|
  |
It's a park. A different park from the one Magneto ruined. Kai is there, lounging against a tree with his guitar. Like other hipsters, he's gifting the world with the benefit of his musical stylings. Unlike many of those hipsters, he's actually good. "…the times, they are a changing." He's no Bob Dylan, but he's got the spirit of the tune and a melodious voice.
*
A different park, not destroyed by psychokinetically-scattered debris of metallic inclination. The presence of the sun, mild as it is, is enough to bring out all sorts of folk looking to meander through greenery without worry of rallies-gone-awry.
This includes Rosemarie, librarian appreciating some spring warmth rather than the confines of her job. As much as she loves it, she finds her mind wandering outside of its endless shelves and index cards and carts and overdue fees. Now she finds her body along with it, though neither are paying any attention to the draw of a certain club with a certain barkeep. Well…okay, lies. The brunette with freckled complexion wanders along the path, looking more through things than at things. It's the music that brings her truly to the present. A guitar, not a piano, but…the young man in question has a lovely voice. She remains at the edge of the divide between cement and grass, listening silently, her cinnamon-brown eyes lingering on him as his playing slowly draws a smile to her lips.
*
A lovely voice and a fey smile, which he flashes Rosemarie as she draws nearer. There are a few people who pause to listen, but then they go on their way. As his Dylan draws to an end, and he tries his hand at Peter, Paul, and Mary. "When I was just a lad of ten, my father said to me…" It's a lovely little ditty about how love is like a lemon tree whose flower is sweet, but the fruit is impossible to eat. He keeps an eye on Rosemarie. She's adorable, and he likes singing to her and, in general, he does as he likes. Though he interrupts himself to tell her, "Come on over."
*
The brunette draws up short and glances about. Who — her? A hand unconsciously touches at the divot of her throat to accent the unspoken thought. The surprised expression on her face might do the rest. Still, the modern-day troubadur strums on and it's clear that the invite was for her.
Hesitantly, and tucking loose hair behind her ear to boot, Rosemarie walks over and stands before him. Her voice is a bit slower, lagging behind her arrival, but it finally makes a showing.
"It's lovely, your song. I recognize it, but I don't remember who it's by," she admits with a shy laugh. No stutter! Lola the cat would be proud! …if Lola had the capacity to be proud of such a thing, which is unlikely considering she's feline and, ergo, her owner is 'staff'. "I heard it on a record not long ago." In her boxy spring dress, florally patterned in peonies and purple something over white, she stands…and stands…and stands…and finally realizes that this might look awkward, looming over him. Too late. Cue the pink beneath the freckles.
*
"Peter, Paul, and Mary," Kai says, interrupting himself again, slipping into the instrumental of the song. "What's your name, chick?" he says. His accent is English. "I'm Kai." His playing is rather nice, with or without the singing. "Do you like Peter, Paul, and Mary? They're so mellow, I'm still trying to figure out how I feel."
*
She goes to snap her fingers; the act happens, but the sound is muffled. "Oh, that's it, yes! That band, yes." The librarian pauses, uncertain as to whether or not to smile, or even chuckle. "Chick?" The echo comes in mistimed answer to his query as to whether or not she likes the musical group in question. "Chick. You're from overseas then. Britain? Oh! Sorry," and she ducks her chin, looking off to one side momentarily. "Rosemarie. I'm Rosemarie. It's nice to meet you…Kai?"
Settling down on the grass with legs folded beneath her skirt seems like the most intelligent thing to do, now that she's bungled up the greetings and questions. She smoothes out the material before looking up again to him. "…it is Kai, right? I heard you correctly?"
*
Kai grins. "It's the lingo, gorgeous. You're a hot chick. I don't make the rules, I just speak the King's jive." Now the tune meanders, lazy improv. "And yeah, my name is Kai. It's short for Gerhard in Norway." Like that clears up everything. "I was born in London, so I guess I should say 'luv' instead of 'chick' but America's invaded my brain." He wends into a minor chord. "Rosemarie's a swinging name. About the prettiest one I've heard."
*
Even if the one with the prettiest name ever heard does attempt to deflect with a roll of her eyes, there's no helping the deepening of the blush beneath her freckles. She observes her hands intently where they remain in her lap before finally glancing up at the guitar first. It seems a fine instrument, mellow and warmly-strung, with the sunlight reflecting from its shined surface. She then looks to his face again, with cheery disposition, and can't help mirroring, even if the action itself screams hesistance.
"You'll be a bard before you know it, throwing about the lingo from another country. I've heard prettier names, y'know," she demurs with another sidelong glance to an errant dandelion growing in bright blossoming, "but thank you kindly. I'll…stick with Kai rather than…oh dear, I'd butcher the other one, sorry."
*
Kai's grin broadens as if powered by that blush. "You might have heard prettier names, but I swear to you I haven't." Kai says with a laugh. "Then again, my family's from the north. I'm used to hearing names like Hulda or Inga or Gerhard." He winks, and the tune continues to grow more complicated, played easily by skilled fingers. He should be good at the guitar, he's been playing it for at least three lifetimes.
"Kai is good," he says, "Gerhard sounds too much like something my parents would call me." He wrinkles his nose. "I'm a rebel, Rosemarie, out on my own, determining my own future and finding my own way. That's what Kai does. Gerhard knows which one is the salad fork. Total square."
*
Rosemarie nods, though it's clear by the smile attempting to break through the shyness that she might be humoring the guitar player with such a solemn acceptance of the information presented. He runs fingers over the strings so fluently, goodness. She has some skill with the piano herself, but this is a different beast to tame than the black-and-ivory span of keys.
"So you admit that you don't know which is the salad fork? It must be difficult eating the greens with a spoon. You are a self-professed rebel, however." And she shrugs, looking away again as if it's taking all her power to muster up the bravery to continue flitting along in the social banter.
*
Kai's smile never quite fades, neither from his lips nor his eyes. Leaning toward her a bit, he says in a low tone, "I don't care which is the salad fork, my dear." Then he laughs, so utterly good-natured as he leans back against the tree he sits upon the roots of. "What about you, Rosemarie? Are you a free spirit?"
The tune wends into something a little more old fashioned. Buddy Holly's 'Well, All Right.' Not everyone is over his death.
*
Okay, she giggles — but it's behind a hand, still demure. A free spirit. It's an interesting question to consider. Her attention wanders as she thinks, even as his fingers travel over the neck of the guitar to determine rills of notes.
"I…think so. I believe in freedom, beauty…truth…love." Rosemarie says the last one softest of all, with no small amount of reverence and a thin cloud of melancholy. Wistfulness, that one's in there too, a sprinkling of it.
*
Kai sings along with his improved playing, "Beauty, truth, love… sun shining above, and Rosemarie is here with me, and that's the truth of beauty and love…"
He quirks a wry smile. He's not a lyricist, but he's also not afraid to make a fool out of himself. "Do you believe in fighting for what's right?" he asks her. "When push comes to shove, would you stand up against oppression?"
*
"I…think — well, yes," she hedges, scratching behind one ear idly even as she fights down the fluster. Gosh, no one's ever sung to her before, especially with terrible lyrics made up on the fly that mostly work. Maybe…oh no, fiddle-faddle, now that is a silly thought. Shoo that little butterfly of a wish away.
"Yes. I would stand up…if I knew I could keep my feet." It's a twist on the concept that drives home the general uncertainty with which she tackles life, but still blazes gamely through. Rosemarie is no stranger to scraped knees now and then.
*
"That depends on where you stand," Kai says, the tune continuing without the benefit of his lyricism. It doesn't suffer any real loss. "Not everyone's built for the forefront, you dig me? There's more to the fight than the soldiers. Armies live and die by supply, chick. Someone's got to mend broken bones and broken hearts."
The gentle strumming takes on a darker tone, the slither of a lower note amidst the lighter playing. "Did you hear about the riot at the mutant rights protest? I was there. It was a bad scene."
*
It's true, not everyone's got the armor for impact and weaponry of words (or fists…or other implements of carnage) for the front lines. Rosemarie considers this as her fingertip slide down the side of her neck to rest on her collarbone; they trace the line formed there, a movement simply for the act of it. Perhaps self-soothing.
She looks up to his face from admiring the blurred vibration of silver strings against the wood. "You were? …oh wow. I heard about it. I was at work, shelving overdue books. You didn't get hurt? What were you doing there?" Her brows quirk in concern for a fellow human being.
*
Kai watches her, mostly sidelong, but he keeps her in his vision as he plays. He doesn't have to watch his fingers in order to play. "I wasn't hurt," he says, "I stuck around to help people, and let me tell you, everyone was angry. It didn't make sense. Someone was messing with the greater good, if you know what I mean." He shakes his head. Sad times, man. Sad times.
He perks up again, though. One cannot keep the scone elf down for long. "You're a librarian? That's cool. Knowledge is power. Does your fine establishment carry anything by Ginsberg?"
*
Her brown deepens, lending her a seriousness perhaps uncharacteristic for her features. She might seem more inclined to confusion or perhaps solemnity than this cast of glower.
"I think I do. I'm sorry to hear this. Anger doesn't solve anything, really." This much she's fairly certain of, having to guide the ship of her days in the calmest waters possible. Rock the boat in her world and things get…messy. "You sticking around to help people was brave of you, especially in a riot. You're good people, Kai." The frown fades as a tentative smile appears.
Indeed, can't keep a Scone Elf down. The flip in conversational direction is enough to tease a grin from her further still, though modesty tamps it down quickly. "I think it does. The National Library carries more books than I can keep track of on an organized day, much less a bad one."
*
"Anger can be the fire that drives you," Kai says, "but it can burn out of control, man." Another chord shift, something less gloomy. "These people… I don't think it was natural, dig?" Then he grins and shrugs a shoulder. "Couldn't just let them get hurt and still be Kai." Or Hjuki for that matter, but never mind that.
"I have a lot of respect for people who keep the wheels of knowledge turning. It's far out, what you do," Kai mentions. That modesty gets a sly look from him. "Do they let anyone in there? I should get a library card."
*
She decides then and there that, indeed, this Kai fellow is 'good people'. Not only did he stick around in a riot to aid folk, but he has an interest in visiting the library. No self-titled librarian is without the firm belief that books are to be treasured and appreciated for their worth that spans beyond present time and space.
"You should get a library card," replies she of the Information Desk. The calculating look from the young man has her looking back with mild suspicion. She holds his eyes for as long as possible before finding grateful distraction in a small child running a kite on a string nearby. "We don't keep anyone from the books," she adds quietly, glancing back to him. "They're open to all. The library card simply allows you to take them home. You could sit all afternoon and read Ginsberg."
*
"If I came to get a library card, would you be there?" Kai asks with the sweetest of smiles. "I feel like I might be making a new friend here." He meets her gaze easily, his good cheer never wavering. "I can't think of anything better to do, by the way. Ginsberg, a cup of coffee, and a sunny day to watch people.
The music is just the soundtrack to the conversation, and he plays it as though it were his natural state: making something, in this case, music. "What do you read, Rosemarie?" The way he sounds, this could be a serious question."
*
"I might be there, yes. I work at the Information Desk, though it's the podium by the Sciences section, not the Poetry." Ooh, points for the brunette, having a bead on which author he speaks of. She just might dabble in poetry herself as her room has a pillowed ledge on which she often reclines and indulges in a book with coffee. Indeed, for his professed preference, they could be very good friends indeed! That grin shows up a little more, enticed further, until the flash of her teeth is seen.
"What do I read? Oh…a little bit of everything." It's not an evasion, simply truth. "I recently picked up a volume called 'Lord of the Rings' by a British author, Tolkien. You might have heard of it? Or maybe not. It's fantasy." And there's a laugh, a bubble of one, as she tucks another loose strand of hair away behind her ear. "I admit to wanting to escape the world every now and then. The magic…" she peters off before shaking her head slighlty. "The characters are so colorful. You might like it. The author included some songs in it — just the words, no notes. You could make up your own music to the words."
*
Kai inclines his head in acknowledgement that this chick's on top of things when it comes to poets. Points scored. "J.R.R.?" Kai says brightly. Then, after a riff from his guitar, he adds, "Never heard of him." He winks at her, then adds, "It's a good book. I haven't read it in ages." Back when it was new.
"I'll write some music for the songs," he says. "Would you listen to me play if I did?" That smile is just so sweet and guileless. Stray puppies with huge eyes have nothing on him.