The Cold Forgotten


devon_icon.gif sable_icon.gif

Scene Title The Cold Forgotten
Synopsis Chance encounter leads to a pair of strangers singing some classics.
Date January, 18, 2011

Roosevelt Island

Jeremiah was a bullfrog, he was good friend of mine. I never understood a single word he said but I helped him drink his wine. He always had some mighty fine wine. Joy to the world, all the boys and girls now! Joy to the fishies in the deep blue sea and joy to you and me!

The strum of an acoustic guitar is not generally labelled a disturbance of the peace. Provided there is some quality to the music, only the most black hearted person would call the cops on a busquer, however unlicensed. Or, at least, this is the assumption Sable operates under. Bundled in her winter coat, hood pulled up over spiky, dark head, the yellow eyed girl sits on a low stone wall at an intersection on Roosevelt Island, playing an acoustic, singing, doing the only vaguely legal thing she knows how to make money doing.

And if I were th' king of the world, I tell y' what I would do. I'd throw away th' cars and the bars in th' world and I'd make sweet love to you. Joy the the world, all the boys and girls! Joy to the fishies in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me!

Though, from the paucity of her attendant money-gathering hat's contents, she's not exactly making bank right now. Winter doesn't lend itself to the lingering appreciation of true street music supporters. But still, she sings and she plays.

Y' know I love th' ladies, love t' have my fun. I'm a hard knock flyer and a rainbow rider, a straight shootin' son of a gun. I said a straight shootin' son of a gun.

About the only good thing about winter is that it helps keep people off the streets. It makes traveling on foot, while not worlds safer, a little more palatable. Not that the lanky young man trudging along the sidewalk, and inevitably toward the guitarist, seems overly concerned with safety.

Devon Clendaniel, tucked warmly into a black peacoat with the collar turned up against the chill, hands stuffed into the pockets of his khaki trousers, turns an eye toward the sound of song and music as his feet draw him closer to its source. Footsteps actually slow, the teenager almost seeming to loiter, to appreciate the simple tunes and even hum along to the melody.

Loitering is one of Sable's all time favorite pastimes. Note, that isn't factoring her list of obsessions and preoccupations - she doesn't have to loiter to feel sane. That said, she can appreciate a good loiter, and her yellow eyes slide up to catch Devon in action. Easy tread, a sense that he's got a right to be there… yeah, not bad. Good form. She rolls through the last chords of the Credence she's covering before giving Devon a nod. Lovely day. Or whatever.

"Y'all wanna request somethin', friend?" Sable inquires, amicably enough, "consider me a jukebox 'f flesh 'n' blood. Drop a quarter," she nods at her hat, "name th' tune."

An easy smile, some might call it a smirk but really, it's a smile that's just more enthusiastic on one side, greets the inquiry. "You're pretty good," Devon states as he withdraws his hands from his pockets. Several folded bills are pulled out along with his hands, rumpled and looking typical of being hastily returned to a pocket during the lunch rush. A couple are pulled free of the mess and placed within the hat.

Taking a small step back again, the remaining single is returned to their pocket, along with Devon's hands. "Though it's kinda cold to be out here playing." Not to mention the havock the temperature has got to be playing on that guitar.

"Son," Sable says, setting her guitar across her lap and reaching into her jacket pocket, drawing out a thin, hand-rolled cigarette and a lighter, setting the former at the corner of her lips, gripping the latter in one hand, "I'm th' best there is. Y'all jus' gotta hear me with a band at m' back." Thumb against wheel, she sparks up, lighting the end of the cigarette and taking a long draw. The smoke that curls up from the cigarette and that leaks from her nostrils and lips has a sharp, acrid odor. That ain't tobacco she's smokin'.

Joint hanging languidly from her lips, she takes the guitar back up, plucking each string. Doublechecking the tuning. "And I'm kinda fuckin' poor t' not be out here playin', so y'all c'n appreciate my dilemma, eh?" She grins lopsidedly at Devon, lifting her hand to support another draw on the jay. Puff. "Thanks f'r th' contribution. You wanna hear somethin' f'r yer paper, 'r what?"

"Awesome," Devon says appreciatively. His dad had been a drummer, and performance is something the kid himself enjoys. "You in a band now, or have any albums?" There's a pause in which it's possible Dev's considering further questions, but then he's moving on.

"Starving artist," the teenager states, not quite in awe of it. If Fate had been a more cruel mistress, he might've found himself in the same boat. "You know Stairway to Heaven," Devon asks, a small shrug drawing his collar up ot cover his ears briefly.

"Yeah boy," Sable says, tapping the side of her nose, "band by th' name 'f Mad Muse. Which, lemme tell y', madness is at the heart of it. All us, in all different directions. Gonna be hard as hell but, if we do it, we're gonna make th' album 'f th' goddamn century." Another draw, another plume of smoke. Sable lifts a hand to offer it up to Devon. "Y'all go ahead if yer down. I dig it if it ain't yer scene, though."

Okay, this here's a smirk. "Yeah, I know th' tune. Only it's gonna sound mighty feeble w/ jus' acoustic. Still… y' get what y' ask for, sir. Signed 'n' paid for." Sable begins to pluck her acoustic, and even whistles when the recorders ought to be playing, her pitch right on, even if she sounds a little rough voiced.

There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold. And she's buyin' a stairway t' heaven. When she gets there she knows, if th' stores 'r' all closed. With a word she c'n get what she came for.

With disregard for whatever parental unit Devon might have, he accepts the joint with a nod of thanks. "Here's to Mad Muse," he states before taking a pull from the unfamiliar stuff. Poor kid, barely saves face by choking back on the cough reflex. At least the exhale that follows is slow enough, though Dev's voice sounds a little tight. "Bring on the madness and the best fucking album the world has seen." Okay, so he's a little dramatic.

The teenager draws another lungful of the harsh smoke in response to the smirk, holding on until the first notes are played. Then he exhales, slow and steady, until that choked off cough catches up with him. While it sounds good… "Okay, okay. It's missing something," he agrees, offering the joint back to Sable.

"Y'all can't acoustic that fuckin' solo," Sable says, shaking her head and grinning even as the teenager takes a toke. "Naw, that's good, son. Y'all did that right. Fuckin' cough, that'll get y' higher faster. Shit's true." She gives him a nod. "Nice t' share one. Joint by yerself jus' makes y' feel lonely. 'n' stoned." She twangs on the guitar, and warbles in an impromptu melody, "~Lonely and stoned~"

A flash of a grin up at Devon. "Y'all gave me two bucks. That's worth 't least another song. Come on. Think 'f one that'll sound good simple-like."

Devon responds to the little melody with a laugh and a hurriedly covered cough. Right into the crook of his arm. But he relents and takes another hit. As long as he can get up for work in the morning, it's all good.

The prompting for another song gets Devon shaking his head. "You play well enough that one song's worth two bucks. But…" And again, the boy offers the joint to Sable. "American Pie." Easy enough, and all guitar.

"Oh, now th' boy's a flatterer," Sable says, smirking crookedly, "that or a true appreciator. I'll jus'… assume th' latter. Seein' as yer a payin' customer 'n' all."

A long long time ago - I can still remember how - that music used to make me smile, and I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance and maybe they'd be happy for a while. But February made me shiver with every paper I'd deliver, bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step. I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride, but something touched me deep inside… the day the music died.

Her voice is a little husky, and properly mournful, her guitar doing its best to handle the piano chords it must mimic. It's a soft, sweet, minimal piece. A good choice, and Sable looks like she's getting into it.

The latter, for sure. While the boy's an actor in his own mind, he's got some taste in music. Devon cracks out a smile, enjoying the simple complexity of the song. He takes a couple of steps closer to the wall, leaning so that he's half sitting against the wall. He glances tilts his head back slightly, enough to look toward the sky, while listening to the first verse. Come the the chorus, he's joining in.

So, bye bye Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry- Them good ol' boys were drinking whisky and rye, singing.. This'll be the day that I die- This'll be the day that I die..

Dev's voice, not truly a singer, isn't too terrible. It adds a softer tone, his accompaniment an unconcious gesture and quietly added. Like a memory to the music Sable artfully provides.

Sable tilts her head, cracking a half smile at Devon as he kicks back and pitches in. She doesn't seem to mind the accompaniment. Music is a communal thing, even if she is the star, at least in her loony little head.

Did you write the Book of Love, and do you have faith in God above, if the Bible tells you so? Do you believe in rock n' roll? Can music save your mortal soul?

Somehow Sable had almost forgotten about this piece, though she knows it by heart. Each verse, and there are many, delineating in gentle poetic the ethos of a time both beautiful and sad, is found anew by Sable as she remembers it.

It's pretty groovy.

And can you teach me how to dance real slow?—

One hand goes to a coat pocket, a leg crosses over the other. And somewhere Devon catches the look from Sable. He gives a shake of his head as though laughing at himself, though the boy keeps right on in time. It's all good, as far as the actor is concerned.

Well, I know that you're in love with him, 'cause I saw you dancing in the gym. You both kicked off your shoes- man, I dig those rhythm and blues.

Now this is a way to spend an evening. The cold forgotten, lost somewhere between two bucks, a joint, and a classic song.

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