9881/Let's Do 'The TIme Warp' Agaaaaain

Let's Do 'The TIme Warp' Agaaaaain
Date of Scene:	02 November 2019
Location:	Club Evolution, Mutant Town
Synopsis:	After a night of partying at Club Evolution, Byron meets Shannon and they jam out to a Rocky Horror classic!
Cast of Characters:	Byron, Nightingale

---

Byron has posed:
Byron was one of those people who you could drop in a room of strangers and within a few minutes he'd be chatting with them like old-friends. That's what happened the previous night when Byron rolled into Club Evolution, grabbing the attention of the club goers and holding court in the lounge until the early hours of the morning. Though even that didn't seem to satisfy Byron, and while his entourage flopped in chairs eager to go home and sleep Byron was still sitting up at the bar, chatting up the bartender working on... well he didn't know what number he was at at this point... whiskey and soda.

"Yeah, man, laid him flat out, Bono's guy, between you and me can't remember why, but hey, it made the party a whole lot more fun, yeah?" he says of some point in his rock and roll past as he polished off his drink and waved off the bartender's attempt to pour him a new one. "Think it's time for coffee at this point," he says, with his entourage groaning in mild dismay. Yep, they still weren't leaving yet.

Nightingale has posed:
     While it might seem odd for new patrons to make their way into the club at this hour of the morning, there was one who managed to slip past the staff at the door with a few murmured words. They let her in without too much trouble despite her seeming youth, perhaps hinting at some measure of familiarity with her presence. The evening's entertainment had long since left the stage, with preparations for the next evening ahead underway. This often meant ensuring that sound systems were well in working order, from the mics to the keyboard that remained as a lone witness to the night's revelry.

     The young woman who was making her way inside is clad simply, with a cream cotton poet's blouse, modestly laced in the front, straight-legged light blue jeans, and worn white sneakers; there is an old, worn brown leather bag tied to her belt, marked with various runes and seemingly not empty. Her pale gold hair is long and loose, her eyes a light azure--and her snowy white wings long and sweeping, like paintings of classical angels. Yes, wings. At first she seems inclined to head for the stage, but on seeing the place was far from empty, her brows furrow, and she thinks better of it. Instead, she saunters over to the bar, requesting a bit of coffee from the barkeep. Byron gets a shy smile, one wing furling around the young woman as if to shield her.

Byron has posed:
Byron does not miss the entrance of the young woman with wings. Indeed he blinks a little and then leans across the bar to nudge the bartender, "Might have switched to coffee a little too late, if you're not seeing that too..." he remarks.

The bartender chuckles, "Nah, she's real, comes in a lot, knows the boss I think," he says before moving down the bar to take Shannon's order. The shy smile is met with a bolder one from Byron and a wave of his hand.

"Put that coffee on my tab, yeah?" he calls to the bartender, before fixing his attention on Shannon. "Hope you don't mind, but you are striking," he says and for a man with his reputation there is absoultely no flirting in it, but just an earnest appreciation for the pleasantly unexpected. "And if I've not totally embarassed you, come sit, talk, I think our man behind the bar here started getting bored of my stories hours ago, it's about time I found someone new to infict them on."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon lofts her eyebrows, a wry smile quirking the corners of her mouth upwards, and roses blossoming in delicate pink profusion in her cheeks. "Call you me fair? That fair again unsay!" She neatly parries his compliment with the immortal words of the Bard himself, to the tune of a soft chuckle. What could it hurt, to listen to his tales for a while, indeed. "Surely they can't be nearly as boring as listening to me helping out with the sound checks up there?" The young woman motions to the stage with a slight flick of her fingers. "Now that, good sir, is torment."

Settling down on a stool next to Byron, she turns to regard him, nothing flirtatious or untowards in her gaze. After a few moments, she extends her hand, her smile widening. "I'm Shannon. What's your name?"

Byron has posed:
Byron grins when his compliment is parried by poetry, not his, but what the hell he'll take it. "So you're saying my eyes are lodestars, and my togue's sweet air, is more tunable than lark to shepherd's ear?" he says riffing off the rest of that passage from Midsummer's Night Dream before laughing. "You should write all my reviews."

When Shannon joins him, Byron takes the hand and shakes it, a bemused smile forming at the question like it wasn't one he heard often. "Byron," he says simply, before he latches onto Shannon's earlier words about sound check. "Well let's not be hasty," he says of his stories being more important than that. "You play?" he glances up towards the stage.

Nightingale has posed:
That name does get Shannon's attention, her eyebrows lofting still further and her smile widening. No way. There was just no way it could be the same one... could it? Still, she had seen stranger things before, so perhaps it couldn't hurt to at least entertain the possibility. "A little bit, though I fear I'm not so talented as all that. Though Sam would disagree," she adds, with a bit of a roll of her eyes, and a hint of laughter.

Still, her mind does return to the name. Byron. Oh, fine, she'd bite. What's the worst that could happen? "Your name sounds an awful lot like... " Her words trail off, her gaze intent. Perhaps there were indeed stories to be told here.

Byron has posed:
When Shannon leaves that opening about his name Byron happily fills it, "The two answers people usually give there is that dashing poet of the 1800's or that fabulous rockstar leeching off his name because he happens to look a little like him," Byron says with a smile and dancing eyes. "Sadly the former's dead so all you've got is the latter," he grins. "Would be more fun the other way, I know. Man did have a way with words."

Then it's back to music, setting down his coffee mug with authority, he says, "Don't know this Sam, but he sounds like a man of decerning taste, so shall we have a look and see if he's right?" he asks as he nods to the stage. "We can jam a bit and see what you've got."

Nightingale has posed:
"If you come here at all regularly, you're bound to run into him sooner or later. He's something like a big brother to me, and actually is the manager here." Shannon chuckles a little bit, and shrugs. "A shame he couldn't live forever, the world was deprived of his gift far too soon." As she slides off the stool and heads towards the stage, some of the words of that very poet come to mind.

"I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day..."

The erstwhile young musician climbs up onto the stage, to take her seat at the keyboard, very glad at the moment for the small number of people present. "I've always wondered what inspired those words, what could have been running through his mind. But we'll never know, sadly."

Byron has posed:
"The manager? Well that's another point for his sense of taste," Byron says looking around the club. "Quite like the photos of The Cavern Club back in the day," he decides as he gets to his feet with the help of his cane. "Oh, wouldn't want to wish immortality on anyone let alone an artist, death makes life worth living and a life worth living breeds art, live too long and I think the savour goes out of it. Always hoped I'd join the 27 Club myself, like Jimi, Kurt and Amy but here I am soldiering on," he says with a wry chuckle.

"Still the man could write...

"And men forgot their passions in the dread

Of this their desolation; and all hearts

Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:

And they did live by watchfiresâ??and the thrones,

The palaces of crowned kingsâ??the huts,

The habitations of all things which dwell,

Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,

And men were gather'd round their blazing homes

To look once more into each other's face..."

He says taking on the next lines of Darkness. "True enough," he says of the words and their meaning a little sadly as he comes up the steps to the stage one at a time. He'd been sitting too long and his bad leg had gone stiff on him. "Some say it's meant to be a vision of the apoclypse, others, 'The Year Without Summer' when some volcano in the East cloaked most of the world in ash."

He gives a shrug and surveys the stage, "So, what do you play?" he asks of the myriad instruments available..

Nightingale has posed:
The sight of the cane has Shannon frowning, forgoing the spot in front of the keyboard as she is brought to her feet, from the brink of sitting there. "You're hurt..." Her voice is laced with concern, and her fingers flex ever so slightly. "Old or recent injury?" She tilts her head, her look turned intent and slightly haunted, the eyes of one who has seen much in a short span of time, and not all of it good.

Byron has posed:
"Old," Byron answers easily, rising from the melencoly of discussing his past life had brought about. "Born with it actually, came out the wrong way and the blasted grabbed me too hard when yanked me from my mother." It was a lie, but the truth, that it was a birth defect, was somewhat distasteful to discuss. "Haven't found a thing that fixes it."

He notices the look in Shannon's eye and he frowns, "It's really not a bother," he says not sure how best to offer comfort to one so young and so troubled.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods slowly, her brows furrowed and a single tear trickling down her face to leave behind a crystalline rivulet that just catches in the light. "If it's from birth, it's not something I can help with. I'm so sorry." Her voice is low, just above a murmur, and laced with sorrow for his pain. She takes several deep breaths, easing herself down in the chair in front of the keyboard, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the instrument for a few minutes as she works to regain her composure.

Byron has posed:
"You can do?" Byron echoes a Shannon. "Don't tell me you're a doctor /and/ a musician? I might start feeling unaccomplished," he offers reclaiming some of his eariler verve. "Or are you really an angel with the he healing light of the Lord?" he asks, his smirk and tone suggesting he believes in neither angels or gods.

He sweeps a guitar from one of the stands, plugging it in, turning on the amp, and beginning to tune, "So, what do you play when you're running checks? If I don't know it, play a few bars and I'll follow along."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon laughs a little bit, shaking her head. "Not a doctor yet, though I do hope to be one day. Just a healer in training. The healing... it's part of my gift," she tries to explain, looking down at her hands. "When I touch an injury, it becomes my own, and the injured is left whole. I heal quickly, though, so it's not so bad. But if it's something from birth like that, it may be beyond my gifts." A sigh escapes her, and she bows her head. "I hate those times. There is so much unnecessary suffering in the world already."

When she finally does look back over towards Byron, there's something of a quirky little smile on her face, though the rivulet on her cheek remains. "I don't suppose you know any of the songs from 'Rocky Horror', do you?"

Byron has posed:
Intrigued Byron raises his brows, "You take on their injuries?" he asks her. That explained those haunted eyes. "So, do you do that often? Take on other's burdens?"

He doesn't ask how or why she has those gifts, the wings and where they're standing is explanation enough.

"They say there's darkness in the world so we can see it's light in all its splendor, but I am unconvinced that trade is fair," he muses seriously for a moment.

Then, like Shannon his mood switches, grinning as he plays the first couple of bars of the 'Time Warp', "Might know a lick or two, from that show," he say with false modesty.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods. "Maybe a little more often than I should, but if Someone Up There's seen fit to give me these gifts, I can't just stand idly by while someone's hurting and there's anything I can do to help." Shannon smiles softly. "It's okay, really."

As Byron takes up with the opening bars of 'Time Warp, she laughs, letting the music wash away her worries for the moment. When the piano part picks up, with the glissando up and down the keyboard, she's dancing in the chair, her wings spreading out behind her. "Ha! 'Might know a lick or two', he says. Bull... you're good!" The rest of the room seems to fade away, her focus narrowing to the keyboard, the music, and Byron, each seeming to feed off of the other's energy.

"Let's do the time warp agaaaaaaaaain!"

Byron has posed:
There is a sad nod for Shannon, "You're a kind soul," he says. "Don't think I'd have it in me to take on that sort of pain."

Though pain of any kind is forgotten when the music starts, Byron's attention focusing down to the stage and the moment, he steps forward to one of the standing mics when the chorus begins joining Shannon in belting out: "Let's do the time warp agaaaaaaaaain!" dancing, playing and singing through the chorus before dropping into the back and forth of the song, taking one verse, and Shannon taking the next.

Around the club people bob their heads and smile. I mean it's the Time Warp how do you not groove a little to that?

Nightingale has posed:
It's even hard for one of the musicians to not get up and groove to the music, standing and shaking what her mama gave her while she plays, and takes on the next verse. There may be one or two flubbed notes, true, but in the grand scheme of things, who'd notice, really?

"Well I was walking down the street just-a havin' a think
When a snake of a guy gave me an evil wink
He shook me up, he took me by surprise
He had a pick-up truck and the devil's eyes
He stared at me and I felt a change
Time meant nothing, never would again!"

Byron has posed:
For his part Byron has most of it down cold, flubbing here and there where his memory fails him, but in all performs, well, like a rockstar. Watching Shannon as he plays, he gives her a nod when she looks in his direction, she definitely had chops.

They hit the chorus after Shannon's verse, Byron giving a point and a wink to the dancing musician down in the club, before they come into the home stretch of the song, Byron filling the Narrator's part of the song until they hit the end and he joins his voice with Shannon's to sing them out.

"You bring your knees in tight

But it's the pelvic thrust

That really drives you insane.."

He grabs the mic stand and gives it a cheeky thrust then carries on.

"Let's do the time-warp again

Let's do the time-warp agaaaaaaaaain"

Byron has posed:
For his part Byron has most of it down cold, flubbing here and there where his memory fails him, but in all performs, well, like a rockstar. Watching Shannon as he plays, he gives her a nod when she looks in his direction, she definitely had chops.

They hit the chorus after Shannon's verse, Byron giving a point and a wink to Shannon as she dances at her bench, , before they come into the home stretch of the song, Byron filling the Narrator's part of the song until they hit the end and he joins his voice with Shannon's to sing them out.

"You bring your knees in tight

But it's the pelvic thrust

That really drives you insane.."

He grabs the mic stand and gives it a cheeky thrust then carries on.

"Let's do the time-warp again

Let's do the time-warp agaaaaaaaaain"

Nightingale has posed:
With the final chords and a showy glissando down the keyboard--perhaps that's where the phrase 'tickling the ivories' came from--Shannon just grins and catches her breath, a bit more color in her face and more of a sparkle in her eyes. "Holy hell's bells, you are /good/, Byron. Where'd you learn to play like that? Hey... maybe you could talk to Sam sometime, see if he's looking for someone to play here some nights. I could at least drop a word in his ear so he could keep an eye out for you, perhaps?"

Byron has posed:
Byron basks in the priase and gives a bow. "Thank you, but you my dear were the star here, Sam's in right business if he can spot your talent,"he says putting the guitar back on the stand and stretching a little before he turns back to Shannon, "Working on my label mostly, but I'd love to come back down here and mess around some more," he glances around the place. "Tell you what," Byron says of jobs and such, as he pulls a card from the pocket of his long coat, pauses and then pulls a second, each have the logo of Wild Childe records blazoned across the top and Byron as the listed name along with all the usual contact information.

"You keep one of these and you give the other to Sam so we can talk shows," he says. "Speaking of... looking to book some gigs? I know just about /everybody/ in this town, clubs, restaurant gigs, studio work, whatever you like. Can't hide that talent away behind a text books and a doctor's coat."

Nightingale has posed:
Sadly, Shannon has to betray her youth, grinning a little sheepishly. "That, I'd have to ask my family about." Wait, just how old was she, anyways? "I did have dreams of working in music once, maybe even the Boston Symphony. Dreams change, though." By way of illustration, she extends her wings to their full span, and curls her fingers just a little bit. "It's something to consider, though."

Her ears pinken at the bit of praise, and she ducks her head, furling her wings once more. She accepts the card and smiles, tucking it away in the little leather bag on her belt; if one catches a glimpse inside, one can see what looks like an assortment of basic first aid supplies; truly, a healer on the go.

Byron has posed:
Byron ducks and laughs as Shannon spreads her wings. "Those things work? Always wondered what it is like to fly like an angel."

Then he's back to the music.

"Pfft, emancipate! Throw off the chains of youth and make beautiful music on your own terms!" Byron encourages with a big grin, before laughing and giving Shannon a pat on the shoulder. "Only kidding, family's important, but seriously, think about it, can be as much or as little work as you like, so it doesn't interfere with your studies," he says. "Whatever, you, and they are comfortable with."

He backs off of the hard sell though, and raises a hand, "Sorry, passionate about the work, but you've got my card, so ball's in your court, do what you like with it.."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon laughs, and inclines her head. "Okay, let me put it to them. They were my heroes long before anyone like the good Captain ever was. And that's as it should be. But my own music--the things I write--are decidedly different from what you might usually see on your label. For example..." Slipping her phone from her pocket, she taps on the screen a few times to bring something up, then hits 'play'. A soft, gentle tune, made up of light chimes, pan flute, and harp with the sound of the ocean running like a current of peace throughout, comes from the device. "It's just in its beginnings, mind, and I should work on it a little bit more...."

Byron has posed:
"Indeed, as it should be," Byron says with a bit of devil may care in his expression that suggests he might not have been as reverent of his own parents. Though that expression shifts to something more introspective as he closes his eyes to listen to the piece. He breathes in deeply as he listens letting it out like a cleansing breath when the song ends. "Beautiful," he says. "And you should definitely finish it, half-finished works always fester in the back of my mind if I don't get them done."

He stretches then, the hours at this club catching up to him. "Definitely different than my music, but, still keep my card, and let me know about the work, or send me what you come up next for your piece. Can't promise I can offer notes, but I'll try."

He looks back and gives his entourage a nod, "I should probably go find a bed to pass out in for the next forty-eight hours, but it was lovely meeting you Shannon," he says as he digs into his pocket for a phone and asks, "Know this usually goes the other way 'round but can we do a selfie?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon laughs and nods, setting her own phone up for a selfie. "Definitely a novel thing." She poses with Byron for the selfie, her wings tucked in neatly behind her, and a smile on her face for once. The otherwise vacant stage serves as a backdrop, two musicians just having a moment. "Thank you, for everything. It really was a pleasure to meet you. Please tell me you're not going to be a stranger here?"

Byron has posed:
Byron laughs, and when Shannon snaps a picture, he does one a moment later, mugging for the camera through both, the stage lit up behind them.

"You're very welcome, it was a joy to play with you, damn good way to end an evening," he says before he glances around the club again and shakes his head. "Couldn't be a stranger if I tried, will definitely be back."

Byron has posed:
Byron laughs, and when Shannon snaps a picture, he does one a moment later, mugging for the camera through both, the stage lit up behind them.

"You're very welcome, it was a joy to play with you, damn good way to end an evening," he says before he glances around the club again and shakes his head. "Couldn't be a stranger if I tried, will definitely be back."