Two-Faced

[Gabriel Seran]

Dark nights were clouding together as one as the morbid thoughts of an aimless drifter roamed the streets. No longer was there any purpose to his being, no sides, and the black and white of his days seemed to come together as one. A blotch of grey ever enveloping his troubled mind. Gabriel could remember it was almost a year ago when he could say that there was a defining line, us vs. them, The Militia vs. the transfers. No longer had the balance made sense, they were all treading on new turf here; Gabriel now had the choice to make. A continued existence as a head of the Militia as noble as he once had been, or start anew, gain new allegiances, new foes.

There was no going back that of all things he had decided for himself, he could not live a lie, sulk in denial playing a hypocrite as he allowed for the Militia to proclaim this territory theirs it was just as domineering as the Dragons had in their conquest of #259 but they weren’t lying about anything. From this point he was a lone agent, a warrior of fate, he’d float with the wind until one side or the other decided to pick him up or as Bastille would have put it, the one who benefitted him the best.

He roamed the streets in a dismal fashion unsure as to where he was going or where he was, the only thing apparent was the firefly like lights above his head leading him deeper into the city’s underbelly. What was to come of this new place, no one could be sure, Gabriel felt fear for once but with that fear came exhilaration.

[January]

It's a dreary night. The lights buzz overhead in busy stillness, filling the city streets with a light that seems the color and consistency of an overripe cantaloupe. There are few pedestrians out and about, but for Smathers, tonight is not about them.

Underneath a conspicuous cantaloupe light hung on the side of a building, Smathers ceases his roaming and leans against the wall. Sliding down its rough edifice, his ass drops into a shallow puddle accumulated from an earlier rain. He hardly notices...the bag-wrapped bottle in his hand accounts for that one. There are few pedestrians, but for Smathers, tonight is not for them.

Smathers carefully sets the bottle down as if it was a petulant god with a frail temperament. he tosses his hat face up in front of him on the pavement. It is likely a futile gesture, for there are few pedestrians, but for Smathers, tonight is not for them.

He reaches into a pocket and pulls out the sliver of silver he trades his breath to for the gift of solace. He places the harmonica to his lips and blows a few notes of a song of his own construction; a slip-sliding ballad that sounds like it could be a hundred different easily recognizable tunes, but for some reason it eludes identification by even the most well versed ear. The result is an air of familiarity that binds people together...if there were any people. There are very few pedestrians, but for Smathers, tonight is not for them.

Staring over the silvery horizon of the harmonica's upper edge, Smathers spots a passerby. He coughs loudly and spits off to one side before calling out. "Got a request, buddy?"

[THE Justin]

It was seemingly a night for sulking, as Stu made his way down that sullen avenue. Brick faces of shops and tenement buildings shrieked for the solace of the wrecking ball, or at least a renovation, wanting nothing more to sleep, their ungrateful patrons lights keeping them awake, giving them a awkward glow.

Stu thought of times past, hands plunged deep within the great coat. It was cold and miserable tonight, it seemed, something he was slowly getting used to, not prepared for the earthquake that had rocked #259, just as he was starting to get reacquainted and settled down.

It bothered him not. No, he had enough to worry about, his past actions often catching up with him. He had left a pretty clean trail, his neurotic parts making sure that he would not be directly linked to any of the robberies.

No, it was those that he had hurt that hurt him the most. He would never forget those that he left behind, and those that he had damaged in his rampage.

It was this reflection that brought him to a stop on a street corner, mildly aware of the two men behind him, one having been playing the sweetly slick notes of a harmonica piercing the gale of unwanted emotions. He stood on that street corner, not knowing which way to go.

But he said nothing. For it was not for them.

[Gabriel Seran]

The melodic playing of the harmonica caught his ear. A pleasant sound it truly was something that brought the nostalgia of home back. Gabriel turned to pay notice to the almost transient looking man, at least to his perspective being of high class. As the man fiddled with the harmonics Gabriel felt the presence of another near, possibly more than one, he was unsure, but now he was unsure of everything and didn’t pay much heed in fact he almost welcomed death at this point or at the very least the exhilaration behind it. He was longing for an assault something that would scare the life back into him.

"Got a request, buddy?"

Gabriel nodded to him dropping a kindly folded twenty dollar bill towards the man.
“Do you know Bach?” Gabriel suggested in his French accent trying not to appear condescending though sometimes he wondered.

[January]

Smathers' head inclines at the question. He eyes the outstretched hand with money in it. A lump rises in his throat at the decency of the gesture, and with some effort he swallows it back down.

Being unexpectedly presented with a gesture of goodwill, Smathers is stricken by a wave of guilt. How is it that it is his good fortune to receive such a gift rather than someone elses, through little more than a trick of fate? Where is the justice in that?

"Keep your money sir, surely there are worthier causes it would be better spent on," Smathers says. If the man was to place it in the hat on the ground, Smathers would not protest further, but he does mean what he says as well.

"As for Bach," he continues, "to his four-square spins, modern music owes its allegience. You can find Bach in the rain of jazz and the heat of rock."

Smathers reaches down and snatches up the bottle. "So here's to Bach, and Bach to the Future!" He exclaims in a ragtag slur. Leaning forward and raising a hand to his mouth, he whispers conspiratorially, "...that's the name of the song you know..." He laughs now, and draws deeply from the vessel's contents.

"Ahhhh......" he exhales, and sets down the bottle. At long last, he sets to playing a rendition of a Beethoven piece, but somehow it's not quite Bach anymore. The listener will begin to feel a sense of foreboding from the music, like all is not right with the world. Somewhere deep within the machinery of the song and of the earth, a sickening lurch and pulse plays out in a climbing tension that is both enthralling and anticipatory of some dread to come. A dark song for a dark night, all in blue notes and syncopation, breaks the mold of convention and gum-chewer sunday driver rhythm, replacing it with the relentless barrage that is a thinking man's music.

[THE Justin]

Stu listens as the harmonica spits out its tune, and the conversations that were held within. The harmonica's soul seemingly spoke directly to the ears of the men in attendance.

Stu turned around, and walked, leaning on the perpendicular side of where the harmonica was, listening to it. He nodded his head alongside the music. He smiled, reaching into his pocket, pulling out the $5 bill. He dropped it into the hat.

"You play well. Never stop. If you do, it'll haunt you forever."

[Gabriel Seran]

"Keep your money sir, surely there are worthier causes it would be better spent on," The bum like man said with his Harmonica ringing in tune.

"As for Bach," he continued, "to his four-square spins, modern music owes its allegiance. You can find Bach in the rain of jazz and the heat of rock."

The bum reaches down and snatched up the bottle. "So here's to Bach, and Bach to the Future!...that's the name of the song you know..." He laughed now, and draws deeply from the bottle’s contents.
Gabriel wondered half-heartedly if the man was a drunk, the words he phrased where not so common in fact they either seemed to an ancient philosopher of like he thought earlier, a crazed, drunken booze hound.
"You play well. Never stop. If you do, it'll haunt you forever."

The man at his side said as he deposited a five dollar bill into the hat. Gabriel sympathized for the statement though it had indeed been a while since he himself had played his piano the lyrics from the last melody still beckoned to him. The day leaving the hospital playing a sorrowful melody of grace, loss, and old grievances. They would all be made a new things had a way of finding balance, power through balance would that be the beckoning call of his new dominion. A shudder of power rippled into his thoughts. Hero no, Gabriel was not a hero and the lyrics portrayed it to him, he did things unsuitable that a hero would not. He would carry on as Unfettered would have done; find balance through terror, terror through power.
Knowing what he had to do he nodded and headed up the narrow street without another word whether to be stopped or not his mind was made up and a new era was on the horizon, a new brand of chaos. Militia? No something stronger…Valkyrie.

[January]

"You play well. Never stop. If you do, it'll haunt you forever."

Smathers can't help but pause for a moment at the wisdom this person of chance happenstance was spreading forth.

Considering for a moment Smathers replies. "Aye, music is a more agreeable haunting than what comes in its absence. Better the ghost you know than the one you dont."

Something in steps of the man who was now walking away told Smathers that he was haunted by a ghost as well. The ghost of a past or the ghost of a future? Smathers couldn't tell, though some better at the trade than he might have been able to read it there as it wafted from the man like a scent.

Smathers stands now, plants his hat back on his head, and takes a deep breath, seeming to take in the night from a new perspective. Maybe fate had brought him here tonight, for his own sake as well as that of the people he had fallen in step with briefly. Maybe it was impossible for one to do either wrong or right, and that one could just exist and do as life presents him with options.

The streetrat scoops up the bottle, looks at it for a moment, and passes it off to the wise man who had not departed. "Seems I've got my own spirits to haunt me tonight..." he says, and treads the pavement one weaving step at a time, off into the night.

[THE Justin]

Stu stopped a few feet away from the one man, the one with the cashflow, the one supporting the starving artist alongside him. He smirked.

"The name's Stu. I've got enough ghosts to haunt the White House. You. The one with the $20.. Remember me, alright? You look like someone who knows something, and if you're the one who Winters talked about... Then I've picked a fortuitous night.

Remember what I said. Don't ever stop."

Stu pocketed his hands, and began the somber saunter, heel toe feet kicking rocks to gutters, mind aflutter of the unknown.

And just as quickly as he came and depositted all that he knew, he was gone, taking with him more knowledge than when he came.

((God damn this was a somewhat depressing thread XD))

[Gabriel Seran]

"The name's Stu. I've got enough ghosts to haunt the White House. You. The one with the $20.. Remember me, alright? You look like someone who knows something, and if you're the one who Winters talked about... Then I've picked a fortuitous night.

Remember what I said. Don't ever stop."

Gabriel stopped his saunter out and turned to the man. Winters…That was Unfettered. Had the two had something in the past? An ally? A foe? Had fate dealt him this card? Surely it must have. The pieces on the board were now moving into place. There was room to maneuver and Gabriel now was beginning to see possibilities.

“I will surely remember you,” Gabriel gave a nod as he turned his back on the man, “The name’s Gabriel Seran…and I’ll never stop” The cold footsteps against the muddled floor signaled his departure. Now this is where the game begins.

-End Thread-
(OOC: Justin you up for some plottage? Smatters you’re welcome to also…)