July 23, 2003.07.23.03. - genius [grania-phantom][noje]
(phantom)
The music can be heard, faint strains reaching throughout the half block that Phantom calls home and pushing back the encroaching dark. It washes through the alleys and byways, reminding people what's good about being here, about being alive.(james)
five blocks between the condos and the theater
that he's covered in Bone Gnawer style
with this easy stroll that seems to cover the miles with hardly any effort at all
well, almost no effort
the heat is another thing entirely
that's got him stripped down to a wifebeater
blackened scars creeping over tanned shoulders from beneath the thin fabric
BDUs are summerweight but seem even heavier with the damn heat
at least he's in the Northern states and not somewhere like Florida where his Cochran's would be melting onto the sidewalk as he went
there's a big of a grin quirked lopsided over (scarred) jaw to hear the music pouring form inside
fingers raise to lips, blasting out a short whistlejust because Phantom's claimed territory is within his own
doesn't mean he's gonna disrespect it and not announce himself passing through(phantom)
Whistle heard and music stops; Phantom goes to the front to check what's going on. If there's trouble . . . but no, he can see a sort of familiar shape coming. James? Must be, not many with pure motives would come here this time of night. The young metis slips out through the loosened boards on the front door and meets his accquaintance in front.
"Hey."
Humming as always, his greeting falling into the song.(grania)
There is beauty in everything, and she is bent on discovering it again, even in the sweltering heat of the night. The door to the studio is propped open, the windows in the back thrown wide, mobiles of metal birds somehow stripped and formed to seem light as feathers flitter and fly in the cross breeze created.
She, the one who works so diligently to see that which other people hide, is there… the door that separates the front from the workroom blocked open, and slender girl sits there, on the floor, a small table, with a well worn paintspeckled board on top sitting between her thighs. One leg wraps around, pale skin, bare from toes to the hem of denim cut-offs, the other foot is flat on the floor, forearm resting across upraised knee. A halter speckled with clay and paint, the former of which coats her fingers as she works the emerging form before her, and a kerchief holding back the halo of curls completes the outfit.
There is music in the background, soft, barely heard, and dark eyes are intent on discovering what lays beneath misshapen clay as she hums absently to herself.(james)
"How do?"grinned easily, if lopsided still
days like this he's considered lopping the dreads off completely for sake of cooling off
but as the temperature dropped with the setting sun
he settled with keeping them tied back under the faded, gray bandana
hands fish through his pockets, pulling out the pack of 99's and the battered zippo"Passss'n' through." chin lifts up, indicating the direction he plans to keep on going, ignoring the slur that just won't go away "Thought I'd check'n."
(phantom)
"Alright . . . How about you?"
Boy is tense, nervous even around those he's met before. Divided, as always (look at me, see me - close your eyes so I can disappear) he isn't sure what he should do. He speaks politely but awkwardly, deferentially.
"Think I was at the condos you mentioned earlier."
(james)
"Cur'ous." the grin turns a little enigmatic before he explains it "Headin' t'Gran'ya's." then a thumb hooks back over his shoulder "Bout five block back tha'way would be th'ones."that's when he pauses long enough to put flaring life to the end of the smoke
his head tips a bit, letting dreads fall to the pony-tailed side
he hasn't really been hanging round the condo's much himself for the past few days"There f'r any reason?"
(phantom)
"Yeah, those are the ones then. Big ahroun and pretty red-headed kin were there. Plus that kid, Kemp. He just changed."
Grania . . . just the name and his humming falls into her song, the one that is her. Grania . . . the pretty woman who hadn't freaked out when she saw his face underneath the mask. Grania, who had changed into a panther before him and let him touch her. Grania, the artist who had rendered James into sculpture perfectly, at least as well as Phantom rendered him into song.
"She going to give you that statue now?"
(james)
the easy grin changes into a soft bout of laughter
he isn't as musically inclined through vocals as Phantom is
but his tones are warm and rich regardless"That'd be m' packmate Deck'r, n' the kin's a good friend."
if the Modi wasn't introducing her as his mate
far be it from the Gnawer to do so
but a dark brow raises at the last
consideration timed through a slow exhale of smoke
(... away... from the metis)
fancy that, the kid finally changed
should make meeting him the next time quite interesting
then muscular (savagely scared by chrinos claws) shoulders roll in a shrug"Prob'ly what'm about to find out. Com'n?"
the invitation open enough
should Phantom want to tag along, he's welcome to, but James won't force him
(knowing how near agoraphobic the young Gnawer is)
assumption already made since he's seen said... statue?... then he's been to the studio already(grania)
Curiosity killed the….
….ah, so that is what is beneath her fingertips. The smile of delight, of discovery slides over her lips as she discovers some purpose within clay, and with a dip into a bowl of water nearby, she begins to pinch and smooth and caress and mold and shift and form the grayness before her into something beautiful, something amazing. From under talented fingertips slowly blossoms the shape, the sheer majesty, powerful sleekness of a great cat in repose… it is born slowly, with such careful attention to detail, even here, even now, in the most basic of stages, the roughest of suggestions…
and still she hums, hand lifting to brush back an escaped curl, leaving a smudge of clay along her cheek, unnoticed or ignored, it matters not, as fingers continue the sensuous slide over moist clay…
(phantom)
He thinks for a moment (she saw beneath my mask, I don't want to see her again - yes I do, and she hasn't come to visit . . .) before he nods his assent.
"If you don't mind . . ."
Not exactly agoraphobic, just territorial; guarding the small space in the world that is his from harm. And who would do it if he didn't? He falls into step next to the ahroun, unconsciously making sure his mask is secure as they move.
(james)
there's a bit of a frown
and his head shakes gently"Nah.... jus'get antisocial on the full."
deep umber eyes glance over after the tease
with the moon slimming in the sky above
the playful street performer emerges past the fanatic warrior
quite a pair, they must be
one tall, proud raggedy-man Ahroun
one smaller, slimmer masked Galliard
there's something about the way James walks
it says that even if the streets weren't as empty as they were this time of night?
he'd dare someone to make a comment about it
(he's a Hood, he protects and helps those that need it)
after another block or two of silence there's another glance"Y'know a shortcut?"
all he has is Grania's card and a.... general.... sense of where the address lays
(phantom)
"Only been there once, but this might make it quicker . . ."
Turning down an alley to cut off a corner of the triangle, and they come out only a couple blocks from the studio/home of the lovely Grania. His gait lacks the easy confidence of James', in fact he looks like he expects a blow or something thrown at him with every step (because he has been hit and had things thrown at him quite often). His dark, thrift store cast off clothes hide him well in the dark alley, and even when they emerge on the lit street near the studio and he tends to stick to the shadows more than the light.
"We should be almost there now."
And, indeed, seconds after he says it the right building looms before them.(grania)
head tilts, slightly, and smile lingers around lips as she lets her hands fall to better see what is emerging under her fingertips, before she continues, again, lost in the delight of clay between her fingertips, the soft light of the studio shimmering around slender form… she finally lets her hands fall, and reaches for the towel draped over her thigh, cleaning her hands with the damp cloth as she regards the beginnings with a critical eye…(james)
Gnawer's blend - it's what they're supposed to do
don't think it's escaped his notice that Phantom seems to blend a little bit more than normal
but even as he follows, then moves to take his place right in the middle of the lit sidewalk
he doesn't say much about Phantom's habits: to each their own
(but it pains him, deep down, to know it's a result of past abuses - he's seen it too often before)
the music filtering out of the open doors of the studio makes it easy to find
and there's an approving nod to the shortcut proven useful
one strong arm reaches out, muscle bands of steel surrounding bone, and knuckles hammer a beat against the big display window bypassed to reach the gaping door"Gran'ya?"
called out in peering around the corner and into the studio itself
(phantom)
He blends because (what else would he do?) he doesn't like to inflict himself upon unsuspecting people; he knows he wouldn't like to see the face he has, were he someone else. Abuse changes one, yes, but an even stronger force of change is the reaction of people around you. James' and Grania's reaction to him was not the norm, not what the runt-ish metis is used to. He hears her song and instinctively joins in, clear, crisp baritone carrying through the oppressive summer heat.(grania)
Still humming, slightly, head tilting just so, the light capturing and clinging to wayward curls that have slid free of the kerchief, and then the knock, and the voice, and dark eyes lift, slowly, and somewhere midway capture and tug at the corner of her lips as well, pulling them into a smile as she tips her head.. “..James…” (how is it his name can be such an intimate caress, a purr over senses to cause a tingle of anticipation…)
Muscles coil, body moves, and a goddess from the clay herself she rises, some venus of unearthly beauty even in such run down clothing – rags worn as riches. Fingers are given another wipe with the towel before it is tucked into back pocket, and (mostly) clean hands reach for James’ as she steps forward and lifts on tiptoes, slender form pressed against his briefly to allow smooth cheek to slide along his jaw… “It’s so good to see you..” purred with mere breath, before she steps away and that slow smile teases across her features again.
A squeeze of his hands, and her attention turns to Phantom, her smile brightening even further (the sun itself pales, unable to compare with purity of joy) as she reaches for his hands next, pulling him closer, and the greeting is the same, the purred breath, the slide of cheek against jaw, the warmness of her delight in seeing them both….
“Come in, come in… I was just about to break for some iced tea….”(james)
before stepping in, the Camel is flicked near filtered to the nearest puddle in the gutter
hands - strong, but for a different reason - clasp the sculptor's easily
she purrs, and he simply quirks that lopsided grin
most men would puddle into a mindless collection of quivering goo at such a greeting
(and such a way she says his name)
but the Gnawer has got to be dead below the waist
(wanna bet? he hasn't seen his mate in WEEKS)
because he just takes it all in stride
(bag. fuckin. heera.)
because it all makes bloody sense now
and her greeting is met with a soft chuckle"Figur'd I'd drop by since I nev'r call."
(phantom)
A pianists long, graceful fingers move smoothly around Grania's hands and he lets himself be pulled closer though a part of him screams out against it. Conflicted . . . almost like two people living in the same small apartment that is his brain. And he's not dead below the waist and can't help but feel himself respond a little, despite knowing there's no way she'd be attracted to (monsterously hideous) him.
"Grania."
Her name, her song and he doesn't need to say any more as she slips through his hands and invites them in for tea.(grania)
“I’m so glad you did… if you’d have called I would have more then tea.. oh! but first!” This, to James as she teases, humor sparkling in her gaze as she nods toward the showroom, where her pieces are displayed, and showcased beautifully – even though the spotlights are off it is easy to see she has a great deal of talent. “I’ve still that item for you… come…”
Iced tea forgotten for the moment, already, as she takes his hand and pulls him toward a shadowbox along the far wall, winking at Phantom as she waves for him to follow too… “I showed Phantom when he was here before.. I’ve waited forever to show you….” She stops him before the box, and nimble fingers find hidden switch to light the piece within.
Not very large, indeed it’s surprising there is so much detail in such little space. It is heavy, but not overly so, and a little less then a foot high, including the sturdy base upon which he stands. It is so very clear the Gnawer is the subject, though it is depicted in a beauty he would never admit to having. The brief first meeting gave her the visual cues needed… and from that, she fashioned the little statuette.
It is clearly James, from tattered boots to the top of the dreads, each one carefully wrought in tarnished metal, the one clinging to his cheek where she had reached up and plucked it away that first meeting, to smooth it back in an intimacy that startled the Ahroun.
The trench coat flairs around strong form, and even in the metal can one see the incredible strength in raggedy form, the animalistic way he moves, caught, frozen in time, mid-stride, a fire in his eyes that is coupled somehow with an aura of tragedy… it all is there, tangible, yet intangible at the same time… impressions captured and wrought into a timeless masterpiece, a metal rendition of the song Phantom performed when last they met… “It’s yours, if you wish it.”
(james)
the smile expands to quip a tease back at the playful cat
though that's when his hand is caught and the tall Gnawer is veritably drug deeper into the studio
(it's a den of iniquity, man! quick! run before she sinks her claws into you!)
there's a glance back at the metis
he knows what James is about to get intothat's when the shadowbox switch is flipped, lighting the statue inside
head rotates back around, and eyes lock on the figure
and the Gnawer. just. stares.....you're shittin' me
(snap out of it, Jamey-boy)(phantom)
He follows (he always follows) and is astounded all over again by the sheer volume of beauty in the space, and especially by the piece that is so clearly James. He'd seen the ahroun in very similar pose and now looking at the statuette next to the man who inspired it he's awed all over again by such large talent housed in such a small (beautiful) body. Still he hums, Grania and James together with him as the observer, ever on the outside even when invited in. Only in front of his organ does he feel truly included, though there he's alone and in his own world. He watches James' reaction, nearly as pleased at it as the artist must be.(grania)
her smile lingers and her gaze captures every minute little fluctuation of expression across James’ face, clearly delighted as he seems stunned… her teeth nibbling on lower lip a little before she asks a question she already knows the answer too… “Do you like it?” A wink offered Phantom before her eyes rest on the stunned gnawer again… purring softly… “I told you… you are beautiful…”(james)
he's still just staring
STA. RING.
luckily, the badly healed break only allows his jaw to gape so much
though he makes a point to firmly close his mouth before turning towards Grania
just.
stunned.
he's rarely had his picture taken before
the single polaroid he owns the most precious of his possessions
so to be confronted with something like this
he almost doesn't know how to react
(okay. he has no clue how to react)"I'm not...." the protest dies away into the softened edges of the smile, and he looks back to Phanton (can you believe this?!) before dark eyes swing around to the female feline again "I.... yes..... how'd y'do this?"
knowing, without a doubt, she had to do it completely from memory
(phantom)
He nods; not only does he believe it, but he has much the same vision Grania does. The statue is a physical representation of the song he instinctively weaves around James, and some things lend themselves better to visual art than audio . . . Not that he has the delusions of grandeur to call what he does art.
"She's a genius."
The statement quietly sincere as it weaves into the tune, holding the ring of truth.(grania)
She’s delighted with each of his reactions, every one captured and held close as she clasps her hands together and that purr heightens from deep within her… “You are, and there’s the proof… as for how..” shoulders roll in a nonchalant shrug, blush painting across her cheeks as she laughs softly… “I have something of a photographic memory I guess you could say, though I’m no genius…” She smiles softly at Phantom, and continues..” I just see things, and they stick with me.. like Phantom here and his songs… he sees, and he knows. I see, and I know exactly how it should look as sculpture… This, here, is how I saw you the night we ran into each other, literally”(james)
quite literally
and the reiteration of that fact causes the smile to wane shy
he basically plowed the poor girl into the concrete
his head shakes, trying to clear it self
align all this into rational information
it doesn't work with the stunned Ahroun"I c'n only pick up spirit rhythms..... you two are amaz'n."
(phantom)
Cheeks flush at being lumped into the same category as Grania, and he shakes his head.
"I don't do anything special, it's all her."
To him his music is . . . natural, instinctive as breathing, necessary as air. He takes it for granted, though it could be debated how he'd live without it, should he be unable to play, to sing, to hear. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous of Grania's talent (ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies), not to mention their shared moments, but he's happy that they're both happy and that's good enough for him.(grania)
She shakes her head, and reaches for the statuette, sliding fingers over it lovingly, the creator and the masterpiece, before she looks up to James again… “Thank you – but the subject is what makes an artist great. Phantom’s music is far more…” She laughs softly, and moves to Phantom’s side, sliding her fingers within his again, and laying her cheek against his shoulder, briefly before returning that dark gaze to James “I’ve taken pictures of it – as I do with all my pieces, and it is now yours. I’ll wrap it up for you so to take tonight if you like… it is sturdy, but I’ve a box that will ensure it makes it safely home.”(james)
"Abs'l...." and the word drifts off with a frown, he simply cannot say it yet "Yes." quickly recovered with a soft laugh "I'd love to take it home.... thank you."(phantom)
Fingers in his, head on his shoulder and he looks at her dumbfounded. Even knowing what she does, she still chooses to come close, to share affection . . . his long, strong (deceptively delicate) fingers wrap around hers, squeezing lightly, unconsiously. He smiles when James says he wants to take the statue home, though it means she'll move away from him; if only he could wrap up the songs he makes and send them home with the people that inspire them.(grania)
She smiles with obvious delight and nods, her fingers lingering in Phantoms – for even knowing what she does, she still chooses to be as tender as ever with him. She does pull away then, and takes the statue from it’s place, and moves to the small counter, and wraps it carefully in a white box, wrapping a gold ribbon around it, before signing a card.. (A Grania original, for James. May you remember your strengths always, even in the face of sadness.) and slipping it under the ribbon.. “There we are…”(james)
he's still just..... awed
to a Hood, gifts are places to sleep, extra bits of food or money
but nothing like this
a bit of a grin finds its way to his strong (noble, if the street trash guttermutt could ever see it) features
a warmth to see the affection that dumbfounds the young metis
(if James can find someone... again.... everyone can)
though it is still lost in the sheer amazement that almost overwhelms the Ahroun
long and lean body stretches to turn and follow her to the counter
carefully taking the box she presents
solid weight held easily between his hands"Thank you."
again
quieter this time
touched deeply by the gift
and that's so clear in the softness of his voice"I've got t'go." clear he doesn't want to, and would rather stay in the pleasent company, but duty to the pack calls "Enj'y y'r night..."
offered to them both with a smile
then once again, the Gnawer finds his own way out, and leaves them to their privacy(phantom)
"G'night . . ."
Said as the older Gnawer leaves, so touched by the gift Grania's granted, so moved to amazement by the beauty she's given him so freely.
"I . . . I can go to if you want."
Unsure whether he should stay or go now that the reason for his being here is gone, the awkward young Gnawer half looks at her and half looks at something near her.(grania)
Posted by james at July 23, 2003 12:00 AM
She smiles softly, and her soft (purr) voice follows the Gnawer… “You’re welcome.. you must come for tea another time…” before watching him go, and laughing softly as she looks up at Phantom… “and make me drink all alone… of course not. Come..” And fingers capture his again and pulls him toward the back room, carefully sidestepping the small table and the partial work upon it as she moves.
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