5 o'clock rain blankets the city of Sacramento. Grey quilts hang from the firmament, their bulk like a longing giant dying from wont of Asphalt's touch. It's the kind of needful precipitation that lasts a whole day, that turns the world to gray-brown muck.
Nela navigates the waterlogged sidewalk with a flimsy umbrella. Each step is taken warily; puddles are to her blouse as an IED is to a humvee. The blast radius is inescapable.
Finally shimmying up to the overhang protecting Gypsy's, Nela folds up her ceiling and pushes open the door.
Warm air, smell of another continent's sea.
Shadow Tongue strums a few chords of 'Georgia on my Mind'. Practising and passing time as he waits for the resturant to pick up. He looks up, watching Nela enter, but doesn't stop playing.
"Quiet." Nela observes in whisper. The word swirls on a Glamour breeze, lingers, burrows and excites.
She digs her boots against the welcome carpet, the cheap leather utilitarian and uncomfortable. She brushes Ink strands from her face and steps in towards the familiar guitarist, her eyes drawn to the strings still thrumming from his touch.
"I guess Sally isn't in today?" And the question is a velvet tide rushing over cinnamon shores.
There was a time Andrew would have gulped and been too embarrassed to respond. Shadow Tongue changes from full chords to light finger work, his fingers dance more with dexterity then skill, though he had enough skill to be good.
And he ends, lowing the instrument. "I've not seen her for some time. She might be around, You don't need her do you?"
"No, that's okay," Nela murmurs. Her fingers trace the edge of a table cloth as she approaches, her eyes light over the bar, the staff, back to Andrew... "How long have you been playing?" She asks, pleased but unimpressed by his talent. A fragrance presses out ahead of her, fresh dug earth and flowers the heart-violet of wine.
Heh.
Andrew's fingers catch. But only for a moment. His eye grow wide, his expression decisively wolfish. "Off and on since early this afternoon." he scrunches his brow to recall, "You were had said something about singing? Right?"
Nela's lip curls up just slightly at Andrew's joke. "Fast learner, huh?" She retorts, composed behind the impossible veneer only a woman can achieve. After all, to laugh would be defeat. Andrew seems self assured, relaxed, but despite his playful demeanor, he can't seem to get his sentences out straight. Sure sign that not all his neurons are firing in her presence.
Confident that she's got the upper hand, Nela fortifies her position. "I was did say something about singing, actually." She smiles now, as fair warning. "I was hoping maybe, maybe you could play with me." Her gaze arcs down to a napkin as her pale, delicate fingers play with its frayed corner.
"...while I perform." She looks up from under sultry eyelids at her prey. Oh, this is fun.
Andrews eyes widen further in recolection, and he gulps, eye flicker down to the... napkin. The back up to Nela's...
Breasts, no Eyes. Guitar forgotten him his hands. "I, er. shit. Yea. I'all play with'a." Andrew then coughs, getting his accent back under control.
"What were you thinking about singing." Andrew suddenly feels like he lost something. But how could he be disappointed so long as Nela was speaking? By the goddess herself, Nela's eyes were pretty.
Wraithlike, the Darkling glides to Shadow Tongue's side, seating herself and pulling her hair back.
"Could you give me a low Ahhhhh, then like a chord that's um, ooooo and aaaaaa. Then just a OOOOOO. Then we'll just sort of feel it through from there, okay?" She waits a moment for Andrew to get the hang of the start before she begins, a slow lingering note that hangs like an innocent at the gallows.
Distant shore - love, distant your - love,
whispering your name to the sea foam.
Does it remember the ship that carried you away from me?
While your strong smiling face slips from my memory.
"Hm... no, maybe we could go high like a 'hmmmmm' right - that's sounds perfect, right, what you did just there, do that again. Okay... and -"
Is your heart pressed against the breast of another?
Are you arms a kiss for some far shore's lover?
Or did Poseidon's nymphs steal your eyes,
to drag you blue and breathless beneath the waves,
Happy she to be your Briiiiiide!
to make her home with you, my love, in coral grave.
Nela stops for a moment, calculating, reappraising.
Shadow Tongue held his guitar ever so carefully, please oh please don't make him stand up. How many years had it been since Shadow Tongue had been beside a girl? Before Blank Eye and the Spirit journey. No, before even then.
Prom, 2004. Andrew was a junior in high school. The girl was simply gorgeous. That night was when the Hisil had first grown violent. Looking back. Shadow Tongue understands why. But back then?
And now? Who was this woman? Could Andrew really be so selfish as to throw her into the world of Spirit Choirs and Kuruth?
No.
But?
Shadow Tongue re-fingers the verse line. "Just tell me what to do different."
A hair cut would be the first thing, then that jacket needs to go... oh, right. "I don't know, I really don't play guitar." She's not much of a composer either.
The interruption gives her brain time to switch tracks, and there are a lot of suspicions that she's been building up lately. She leans back against her stool, one slender wrist supporting her as the other traces its arm. "So, you and Sally have some colorful friends. I think they hang out around Granite Park? I met a couple of them." She pries lazily, poking at soft spots while she lounges. The fabric of her blouse is tight against her skin, hugging her waist as the curves of her slender body arch sensuously.
Dopey grin, maybe some boy is left under the hard crusted shaman. "We know them. good friends certainly." Andrew is at a loss as to how better describe the relationship between Packs.
And why would Nella be interested? "When did you meet them? With Sally?" The realization draws suspicion. And then a fast bout of guilt. Nella wasn't a bad human.
Couldn't be. How could Andrew think such things?
"I just met them around..." Fudged truth gets all over the conversation, Andrew should go get some towelettes. "James, and Adam... there's a whole group of them. I guess they hang out around the Park at night." And they carry guns and get into fights over turf. Nela's heart starts to flutter, a rising, pressing flush as her imagination carrying itself wildly out of hand.
What happens if they are really gangsters? What would they do to her if they found out she knew? Christ almighty, what the fuck is wrong with women that they would get off on things that could get them killed?
"Night Owls.. You're not afraid of the dark are you? Afraid of us who walk the moon and lance the stars to light the way of truth, for such is love to show the ways and means of night."
Andrew stills the ringing chords of the old guitar. A wise face of an old man filled his memory. His eyes break into a clarity of reason and doubt. "What do you want?"
Nela leans in, one finger curling, enticing Andrew closer. The tip of her tongue wets apple-red lips, a hint of pink. She whispers, "I want to know every shadow's secret, to put every whisper in the world into a basket, to make a diamond necklace out of wishes and keep it in a jewelry box made out of Gold.... why, what do you want?"
Nothing more then to rip you clothes off and claim as mine? "World peace?" Andrew shrugs with a grin. "Really? A full life."
The moment goes sour and Nela can taste her own disgust. What does that mean? You're gonna give me Hallmark bullshit? What the hell's the point of stealing people's secrets when the digging isn't any fun and the 'plow' clearly is out of order? Jesus, man up already.
"Mmmmm. Oh yea, that's so important," Nela responds atonally to disrupt the rhythm of conversation in preparation for withdrawal. "That's really important. Oh no! I can't believe how late it is!"
"Oh, and I was having so much fun." She manufactures a slouch and a pout. "We'll have to do this again sometime, okay?"
Andrew's eyes narrow. He didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday. "What was it you wanted then? No, I think my schedule is full." He sets down his guitar, striking a bad chord. maybe that suspicion was well founded after all? "How was you met my sister again?" Sally was going be answering questions of her own.
Excuse me? You're going to get huffy at me? "I don't even know what your problem is, Andrew. This is me leaving, you missed your chance." She grabs her bag, and stands, taking the first strides towards the door.
As every woman knows, and not a single man understands, daring him to stop her and convince her not to leave.
"Missed my chance? Lady, What did you expect? Me to spill my life for some blushing soft words?" It would be hard to tell.. but Shadow Tongue is irate. He was played and almost lost. Red rage circuits his veins, demanding the offending woman be brought to bear and understand WHO was dominant.
"You missed your chance and don't think I don't see it!"
Nela rolls her eyes, not turning around. Worst flirt EVER. Her hips sway cruelly as she stalks out and the smell of violet flowers lingers for a long time after she is gone.
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