Participants:
| Scene Title | Cat And Moral Authority |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Someone arriving at an airfield in Buffalo, NY sparks a remembrance. |
| Date | August 19, 2010 |
Buffalo, New York.
It's an airfield with cargo planes where clandestine things are possible.
It's 03:45, and a solitary woman stands out on the tarmac. Maybe the others involved in this excursion to a foreign land are already present, maybe they aren't. But one of the assemblees is. Cat is darkly clad with a light jacket, its hood down around shoulders. Stoicism rules her facial features, nothing of what she might be feeling or thinking given away, perhaps the mark of someone who's no stranger to undertakings like this one. She is 1.73 meters in height, a brunette, and depending on the strength of one's memory recognizable.
Her name was cited in the press here and there during the Mayoral campaign, most notably when her mother Jennifer the candidate was linked to Pinehearst and Cat was alleged to have been a member of PARIAH and later when Jennifer Chesterfield was assassinated on election night.
Not mentioned in the press, of course, is that Jennifer Chesterfield was with the Company, and anything the Company's files might have on Catherine Chesterfield.
Any other way she might be recognized and memorable depends on the circles one runs in.
Black hair is hard to see against the night sky. Lash has such hair, pulled back into a pony tail instead of its normal style, the makeup left off this morning as she walks across the tarmac herself, black jacket, black jeans, hiking boots, and a dufflebag slung over her shoulder.
However… if you put a dark brown wig on Lashirah Lee's head, her face would look more familiar, if you were in certain circles.
Eyes track the movement of this person approaching, and Cat is wary. She studies the face once she's close enough to clearly make out features, and compares it with the deep collection of so many others seen since her manifestation at Yale all those years ago. It causes her to flash back, the images, smells, and sounds entering her mind's eye and being replayed with complete clarity.
Monday, December 8, 2008
A clock seen across the very packed place tells her it's 23:48, caught in a sweep of eyes across the churning mass of persons who thrash around wildly with or without rhythm. Fingers continue to work the strings and frets her instrument frenetically while she herself prowls the stage like a panther patrolling her turf, clad all in black but devoid of tattoos or piercings in places other than her earlobes. Her voice, reminiscent of Ann Wilson, Pat Benatar, or Joan Jett carries out over the loud gathering in delivery of the lyrics to a Clash tune. When she finishes, the instrument is slipped over her shoulder and she strides from the stage. Feet carry her to a customary table somewhere in the shadows where a pint of Guinness Stout awaits her, both seat and table somehow remaining unclaimed for her.
The next act to take the stage is a little known punk rock band, Moral Authority. A local hit if nothing else, full of fire and rage in the songs, and good humor and laughs between them. The lead singer is lacking in tattoos, and in pericings. a spiked collar, wristband, and combat boots are her biggest fashion statements, but even then, Ashley O'Brien, as she was identified during the opening, was monocrome. Black pants, black pants, white torn up shirt with text on it that said "Look up at ME". While rough and growly, her tone fit the songs they sang.
Moral Authority and their performance are observed from that table as she enjoys her stout slowly, an impression made of material and skill. "Not bad," she murmurs to herself, "not really me to share the stage on nights I perform, but this was a bonus gig." It's another hallmark of her performances that she plays when she chooses to start, takes breaks when she feels like it, and ignores any protestations. It's part of the act, the projected punk ethos, that she's not their monkey.
She doesn't feel threatened by the presence of this other act, not at all. There's neither the need nor the desire to perform every minute of every night, after all, and she's good enough to beat all comers anyway if it came to that. Her pint is imbibed and when the glass is empty, she collects her guitar and threads her way out through the crowd.
Snapped back to the here and now by the sound of aircraft engines starting up, Cat rests eyes on the woman who just arrived and identifies her as Ashley O'Brien. It makes a slight grin show on her features, which fades within seconds. "Small world," she somberly murmurs before turning to climb aboard the aircraft.
Another thing she clearly remembers, and which Lashirah/Ashley may remember also, is that night was the last time Cat performed at the Surly Wench or anywhere else in New York City as far as anyone knows.
She just abruptly stopped turning up without even any hint of an explanation.
Lashirah gives no more than a nod to Cat… She RECOGNIZES her, but tonight, it's Lashirah Lee… and she's been at this too long to ever let one side slip to the other unless it is absolutely nessessary. Well, almost nothing. A small espresso bean ends up in her mouth, to chew on.