RP: Cirrus Station [Episode 9] The Silver Lining

Kokuten had begun to wonder how long the process of his painting would take. The Chiaki had never painted a picture himself, so he had little idea of how much effort would be going to recreate image. He himself was more the musical sort; percussion, brass, and woodwinds. Perhaps that was why the music of the place seemed to stand-out more than anything, something that someone who appreciated that sort of thing would notice.

"Where's Tweak gone?" He asked, craning his head in the darkness to see her. "All I have for her is... this, uh... This shadow."

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The LEDs in the Captain's eyes brightened for a moment as he was drawn off his train of thought. Did Tweak run off again? Honestly, she's like a little child! chuckled Kokuten. It didn't take long for him to spot the hooded Freespacer out over the floor, especially amongst the expressionist types that seem to be patroning the place. Then, he noticed something that seemed a little out of character for the girl, she was walking out toward the dance floor.

With that, he held up a finger to signify he would be taking a break from Blake's artistry and jogged on after Tweak. As he persued he pressed down the tip of his cigar on his hand, snuffing out the fiery life of the blunt, and thumped it off to a near-by trash. Showing a bit of aiming skill from his time playing basketball. Irrelevant details aside, he covered a reasonable distance to reach the girl and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Miss Tweak!" said Kokuten cheerily through the sound of music, he had nicer-than-usual smile from the sensation of finally enjoying his one vice. "I did not know you danced!"

Tweak jumped, startled out of her music-distracted state once again. She could almost hear her tactical system chiding her for it.

Kokuten said:

Irrelevant details aside, he covered a reasonable distance to reach the girl and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Miss Tweak!" said Kokuten cheerily through the sound of music, he had nicer-than-usual smile from the sensation of finally enjoying his one vice. "I did not know you danced!"

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Was she dancing? Tweak glanced around. She had kept to the wall, still, and followed it toward the dance floor; Kokuten had intercepted her as she was crossing the floor's edge near the audio mixing engineer's staging area. The floor was spotted with duos and trios, with one or two dancers going solo, but far from the night's usual crowd. Tweak shook her head in reply to her commander's question after noting how the dancers were moving as she stopped and turned toward him.

If that was dancing, then she wasn't.

The smell of the Ruben was still on his breath. The neko's nose twitched by reflex before she noticed that...well...it wasn't as bad. It wasn't accompanied by a cloud of charred matter and, without that cloud, the scent was left to mix with breathable air and allowed to be sampled in a more tolerable concentration. It wasn't the best scent Tweak had encountered...well...was it? Smells weren't exactly something she had ranked before, now that she considered the idea. And smoke was a bad thing in spacecraft in most cases. Then again, the scent wasn't that of simple carbon smoke...nor electrical, nor petroleum-based. It was something more...planetborne.

She found herself a moment away from staring at him, his mouth specifically. Her face pinked again, though she wasn't sure why this time. It just happened. And her ears...the hat was becoming infuriatingly uncomfortable.

"I-I-I don't dance. Not like them." It took three tries before Tweak managed to look up at him and mouth as clearly as she could what she wanted to say before looking down. The music was so close, she didn't even bother trying to shout over it like Kokuten had done.

"Oh! So you do dance!" Kokuten grinned widely, putting both hands on his hips. His eyes settled into a the same blinking beat again, his sub-conscious seemingly linking to the beat of the music. If that wasn't enough, his heel tapped to the beat as well. There was definitely a bit more energy in this man that there was before he walked in.

Despite the blue glow throughout the room, there was strange purple hue to the spacer's face. She seemed like she was trying to hold back something, and the Captain felt he had an idea what it may have been. He gestured back towards the way they came, the more spacious and less crowded section. "Why don't you demonstrate your technique? I'd love to see it!"

Her...technique? Tweak shook her head. She couldn't dance. Not here, or anywhere, really. People were always watching, she could feel it. And being asked to dance for someone...it put their expectations on her, asking for a performance to be judged.

"You misunder-" The music drowned her voice, so she stopped trying and just shook her head again.

"Oh c'mon! You're in a club!" he continued to push for it, but this time he scooped up both of her hands in his. He didn't grasp them, though, it was more like lifting them up, much in a way you taught a baby how to walk.

"Dancing here is what you do! I mean, look at them." he said, rocking one of her hands in the direction of dancing crowd. "They're going at it pretty silly, and do you think they care? Hell, I bet they're not even paying attention to one another. They're just expressing themselves and letting it go! You should try it!" He gave her wink over his bass-beating eye, "You might like it!"

"Try to steal my subject, will they?" Blake mumbled bitterly. His brow furrowed heavily enough to squeeze a sigh from between his lips and with a huff, he snatched up his canvas and easel and moved off towards the dance floor with his paints and brush under arm.

The young Nepleslain waded though the thin crowd, shoving dancers to one side. One particular trio chided him, their leader scoffing, "Wrong kind of art, asshole!"

A scowl creeped its way across Blake's face as he turned slowly around to see the man.

"Actually," he began shouting in a demeaning, smoke-filled tone, "You're particular dance is hardly art-- it is merely mimicry. Your dance's foul progenitor, Funky Feely, is an excellent electronic musician; yet his dances are not his own work. Rather, they are stolen from Kohanian tribal traditions. He is merely a copycat and a rather poor one at that. Furthermore, you yourself are copying him, a feat which is no doubt the limit of your abilities. No original interpretation-- and no original art style. Your ignorance is almost as palpable as your arrogance. I would scarcely call your little piddling movements 'art'. They are merely a poor emulation of an even poorer rip-off."

With that, Blake spread open his easel and slid it forward between the other two in the dance trio to get a better look at Kokuten and Tweak. A delighted squeal emanated from his mouth as he witnessed Kokuten's eyes form a music related pattern. He began to ready his paints again before turning to make a final comment to the dancers he chided.

"When you see a man with an easel, do not try an art-based insult. The real artist will usually win."

Kokuten said:

"Oh c'mon! You're in a club!" he continued to push for it, but this time he scooped up both of her hands in his. He didn't grasp them, though, it was more like lifting them up, much in a way you taught a baby how to walk.

"Dancing here is what you do! I mean, look at them." he said, rocking one of her hands in the direction of dancing crowd. "They're going at it pretty silly, and do you think they care? Hell, I bet they're not even paying attention to one another. They're just expressing themselves and letting it go! You should try it!" He gave her wink over his bass-beating eye, "You might like it!"

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Look at them? But that didn't matter...it didn't matter to her how badly everyone danced. I can't dance! Why won't he understand that?

"I just want to listen, please!" A shiver ran down Tweak's spine. She didn't like being touched, either. It was too...close. Too close. She could feel the buzz of the conduits under the one hand, the microservos in the other...too close. It wasn't danger, though. Kokuten was being nice, he just wanted her to have fun, didn't he? They see you. Contacts, bearing 187.9, 174.0, 010.3-- No! Not targets! Why were her thoughts so jumbled?

The 'Spacer neko lifted her hands off of his and backed up a step. By that point, she had 'noticed' Morris on the dance floor, the little incident with the other "dancer" having highlighted his presence in her awareness. Time to move again...she slipped between Kokuten and the panel he was standing beside, heading back to the corner she had just left.

---

Seconds after Blake Morris had resumed his painting, the person he had insulted so grandly was less than willing to back off. After all, he had two other people with him to impress and no poser with a rather nice joint was going to make him look like an idiot and get away with it. But, as he reached for Blake's shoulder, a hand dropped onto his own and spun him around.

A bored-looking bouncer shook his head, then jerked it in a "come with me" gesture, his hand still gripping the angry man's shoulder. Meanwhile, another bouncer stopped behind Blake's easel, his arms crossing as his shadow fell over the painter.

"Tweak." said Kokuten quickly, turning just enough to put his back to Blake, and extended his hand out just in front of her. It wasn't very far, just to encourage her to stop. The blinking lights of his eyes to the beat stopped, and the relaxed green settled over his LEDs in a wash. He gave her a smile before looking down at her feet. "I noticed that you were stepping your heels to the beat back there. I know you want to listen, but I can see that you're feeling the music as well." He looked to the side for a moment, as if giving something a thought before continuing.

"I'm not sure if you know how to dance, or even if you've ever tried before, but I'd like you to experience it, especially with the free time we have away from the station." he encouraged gently, that familiar warmth in his tone, as he leaned a little more, but keeping mind of her personal space. "Try to go past hearing the music, and try to feel it as well. Cut off all the other things around you. Put away the fact we're in a club, and forget we're around people. Isolate yourself with just the music, and let it guide your body with more than just a foot tap."

Blake stopped abruptly in his artistry and peered over his canvas. Finding himself directly facing a set of elbows, he elected to look slowly upwards as well, until his eyes met with a pair of sunglasses, no doubt doubling as light-amplification equipment in the dark club. The young man cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, sir." he began, "You seem to be blocking my light. It's one of the only light sources in the entire building and... oh, hold on."

Blake leaned over to look to his subjects briefly and sighed. They had repositioned again! The bouncer lifted his hands and opened his mouth to speak to the man he was about to drag off before being interrupted by Blake leaning back in quickly.

"No matter," he said as he turned back to the large bouncer, "I've lost my subjects again. Sorry to bother you, stand in this light all you want to... uh, good sir."

And with that, the young artist snatched up his supplies and walked past the lumbering behemoth in pursuit of Tweak and Kokuten.

The second bouncer merely nodded as Morris moved off the floor. The first bouncer had a small talk with the angry dancer, but let him stay to be comforted by his friends.

---

Kokuten said:

"Tweak." said Kokuten quickly, turning just enough to put his back to Blake, and extended his hand out just in front of her. It wasn't very far, just to encourage her to stop.

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Tweak ducked under Kokuten's arm and made it back to her corner, but turned around to find him behind her.

Kokuten said:

He gave her a smile before looking down at her feet. "I noticed that you were stepping your heels to the beat back there. I know you want to listen, but I can see that you're feeling the music as well." He looked to the side for a moment, as if giving something a thought before continuing.

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As he spoke, Tweak considered the idea. Or tried to. You need to calm down! Calm down, calm down, focus...

He's still close...

Kokuten said:

"Try to go past hearing the music, and try to feel it as well. Cut off all the other things around you. Put away the fact we're in a club, and forget we're around people. Isolate yourself with just the music, and let it guide your body with more than just a foot tap."

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He had a good idea there. Aside from simply running away (which she really wanted to do but which would likely get her in some sort of trouble) and cloaking (which she also really, really wanted to do, but would get her in worse trouble and probably draw more attention than divert it), Kokuten's suggestion was making sense, though not the way he meant to.

"Alright, okay...I'll try it."

Tweak backed up to the middle of the open space between the wall and the nearest table-and-chairs set. The area was fairly dim; the roving spotlights remained mostly around the dance floor with only one or two venturing around the perimeter of the club during their programmed motions. Red eyes, looking nearly black in the shades-of-blue color scheme of the place, closed.

Some ravers and electronica enthusiasts were, as Blake Morris had so bitingly put it, people who unwittingly tried to pass off poor imitations as genuine expression. True, it really might be what they wanted to do, how they wanted to move to the music, but only because they really knew nothing else to draw from. They saw what they thought was "cool" and wished they could do the same, and gave their best in trying. And, for them, that was enough. It was fun.

Tweak had the benefit of two two things. The first was her ignorance. She had the advantage of having been isolated from popular culture (as far as dancing went) in addition to her...other idiosyncrasies. The second advantage was her inborn training. With nothing else to draw from, no formal (or pop) dance training or gymnastics routines to imitate, she went with the next best thing. And the next best thing was as a second nature to her, something that was as natural as walking.

The club reverberated with a new beat as the song switched up its pace, not a new song, but a variation on the current one. The neko incognito listened through the knit cap and hoodie, standing nearly at attention, but giving an attempt to relax.

The music. Just the music....

... ... ...Tempo: Approximately 120bpm, reducing margin for error... ... ...Style: unknown. Analyz--

...Analysis canceled.

Just listen...

So she did. Her tactical system remained silent, only warning her when she was about to hit something, but otherwise did nothing to bother her.

It started slowly, a sway like the one she had shown earlier. Then she began moving in what, to her, was based on a mixture of the fighting styles she had been programmed with but were performed in a way that seemed to be a dance of fluid steps and twists...and that was what they were, gaining from a neko's in-built precision tempered with the imagination of a particularly creative girl. With that combination, they ceased to be rote motions of programmed kata. They mixed as she felt they should, providing a framework that she elaborated on as she felt the need to. The music really did move her. Perhaps not in the way that it moved others, but the result was not inept or inappropriate to the scene.

And nothing bothered her. With a final spin as the song ended that left Tweak's skirt flared about her knees, she dipped down and knelt, her face turned down.

"It's..." Blake stood agape not far away from Tweak with his easel still clutched under his arm. He firmly returned his jaw to the upright position manually with his hand before setting up his easel again and readying his paints.

"It's simply magnificent. And so soon after my previous lecture of the other dancers. Perhaps they could see this and benefit from it! Oh, how fortunate. And so beautiful!"

Furious strokes hit the only empty part of the canvas, filling in the form of Tweak at the peak of a kick, her leg arced in a striking motion. He drew only a naked silhouette of her form. The only clothing that could be made out was her hat. A smile crept across his face as he gingerly placed each line on the canvas and hurriedly moved his brush between water, paint, and fabric. His heart jumped inside him to see the preformance. When Tweak was done with her dance and resting on the floor, Blake stepped away from his easel and approached her.

"Simply amazing, Tweak. Amazing." He spoke with a broad smile, "You were so perfectly in tune, and so expressive. I've never seen someone dance with such...violence. It was as if you were striking at invisible opponents, and yet at the same time embracing those around you-- freeing yourself from oppressive thoughts! You were like a machine with a soul. You looked so beautiful here in the lights, with the sound."

Blake knelt down to be at her level and look her in the eyes. His own eyes scanned her face, searching for some expression, some kind of response. He still smiled as he leaned in close and briefly put two fingers softly on her forehead.

"It was very inspiring."

Kokuten only watched, as he usually did. It seemed to happen that way quite a bit. He would set himself to a cause, and hope people moved to effect. At the very least, it was nice to see someone following to effect. While he was sure Tweak wouldn't remember tomorrow, she would know the sensation today. It seemed to be true as she took to the floor, moving in sync to a beat that most moved quickly to.

The show was unbelievable, and more so surprising. She linked together her fighting abilities that were likely hard-programmed into her, and turned it in to some mythical war dance. It was so well done, that Kokuten almost caught himself in envy of the ability. Still, as she came down to rest after the final beat, the Chiaki decided to give her a little space to see how she would react to her own dance. Heh, I'm in proximity of an excellent artist.

Instead, he had decided to go over to Blake's easel, which Kokuten had saw the man painting at with furious skill from the corner of his eye. The doctor gave the man's composition a fair amount of judgement, noting that putting nothing but a hat on the subject would probably embarrass someone like Tweak. Nonetheless, for the time he had, it was brilliantly done, and undoubtedly a sign of the painter's skill. I'm in proximity of two excellent artists.

Lam said:

"It's..." Blake stood agape not far away from Tweak with his easel still clutched under his arm. He firmly returned his jaw to the upright position manually with his hand before setting up his easel again and readying his paints.

[...]

Furious strokes hit the only empty part of the canvas [...] When Tweak was done with her dance and resting on the floor, Blake stepped away from his easel and approached her.

"Simply amazing, Tweak. Amazing." He spoke with a broad smile

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The 'Spacer neko's face was directed at the floor, the partially-cinched edge of her hood overshadowing her eyes. With the dance completed, her TOS kicked back in.

... ... ...
...resuming normal function.
Report: contact tracking updated.
Report: contact activity updated.
Report: analysis queue updated.
Notice: Condition failure. Avoidance of contact (designate: "Morris, Blake", status: squadmate, off-duty) incomplete. Contact's objective presumed completed.

She closed her eyes again. Then...

Lam said:

Blake knelt down to be at her level and look her in the eyes. His own eyes scanned her face, searching for some expression, some kind of response. He still smiled as he leaned in close and briefly put two fingers softly on her forehead.

"It was very inspiring."

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PROXIMITY ALERT.

The only time he saw her eyes was in the moment between his fingers touching her forehead and blessed unconsciousness; the pressure point-induced concussion would keep him out for at least a couple minutes. To him, it would be an easy assumption (based on his last reliable memory) that the bouncer had knocked him out and the rest...perhaps a dream from being KO'd due to that magnificent smoke...

To Kokuten, and any other observer, it appeared that she stood up while giving him a swift smack to the back of his head and a "back-off" shove to his chest as (before? after? Tricksy lights and their shadows...) he fainted. Given his consumption of his favored "Black Magic" and his grand demeanor, it easily passed as an over-excitement fainting spell. A different sort of shiver ran over her skin as she carried him over a chair and set him in it. With the personal-space offender dealt with, Tweak crossed her arms over her stomach and shivering once, visibly this time, before walking over to the easel. It was...

Lam said:

(T)he form of Tweak at the peak of a kick, her leg arced in a striking motion. He drew only a naked silhouette of her form. The only clothing that could be made out was her hat.

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Then she realized Kokuten was standing nearby, also looking at the work. The red returned full-force to her cheeks.

"That's not me," she said softly. Looking down at the brush and paints, she considered painting over it. Changing it, or making something else entirely. But she couldn't bring herself to mar another person's work. She wouldn't want anyone messing with her tinkering projects, how could she destroy this?

Mmm, perhaps I should've warned Morris of Tweak's proximal issues. thought Kokuten as he watched Tweak drag Morris' body over towards the chair. Though, the security man's passing was something to be questioned. As someone who is fairly attentive to substances and their uses, Kokuten knew for a fact that black magic's effects couldn't warrant such a response. Though... He looked up at the moving lights, the transient music, and the utter intensity of the place, I will trust that you are the culprit, environmental effects.

"That's not me," she said softly.

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She had finally seen the painting. It made the Captain chuckle a bit before leaning forward, hands on his knees, to gain a closer look.

"Who else could it be, with such grace and balance?" Kokuten looked back over at Tweak with a smile, "Besides, who else wears a hat like that?" He made a short laugh again, before standing straight up and giving the painting another discerning glance. "It is an image born from inspiration, Tweak. Your dance was something powerful to Blake, and allowed him to create such a quick composition."

He looked over at her again, placing his hands on his sides, "Besides, I think it makes you look beautiful."

I can't change it. I can't break it. Can I take it? He's seen it, he's seen it...

"No...it isn't me."

If it isn't me, why does it make me feel uneasy? Tweak stared at the painting while her thoughts raced, eventually noticing the rest of the composition when they slowed again.

Her face relaxed as her curiosity took over. The rendering of Kokuten's face was close, and it had his eyes, but in a way she knew couldn't be real. "That isn't you," she murmured. What is this? Is this what Morris-san sees? The neko looked back at the Chiaki, still disturbed, but slowly calming and confused. "Why did he paint you that way?"

"Why?" Kokuten blinked his eyes at the young Freespacer dancer. That was a good question. Why did Morris paint them in such a way? What was going through his mind when he moved the lines and colors to form such a strange image. He was no artist, more of a musician, but he could guess as performer of the liberal arts.

"Well..." Kokuten had to think a little further on this, and he brought a hand to his bearded chin. "Hrm... It's a form of expression through color and lines, Tweak. Blake is doing with brushes and paint what you did with your dance. You moved when you felt the inspiration and guiding rhythms of the music. Blake's hand moves to the visual and colored inspirations around him."

The Captain leaned forward towards the easel, taking in the shapes and colors again. He focused on his representation then Tweak. "If I were to guess, and I am guessing. What Morris is trying to show is his fascinations. One of which are my eyes, and the different colors they can become. The other is a fascination of your fluid movements and flexibility. The hat is an identification of the dancer. The silhouette is showing the focus is purely form of the dance, and not the dancer body itself." Kokuten looked back over a Tweak and tilted his head, thumbing over to the composition. "See?"

There was a stir amongst the pile of Morris slumped on the chair nearby and a moan came rattling from chapped lips. Bloodshot eyes fluttered open, squinting in the harsh red of a wayward spotlight. Their owner peered around and peeled himself off of the chair, pouring his feet back into his shoes.

Blake then made his way over to the painting. He appraised it for a moment before turning to Tweak. He stayed quiet as he looked her up and down suddenly snatching the canvas from its home on the easel and wrapping it in cloth. The blow had suddenly sobered him up, and had filled him with shame. He wasn't quite sure how, but he knew that his painting had crossed some sort of line from the look on Tweak's face. Blake wondered what possessed him to draw her like that himself. He kept quiet as he stood between Kokuten and Tweak with his art supplies in a bundle with his uniform. His cracked lips held no smile and his empty stomach gurgled and churned with acid from his drink. The Black Magic was nowhere in sight.

A sigh emenated from the young man's lips as he downed the rest of the Lorath brandy he'd spent so much money on and replaced the glass on a nearby table. Just as he was setting down the glass; vomit escaped from his lips and spewed all over the table and its occupants. Unfortunately for Blake, it was the ruffians who'd earlier almost started a fight with him under the watchful eye of the interloping bouncer. Their apparent leader stood and wiped stomach acid from his eyes. His glare pierced the dripping man-bergris and leveled with the stony tranquility in Blake's eyes.

"You again?" he asked, flicking his vomit-slathered hands at an otherwise clean Blake Morris, "What the fuck is your problem, man? Why the fuck do you have to fuck with me over and over and over again? All the fuck the night the fuck long?"

Blake stared at the man for a long time before delivering his short and simple response: "You sure like to say fuck, don't you, sir?"

"Oh..." So the painting was more symbolic than direct. That meant that the silhouette wasn't supposed to look like her, but capture an impression of what Morris had seen in her. Tweak looked at the dancing shadow-figure again and Kokuten's earlier comment came back to her.

Kokuten said:

"Besides, I think it makes you look beautiful."

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He was watching me dance. He thinks I'm...he thinks... For some reason, the thought wouldn't finish. Tweak backed up to the wall and leaned against it. This whole day was nothing near what she had expected when she was told about the trip. And, though her captain was being very kind to her, Tweak was confused about what to think now.

Then Morris woke up. Tweak watched the artist snatch the painting and head off only to spill his guts -- or their contents, anyway -- on the most unfortunate set of people. Unfortunate for them and soon to be unfortunate for him, too.

Tweak cringed, her own confusion temporarily forgotten.

Things seemed to be fitting rather well for the group now. Tweak was calm, and seemed somewhat content if not a little lost in the face. Though, that style of confusion seemed common for her. It was actually a little cute, especially in contrast to the visor-down soldier she was on the front.

Just as [Blake] was setting down the glass; vomit escaped from his lips and spewed all over the table and its occupants.

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Kokuten looked over at Blake, who seemed awake after the hard fall he took a moment ago. How did he get over there? The artist had been so quiet and silent in his movements that Kokuten barely noticed him.

"Morris! Glad to see yo--..." Kokuten's bright LED eyes looked up at the vomit covered patrons. Suddenly, things were no longer rather well for the group now.

"You again?" he asked, flicking his vomit-slathered hands at an otherwise clean Blake Morris, "What the fuck is your problem, man? Why the fuck do you have to fuck with me over and over and over again? All the fuck the night the fuck long?"

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"Hey hey hey!" said the Captain aloud, raising his hands up in the air, and stepping over to inject himself in the conflict. He placed a hand on Morris' shoulder, the blue veins on top of his hand would glow against the poor man's cheek, while the other hand went to a dry spot on the table. "Excuse my friend here, he just had a rough fall, chills and spills, y'know? Heh heh." went a rather easy-going Kokuten, leaning forward just a little bit. The grin on his face wasn't the usual gentle friendly one, more of a toothy, good-times grin.

"But hey, c'mon, haven't we all had a little vomit bathing accident one time or another? I mean, last time I got one, I was in a gutter! Hah ha!" he slapped one of the dryer patrons on the shoulder with a light tap, "Listen pals, I know you're pretty pissed, so I'll tell you what; clean yourselves up a bit, and the next three rounds for this table are on me!" he tapped the fingers of his dark metal hand on the table, "How's that sound?"

Blake looked over to the glowing hand on his shoulder and told it, "They can't drink any more circles, the cat has expelled them from the social club." He then wrested himself from its grasp and moved towards the exit of the club at a slow pace.

The trio sitting at the table observed this, as well as Kokuten's glowing arm. They looked amongst themselves and whispered in low tones, occasionally looking back at the intimidating prosthesis. They had none between themselves and so reached an agreement quickly.

"We, uh... That won't be neccesary, you see... There's this thing with, uh... We're going to be leaving soon because we have a very important appointment." The leader stammered and stuttered over his words, looking to his friends nervously. Nearby, a bouncer nodded in approval.

Blake, in the meantime, was outside painting a cat into his picture.