward as hell. Not, of course, that I'd blame him. Must've been a mighty goddamn disappointment, findin' out yer related to a beauty such as yourself."

The first time, Gillian seemed to have dismissed the mention of her beauty, the second time, it registers. Eyebrows raise, but then she smiles, dimples appearing on cheeks that already bear one beauty mark. "It was a little awkward, yeah, but— he was better off with someone else, and I was having enough problems with relationships to fill five or six journals." She knows cause she's the one who filled them. "But with Magnes I'd rather him not know about the arsenal Brian's god. I'm surprised you do. He tries to keep it fairly secret." She's not even sure she knows about half the secret panels in the walls… "You've been here before, right?"

"Naw, I've just got miiiind powers," Sable says, lifting her hands up to her face and wiggling her fingers. She winks, "In all fuckin' seriousness? Yeah. I was lookin' for a practice space on my first try at buildin' my particular stairway t' heaven. Me and my former comrade in arms, we nosed into the basement," she makes a face, "May be misrememberin', but I think Brian was all, like, shirtless and shit, mebbe drunk, mebbe just pissed. And alllll these guns," she gestures around with a wide motion of her hands, "Just lyin' everywhere. Never seen nothin' like it, and I knew some pretty serious fuckin' gun nuts back home in Atlanta."

"He could be a little odd sometimes," Gillian admits with a laugh, though she does add, "The guns are mostly put away into crates now, organized and stored off to the side, cause we needed the storage in the basement for supplies thanks to this fucked up weather, including firewood. If we ran out of firewood we'd freeze." And space heaters are too hazardeous to use all the time. A fireplace is built to burn. "But they're still down there. Just not— as obvious."

"An orphanage on top of an arsenal," Sable muses, giving a small 'heh', "That's gotta be a, whatever… metaphor or a symbol or an alloygary for somethin' or other." She means 'allegory', but cut her some slack, she never had high school English. "It's gettin' to the point where jokin' about this never endin' is not so fuckin' funny anymore. I mean, I ain't suggestin' retreat or anything, but I'll have you know, hon, that I've got a date with motherfuckin' destiny and I don't intend for my fame to come through bein' dug up a hundred years from now and put on display by the, like, intelligent polar bears or whatever that inherit the goddamn city."

"The orphange was here first," Gillian says with a shrug, before hearing some feet running down the hall outside. They don't stop, as someone seems to be chasing after someone else. There's the sound of a skid, but no one starts crying or yelling, so the dark haired young woman just stands up from the bunk and begins to straighten her clothes. "I think if it lasts much longer we'll end up evacuating the kids. They're down to so few shelters in the city with power that it makes sense they'd evacuate sooner or later. We have people who'll help us move if we have to."

They just won't be able to take everything. Like the arsenal. Or the paintings also in the basement. But it's the people that are most important. "Your date has to do with music, I'm guessing? That why you needed a drummer?"

"Guess I signed up with the right crew," Sable says, a touch sardonically, "Just make sure, when you bail, that you don't leave me or nothin'. I promise to be a very vengeful fuckin' ghost, given the slightest goddamn reason." She nods, "And y'r right there. Mine is a talent for the ages. Guitar and vocals, mostly, though I can take to most anything I set my mind too musically, given a half decent teacher."

"Well, we won't bail until we have to. We're better off than most people in the city," Gillian says, looking around at the curtained window knowing that— it could be so much worse. They could not have lights. They could have had their pipes freeze— That will probably be the first thing to go, which is why she bottles water every day to put in the basement. Or she did, until she went to Vegas for a week.

"And we won't leave you behind if it's life and death." Though that's no promise, at the same time. "At least I know the kids will all have awesome music skills by the time this is all over." And little does she know they'll be getting yet another musician tomorrow!

Sable gives a small laugh at this, "Uh… don't get your hopes up as far as that shit concerns me," she says, "I dunno so much how to teach anyone, much less, like, munchkins. I'm no fuckin' good at bein' an authority, but I ain't that good at bein', like, a buddy to kids neither. I'll leave that shit to the, like, nurturing types."

"Just keep up the singing, then. The kids need some fresh entertainment with the television out," Gillian says with a shrug, perhaps hearing herself in this woman a few months ago. It feels like it's been a lot longer than it actually has been. "Nice to meet you," she adds, as she begins to move out to the door, before getting a second thought. "Oh, your coffee mug is the one with the Boba Fett M&M ornament inside it. I didn't know you, so I just picked one most people seem to think is cool for you."

Sable squints, "Boba Fett? Fuckin'-A. I respect hip-hop as, like, an art form, but I can never stay on top of that shit." A thousand Star Wars nerds cry out, and are suddenly silent. She lifts her hand to her brow and gives a salute, "Pleasure's all mine, hon. I'll… try and think of somethin' the kid's'll like. Somethin' fun. 'Yellow Submarine' or somethin' like that."

It actually makes Gillian laugh a little. Her Star Wars geekitude is mostly thanks to friendship with Magnes, but she does find it amusing anyway. "I think most the rest had their M&Ms stolen already, so whichever one still has an ornament is yours— and don't treat them like they're five. Most of them are nearly teenagers now, so you can do cool music and they'll still enjoy it— and I'll prefer it." Yellow Submarine? Not something she wants to hear. "See ya, Sable," she adds, before finally making her way out the door all the way.

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