Coffee Shop Revolution

[Lynn Mills]

Finding a face to meet up at wasn’t the hard part. Finding some place that wasn’t Starbucks was.

But Lynn had managed to find a cozy little hole in the wall coffee joint and arranged a meeting between her, Jack, Kyle and Dez this afternoon; to see just how far they could go in getting a band together. She was the first to arrive, ordering something that was mostly chocolate and grabbing a comfortably battered armchair in the back corner of the shop, where their talking wouldn’t disturb anybody.

Glancing around, she approved of the décor; she had no clue what it had originally been, but now it was stripped down to bare brick, with reclaimed wood furniture and cheerfully mismatched chairs. It somehow managed an atmosphere of cozy eccentricity rather than being a grab bag of randomness.

With a contended sigh, Lynn curled up in her chair; fiddle at her feet and a notebook in her lap. Humming softly to herself, she started idly writing out melodies as she waited for the others to show up.

-1 glamour to Harden Mask

[Kyle Ferlen]

A youngish man in khaki shorts and a smedium grey t-shirt strolls into the coffee shop. A darker grey golf-style cap fits over his head to complete the ensemble. One would have no idea, by looking at him, that he was really something else. Arguably something more, though he would disagree if you said it to his face. Kyle couldn't be more excited about this meeting; a chance to actually do something with his music and not drift off into obscurity. A little wait between albums was good. Play up the fans' suspense and keep them begging for the next CD to come out. But you'd better be damn legendary if you keep them waiting more than a few years. The last thing the Fairest wants is for his next work to be called a 'comeback album'.

Locating Lynn proves to be a challenge. He'd be so used to seeing her as she is - as she really is - that finding her by her mundane appearance was downright frustrating. I should just carry a cane around. Or somethin. The fiddle by her feet is what gives her away. Granted, a man in a relationship shouldn't be looking at women's legs as a way to identify them, but cut the guy a break. He's still a guy, after all.

"Hey, Lynn!" he calls out as he spots her at her chair. "Am I... early?" Not seeing anyone else near her, he almost wonders if he had gotten his information wrong. What if she was just here for coffee and her friends weren't coming? He looks for an open chair near her and pulls it up.

"I read the notes you sent me earlier, B-T-Dubs. You've go a talent for writing music." The Minstrel smiles, though he's a little uncertain about his feelings on the subject. Maybe something bordering on jealousy...

[Lynn Mills]

"Hey Kyle!" Lynn waved a bit at her friend as he pulled up a seat. She noticed the trouble he'd been having finding her and felt bad that she'd forgotten the trouble he had seeing. Next time she'd have to be more obvious.

"You're not early, just the first to show up." She smiled proudly at his compliment about her music. "Thanks for that. You'd feel differently if you saw how many sheets I had to tear up though." She rolled her eyes. "It looked like a snowstorm once I came up for air." She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "Seriously, it's like my head won't shut up sometimes." Then she leaned her chin on her hand and looked over at Kyle. "So, you think it'll work with your style?" She shot a glance at her bag, where her latest piece waited; written for vocals, two guitars and a fiddle.

[Kyle Ferlen]

"I totally understand. Takes me way too long to think up soemthin new I actually like." he says by way of admission. "And honestly... I'm up for anythin at this point. I've always considered myself more a performer than a composer, ya know? Half the stuff I end up singin are covers anyway."

He follows her glance down to her bag. A moment later, he looks back up at the Emissary. "Got somethin goin on down there?" Fuck... wrong thing to say. Ask her to come to your place for coffee while you're at it. "Your bag, I mean..." he adds - probably too late to save face. A strange thought crosses his mind. Face? Damnit! His eyes widen. A moment later, the Fairest's skin changes from a pale green to a normalish, anglo-saxon pale.

-1 Glamour to Harden Mask.

[Lynn Mills]

"It's um," Lynn fidgeted with her coffee uneasily. "It's something else I was working on. For like, the group." She didn't want to admit how much this song meant to her. She bit her lip.

Got to show it to somebody, sometime.

With a sigh, she reached down and pulled the sheets out, holding onto them for a moment before passing them over. She didn't need to read them again, it seemed like the lyrics were burned into her brain. For some reason she just couldn't get them out of her head.

You gave up on your dreams
You gave up on your hope
Done with life you’re unwilling to cope
Maybe I’m not, maybe I’ll fight
Can’t wait to see me by the end of the night

Broken Dreams and a locked cage door
You’re content to just like there on the floor
You gave up; will no longer try
Are you really so willing to die?

Now you’ve got the key in you’re hands
It’s time you started making plans
Take a chance, make a change, make a choice
Take the wheel and plot a new course
The world is broken and you can see it
Are you willing to accept it?

Broken Dreams and a locked cage door
You’re content to just like there on the floor
You gave up; will no longer try
Are you really so willing to die?

This is your chance, your time, your dance
No second chances and no repeats
Time to find your wings and leave your feet

New Hope and a broken cell door
They’ll never be able to hold you any more
You take a chance and you might fall
But is that worse than never trying at all?

[Avis]

The door to the cafe banged open, and in walked Avis, looking a bit sheepish after the accidentally noisy entrance. Then, carefully, she shut the door, as though in penance, and moved towards the baristas to order some kind of...something. It was obvious she didn't frequent places like this from the amount of time it took her to pick something off the menu, and the way she stood with one foot back, just slightly off center from the counter as though she might have to bolt and flee out the door, but eventually the order was placed, gotten, and then she went wandering around to find Lynn and her singer friend.

It didn't take her long, actually, to find them. Just a quick scan of the room and she picked out the violinist's shape and (masked) features and then she came walking over to join them. She sat down in an large wicker chair with a quiet whisper of nylon from her olive drab parachute pants, set her cup down on a nearby table, and then, after a quick dirt check of her running shoes, crossed her legs in a rough half lotus on the chair's cushion.

"Hey, Lynn," she said, shrugging off the studded leather jacket she'd gotten from the second hand shop, leaving her in just a black tank top with her scarred arms bare. "This is the singer, I'm assuming?" she asked, before turning to the bearded man. "Hey, I'm Dez, nice ta meet-cha. I think Jack'll be here soon. He's probably finding parking or something."

[Lynn Mills]

Lynn had just picked up her drink when Dez sat down, grinning, she saluted the other woman with the cup and took a sip, then set it down and reached over one hand to shake.

"Hey Dez. Yes, this is Chris, Chris Rutherford. Chris, this is Dez, one of the people interested in starting a band - as you may have guessed already." Lynn shrugged a bit at the need for introductions, but she might as well make sure they were done properly.

"Anyways, I've been thinking over your suggestions for subject matter about songs. And well, I had something the other night that just would not leave me alone; so I went ahead and wrote it down, scored out the way we'd need it for the group of us." She gestured to the papers that Kyle was holding.

"I've got another copy..." She leaned over and handed the second set to Dez, smiling hopefully at the other woman. "If you wouldn't mind taking a look?"

Please think it's ok....

[Star]

Nobody's late.

Hands juggled a helmet and backpack, bumped into the door with a loud smack, then re-juggled and opened it. Pull, not Push. Really, everyone needed to agree on how that works. Or make the Push and Pull signs A Lot Bigger.

Locating people in a room is a talent. It's trade-craft.

For a few moments, the mop just slowly swiveled. Nobody's late, and nobody needs to work on their trade-craft, yo.

"Hey."

The mop bobbed in greeting. A foot hooked a chair and slid it out, and it was unceremoniously plopped in to, the pack and helmet finding a home in the newly formed lap.

"Hey, guys. Uh, guy. Ladies. Sorry I'm late. Late-ish. The kickstand on my bike is being a super jerk, and, you know, I didn't want to just lay it down. It's cool. I had a Leatherman. Oh, hey, you're That Guy." You know, That Guy. The one you vaguely recognize, but can't put a name with. "A music guy, right? Like, a legit one. Anyway, yeah, there was a loose nut. I put the Leatherman on it, but if there's a sound? Like a bike falling over? Anyway, let me know if anyone hears anything. Also. Hi. Avis. Lynn. Oh, Guy. Right. I'm Jack."

Hands fished in the pack, and produced a Red Gatorade. Speaking of That Guy? Totally That Guy. The one that brings his own drinks to hang out at the coffee shop.

"Did I mss anything?"

[Kyle Ferlen]

Kyle takes a moment to read over the music, imagining the song Lynn had probably composed alongside the words. He can't believe how easy it is to fall into the lyrics; seems the two of them have more in common than just attendance to their exclusive 'club'.

"This is great, Lynn. I can't wait to get behind a mic and try it out." he admits, catching her eye and offering a smile. The situation might be a little on the awkward side - with Kyle pouring over her notes and her sitting in silence - but they're artists. This is what they do. Turning his eyes back down to the paper, he points to a segment. "I like how the final chorus splits off from the original, ya know? Makes the song like a journey or somethin." He's looks about to expand on it more when the presumed other band-members arrive.

First is this girl who comes in off the street like she's... just come in off the street. Active, for sure, and dresses like she doesn't care what people think of her.

"Sup." he offers, throwing his hand up in a half-assed wave after being introduced. She knows I sing, huh? Looks like Lynn's been talkin to them a while about this. "Jack must be our fourth man, then. Err... fourth person, I guess." Not the smoothest of of exchanges, but he can't help it. The whole idea of starting a new band in his new city is exciting to him. As much as he tries to play it cool, he's positively charged with enthusiasm. Kyle can't keep his eyes from wandering, either, and upon closer inspection she looks like she's seem some shit. The Minstrel knows more than he cares to about scars.

The fourth member isn't far behind. He's got his own energy about him, though Kyle can't really place it. It's almost like what Sasha's verbal volatility would be like if possessed by a dude. A dude oblivious to the world around him. At least, with him, there are no awkward silences. Kyle's bemused look grows into a grin as Jack fires off on a tangent.

"Not yet, really. Lynn's got a new song for us to take a look at. Pretty good stuff." His train of thought it broken by half a laugh, thinking back on the man's introduction. "And I usually go by 'Chris', or 'Chris Ruthorford'... or 'the lead singer of White Fern' if you can't remember my name. Buuut we can stick with 'that guy' if it's your thing." It's a not-too-subtle challenge laid at the other male's feet. Kyle isn't sure why he does this, but it needs to be done. Gotta learn who you're up against. Especially if you're gonna work with someone.

[Avis]

"So you'd be opposed to Ruth?" Avis asked the Singer with an edged half smile, her green stained eyes flicking up from the lyrics that Lynn had given her. "It's still Dez, by the way. Avis' just a joke. My last name is Ay-viss, but my mom was Cajun and, like, in French the word ay-vee-eye-ess is like an actual word, but pronounced differently. Hence Aw-vee. Anyways..." she trailed off, green points falling back to the paper.

It was interesting, what Lynn had wrote. Even though the rhyme scheme made it seem, more, well, sing-songy than most of what Avis listened to, she had no trouble imagining what a growling rendition might sound like. It was funny, when she tried to picture Ruthorford actually trying to growl it. She highly doubted Ruthorford sung anywhere close to that style, but still, that wasn't a bad thing. Variety was important, especially in a collaboration like this. It was their differences that would make whatever they created into something that could truly stand on it's own and not be some decrepit clone of something else.

Besides, the lyrics were actually damn good. Very general, but still, there was a power to them. Even without beat or melody, they seemed to sing all by themselves and Avis found a train of memories pass into her mind, and a flurry of emotion rise unbidden. It made her wonder...

"You ever been in a cell, before?" Avis asked, looking up from the page once more. There was a moment of grim focus upon Lynn, and then Avis looked away, her hands digging into the pocket of her jacket for a plastic container of toothpicks. She fumbled one out and clamped it between her teeth before stowing the container away again.