The Luck Of The Irish...


cat_icon.gif quinn_icon.gif

Scene Title The Luck Of The Irish…
Synopsis … is what Robyn Quinn has when she goes Cat-hunting.
Date July 25, 2010

The Rock Cellar

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!

The Rock Cellar. Quinn wasn't particularly sure how she hadn't heard of the place, especially with a name like that. Or maybe she had, and forgetful as she always is, it had simply completely escaped her mind. Just like it kinda had when she'd actually met Cat that Sable had mentioned her not hours before, in the middle of her rant about forming a label and standing up in the face of challenges and making music. Which had been fairly inspiring, but totally easy for Quinn to lose the details in.

It wasn't until she'd found a note made that tired morning with Cat's name and the address of The Rock Cellar last night that she remembered, and proceeded to kinda maybe put two and two together. She hoped, at least.

Walking down the street from where she'd parked her scooter brought her very quickly to where the establishment was meant to be - and there was an excited gleam in Quinn's eye at the prospect of discovering a new club, as well as getting to talk to Cat again. It took her a moment of looking around, but when she found the steps down to the basement of 14 East 4th street, a wide smile crossed her face. Slow paces are made down the steps, staring at a sigh with wording written in big black letters. "For those about t' Rock, huh?" she reads out loud, an amused tone in her voice. "It says that like there's people who aren't!"

Laughing at her her own joke, the class doors are pushed open, and almost immediately Quinn is assaulted by an array of new visual information. The dim lighting, the stage, the bars - everything Quinn could hope for in a good bar, and as her eyes settle on the podium in front of her, already fishing into her messanger bag for her ID. If anything, she was sure there were no problem. She did, after all, love Rock and Roll.

ID presented, she slips into the establishment proper, still looking around with a smile on her face. She was certainly going to have to look into playing here sometime, with or without the rest of the band.

It could be said, at least for this particular excursion, Robyn Quinn has the luck of the Irish. It's early, perhaps 11:43 when the arrival occurs, and as such there's not many people within. Bars are staffed, and two servers work the floor. The chef is on duty, this much can be seen by the fact of scattered people enjoying lunch or perusing menus. The sound system provides music in keeping with the signs she's read on the way in; as Quinn's Irish luck would have it the moment of her entry coincides with Ronnie James Dio's voice singing the very lyrics on that podium.

But the more proper luck of the Irish is manifested by who searching eyes discover. Along a wall, at a table partly in shadows which affords a good view of the entire place, is perhaps Robyn Quinn's polar opposite. Cat never forgets.

Quinn smile widens as she listens to the music, linger a bit as she steps past the podium, attempting to absorb much as much of Dio's sound and lyrics as possible - it wasn't her favourite choice, personally, but certainly a quite good one.

It takes her a moment to spot Cat through the dim lighting and her own quick searching, but when she does, she waves at the woman, face positively beaming as she begins her approach towards her. Lacking pockets in her bright yellow skirt, once she shifts the headphones around her neck into a more comfortable position she lets her hands fall to her side. "Heya!" she exclaims happily over the music, giving another small wave. "Robyn Quinn! We met on the roof a' Gun Hill, remem-' Quinn pauses half sentence, head tilting as she remembers what Cat told her. "Welll, um. I guess that's a silly question…" she says, laughing sheepishly.

The sighted woman, once approached, is found to have food before her. Steak and mushrooms, baked potato, each about halfway through consumption. Near one hand is a pint of dark beverage with a thick creamy head, probably identifiable on sight by an Irishwoman. Off to the side is a copy of the Sunday New York Times. Increased content given the day of the week has extended such pursuits past the time they normally take.

"I remember," she remarks with a mild grin as one hand gestures to an empty seat. "You found the place, and me, so I can only imagine I've been talked about."

Seeing that Cat's in the middle of lunch, Quinn laughs nervously once more. "Oh! I'm sorry, I'm… not interrupting, am I?" she inquires, looking at the food - maybe she should get some herself why she was here, she hadn't eaten yet today. "Well, um- yeah, actually. A friend a' mine mentioned you an' this place the other day, an' I kinda forgot until I got back in town the other day." Quinn turns around looking back over the establishment. "This place, by the by? Totally awesome. I can't believe I've never been here before!"

Turning back to Cat, she shrugs. "Anyway… I was hoping t' talk to you about some music related stuff? Not quite what my friend wanted me to, but… yeah."

"Not at all," Cat tells her, as eyes settle on one of the servers and a hand gesture draws her over to inquire of Quinn's desires for food and drink or the lack thereof. "And I'm happy you like the Cellar. You're a smart woman," she goes on to say, "it isn't surprising you added things up. You've probably also come to understand things about some of the people around you, and may have gotten the feeling I was there on the roof for a reason, to check you out."

After having put that out there, though, Cat seques to the topic of music. "I'm rarely opposed to discussing music."

Seeing Cat motion for the servers, Quinn slips into the booth across from Cat, giving her an excited look - a look that becomes uncharacteristically stoic once Cat continues speaking. Quirking her lips, she glances off to the side. "I had a feeling," she says quietly, pausing to give an order for a simple hamburger and a water to the sever. Eyes focus on Cat, ehad tilting. "An' I heard things t' that effect." If anything, her stoic manner betrays her lack of surprise or emotion on the topic, which might seem off to some. "I had, um… no idea you were there to check me out, though. Not for, like, anythin' like that." That, however, does have a bit of surprise in it. "I thought you were just an awesome musician who either lived in the buildin' or knew someone…" She coughs, looking off to the side again. "An' honestly, that's not what I was here about."

Quinn's order is written down by the friendly server who departs once her task is complete. "Oh, I know people," Cat replies with a mild grin forming, "and you're in if you want to be. But we can discuss that later. You've got musical affairs in mind, so out with it."

Having so spoken, Cat turns attention to the glass near her hand and imbibes from it. Her food, for the moment, is left alone, the choice made not to continue until Quinn has her own.

Quinn blinks, not sure which way to go with the informal slipping aside of the topic. But, if it's going to come later, than she's willing to live with that. "Well, if you know people there, you should come by more often!" Quinn replies, reforming a half smile. "That jam was quite fun. Even despite bein' in what's supposed t' be a band, I don't get t' jam too often." She sits up a bit straighter, smiling at Cat. "Which was kinda what I wanted t' talk about. One a' the people in the band, Sable - who, um, I guess you know, she wants t' start a label and do demos an' the like. Which I think is a fine idea but-" she pauses, shaking her head.

"Anyway, I was wonderin' if you knew anythin' about that kind of thing. Or a good place t' record, because I don't even have a mixer for the mini-studio I was makin', much less room t' really accommodate anyone besides m'self."

The grin widens and shifts into a smile as Quinn speaks, Cat forming a plan in her mind. "I think I can find a place to record," she remarks, "and put some effort behind a label. I'll take you there after you eat, it's not far from here. Not far at all." The glass is lifted again, contents partaken of briefly, and set back on the table. A napkin from her lap is produced and used to clear traces of the foamy head on her lips.

"It'd been a long time since I played with anyone else," she relates with the smile slipping away some, "I once myself had thoughts of starting a band. Did a solo act for a few months at The Surly Wench when I arrived in the city almost two years back. Life took unexpected turns, and I had things to do, but the desire to live onstage is still with me." Her eyes, in speaking of this, take on a bit of a haunted quality.

Quinn gives a few quiet nods as an initial response to Cat, beaming at her first reply. "That'd be really cool. It's been quite a long time since I was in a real studio, an' if you know of a good one then I'm really lookin' forward t' that. I wouldn't stress the label thing too much just yet, though. It's a band still in it's infancy. We don't even have a name or real style yet. Still tryin' to mold together three people who are int' indie rock, classic rock, and prog rock. It's… interesting." Quinn laughs as she speaks, shaking her head.

When Cat continues, her expression downturns just a bit, head tilting. "You know, if you ever want t' jam, you can give me a call. I love playin' with other people. It's one a' my favourite things t' do, even." She smirks, leaning back more casually in her seat. "There's a stage right there, even. If you ever want t' get together for a set, that sounds pretty damn fun t' me." She speaks casually, but there's still a very serious tone to her voice. "An' I mean that. I'd love t' play with you sometime. I don't think there's such a thing as too much music in life."

"You know what the Village used to be," the panmnesiac remarks wistfully, "before the city was nuked. Part of the goal to this building is working to get that back, or at least some of it. I even wrote it into the name. I haven't been able to do much on that front, beyond the Cellar here, and providing decent affordable apartments in part of the place, but the goal is never abandoned. Some things just take time and patience. I assure you, we'll play together. Don't doubt that."

Here the other part of Cat's agenda resurfaces, after that server returns with Quinn's food and water. She places it on the table and does the customary server thing, asking if anything else is needed and ensuring happiness before going on her way.

"Most of the organization you've found your way to is sheltering people who need it, helping them evade registration, keeping them safe. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how important discretion is. There's more places than Gun Hill, and not everyone there is a shelteree. We're not going to bury you with information right off, most things will only come out if there's a need to know, but over time involvement will likely increase."

While observing the Irishwoman's reactions to what was just stated, Cat offers "Sorry to keep seguing back and forth between this and music, really, but there's time for both. Being with us doesn't mean you have no life outside what we do, it's a balancing act, much like our conversation."

With that said, she takes up her fork and returns to eating in a way that would make Emily Post proud.

Quinn seems content to simply listen, thanking the server once her food is brought, and taking a big bite out of her burger. But when Cat gets to the topic of discretion, Quinn can't hold back a chuckle and a shake of her head. "Lord, I wish Magnes could hear you," she intones quietly, before coughing, as if to attempt and try to cover up her comment.

"Gun Hill is… a safehouse, right," she says, looking down at her food - though her expression shows no signs of darkening. "I'll be more honest than I probably should. I… kinda have known for a bit. Like, a few days." Quinn sighs, shaking her head. "I was out of town for a week, but when I got back, a friend a' mine in the building… what's the phrase they always use on TV an' in spy movies? Oh, right. She kinda "read me in". Dropepd a bunch a' it in my lap so I'd understand why callin' the cops like I did the other week wasn't smart…"

Quinn drifts off as she takes another bite of her food, gaze moving off to the side. "An' my g- a close friend di dsomethin' similar sometime ago. Though she didn't name anythin' by name, and was rather vauge." Her gaze returns to Cat, shrugging. "So, yeah. I get discresion. That's not somethin' you have t' worry about with me.' With that she gives a nod, head tilting. "I love t' help people, Cat. I'll do whatever I can t' do so. If… this group is helping people who really need it, then I'd love t' do what I can. Balancing act or not. It's not like life isn't already, right?" She chuckles, shrugging.

The corners of her mouth quirk up, fork resting on the plate between bites so she can speak. "I know people and hear things," Cat remarks, not showing any manner of surprise about Quinn already having some knowledge. "Your friend who gave the first hints, she's British, right? That's the one who advanced the idea of bringing you on board." If she heard the remark about Mr. Varlane, there's nothing let on to show it. "The police aren't entirely bad," she allows, "but it's true we often don't want to draw their attention on us. Sending a stalker to prison for his crimes is a good thing, provided it happens according to the Constitution and it doesn't expose the innocent."

In using silence to give Quinn the floor and eat her food, Cat aims to synch up so both finish lunch around the same time, not hurrying.

Quinn isn't a particularly slow eater, and she's already a rather decent way into her burger, a large dent made into the fries that came with it. When Ygraine is addressed more directly, there's an audible gulp. She didn't want to really sell her out, but it looked like it wasn't something to worry about. "Aaah, yeah. That was her." Quinn replies between bites, quiet and nervous sounding.

"The police, like… I dunno. If I'd known about things ahead a' time, I probably would have gotten someone else in the buildin', instead of the cops. The last thing I want t' do is accidentally put anyone in danger. But I did really want t' get that soddin' bastard put away. Just wish-" She pauses, wrinkling her nose. "I wish I wasn't complaining to you," she says with another nervous laugh and a very meek shrug. "I will admit, though. Findin' out I was living in a safehouse was kinda… jarring. I still don't know why I was asked t' move in."

"Maybe because the other members of your band are there, and it makes getting together for practice and such easier," Cat opines. No commentary is made on Ygraine and the stalker. Nothing suggests she finds what was done by the Briton wrong. "I don't hear any complaining," she offers. "Just having a conversation over lunch." Which she goes back to, soon having her plate clear, then taking another drink from the glass.

"It's certainly convenient," Quinn admits with a smile and a shrug. "Though it wasn't a band member who asked me t' move in." Another big bite of her burger, and there's only one or two left, really. She looks up at Cat after a moment and afters a warm, grateful smile. "Fair 'nough," she says with a nod. Pausing to take a sip of her water, she shrugs again. "I'm not complainin' about that, at least. I really do love it at Gun Hill, despite some… rather big oddities. It was just a little weird." She falls silent again for a moment, shifting a bit in her seat. "I'm glad that you all trust me enough t' bring me in on this."

Smirking, she then takes a cue from Cat, and her comment about balancing the conversation. "So, you said you used t' do solo sets? That's pretty cool. I've done that a few times, but never, like… regularly. And not in a few years. What kinda music did you do? I figure acoustic, but, like… indie? Folk?"

"It was a punk bar," Cat replies with a chuckle. "The Surly Wench is a rough place. I did this thing where I wore all black and prowled the stage like a panther while playing. My own tastes are for the wider cornucopia of rock, with a heavy leaning on classics. To me, the writing just had a certain quality that's diminished in newer tunes." The contents of her glass are emptied in due course.

"Ah, right!" Quinn replies with a nod. "I've never actually been to the Surly Wench. T' be truthful, I try t' be tolerant of all music, but old school punk - not the pop punk and the like that passes for it these days - classic punk has never quite endeared itself t' me like it has most people I know." She chuckles after finishing the last bit of her burger, turning attention to the many fries remaining. "You sound like Sable," she notes, with a smile, "About the quality of writin' and all that. I do love classic rock, with all my heart. But I guess I'm a bit of the opposite. There's just such a charm t' modern indie an' alternative rock."

"I've a taste for pieces that combine classical and metal, like Metallica's done, among others," Cat remarks. She glances at the plate of fries and the water, then rises from her seat. "Bring those with you," the proprietess encourages as she snags a bottle of Heinz from the table in case it's needed. "I'll get the plate back later." That said, she's headed toward the street door and out.

"Oh, you know, I've listened t' a bit of that recently," Quinn remarks, looking down at her plate of fries as she instructed to take it with her - that seems a little odd, but she's not entirely one to argue. Taking a sip of her water, she grabs the plate and holds it close, eating fries between words and sentences. "Not somethin' I'm particularly knowledgeable about, or listen to a ton of, but I got int' it after gettin' a recent Sarah Brightman album, of all things. Some right talented singers doin' those kinds of songs."

The Verb, Recording Studio

Studio A is spacious and bright, with dramatic views to the north and east along Lafayette and 4th streets. The abundance of natural light provides our clients with a relaxing environment in which to work. This tracking and mixing room features a 72 input SSL 9000J series console and a ProTools HD 3 Accell system.

Studio B is a perfect vocal tracking, overdub and production facility. This wing features a comfortable control room with a Yamaha DM 2000 console and Protools HD 3 Accell system as well as an intimate live room, ideal for both vocals and instrumentals. In keeping with the atmosphere throughout our facility, both our B control and live rooms have plenty of natural light with views of east Manhattan. A separate lounge adjacent to the studio rooms provides a place to relax while maintaining our clients' complete privacy from the rest of the studio.

Studio C is a production and writing room.

She leads Quinn out to the street and through the glass doors of the Verb lobby, producing a keycard and keys on the way to the left side's elevator which are used to open the panel and reveal the buttons for floors above three. Within a handful of minutes they've reached the fifth floor; the doors open with the customary 'ding' tone and reveal the recording studio. Cat chooses to let the Irishwoman exit ahead of her. No commentary is made, she simply waits for the reaction.

Quinn follows quietly behind Cat, a smile on her face as she plucks fries up from the plate while she walks. A curious expression is painted across her face as she walks behind the other woman. By the time they enter the elevator, the plate is nearly finished, and by the time it stops, there's only a few stragglers left. All thoughts of food leave her once the elevator doors slide open, Quinn's eyes widening as she looks up from the plate.

"Holy shit."

She takes a cautious step out, a glance back at Cat before she continues. "Jesus, you weren't kiddin', were you? I can't remember the last time I saw somethin' this nice. Puts the hole in wall I used t' go to back in Boston t' total feckin' shame…"

"This was an active studio before 2007," Cat remarks as she emerges to watch Quinn react, "the place was abandoned. I got the building refurbished and restored this area. Walk around, check the place out. When it's in full operation this would be the reception area." In addition to the recording equipment, there are a number of instruments including a piano.

"I wonder how I never heard a' these places…" Quinn trails off as she peers in glass, making her way around the room. Eyes drift to instruments, lingering into what could be considered a stare. "Though I guess I was preoccupied most a' that year anyway. You're doin' a service gettin' this place up and runnin' again, you know." A hand runs gently and reverently across the piano, a smile on her face. "This is amazin', Cat."

"Yes," Cat agrees, "it is." Quinn is trailed as she explores and arrives at the piano inside the area dubbed Studio A. "Play it if you like," she invites. "I've been trying to find the right person for some time, someone to manage the operation. That's been the most elusive thing, really. I'm allergic to being corporate, chaining myself to an office."

A grin is flashed as she approaches a guitar and contemplates picking it up, holding back to let her guest have the musical spotlight.

"Really?" Quinn looks back over at Cat and blinks, before turning to the piano with a wide smile. She has no hesitation about plopping down in front of it, knuckles cracked theatrically. There's a few lingering moments before she begins to play - the piece is of moderate tempo, upbeat and poppy, like it's a component in a modern pop or rock song. Quinn makes no show of her playing, no unusual swaying or exaggerated motions. She simply concentrates in playing, something she does well. She never seems to lose pace, though she does hit a wrong note two noticeable times over the course of her playing.

No speech detracts from the performance embarked on, nor does the sound of guitar joining in. Cat places her back against a wall and watches while listening. The tune produced is compared against that impressive memory of recorded music to determine if it's something previously existing or an original, perhaps even an improv piece.

Mischievously, she even ponders slipping into the control room and recording it.
Quinn has reconnected.

Normally, this is about where Quinn would begin to sing along, even if she hadn't been so far, but for the moment, she's oddly restrained in that department, eyes closed as fingers take to keys. Despite the lack of emotive motion, it's clear that she's into the moment heart and soul, if only by the focus she gives to her playing, and the smile on her face.

The playing does slow after several minutes, tempo coming to a slow stop as the song comes to an end. Quinn exhales sharply, nodding as she leans back from the keys. "God, it always feels so nice t' play. Thanks, Cat, I needed that." Granted, she could have just played when she got home, but that didn't change the point any.

Silence doesn't last long, Cat's feet taking her back to the guitar when Quinn's tune ends. The strap goes over her shoulder, fingers settle on strings and frets followed by a moment's thought to make a selection, then the lead is plugged into an amp. Next the instrument is manipulated in a playful riff before Cat gets serious.

Her features show a complete focus, nimble digits work the guitar skillfully to produce Eruption from the first Van Halen album. While doing so, she demonstrates the prowling panther emulation from her stage act spoken of earlier. As if there were an audience of more than one present, she makes eye contact where people would be around Quinn and Quinn herself. Silent snarling accompanies the performance in a display of fierceness.

Quinn is quick to turn so she can watch Cat, knowing almost exactly what Cat is going to do the minute she sees her push from the wall. Sitting on the edge of the piano bench, she watches Cat with rapt attention. Her chin sits in her palms, elbows on her knees as she leans forward. A smile adornes her face, head… not quite bobbing, but not entirely still. She doesn't recognise the song at first, Van Halen isn't one of the classic rock arts she's intimately familiar with.

An instrumental piece, Eruption is short and leads into a cover of the Kinks' You Really Got Me on that first VH album. Cat considers doing the same, but when the time comes she seamlessly slides into the first track with her voice adding to the mix. Soprano in pitch, perhaps reminiscent of Joan Jett, Pat Benatar, or Ann Wilson.

I live my life like there's no tomorrow

All I got, I had to steal

Least I don't need to beg or borrow

Yes, I'm livin' at a pace that kills!

Oooh, yeah

Runnin' with the devil

Runnin' with the devil

I'm gonna tell you all about it

Quinn looks caught by surprise when Cat erupts into vocals, feeling a bit rueful about having not indulged herself several moments. Like the one before it, she isn't too terribly familiar, and to her ears it almost seems like the two are meant to go together. Her foot's tapping along, eyes scanning around the room every few moments, wishing she could play along. She grins as she listens, after several moments rising up to her feet, rocking back and forth on her heels as she listens.

In total, the display is about five minutes long. At conclusion Cat's fingers go still and she moves to occupy a seat, the fierce pantheresque snarling expressions also terminated. Hands gather her hair back into a ponytail which she secures by a piece of dark elastic pulled from a pocket. Eyes regard Quinn for some moments as she seemingly thinks of what to do next, then decides to both test her knowledge of songs and provide a piece for both instruments. It's quieter than her first offering, and hopefully far more familiar to the Irish one. They could even trade off singing the segments.

I read the news today, oh boy

About a lucky man who made the grade

And though the news was rather sad

I just had to laugh

I saw the photograph

Quinn gives a very brief clap as Cat ends, still smiling. With no words offer to her, though, she hesitates before saying anything in response, instead watching Cat intently as she takes her seat, wondering what's next, taking measure to mirror her by singing back at the piano bench. She doesn't seem as surprised this time when Cat begins singing, and once she begins singing, Quinn's face lights up, almost instantly recognising the song - and Beatles songs were one thing she was no slouch at playing. Spinning around in her seat, she lays her fingers on the keys and waits for an opportune moment before she can enter, even taking the vocal cue and beginning to sing. Her voice is slightly lower than cats, a quality in it that puts it closer to more modern singers like Allison Sudol or Lisa Hannigan.

He blew his mind out in a car

He didn't notice that the lights had changed

A crowd of people stood and stared

They'd seen his face before

Nobody was really sure

If he was from the House of Lords.

When the moment comes, Cat takes up the next lyrical segment. She isn't doing the snarling expression or the pantheresque prowl with this tune, as it doesn't fit at all. Instead she remains seated, fingers working strings and frets as she watches Quinn. Nods of encouragement and appreciation are given, communicating the impression she has of collaborating well.

I saw a film today, oh boy,

The US Army had just won the war

A crowd of people turned away

But I just had to look

Having read the book

I'd love to turn you on

Here she's caused to adapt the tune on the fly, not so much able to make the crescendo in standard fashion with just a guitar, hoping Quinn has the same thought on her end.

Quinn's playing is much like before, subdued but not emotionless, letting Cat carry her part of the vocals without a peep. This time, her eyes are open, looking over to Cat with a smile as she sings. Fingers dance up and down keys, and when the time for the crescendo normally found in teh song comes, at first, Quinn continues to play as normal, taking to keys harder in an effect to mimic the crescendo.

But as Cat begins to improvise, she blinks, attention turned back to the piano. She exhales and closes her eyes, attempting to follow suit - improvisation was not her strongest suit, but she was certainly willing to give it a shot. It doesn't sound as smooth as she likes as she plays, and in fact she grimaces a few times. But she keeps at it regardless.

A mental note is made to do things differently at conclusion of the second half, to leave things where Quinn can conclude with a single multi-key chord stroke. Cat's playing goes on, leaving the resumed lyrics about waking up and falling out of bed to her. Her voice returns for the segment about holes in Blackburn, Lancashire and how many it takes to fill the Albert Hall.

As the end approaches, she works the guitar to better match Quinn's method of matching the building sound and suddenly stops, leaving the dramatic final note for piano alone.

Quickly building up the volume of her playing, Quinn doesn't even notice when the guitar drops out and her fingers come down hard on the keys, striking out that final note at a level that creates dissonance mingled in amongst the lingering sound of the guitar and the clear ringing of the keys. She lets the sound taper off a bit before improvising a quick series of notes and another hard end, and with that she leans back and exhales excitedly.

Hands withdraw from keys into her lap, looking over to Cat with a nod. "Now there's somethin' I know right well. Love the Beatles quite a bit. My favourite song a' theres t' play is Let It Be, personally." She lets her hands find the keys again, but she doesn't start to play anything. "That was a lot a' fun. Like I said, I don't really get t' jam or play with people terribly often."

"When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary…" Cat sings under her breath and trails off, turning her attention to the Irishwoman. "It was." She slides the guitar strap off and sets the instrument down, then goes back to her seat. "Take a walk and check out the rest of the place. I'll set it up so you can bring Sable and the others by any time, we can keep the legal stuff about the record label simple."

"Singing words of wisdom, let it be…" Quinn adds with a smile and a nod, and then a bit of a look of surprise. "You'd really do that?" she asks - she knows, maybe she shouldn't be that surprised, and yet she is. Any time access to a studio is a pretty big deal to her. Even as she waits for a response, she wanders back out into the main room, beginning to wander around again, looking into the other two studios wwith curiosity on her face.

"Really, we're not even a full band yet. We still need a drummer. The most we've got for now is the fact that I have a synthesiser and a sequencer, so we have a makeshift drum machine." She turns back and shrugs. "Sable mentioned hiring a session drummer, if nothing else."

"That's doable," Cat replies, "this is New York. No shortage of aspiring musicians here. In any case, there'll be room for you when and if you're ready. Even before, to work on the sound and experiment. The main goal is to foster good musicians and music."

But there's a string attached, stated with a smile. "Provided they rock."

Quinn chuckles, nodding in reply. "I don't think that'll be an issue at all," she replies with a wry grin. "I'd love t' come by here sometime myself. I.. like t' do solo stuff too, an' I'm teaching someone violin so we can do something together sometime soon…" she drifts off, clearly considering the possibilities. "You know, if you'll allow it," she says with a shrug.

Stepping back into the studio with Cat, Quinn takes her seat back at the piano bench. A more serious expression fits on her face, wrinkling her nose at the other musician. "I meant what I said earlier, about bein' willing t' do what I can t' help. You know, with the Ferry." Being out of public as they are now, she feels more comfortable calling it by name. "Not t' pull things down or anything. I just, like… wanted t' be clear."

She nods understanding. "Got it, Quinn," Cat replies. "We're good on that front." From there, setting business aside, she moves to slide the guitar back over her shoulders and spend more time engaging in musical activity whereby they can each test the other by playing both older and newer music within the rock genre.

She might even try getting Robyn Q to make an impromptu lightshow.

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