April 15, 2004
.04.15.04. - down on the corner [tristan]

[riverfront]

to James Branson: if you are coming here LMAO

Nookie's Lunchbox. Its a Diner. Rumor has it Bee Gees eat for free. Surely Tristan told ya. But just in case you are coming here..here is a quick description of this hole in the wall in Avery Park area

Indeed it was a small diner. One long counter with about eight stools for patrons. On the other side was the visible kitchen. A short order cook's delight, with gas grill and sheet metal skillet. It almost looked akin to a Waffle House's set up. Without the yellow of course. The interior of the place was decorated in plus reverence to both the southern state of Alabama as well as its Dynasty Football Team and University. The walls and seats were covered in bright crimson while etched in new crome accents. Only three booths took up the long side window. At the very back were two doors, one leading to the office and back supply the other to the unisex restroom. Just the one. The tile floor was done in Elephant symbol of the Crimson Tide Team, Paul 'Bear' Bryant picture held the highest esteem. Fielded right behind the register where there were numerous framed black and white photographs of the Knights and their imidiate family. The other pics adorning the walls were of past highlight games in which the Tide favorably won. Only one television up in the back corner so even LeRoy could watch a televised game during the playing seasons while cooking. Definately a sports fan.


(james)
the first thing you hear is the noise
somewhere, just around the corner, seems someone is beating the shit out of some trashcans
and by that conclusion - you'd be right

James, in an act totally disregarding the traditions of past weeks, has returned to the street
the weather's sixty-eight degrees with a light wind coming in off the southwest
and as the sun's dropped down below the horizon for it's nightly retire
the Veteran Ahroun works to catch the attention of those on their way home from work
he's been there since the first tones of twilight darkened the sky
change clatters against what's already gathered in the overturned tophat
each jingle greeted with a crooked smile or wink of deep umber eye

there's just something about the way he plays
seriously plays
slatboard scraps of wood turned into drumsticks
metal barrels drug from nearby alleys working makeshift kit
bass throb, snare pitch, even a highhat worked into the mix
it's the sound of the ghetto's best, no mere haphazard bangin' around
urban primitive tribe hailing the unknown trashheap gods of yore

(tristan)
Several block down, where the sounds don’t tangle, there’s another musician who’s been playing his normal corner. It’s there, that other coins have been gathered and tucked away, it’s there that beloved instrument is tucked into the reinforced case, money tucked into pocket, and it all locked away. There’s a moment’s discussion with a mother passing by, there’s a smile and exchange of numbers after terms have been reached, fingers sliding over the tousled curls of the child in question.

And then, long legs carry the pretty boi kin in the opposite direction of the factory, not quite ready to go back there yet. It’s only a block later that he stops. Listens. And direction changes again, in order to follow tribal pounding that can only mean one thing. His brother is his competition for coinage tonight, and there couldn’t possibly be a more welcome one.

He stops nearby, listening from around the corner, as he crouches and reverses the previous movements, unpacking his violin, and lifting it to his shoulder. The case left there, just in sight, he waits... listening, feeling the beat thrum through his very soul... and then – the piercing cry of violin pierces the air... followed by the flurry of still warmed fingertips that follow the beat pounded out before him. Not many could possibly keep up – but he is better then most, and he falls into a medly that matches the thruming tribal beat to perfection as he steps around the corner, and with something almost resembling his normal grin, invades his brother’s beat.

(james)
not many could keep up
not many would dare combine a violin with trashcans
but then... there's the two Bone Gnawer brothers
and somehow. it works

deep rhythms pour out of the makeshift set
(bone rhythms, but who has to know)
harmonizing backbeat to strung out scales
some of the small crowd are shocked
others follow along as if it were planned
James twists the cadence to match Tristan's skill
then without more than an upward glance
the impromptu song suddenly ends

"Tha'ssit f'r t'nigh's show." credited with trademark (lopsided) easy grin and flourished bow "Y' c'n catch's here ev'ry fourth'n sixth Sunday a th' month, sets a mi'nigh'n twel'e am three time a day."

(tristan)
Seamless, no matter how unplanned, and the showmanship that easily follows that glance no one noticed but him, bringing the impromptu duet to a crashing rousing finish. There’s even a bit of a chuckle from the pretty boy at the scheduling of those shows, as he moves to grab his case again, before sinking to a crouch near James, to pack up once again.

The crowd disperses, slowing, and there’s the last minute rain of coins until it’s just the two of them there at the corner. He packs up his violin, wiping it down again, though it was only out mere minutes. He cares for it as if it is his baby, after all, the one thing he truly owns. Finally, he looks up at James, and arches a brow. “sorry, couldn’t resist. Been a while since I’ve invaded your corners like that...”

The grin there is actually fond. After all – that’s how he introduced himself, how many years ago?


(james)
thanks are spread among those dropping the last bits of change
handshakes traded for showman's easy smile
then all six feet of him falls to mirroring crouch

"Been 'while since I play' a corn'r."

smirked in partial self-reprication before a calculating pause
and half of what poured in after the duet began is scooped aside
dropped in the change pocket of the violin case before Tristan can refuse
and James is rising to return his instruments to their own keeping
cans rolled back into an alley
slatboard sticks shoved back into a dumpster

(tristan)
He nods, slightly. “I know.” And he does. There was a while there that he didn’t play either... though needing to feed Kemp drove him back before anything else could have. He doesn’t refuse the toss either, knowing it wouldn’t be accepted even if he voiced it, instead tucking it into the small felt back for that purpose, flipping the locks closed on the case, and standing with a slight grunt.

He may have been (forcibly) healed (against his will) but after playing as long as he has today, the muscles ache, complain, and generally voice their discontent with the abuse placed upon them. Hands smooth over side, back belly, gently massaging, before he catches James’ eye again. “Buy you dinner?”


(james)
there's a snort as the Ahroun exits the alley for the last time

"Alrea'y askin' f'r a date wh'n we jus' met?"

that might even be a quirked grin forming, there
it must be the crescent moon above
James could not, by all means, be in a good mood

(tristan)
That brow arches, slowly, over a wickedly spreading grin.
And yes. That’s a grin.
And after a long moment where dark gaze makes the slow trail over James, dreds to toe to dreds again... he finally comments. “Well, you certainly don’t expect me to let a catch like you run away? Dinner. Dancing. Then, if your really good, we’ll test us a mattress or four...”

No matter what? His bro is damn good medicine. He’d been crawling out of some hole since the talk with Erik, the reconnecting with Roxy... this... this may be the last haul up that he needs. (..and no – not the date.. just the reconnect, of course.)


(james)
arms cross over muscular chest
shoulders hitching up under the tied back dreads
sweat's drying across skin exposed by the wifebeater stripped to for his set
and it's raising a chill towards the dark lines formed by the scars on his back
above which a brow most certainly lifts

"No drinksss?" the battle-scarred Fullmoon, well, huffs "Har'ly w'rth my time."

(tristan)
He chuckles and just tosses back, right at him. “Tequila. The real shit.” Challenge, of course, as they all know what happened last time these two had Mexican tequila together.... he’s a bottle still stashed, waiting for just such an opportunity...

Of course, everyone also knows that while these two Gnawers can eat their weight in food three times a day, they cannot handle their liquor...


(james)
breath shoots out in a scoff
hands occupied by lighting up a smoke
proverbial fire to keep the chill away
scar-latticed back turns to press against a wall

"So." pause. inhale. exhale. "If y'r lookin' a gettin' me drunk..... th' fuck y' wantin' food in m' ssstomach a 'sorb it?"

(tristan)
Shoulder finds way to the wall, leaning long form in comfortable slouch next to James, fingers lifting to steal the smoke just lip from his fingers. A long inhale, and he hands it back, slowly exhaling over his other shoulder as he watches the street before them. A slow chuckle... “Ain’t lookin f’nothing, but I’ll take what I can get and you know it.” Teased, softly.

Gaze falls to the ground, then around to find worn cochrans, sliding up until catching James’ gaze once more. “Just ain’t seen ya since..” pause. (I almost died. You almost died. I was saved by a fluke and all for something i’ll never see or quite understand and i fell into this hole and couldn’t breath and that bitch reminded me again how very little it is to be just a kin and....) resume. “...well, in a while. And the pickings were good today down the way – got some cash to spare before Kemp’s empty belly takes up the rest of it.” Chuckled, fondly. “But, I’m just as content to lean here and steal your smokes.”

(james)
the dramatic sound effects are exchanged for some far more dangerous
deep growl rattling from his chest as the smoke is stolen
(food is one thing, but Camels are SACRED!)
shot over with the mockery of a challenging glare
cigarette snatched back and cradled protectively
all before the Ahroun breaks his thesad
reaching over to ruffle his hand through Tristan's curls
just as he's sure the kinsman did to a child during his own set
(where you think he picked it up from?)

"Th'n y'r lucky I gotta full pack. C'mon." ruffling hand sinks to arm slung around comrade's shoulders as James pulls them both off the wall and in some direction that smells like food "Y'owe me dinn'r."

(tristan)
Ooooooooooooohboy. And that Growl. Now, we all know how –that- effects him, don’t we. But he is a showman as well, and pulls off the mock frightened (....it’s not fright that weakens the knees, that makes the belly flutter...) look as smoke is snatched away again, and then there’s a soft chuckle as he leans into the affectionate carress through curls.

Which yes, he did do down the way. She was cute, maybe 5 or 6, wanting to play more then anything in the world. Who could resist?

Then he switches hands, violin sliding to the other as one slides around James’ waist and he heads them off in direction of food. “Yessir. Right away sir. Been to Nookie’s yet?” Won’t tell him the foods free there for Gnawers – that would ruin the fun....


(james)
[impromptu pause]


Posted by james at April 15, 2004 12:00 AM