10149/Writing Music

Writing Music
Date of Scene:	22 November 2019
Location:	Xavier's--Shannon's Dorm
Synopsis:	If Shannon's head wasn't on her shoulders, she'd lose that, too! Lyrics notebook returned, Brad's vision flashes give hope of healing!
Cast of Characters:	Nightingale, Haunt

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Nightingale has posed:
     "No... that's not quite right..." Within the dorm seven doors down the hallway, its lone winged resident is perched on her bed, her face bathed in flickering blue light and headphones over her ears. As Shannon reaches over to a small piano-like keyboard attachment to her computer, she taps out a few notes, tests them against some barely-murmured lyrics, and shakes her head. "That's not right, either." A soft sigh of exasperation follows, and she pulls the headphones off, tossing them to the bed beside her. She's in her favorite PJ's, consisting of red tartan sweatpants and a baggy gray tank top. This time, though, she's barefoot--have you ever tried to sit cross-legged with huge, fluffy sheepdog slippers on your feet before? Opting to take something of a break from her task, she closes her laptop and leans back against her pillows, looking at the ceiling for a moment, in silence.

Haunt has posed:
There's a rap on the door; it isn't quiet, but also isn't demanding, either. There's nobody at the door, though, at least when first opened, but Brad's quick to identify himself. An object also materializes in the air: a blue lined notebook.

"Hi, it's Brad," Brad quickly says, to prevent confusion, or, worse, her barreling out into the hallway directly into him if she didn't think someone was there. "Music teacher found this in the music room. We thought maybe it was yours?" he wonders, the notebook floating up a little bit, as he lifts it for her to have a look-see.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon raises an eyebrow at first, but the floating blue notebook gives away the identity of her visitor. Her footfall is soft on the floor, more of a shuffling with the fuzzy slippers on her feet. "Did you find my head in there, too? Because I'd lose it if it wasn't on my shoulders." A self-depreciating laugh escapes her, and she reaches up for the notebook to examine it. Sure enough, there's the lyrics she was jotting down in the middle of class earlier that day! "Thank you! It's just some lyrics I was working on... I hadn't gotten a chance to put those on my phone yet."

Haunt has posed:
"Aw no, the head was yours too? I didn't bring it, it was dripping," Brad answers her self-deprecating, going along with it. He gives the notebook fully over to her custody, remaining entirely invisible. Another student passes along down the hallway at this point, looking at Shannon talking to herself in the hallway, but heads off without a word.

Brad chuckles a little bit: yes, he'd been quiet on purpose, it seems like. Sometimes, rarely, it's fun: take the fun where you can get it. "Obviously I didn't read them," Brad says. "I didn't know you wrote lyrics. I've done a little bit of music writing. Not lately. Busy."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon chuckles and steps aside from her door, just so it looks a little less odd to have her standing there talking to--apparently--thin air. She wraps her arms around the notebook, her wings ruffling with the soft sounds of feather against feather as she shifts and stretches them out behind her. "Really? Do you sing, then?" Her room has the faint smell of fresh kitchen herbs growing somewhere, the aroma delicate but growing a little more potent the closer one gets to the side of the room that has the fireplace. With him being invisible, she kept her fingers crossed and hoped that his TK abilities were as she remembered in their few encounters, and he could 'see' where he was going.

Haunt has posed:
While Brad clearly senses her stepping backwards, it may be difficult to tell exactly where he is. His voice seems to come from the vicinity of the open doorway, though. He did step forwards, but he didn't fully enter her room: he wasn't invited.

"I sing okay. I'm mostly a drummer," Brad explains. "So my writing isn't really just lyrics. Sometimes it's just pieces of lyrics, more the musical part. And before you ask, no, I'm not good enough to sing in a Glee club," Brad laughs.

With his laugh, something a little strange happens: he flickers in and out. Like, he's visible for just a moment, then gone again. It's a flash of his position, one hand near his face, the other against his hip loosely. He's dressed in blue lounge pants, a white tee, white socks. His hair is fluffed and not gel-spiked, recently cleaned, in a tousle of sandy brown.

"Ouch," he mutters, after he disappeared.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon chuckles lightly, and shrugs. "I'm not one to push for Glee club. Figure if you want in, then you're as welcome as any of us are. It's kind of Andrea's baby. Leave the recruiting to her," she jokes, the momentary amusement in her eyes echoed in her voice as well. "But how can you say you're not good to me, when I've never even heard you play?" She steps back from the door, extending one wing towards him so it's within reach as a guide if he wishes, brushing the tips of her feathers against where she guesses his arm might be. "C'mon in. Sounds like you're hurting a little."

Haunt has posed:
"I didn't say my playing was bad. I'm a phenomenal drummer," Brad brags, laughing. It doesn't sound like he's being sarcastic, there's pride in his voice. It's something he does well. "But I'm happy to leave the singing to other people. Easier to concentrate on my drumming when I'm not also trying to remember all the words. Some of us don't get sheet music."

Brad hesistates, aware of the wing extended. "Getting vision flashes. It's just bright and startling; I'm not hurt," Brad assures her. "I remember you're a healer, aren't you?" he asks. "So you can tell that I'm not, right?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods. "In training. Part of my abilities is that I absorb another's injuries on touch. Josh Foley was teaching me to control that, so it wouldn't happen accidentally. We got so far as to let me sense a little bit about the nature of an injury, without allowing the healing to happen. And trust me, there is plenty of practice for that around here." She holds where she is, smiling at the pride she hears in his voice. "Then you do something I can't. I can barely play the bongos, let alone a full drum kit."

She tilts her head slightly, considering what he's said, and measuring it against what she's seeing. "Did you have a vision flash just then? Because I could see you. Just for a second."

Haunt has posed:
"Sure. Healer in training. I'm a telekinetic in training, but still can do a lot," Brad agrees, thoughtful. He listens to her explanation about her power: it has a lot he didn't know. For example, that she aborbs injuries. That doesn't sound pleasant at all! "Lots of people get hurt? Well. I'm glad I'm not dangerous," Brad sighs. He IS glad, really. His power could harm others, and that isn't something it sounds like he favors. "Not very many people do. I love playing them, though. Doesn't matter, the blindness, when I'm playing those. So it's nice: matters what I sound like, not what I look like."

Brad pauses. "Yeah. It's happening. Something's up with my invisibility. Ms. Braddock and I were working to shut it off, or it's from the nullifier, or both. I'm not really sure," Brad answers. Still, his smile is enormous, and it comes into his voice. "Right now it's kind of weird. I should probably keep my dark glasses with me. Which is... awesome. I mean. That I might have a reason to have them now. To train my eyes."

There's a quiet pause. "Anyways, dropping that off. Maybe 'see' you later, okay?" Brad asks, with a cheerful, hopeful tone. "If I'm reappearing, maybe it's a good time to practice trying to turn my stuff off. 'Bye, Shannon."