Scenario Entitled: And The Band Played OnCharacters:
Gareth, dressin' snappy and cruisin' for chicks, bay-bee.
Rooke, amateur musician in the concert line-up.
Lorelei, (NPC) friend of Lake scooping things out.
Rockhound, geologist, dubious electrician, and... music critic?
Hiro, a cameo appearance.
Merle, a cameo appearance.
Ryan, a cameo appearance.
Location: Freedom Plaza, The Band Shell
Date: Ninevus 26th, 109 P.A.
Gareth directs his course towards the bandshell. While he has doubts over whether the musical entertainment will suit his tastes, there will be no better way to show off his new splendid digs. Maybe he can pick up a few young woman of adequate intelligence before the night is through. It seems all but a certainty to him as he gives his crotch a small squeeze and tug, making sure everything is aligned properly. The chicks will be on him like flies to excrement. Oh yes, he thinks he's that damn magnetic tonight.
Loralei shuffles her way through a small crowd, not being entirely pushy as she attempts to move towards the bandshell herself. She stops for a moment to catch her bearings, noting the auditorium display with a short blink or two before she starts on her way again. Despite seeming in a pleasant mood, there's a certain determination relayed in her movements and her actions. She's on a mission on this eve... that, or she really is just a pushy broad.
"Gareth!" Fly Numero Uno, if one /must/ use that particular bit of imagery, is Rooke, dressed much less carefully but sporting a truckload of energy and a highly tensile precision to her movements. Leaning back against the railing at the head of one of the wide staircases, she holds a tin of something hot and steamy on one hand, and waves in his direction with the other. If the crowds part just /so/, she should be plainly visible in a couple of seconds or so.
Gareth swaggers about in style. One false move and he'll have two broken ankles. A big stupid and smarmy grin is plastered on his face as he eyes this person and that. Leering at the attractive females and mentally sizing up the occasional male that crosses his field of vision. Bah, they certainly don't have the kind of plummage he's sporting tonight. And then, like magic, the crowd becomes less a wall and more like a shoddy shrub of moving figures, and Rooke becomes visible of course. He grins wider and he puts his head in danger of splitting in two. "Aye...Rooke!" He moves himself in her direction.
Loralei pulls uncomfortably at the sleeve of a leather jacket that she has on at the moment. She looks just a bit irritated by something as she glances around yet again. Were she one to know who Gareth was, the name might mean enough to get her attention. As it is, it's just another random shout in the crowd. She turns to resume moving towards the front of the area again, pulling the jacket closed tighter as she lets her eyes scan along as much of the auditorium front as she can.
Rooke sips from her cup carefully, so as not to dribble on her glittery stage make-up, then places her free hand on the railing behind her and hefts herself bodily upwards and onto the bar, gaining a foot or so of added height and a great way to break her neck, should she topple backwards into the sunken bleachers. Somehow, she manages to maintain an unlikely balance. Her eyes remain on the spot Gareth occupies, appraising him curiously and with a hint of uncertainty. The latter clears when he's past most of the moving bodies, and she almost laughs out loud. "I wasn't sure it was you! Look at you, Gareth. You... your hair.. your... duds.." She quiets, drink tin moving down to rest against her upper thigh. "You look like a prince," she concludes simply. Or a really slick drug-dealer, she fails to add.
Gareth beams and feels his already out of control ego go up another notch. When he's close enough for a conversation he spreads his arms out wide. He does a little twirl, nearly swatting a few people in the process and halts his a little chortle. "Aye! I be'a fat cat, S'truth. A prince'o man." He runs some of his thick fingers along his hair lightly. "Me imagine be take'n a wee bit'o a 'oop-grade. Time ta git tha clothes ta match tha man. A very suck-sessful busy-ness man, S'truth. Can't be'a loaf'ah fer too long. Gots'tah look tha part in dealings'n whatnot." He squints and gives Rooke a once over. "Yew look'tah be sport'n some easy doods'n ready tah 'ang-oot all nighty-wighty with tha party crowd."
Loralei frowns softly, giving a few anxious glances around as she notes the current state of the crowd. She grumbles something about wishing she were earlier, then grinds her heel into the ground as she tries to figure out what a good course of action would be. Her head perks up as she notes the rather dapper Gareth twirling around and clearing some space around him. Maybe this guy will know where to find good seating. When in doubt, ask the tallest guy around. So she's not good with her cliches. But at least she doesn't have to worry about him trying to pick her up, she figures. He's already talking to his girlfriend. Loralei starts to make her way towards the pair, not realizing just how in need she is of a pair of reality glasses.
Down in the stage area, someone plucks out a ringing guitar chord, and is answered by the deeper tones of a bass. The singular sounds drift easily over the low roar of the audience. The stairways become littered with people returning to their seats after a trip to the restroom setup in the marketplace, or a munchies run. Rooke shakes her head at Gareth, after taking a look over her shoulder at the progress onstage. "Those days are over for me, Gareth.. for now, anyway. I'm staying long enough to do my set, then it's off to bed." Her legs kick idly and dangerously, rocking her slightly back and forth over the bar. "I thought I'd just take the night off, but Master Tondol decided that we'd just train earlier in the day." She winces the last part, but doesn't look to be in any particular pain. "When are you gonna show me the locale of your new 'busy-ness', hum?"
Gareth places his gloved hands on his hips and cranes his head to the side. "Aye what?" He screws up his face and seems flabberghasted. "Yew must be joke'n. Who gives a bloody 'ell whut tha ol'bugg'ah thinks..'ave a ball, drink sum, dance sum'n an we kin 'ave sum fun, S'truth. If'n yew aren't careful, yew gunna 'ave sum sort'ah breakduwn. Gots'ah 'ave fun. B'sides, whut yew need ta be trained in? We 'ad a few tussels an I think yew did A-ok." She did better than that but he's not going to dredge up the past in too much detail. "I kin show yew real real soon. I just gots'ah make a few more deal'ns an tha place'z mine fer sum mooch needed enter-tain-ment." He winks, which momentarily blinds him completely.
Loralei struggles to make her way through the on coming surges of people, at one point managing to catch the proper eddy to get her closer to her goal. She takes a few tentative steps towards Gareth, giving him a childishly curious look for a few moments as he speaks. She moves up along what she thinks is out of his direct line of sight and waits until he's done speaking before she manages to actually address him. The fact that's it's just post wink is purely coincidental. "Excuse me, but are you...? I was looking for a good seat. But... you don't actually work here, do you? I don't know what I was thinking. You're just tall." That makes sense, doesn't it? She hmms softly, then peers back up to speak again. "You wouldn't know where any good seats would be, would you?" She turns to give Rooke a short glance, blinking a few times before dropping an innocently friendly wave in her direction.
Rooke mmmmmhs, giving Gareth a decisive nod-bob of her head. "All right." She looks down into her tin for a moment, then takes another sip, before addressing the other subject in his blusterings. "I already told you what he's training me for. And if you had any concern for your well-being, you'd take him more seriously when you meet him.... Greeny Joe likes him," she adds pointedly, then falls silent to look at the woman who, it turns out, is addressing him. Her gaze is blank; at this point, she's not sure what Loralei is talking about, having only tuned in halfway through. When the woman's needs becomes clear, Rooke just shifts her gaze to the side at Gareth, waiting for his answer to an arguably ridiculous question. It occurs to her that the woman is probably trying to hit on him. She raises her eyebrows in response to the wave, then inclines her head down in a slow acknowledging nod.
Gareth curls his lip at the confirmation from yet another person that Greeny actually likes this Tondol bastard. Loralei's question has him looking around to the source of the question. She didn't mean him did she? Of course she did. He is a very important and influencial person of course. The Goblin knows this and so he knows this. When he gets Loralei into his field of vision he starts sizing her up. He says to her, "Aye...I do be Gar-eth. Dunn'ah work 'ere. But...If I wuz yew, I wuldn't blame yew fer think'n I be in tha know." He taps the side of his nose and grins. "Think yew needed ta git 'ere a wee bit earlier for bett'ah seats, S'truth." My he's feeling swell.
Loralei frowns a little as Gareth points out the obvious, then nods softly. "Yeah, I know. But I had to get some things done before I got here, and... well, you don't want to hear about it." She smiles casually, then freezes for a moment before her eyes perk up. "Ga-reth? You're Gareth? The big guy that runs the gym down the way west?" She tilts her head back cautiously as she asks with a wry grin, "You seen any good videos lately? No, no... forget I said anything. He'd kill me..." She stifles a chuckle with her right hand, the sleeve of her jacket sliding back to accomodate freeing her hand.
Hiro walks tenatively down Freedom Way, each step carefully placed, his eyes in constant motion for his imaginary attackers. He fumbles around in his pockets for a blissful cigarette, and, finding none, is tempted to ask soemone for a spare... but his parinoia gets the better of him. He clears his throat and continues on, so far missing the hub of activity by the bandshell.
Upon a closer examination, Loralei's jacket, while generic, may appear just a little familiar. Then again, maybe it's just a popular style.
Entering from the west, a small man in a black trench-coat slowly makes his way through the ebb and flow of people in the marketplace.
A simple rhythm of drum beats heralds the start of the next band, five humans. The noise from the crowd lessens but not too much; they quite reasonably expect to be overpowered by the incoming sounds soon enough. As if attempting to do just that, the two guitarists start up their twanging electric melody, chords travelling up the scale, then downwards. The undertones of unmistakeable bass joins in the effort presently.
Rooke takes a last sip of her drink, then pushes off the railing one-handed to land closer to Gareth and Loralei with a slight cushioning of her knees. "I'm gonna head backstage now, Gareth. I'll see you soon," she informs the man. Loralei gets a brief, polite look, then Rooke's nudging her way to the stairs, and trotting down the steps.
Rockhound, catching a glimpse of Rooke, pushes through the flowing masses to reach her, but after going only a few steps, decides better of it after yesterday's electrical fiasco.
Gareth purses his lips as he listens intently to Loralei. It helps that she recognizes him and has heard of him. An excellent way of keeping his interest, because his interests are mainly in himself. "Aye, one'n tha same, S'truth. Me busy-ness rep-yew-tation pre-ceeds me han'some self." He chortles merrily and silently hopes she's talking about a certain kind of video. "Aye, yew'n me shud exchange sum bloody gud vid-eo notes, S'truth. Sunds bloody sauce'ah." One track mind all the way baby. Rooke's necessity to leave adds some displeasure to his quite happy state. He calls out to her departing figure with some words of encouragement, "Aye...Break'an egg!"
Loralei listens to Gareth's response in a quiet, watchful fashion. She tilts her head to the side as Rooke descends and departs, lifting her hand to make another short wave which probably couldn't be seen. Gareth's words of encouragement force another chuckle as she mutters out, "...egg..." then shakes her head dismissively. She turns to glance back up at Gareth again, smiling as she notes, "Lake never said you were /this/ tall. Wow. How's the weather up there?"
Rockhound is suddenly accosted by a young dbee selling "I *heart* Harvest Festival" buttons. After parting with a few credits, he leaves the young girl behind - one festival button richer.
Suddenly, the concert catches Hiro's attention. A number of ideas run through his twisted brain, settling on the emotions of shock, curiosity, and overwhelming parinoia. He backs slowly away from the far-off gathering, suddenly finding the nerve to stop someone on the street. "Whats going on?" he cries in a frightened voice. The startled pedestrian gasps and breaks away from the Oriental's grasp.
"Un-tame my brain," calls the small, bleached-blonde singer in her childlike voice. She gives each syllable about an equal measure of attention, notes ascending one register before dropping one tone on the fourth. "Give me a name.." On either side, the guitars track her, chasing her words into shorter statements. "Hear my faith, seal my fate.."
Rooke keeps up a steady pace down the steps, head down. When she's reached the bottom of the auditorium, she circles around the edge of the stage and rounds the bandshell, disappearing out of view.
Gareth turns his attention back to Loralei, and interprets her smiling and chuckling to be an obvious form of attraction for his person. Heck, she's still here talking to him isn't she? That's evidence enough for his mindset. When she drops a familiar name into the conversation he's surprised. "Aye? Yew be famil-iar with tha fella? I 'ope Lake be say'n on'lah gud gud things bout me. Me'n Lake be gud gud buddies af'tah all, S'truth!" He takes a moment to compose himself and adds with a small secret smile and lack of tact, "Yew 'iz koochie-coo?"
Rockhound finally makes his way through the crowded marketplace. After swimming through the throngs of humanity, it feels good to be out in the (relative) open again. Setting his hat more firmly upon his head to block the bright mid-day sun, he approaches the top of the amphitheater.
Hiro face twists as he battles his own inner demons. "No," he grunts, speaking to himself. "Shut up."
Loralei repeats the phrase, "Koochie-coo?" Up to this point she had been content to listen properly and nod every now and then like she could really sort out every single word he said. A brief uncomfortable frown crosses her face before she finally just smiles again and shakes her head, "No, I'm not really that ticklish, myself. But don't go getting any ideas, mister." She waggles her finger at him in mock chiding, then observes casually. "But if that's not what you meant, well... no one's put a ring on my finger just yet. So, where are you sitting again?" Apparently, he still hasn't managed to frighten her off.
The band's sound is gentle enough to lull the older set in the audience, yet persists in its sulky, minor chords, attractive to the youth, a fair number of which are already fans of this stylishly-dressed quintet. Said youths begin to trickle down to the standing spaces before the stage, either to be closer to their musical idols, or to try and get in some active participation from the experience. The bolder ones start to dance, at first just shuffling their weight from side to side.
Whoops. Time to make like he actually meant to come here /and/ had a place reserved. Gareth yammers, "Aye, wuz sumplace duwn inn'ah seats. They be a wee bit small fer me though yew know? I might be tempted tah just take a peek from 'oop 'ere, S'truth." He surveys the crowded seating and frowns. "Bloody 'ell, there be a lot'ah blokes'n femmes duwn there already, S'truth. Might 'ave'tah settle with elbow room 'oop 'ere. I shud'ave brought me pit 'elmet. B'sides, I gots spen-deed vision with me peeper. Yew culd sit onn'ah 'andrail like Rookie. I culd make sure yew dunn'ah fall on yer caboose." He grins.
Finally, Hiro cracks. In one, sporatic motion, he turns and flees down the street, with tears welling up in his eyes.
The man in the black trench-coat finally makes his way to the top of the amphitheater. Well, at least it's close to the top of the amphitheater. Unfortunately, the man's diminutive frame prevents him from seeing around the enormous wall of a man standing in front of him. After being elbowed a few times by other people fighting for a space, he decides to "watch" the show from behind this giant, living sound-curtain. Oh well.
Loralei eyes the handrail like a kid at a candy store, her voice inflecting to match. "You think I could? I'm not going to get dragged off by security, am I?" Not that she sounds worried about that. And falling doesn't seem that major a concern, either. At least not so long as she continues to eye the railing. She stops for a moment to parrot Gareth again, "Rookie? You mean /that/ was Rooke del Reyhart?" There's more amazement than insult to her tone as she observes in a quieter tone, "I always thought she'd be taller..."
As the song begins to climb in intensity, the stage and much of the standing room beyond is glazed with colored light, which begins to change from chroma to chroma in a syncopated sequence. Oooh, neat. Faces upturned, the dancers are bathed in fluctuating light, their movements strobing in appearance. The floor beneath vibrates with each bass note through the numerous industrial-sized speakers placed around the bandshell.
Gareth makes the 'phhppt' raspberry sound with his tongue and flails a hand at the railing in question. "Bah, no bloke will come'n make yew trubble with me 'round 'ere, S'truth." A bold statement that he's most likely not willing to put to the test if there is actual security for this event. Especially the kind that know the right end of a neural mace or billyclub. He can't get his suit all messed up so early. "Jus't git yerself 'oop there'n enjoy yerself. Best rail'n inna 'ouse." He laughs at himself.
"Oh gods..." First to be stuck behind a walking blast-door, and then, to add insult to injury, to have to listen to him make clumsy passes at the woman who yesterday was frantically looking for her son. The trench-coated man hangs his head in his hands for a moment. At least the concert seems to be going well, at any rate.
Loralei stares a bit blankly for a moment, having been caught up in some deep thought or other. She makes an awkward nod at Gareth, then makes a move to climb the railing on her own. It's not something that she seems to have any major trouble with, though she stops halfway up to turn and glance back at Gareth with an inquisitve look. "Is she supposed to be performing tonight?"
Miss Bleached-Blonde up on stage has got a few moves in her petite frame. Gripping the microphone, she wriggles to the beat of her song, and struts to the edge of the stage to gaze down at her appreciative fans. She croons out the last words in a her sassy soprano, and manages to keep from falling into the pit despite the hands reaching out for her: "And when you breathe, you breathe for two.. and if you think you've finally found the perfect light, I hope it's true!" She skips back before one of her more adoring public manages to snag a hand around her heeled shoe. Without missing a beat, she continues, "You say you saw him laughing - I hope it's true! I'd like to see it happen - I hope it's true!" The stage mellows out to a fading blue, extending along with the decreasing tempo of the song. "'Cause.. I.. can.. feel.. it... I... hope... it's... true...." Her voice sighs out amid drawn out guitar whines and a sterling drum solo that finishes things off. But the echoes don't quite die away before the fans are screaming. Applause starts up a few moments later.
Gareth nods emphatically, his head bobbing up and down. "Aye, I think so...She 'ad tah go backstage'n stoof, S'truth." Oblivious to the poor fella behind him he places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. Manly posture in place he attempts to dig a little into his new acquaintance. Have to test the waters further before you get the really strong wooing-type dialogue. "Soooo, yew seem tah know a few things a-boot Tolkeen. Tha important stoof anywho...Like me-self. Yew been a long time resy-dent?" The applause from the concert goers has a distracting effect on Gareth and he casts his gaze towards the stage and offers some lazly claps. He'll holler like a bleating ox later on.
Ryan walks gloomily down Drake, turning onto Freedom, a withdrawn expression on his face. His eyes wander down the street to the bandshell; his destination, obviously. He walks alone, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and his hands in his pockets.
Rockhound offers a few half-hearted claps at the end of the song. Did he really come close to blowing himself up fixing those lights just for *this* concert? Funny, that Rooke person seemed more sophisticated. Frantically emotional, perhaps, but not the kind that would partake in a teeny-bopper concert. He starts to squeeze his way past the giant blocking his view, wondering whether it's actually going to be worth it.
Loralei purses her lips in a thoughtful manner as she says almost to herself, "She is? Maybe that's why..." The applause breaks up the thought, unless she actually did finish the sentence and just got drowned out. She's a little too busy bracing herself to participate in the clapping activity, not to mention distracted. "I think... I'd like to see her perform. It might be interesting." She manages to wriggle out of her funk and deliver another friendly smile to Gareth as she responds to him again, "Been here my whole life. As long as I can remember." She makes a careful swinging action on the railing to finish lifting herself up. Her dress shuffles around just enough to note a set of blue tights that peek out from under her boots. So much for getting free peeps.
The stage grounds remain awash in deep blue tones, though a spotlight does appear, slicing through the color to target the singer, who's re-hooked her mike, and bowing in a rather shy manner, in spite of her confident singer persona only moments earlier. The light moves to highlight each performer, before returning to the blonde, who waves, and steps forward to speak into the mike. "Thank you.. thanks a lot! We'll be back for another one later," she promises in her child's voice, even as she sidles away. The announcer appears at her side from the blueness. "The enchanting Fianne," he intones, needlessly pointing the singer out again, as she heads off into the enveloping blue light.
Applause swells again.. and maybe there are more than a few grumps in the crowd who didn't enjoy that set at all; you can't please everyone.. especially when they've got three sets of different ears, each with its own taste threshold. "Now give it up for some more of our local talent!" He glances off to the side, and then the spotlight dies on him. Whoops. Was that supposed to happen? The speakers hum, a deep, lulling sound. After a few moments, it builds into a bass undercurrent, lurking. Then, spider-like, a couple of guitars spin their thin, up-down melody in mid-range. A bit western in flavour, perhaps. The stage remains its darkish blue hue.
There's some polite but uncertain applause, that starts to die down when it sounds like there's actually some music (muzak?) starting up again.
Gareth feels someone trying to move up beside him and scowls. He does nothing to stop Rockhound from moving up, but he'll be damned if he gives any ground to him. Good manners are not his strong suit. He grunts and comments to Loralei, "Aye...tha be a long long time, S'truth. So...yew git 'oot mooch? Are yew mooch'o a nightlife femme and like tah 'ave fun?" Are you available? That non-voiced question is surprisingly absent. He directs his attention back to the stage where some strange new act may be beginning. Of course, It could only be a sound test.
Ryan listens to the bands playing, shaking his head gloomily. "She supports this shit, but won't even return my calls?..." he mumbles to himself as he draws nearer to the stage. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, and tosses it to the pavement and extinguishes it with a boot heel. "This is ridiculous."
With the hulking frame successfully defending its position at the railing, and feeling in no way inclined to actually argue with anyone about it, the trench-coated man stops his attempts to squeeze up to the railing. Oh, oh great. Cigarette smoke? Damn. *AH-CHOO* Eyes suddenly watering, he backs off and looks for a better spot.
Loralei glances back amidst the change in lighting (and mood?) to look at Gareth. She cups a hand a little to support the transfer of voice as she replies in s lightly hushed tone. "Between my son and the church, I don't get out that much. This is probably the most I've been out since..." Any other response has to wait longer, as she turns back stageward to note the state of things. Appreciative of the music or not, she doesn't want to miss anything too important. That would defeat the purpose of being there, after all.
The web-like patterns of electric strings builds, with the bass activity picking up underneath. Percussion thumps in after a few bars, but remains an underplayed presence. Viewers can now perceive a lightening in the blueness, and a gradual blending in of a brighter red, turning the stage a clear violet, and revealing a new individual on center stage. Except for her hands, which are occupied with the guitar strapped around her neck, she stands quite still, her face a collection of dark blue pockets and gleaming lavender planes. When the clarity has raised to mid-tone, her voice breaks through the speakers, low and warning, with a restrained spirit: "Someday soon, I don't know when.. your-little-world will come -cra-shing in." Her head inclines a bit to the side, leaning a bit closer to the mike. Two preformers to either side come in closer, one of them obviously alien in stature, gentlly accompanying the main thread. "Don't think twice. I'll be-around. Turn your back - someone's going to let-you, do-www-nn.." As the word-note soars, the lights brighten further, and yeah, it's Rooke, her grey eyes looking intently out into nothing, somewhere ahead of her. "You know that it's.. true. Nobody le-hhhh-d you on, they left-that to you-u. Now you'll be-alone when the sun, comes, up, with your tattered-little dreams, and a broken cup - Then you'll have to -trust- your-self, and don't believe in anymore, lies-s-s.." The accompaniment starts to swell in activity, the web expanding.
Gareth squints a little to try and make out the center figure. Thankfully the lighting intensifies and helps him identify her. "'Olly bloody 'ell...there she be, S'truth. Listen to 'er sing." He shuts his yap and listens to the song intently. It's rare at this moment that he doesn't let his mouth run on and on like there is no tomorrow, but then, it isn't every day that he hears Rooke perform.
Rockhound squeezes through the thronging crowd amid a flurry of paronds, sorrys, and excuse-mes. Though unable to see the stage at this point, the voice seems somewhat reminiscent of the disheveled lady whose lights he repaired. Upon reaching the relative vacuum of humanity between the marketplace and the amphitheater, he turns to listen to the performance, entertained by the interchange of lights upon the mild night mist.
Loralei props herself completely up onto the railing, sitting atop a section as she continues monitoring the stage. She shows no signs of breaking the code of silence as she quietly listens with slightly widened eyes. One of her legs swings absently back and forth, though anyone who actually managed to pay attention would note that it isn't to any rhythm currently being presented.
Waaaaay up on the upper girders to the stage curtains, a tiny green light which could just as well be part of the lights than anything else, dances and sways with the music and song. Naturally at such a height any humming which comes from the faerie Merle remains unheard. But dance she does, hips bipping and bopping in unadulterated enjoyment of the lights and sounds. For whatever reasons, she maintains a Herculean amount of restraint and stays politely out of the way of the show.
The second stanza sets into a decidedly funk sound, the long, lean D-Bee playing a tuneful, dominant while bathed in violet light is an eerie, but beautiful touch. The electric guitars are more of a syncopated touching of strings, like bright accents on the prowling bass. The percussion lays out a supporting rhythm, still holding back, but now more of a presence. For Rooke's part, an energy seems to pour out of her after that quiet, ominous beginning. As if to demonstrate such, the lights intensify, misting up the autumn night air indeed, and skating down her form as she aggresses the mike, the arch of her posture stretching and coiling, especially evident in the longer muscles of her bared lumbar region. The man on her right joins in on his mike for the harmonic blending of certain phrases, just as strong and a wee bit suggestive: "You-waste your -time-. Think too much. Really make-a-mess of the things you touch. Poor-little bird, with-a bro-ken -wing-. Better-look-around, now you know you're losing every-thiii-iing - it's-just a game. Thought you-had-it all-ll-ll lined up, but some-how, it's changed.." Rooke's gaze flickers every so often, striking out into certain parts of the audience, as she demonstrates her convictions in the lyrics with every subtle posture in her head, shoulders, and hips. "Now you'll have-to run, and-not get caught. And you'll have-to hide, if you like it or not. Then you'll have-to trust-your-self, and don't believe in any more lii-iies!" She and her backup rage the last words, voices scratching the speakers like a eagle talons across the sky.
Gareth presses himself closer to the handrail, as if a few inches would actually provide a better view from his position. He gets sucked into the performance, not so much by the music really, but by the familiar face that's front and center on the stage. He just can't help from yapping some. "S'truth...She purrty gud gud. Roight, yew kin tell she pract-ices. She gots'um lungs, S'truth." He raises a large sausage-sized finger to his ear and gives it a good cleaning. He knew he forgot to do something before leaving his apartment.
Surprised by the dominant progression (he had expected a diminished seventh, after the last stanza), Rockhound settles in to listen. Though he wonders how much of the distortion is caused by the speakers and how much of it is the singer's voice - what with being unable to see the stage, who could know? - he does decide that whoever it is either has an innate distrust in their soul, or (and this seems far more likely) is the most recent poster-child for the "woman-scorned" campaign.
The medium-sized standing crowd grouped in front of the stage seems to really be getting into the beat. The established tempo of the song is easy to follow and the group delivering it can definitely play. Sporatic arms are thrust into the air as hips sway and collective feet stamp about. The majority of the crowd seems to find the current outpouring of music and the effort put into it favorable.
Loralei swings her leg a bit slower, still not keeping with the current beat. Her head bobs a little at Gareth's commentary as she manages to utter a quiet, empty, "Yeah. Purty good." Her head ceases the bobbing, her eyes shifting to briefly note the crowd and the lighting before it tilts curiously to the side to regard the lead singer again.
In the guitar adlib that follows, Rooke and her on-stage companions hold a flirting conversation via instruments, feeling their own rhythm in a range-restrained, but definitely not motionless dance. The whole thing builds the way a dust devil can and will carry a scrap of paper spiralling upwards past building tops, higher than a lowly piece of pulp has any right to aspire to. Rooke and her backup return to their mikes, arcing back into the lyrics with a soaring, surprisingly clear call of wordless sound, then: "Some-day soon, and-it won't be long. You'll ring-the-bell, but-they'll all be-gone. They-took-your jewels, and-your statues too. Left-you-with-a-pile-of-things you-never learned how-to uu-oo-uuse - here it comes again," Rooke looks a bit feverish, unfocused, as she directs her gaze farther up, head low and shoulders back. She's coming to some sort of conclusion, and her strength remains in the passion-filled words, "You showed-us-where-it all-ll be-gan.. well -here's- where it -ends-!" She draws back a bit, throwing back her head to rid some sweat(?) from her vision, then gets back into it: "And you'll be alone when the sun - comes - up. Tattered little dreams, and a bro-ken cup. Then you'll have to trust your-self," the other man joins in fully now, "and don't believe in anymore, trust your-self.." They continue those phrases, voices building, until they finally come to the end: Lies! Yeah-yeah-yeah! Well, there had to be some affirmatives in the song somewhere. The instruments blitz, starting on the course to winding down the melody, while the coloured lights shift and burn.
Gareth bobs his head along with the beat subconsciously. His foot may be tapping as well. Good thing none of his buddies are here to conceal his motions from. It's not that he finds the music isn't good, but there usually has to be a few screaming chainsaw-wielding maniacs on stage at the same time to rank up there with his usual music tastes. Still, it's quite good. Perhaps it all boils down to someone he knows actually performing. And performing quite well it looks like. He grins and allows a whoop and a hooting bellow to escape his throat and disrupt his fellow neighbours. Nothing like a insufferable lout to add their opinion in the most base way possible.
With the light mist descending upon the raucous proceedings, Rockhound tightens his coat about his neck, turning the collar up. That band really isn't bad. Though they clearly have trust issues, he can't fault their performance. Smiling into the pulsing semi-darkness, with the penultimate cadence hanging in the air, he waits for the finale.
Loralei clamps tighter onto the railing with her hands, scrunching a section of her dress in the process. Her leg stops swinging, thus ending the futility of the motion as she blinks a bit amidst the lights. Gareth's sudden explosion of sound catches her completely off guard, and she jostles in a jumpy start that makes her take a few seconds to regain her balance. It's a good thing she was already gripping the rail so tightly.
There's a tuneful reminescing bout of the main melody in store, before the instrumentals finally stagger to a halt, and the backlights of the stage die slowly, while the frontal floods wash the foreground in white. Rooke breathes heavily, arms still in position around the guitar, though her hand pick-hand does hang limply from the wrist. Unable to see anything much through the blazing lights, she looks blindly out into the crowd, maybe smiling, maybe not, and accepts their overall reaction (whichever side that's on) with an edgy murmur into the mike: "Thanks...thanks, guys." She gestures first to one side, then the other, indicating the other musicians who are due much credit. Then she withdraws, as shadows once again creep over the stage.
Gareth raises his hands and smacks them violently against each other. Another loud barbarian ~yawp~ is offered with gusto from his nicotine/tar coated lungs. His face is screwed up into a look of unabashed glee, the sort you'd see on a kid receiving presents on his birthday. "Woooo!" More rampant clapping ensues from him. He's so jacked up, he might have to throw himself against a wall to calm down. Perhaps finally being off Batch-15 has given him a renewed vigor and enthusiasm of late.
With the last strum still fading into the night air, Rockhound joins in the general applause. Clapping formally for the performers, he rolls his eyes slightly at the general hooting and hollering coming from the majority of the patrons. A steady chorus/chant of, "Rooke, Rooke, Rooke..." fills the air, finally confirming his suspicious as to the identity of the performer. Allowing himself one small moment of flagrant boorishness, one that his mother would never have approved of, he shouts a singular, "Rooke!"
After looking around in short spurts for a few moments, Loralei catches on and releases her grip on the railing to make some polite clapping of her own. It picks up in enthusiasm before dropping back off into a simple clasping together of her hands. She eyes Gareth with a faint bemusement, then moves to slide off of the railing as she starts on her way back to the ground.
Despite the strange repetition of her name, Rooke only looks over her shoulder once with blind, bemused gratitude, and lets her comrades do the waving, before their retreat is cloaked in the blue back lights. In the lit foreground, MC bounds up to the center mike, to credit the band: Tortoise Shell, and featuring Random Acts' own Rooke del Reyhart. He allows a bit more audience reaction, then announces the next group before running off again, with cheery yellow/red tones splashing the stage. Well, this little musicfest sounds like it will keep going and going, like the Energizer Fury Beetle. Minus the rampaging, destructive force, of course.
Gareth claps until Rooke seems to have exited the stage and then turns to face Loralei who has just exited the handrail. "Aye...spen-deed." He brushes his hands against each other and wets his lips again. "Gunna 'ave-ta offer me con-grad-ulations to Rookie when I catch 'oop with 'er again...but I must be 'oof. Import'nt busy-ness ta deal with, S'truth. Mebbe we'll see each oth'ah a-gain sumtime...if yew kin ev'ah git 'oot a-gain." He offers a toothy grin.
With the applause slowly dying down to make way for the next performance, Rockhound cinches his waist-belt for the journey back to his apartment. As much as he'd like to find Rooke and offer his congratulations at the excellent performance, he needs to be back at the quarry in just over five hours to lay out the new excavation. Quietly pushing his way through the crowd, he heads west, with a mental note to congratulate Rooke the next time he sees her.
Loralei has once again preoccupied herself, this time with eyeing the stairwell that Rooke originally left from. Maybe she's still expecting some type of security to come after her. They like to wait until after you've done things sometimes. She blinks and looks back up at Gareth, generating a forced but still sincere smile. "Certainly. Of course. I have to get going myself. If I don't return this, someone's going to get pretty cranky..." She smirks and tugs at the bottom of the jacket with both hands. "Could you tell Rooke I said congrats, too? Not that she knows me, but I don't know that I'll actually run into her again..." She makes a short shrug, then offers a short wave of her hand as she backs away a few steps, then turns and heads off. She must not be one for long goodbyes.
Gareth offers a small wave and then busies himself with checking himself to see if anything was lifted during the concert. He'll wait around for a few minutes to see if Rooke shows and then have to hurry off to his arranged rendevouz with some seedy characters. Maybe there is still a chance to goose a female before he needs to leave.CREDITS: The lyrics in the musical performances were taken from the groups Belly ('Seal My Fate'), and Blue Rodeo ('Trust Yourself').
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