5584/Honky Tonk Woman

Honky Tonk Woman
Date of Scene:	17 October 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Archangel, Dazzler

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Archangel has posed:
Warren makes his way into the bar with a somewhat wistful expression. He spent much of his occasionally wild youth here, getting into trouble with other young mutants who didn't know any better or imagine the world might beat them down over the years. Not that he was -that- beaten down, mind you - he had a very large cushion to land on when things went bad, after all.

He's dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, unadorned in dark blue, along with dark slacks and nice shoes. His hair is freshly trimmed, shaved along the sides, his blue eyes sparkling. He raises a hand to the bartender, being recognized there, but Salem Center is nice in that they pretend not to notice the heroes and celebrities that occasionally walk in their midst.

Such as the one currently climbing on stage.

Dazzler has posed:
    It's been a long time, even in the short span of her life -- which has been both longer and shorter than time says it should be, but that kinda comes with being an intergalactic adventurer -- since the great Dazzler has been nervous before a gig. It's not like this place is a hole in the wall; good artists have performed and continue to perform, here. But, this venue is definitely smaller, and far more intimate than she's used to playing...and, especially when she's feeling out her fledgling steps into a new sound.

    Unlike when she prepares for a concert show, Alison's dressed casually, without the wild hair, outfit, and makeup... She's wearing a creamy knit sweater dress with an oversized turtleneck that splits open on one side, draping to either side of her shoulder and accented by large, chestnut brown buttons. Beneath that, black leggings and black knee-high boots with a low heel. Her hair gathered atop her head in a messy, but attractive bun, allows a few wisps of hair frame her face, giving a soft look that matches the barely-there makeup she wears. Rosy cheeks give her girl-next-door prettiness an added touch of innocence, and her glossy lips and light mascara on her lashes, accenting her sparkling eyes, make her seem a bit younger than she is. She settles on the stool and places her ukulele on her bent leg's thigh as she adjusts the mic.

    Finally, though it's only taken moments for her to do these set up motions...she speaks. And, maybe her voice is familiar, maybe it isn't. But, it's softer. Perhaps a hint shy. As she inhales deeply and exhales in a sort of laugh. "Well, folks, thanks for being here, this evening. Be sure you tip your waiter and the bartender. I'm gonna do somethin' a little different. It's not my usual fare, but I hope you'll bear with me as I do some wandering," she smiles gently, her dimples making an appearance. She strums her ukulele with some intro-improv, sort of warming her fingers up, but also warming up the crowd for what's coming up. It's slow, emotional, and very melodic, this music she's making, now, with the sweet, worn ukulele gripped in her left hand.

Archangel has posed:
Archangel raises an eyebrow. He doesn't mind dance music and thought Alison's to be better than most, but, in truth, he prefers music that's more about feelings than beats. He's something of a secret sentimentalist, in fact, not that he'd let most of his fellow X-men know. He's got an aloof reputation to uphold, after all.

He gets a small table for himself, near the stage but down a bit to the left, not right in the center of her vision. He's not hiding but he's not planting himself before her face and demanding attention either. He feels a phantom ripple down his back as his metallic wings, folded neatly against his shoulder blades, flicker a bit, an metallic near-rustling thankfully overruled by the sound of Dazzler's pretty notes plucked along her uke.

"Hard cider, please," he says, thanking the waitress as he turns his eyes properly to the stage where they belong.

Dazzler has posed:
    Alison keeps her eyes either down at the stage, or closed, while she's finding the courage to start this song. Once she gives voice to it, it's...no longer hers, in a way. The previous songs she's written, released, and performed were no big deal. It was easy to be positive and peppy. That's second-nature to her. What is hard, what hurts and is scary, is opening up the way she has to...to deliver this new sound, this song...her first step. Like a newborn fawn, her voice, soft and sweet...joins the melody. It's sad, and longing, but still somehow bright, despite the intense emotion she pours into it.

Am I really here?
More than wisps of smoke
That scatter in the wind?
Tell me, dear...
Can you see me...with your eyes?
But, how well can you trust them?

'Cause I've been sparkling all these stars to blind
Everyone, but most of all, myself?
Yeah, I'm dazzlin', darlin'
I'm dazzlin'...
Oh, so dazzling...
Until the lights go out.

    Alison's voice is light and breathy, but also rich with tone -- blending and dancing between the two aspects as she croons this poem from her heart. She feels so fucking vulnerable, and she wants to implode into a single point of light, so she doesn't have to peel back her layers... But, she can't keep hiding forever, can she? She harnesses the discomfort and feeds it into her next verse.

Can you feel me, darlin'?
Am I really there?
'Cause I can hear and see,
But, I can't touch or taste
The way I think I should..
If you touch me, will I disappear?
Was I ever really there?

'Cause I've been sparkling all these stars to blind
Everyone, but most of all, myself?
Yeah, I'm dazzlin', darlin'
I'm dazzlin'...
Oh, so dazzling...
Until the lights go out.

Archangel has posed:
Warren is hardly a music critic. Most of his listening doesn't amount to much more than putting on an album before bed or having in a seat of earbuds while he flies around, letting his mind drift. Alison's music, though, reaches him, in ways that surprise him. He knew she had a good voice, but this new style opens up qualities you couldn't hear before, a tenderness, the way she breaks just right on certain syllables. He watches her sure hands moving on the instrument, but he knows the real instrument is the one of her voice, the one that carries people beyond this dreary, old-time bar and into their own mental space.

He sits back in his chair, sipping his cider and just listening. Almost basking. He has to remember to keep his wings folded, as he feels them reflexively begin to stretch out as he grew relaxed. He was usually so on edge out in public.

"I'll be damned," he mutters to himself with a half-smile.

Dazzler has posed:
    And, on she goes. Alison continues the song, her heart aching so much she fears it will burst. She doesn't know to whom she's singing, but her song will be heard. She can't keep it inside, now. There are tears that sting behind her closed eyelids. A painful lump trying to swell in her throat, but she sings through it.

Can I be here, baby?
Will you keep me here?
You gotta hold me in your heart,
Feel me with your soul,
And exhale your love in faith...
To make me real.

'Cause I've been sparkling all these stars to blind
Everyone, but most of all, myself..
Yeah, I'm dazzlin', darlin'
I'm dazzlin'...
Oh, so dazzling...
Until the lights go out.

I can't keep my head up, honey
I'm drownin' in my own light, love...
Feed me with your soul,
Squeeze the life in,
Cryin' through pangs of rebirth,
To make me real.

'Cause I've been sparkling all these stars to blind
Everyone, but most of all, myself..
Yeah, I'm dazzlin', darlin'
I'm dazzlin'...
Oh, so dazzling...
Until the lights go out.

But, it's too much to give, baby,
There'll be nothin' left
If you hold onto me,
Try to feel me,
To see me...

Through all the stars.


    ...Her voice is barely there at the end, and she's leaned forward, letting her bangs obscure her eyes, which are damp with emotion. She lets the last notes of the song trickle out of her ukulele, echoing the main melody once more...slowly. Until it's done. Then, she sniffs and laughs softly, "Thanks." And, standing up, her chin still tilted low, she gives a little wave to the crowd before stepping down from the stage and heading back to her table, where her ukulele's case is sitting. She busies herself putting it away before she sinks down in her chair and works on composing herself.

Archangel has posed:
You can't exactly get deafening applause in a little corner bar, but she gets damn close to it. A few of the more countryfied folks in the back let out a whoop and a 'hot damn!'. Warren himself gets to his feet as he claps, and not just because he knows her. Because she absolutely deserved it.

He signals the waitress and whispers in her ear, asking her to extend an invitation for Alison to join him. No pressure, just wanting to see an old friend and compliment her on her accomplishment. He's not an artist himself, can't imagine the kind of creative energy that went into that. He struggled to come up with rhymes for 'violets are blue' back in school.

He'll also tell the waitress to get Alison whatever she wants on his tab, whether she joins him or no.

Dazzler has posed:
    It's not a surprise when the waitress passes her a message... It is, however, a surprise to find that it's a message from Warren. She'd had a moment to collect herself, and dry her eyes with the little cocktail napkins that the table provided, handing her ukulele over to a trusted employee of the bar who will stash it for her to gather later. So, the message now has her glancing in the direction of the waitress' discreet pointing. She smiles brightly at the sight of her friend, laughing self-deprecatingly as she makes her way over.

    She slides into a seat at his table and clasps her hands atop it, "Of all the nights you decide to slum it, you pick tonight, huh?" Her grin is cute and dimpled, her eyes still glittering and slightly damp at the roots of her lashes. "That must just be my luck," she says with an amused tone, asking the waitress for a drink, a Fuzzy Navel. Fruity, silly, sweet. Kinda like her. "Well, if someone was going to bear witness to my self-inflicted torture, it could'a been worse," she says in her ever-optimistic way, with a smile and genuine warmth in her voice.

Archangel has posed:
Archangel shakes his head, "Torture? No, I definitely would not call it torture. I mean, if it was painful for you, that's terrible and I'm sorry for it, but it was, absolutely, a pure pleasure to be in the audience. Definitely didn't feel like I was doing any slumming. If anything, you are. This isn't exactly your usual venue," he says, gesturing to the cozy atmosphere. An old fisherman gives a gap-toothed smile at the pretty girl when she looks his way, tipping his fuzzy stocking cap.

"If you want to keep your new style a secret, I can promise total discretion. I only hope you'll favor us with some more tonight, not that I'm in any rush to have you leave the table."

Dazzler has posed:
    Alison purses her lips though a grin still pulls through. "I kind of look at it like this: the style I'm best known for is huge leaps and bounds away from what I'm interested in doing, now. So, I'm gonna have to sort of, if you'll forgive the imagery, break my bones and reset them to make the necessary changes," she begins. She can't help but smile back at the old fisherman and give him a finger-wiggle wave, 'cause his smile is so genuine and kind.

    "This kind of growth is never easy. If it was, it wouldn't mean anything. I definitely want this to be meaningful," she says, turning her gaze back to the handsome man smiling at her. "I got pretty comfortable with how easy it was -- is -- writing and singing my other stuff. I guess I felt complacent and, as an artist, as an entertainer, it'll show itself through the art. Sooner or later. So, I said to myself, "Ali. You better get ahead of it. What's on your mind? What's calling to you?" And, that's how I got started," she says, smiling thanks to the waitress as she receives her drink. "I thought starting small and testing the waters would be good... Better than just springing it on everyone. Maybe someone leaks some videos of my little open mic nights, here... Maybe people like it, maybe they don't. But, it's what feels right," she says, tracing a pattern on the table without realizing it. "You really want another one, after that?" she asks with a half-grin, not looking up from her drawing of sparkles on the table in condensation.

Archangel has posed:
Archangel smiles, "Do you talk to yourself a lot like that? Call yourself by name?" he teases ever so slightly. "It's cute, no denying it. Well, from my admittedly ignorant perspective, that was an absolute success. I don't know very much about the music business, but I know what I like and I liked that a lot. I have no idea if it's commercially viable, because that doesn't always have much to do with quality. But anybody who's a real fan of yours should at least be willing to give you a chance and, by my lights, I think you'll probably win them over."

He takes a long drink from his cider, signalling for another one before he answers the question. "I'm torn. On the one hand, I would definitely like to hear more. On the other, that would deprive me of your exclusive company. I am so bad at sharing, the curse of an only child I'm afraid. And I know something about mending broken bones."

Dazzler has posed:
    Alison laughs! "Well, come to think of it, I think I do often call myself by name, in my head. Or, aloud, even. I talk to myself, sometimes," she admits mirthfully. She puts her hands on her hips and pantomimes an example, "'Now, Alison, where'd you leave your keys, you silly girl? Do we have to do this every time we leave the house? No, we don't. If you'd just leave your keys in that cute little turtle-stuck-on-his-back ceramic trinket you bought just for such use...,'" she says in a mock-reproachful voice, her brows furrowed cutely.

    "If you wanna know the truth," she says quietly and, here, she leans in closer to whisper, "...let's keep this between us, but... I don't really care if it's commercially viable." The last bit, she covers both sides of her mouth, just in case. "I mean, yes, it's nice to get money to pay the bills, and oh, my aching credit card, but..." she sighs. "It's gotten to that point in my life where it's like, 'Alison, when are you gonna stop and smell the roses? Who knows how long you have left? You gotta make it count.' And, there I am, talking to myself, again. But, at least I'm making sense," she smiles a little, bouncing one of her shoulders in a carefree kind of shrug. "I want to make music as an art form, as a form of self-expression, as a love letter to life through my eyes, be it bitter, saccharine, or somewhere in between. It's not that I didn't /mean/ the songs I wrote, before. But, they were definitely from a rose-colored lens perspective, always," she toys with the little umbrella in her drink -- they always give her one, whether it's appropriate to the drink or not, because they know she likes them and they make her smile.

    "But, maybe it's dangerous to start sharing the shades of grey. People might hear my music and start using it against me. 'She doesn't feel fulfilled saving lives! She's a whiner! Boo!' You know?" she says, voicing something that's clearly been weighing on her mind, a hint of an anxious note in her words, that tightening in her eyes as she looks up at Warren.

Archangel has posed:
Warren listens intently, his blue eyes meeting hers, thumb stroking along the water beading on the neck of his cider. "I think we all reach the point where we realize money isn't everything. Easy for me to say, I know. Money makes life easier and makes you have a lot less trouble, but it doesn't give much in the way of meaning or purpose. It's one of those ouroboros snakes, eating its own tail. I know way, way too many people in New York who make money just for the purpose of making more money. It gets grotesque after a while. You can see it in their faces. You can definitely see it in their eyes," he says.

"So, if anything, I'm relieved that you don't care. Not caring means that what you really care about is the art you're making. That's good. And if it isn't that commercial, well, that's what patrons are for, aren't they? That's the way they used to do it in the old days, with Da Vinci and Michaelangelo and all those Italian opera singers? I'd be more than happy to provide any backing you might need, if you needed it. That's just an investment in my own enjoyment, really, not even selfless. Although I doubt they'd let me write it off my taxes."

At her last, he leans forward a bit and reaches out to take her hand, perhaps a bit boldly, but he watches her body language well. If she's at all hesitant or unhappy about it, he'll back away. "Sharing is always dangerous. Nothing makes us more vulnerable. You just have to be honest with yourself about what you're doing. It's easy to talk yourself into mistakes if you're not thinking clearly, if you're thinking of..." he shakes his head, "Now I'm just talking about myself. I don't think you have anything to worry about. You have a good head and a good heart. Neither one's going to lead you wrong."

Dazzler has posed:
    Alison finishes her drink and gives the waitress a big smile and a downward-pointing at her glass to indicate she'd like another. Then, her attention is back on Warren. Has he always been so handsome? Yes. She's noticed it on more than one occasion, but they'd always been in different places, doing different things, beyond a nod-smile exchange on a regular basis. But, now, having opened herself up in front of him and finding him very receptive... It's enough to make her tired little heart flutter a bit.

    Especially when he takes her hand.

    But, Alison's no longer a teenaged girl, and she keeps her head about her, remembering the weight of the words she sang only minutes ago. She doesn't withdraw her hand from his, but she's finding it hard to allow herself to enjoy the emotional thrill of it. "Oh... I don't know about that. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And, I know my 'good head and good heart' have gotten me into plenty sticky situations, before. That's the plight of the do-gooder, though, I suppose," she says with a small, sad smile. "I guess time will tell if the world at-large thinks is a genius move or a total career-ender, but I'm following my instincts. If we stop growing, we die. Or, well, most of us do," she says with a crooked grin and a mysterious note in her voice.

Archangel has posed:
Warren cups her fingers in his, giving a light squeeze but not too much pressure. Just a supportive grip. "You and I both know all too well that death isn't what everyone thinks it is. We've seen too many people come back from the other side. Hell, I'm one of them," he says. She can remember him as he was in his younger days. Still handsome, yes, but with a brighter edge of arrogance, cocky and untouchable, the sky-born heir who had lived only privilege, known only sun.

And then the tunnels and they cut off his wings, his pretty white wings, leaving him broken and wishing he were dead.

Then he disappeared. She might've heard the rumors about what he did. What he became. But also that he fought his way to the other side, back to the light. More than he'd been, less than he might've become. Angel becomes Archangel.

"I would much rather think about heaven than hell tonight, I think. In our real business, good times like these can come few and far between. When things get bad, they can barely seem real, like something we dreamed. I'm not ready quite to wake up yet."

Dazzler has posed:
    Alison's eyes trace over the lines, shadows, curves, and angles of the hands entertwined -- hers in his -- as he talks. She recalls some of the things she'd heard, only vague washes of horrors to her mind, that were vivid and scalding in his... Things he'd seen and experienced far outweighed things she'd been through, despite having died multiple times over...only to miraculously come back from it.

    She smiles softly and nods, looking up at his handsome face and those eyes that had seen things of which she couldn't even conceive... "The light comes through, Warren," she says softly. "In the end, it always does. Not the empty sparkles I sang about, tonight. The real stuff, the good and pure stuff that's there, at the core. So, you don't have to worry about waking up, because it's always there." But, why does she feel so tired? Why do these words feel trite and stupid falling out of her mouth? What could she possibly know?

    Abruptly, the smile fades from her mouth and she gently withdraws her hand, using both of them to pat at her bun, brush tendrils away from her face, which is suddenly too hot and flushed, and reach for the refill she ordered...because suddenly, she wants to crawl out of her skin, again. "I'm such a fake," she whispers into her glass. "I get so tired of being this version of me, but I don't know how to be anyone else. Is it even the real me? I don't know. I don't know, anymore," she exhales. "This is why I should probably, like, go to therapy or something, before I start opening up my soul in little bars, in front of old friends who have their own messes to deal with," she smiles apologetically. "Just...ignore me!" she laughs, shaking her head.

Archangel has posed:
He won't try to keep her fingers, but he does dip his head down a bit, making sure she can see his face even as she looks down, "Hey. Hey. I get it. Believe me, I know. My dad, he taught me how to put up a brave front. Best for business. If I look nervous or don't smile at the right time, somebody sells stock because they think they know something. He obsessed about that stuff. More than he ever did anything else," he sighs. It's clear that his father was one of those men he spoke of earlier, the empty-eyed ones who chased money for money's sake.

"From what you said, this new music, it's more authentic to who you are. Inside. That doesn't come from nowhere. If you're feeling empty, maybe it's because, for the first time, you're really taking what's inside you and pouring it into your music. That's probably not easy. Hell, it probably hurts."

"You're the one who has to be satisfied in the end. With who you are. With what you do. The rest of us are just lucky enough to be in the audience."

Dazzler has posed:
    Now isn't the time to get drawn down into one of her depressive spirals. Alison knows this. Especially because there's a friend here, trying to keep her from leaping off that cliff. She shouldn't be a burden to him. So, with a deep breath, she puts on a smile and nods, "Yeah. It hurts."

...Is this smile even real? Am I still smiling? Does it look weird? Is it reaching my eyes? Move on, say something! You're lingering too long. He'll notice!

    "Yeah.. It's not easy, but it's what I'm being called to do. Seems my muse is a bit of a sadist, eh?" she smiles lopsidedly and rolls her eyes skyward. "But, I'm glad it's being well-received. I don't know that I'm up for another one, but I happen to know that the guy in the sound booth 'secretly' records all the performances, often sells them to tabloids, so maybe you can get a copy of my song from tonight, if you really want to wallow," she smiles and finishes her drink.

    With a deep breath she stands and holds her arms out for a hug as she takes her leave. "It's been great to see you, again, Warren. You were missed, truly. I'm glad you're back. Let's keep in touch?" she says warmly as she hugs him. She smells like fresh air, zesty lemons, and a hint of cinnamon. And, she gives good hugs. "Oh, here," she says, taking his phone briefly. She takes a cute little selfie and enters her number into it. "So you /can/ keep in touch," she smiles and presses his phone back against his chest, waiting only for him to take it back before she's gone, back to the back rooms to retrieve her ukulele and head home.