interstellar5555 | Turn the Beat Around [Open]

Current Music: Turn the Beat Around - Gloria Estefan

Entry tags:

Turn the Beat Around [Open]

Who: Agent J and anyone hanging around Priscilla's
What: J's getting a little tired of sitting on his hands, as it were. You can't really blame the man for wanting to help, especially when there's people around who need it.
When: Mid-February
Where: Priscilla's Coffee Shop
Warnings: None yet
Notes: J's mostly going to tap into musician tunes, but only with player permission. Character tune master post is here, and I'd be happy to discuss things via PM or Plurk!

It's been a while since J has really been able to work with the Music, and it's starting to get under his skin. Sure, he can hear it - that never goes away, and he doesn't want it to. No, what's getting to him is the broken tunes - is hearing the people who've been brainwashed around town, and knowing that he's not supposed to do anything about it just yet. Lay low, they'd all been told. Don't get caught.

But he could do that and still help, right?

It's a good thing Priscilla's encourages chatting with customers and getting to know the regulars (though he had a rough time trying not to laugh when the attitude had initially been explained to him as wanting to be "somewhere where everybody knows your name"). It means that, if he stops to chat someone up when he delivers their coffee, it's all perfectly normal. Just part of the atmosphere.

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Genos comes in a guard at his side. There's always a guard at his side these days. And he looks absolutely exhausted. He takes a seat, picking up the cafe menu. He doesn't notice anything out of place, at least. He can't hear his own tune, isn't sure what it's supposed to sound like, but it's got so much static it's almost impossible to hear what should be a strong beat.

"A black coffee and a scone, thank you." He'll hand the menu back to J.

Edited 2016-02-13 17:39 (UTC)

The broken tune catches J's attention, but it's the guard that keeps it. There's a total absence of sound around the bodyguard - a lack of music where there should be one more tune weaving in the Music. It's like finding the one guy in the choir mouthing watermelon while everyone else is singing the words. Whatever that bodyguard is, it's not human - it's not even alive.

The tune next to that silence has so much potential - there's a driving beat in there, something with a lot of force, but it's nearly suffocated by the sheer amount of static and dissonance weighing it down. Yeah, this one needs his attention.

"Sure thing," he replies with a smile. "You got a flavor preference for that scone, or should I surprise you?"

Genos knows one thing is completely off about the bodyguards. They have no heartbeats, and the scanners in his eyes are finally back to fully functional. Though he can't say for certain what they are. Robots? Vampires? He may never know unless he attempted to try to dismantle them. Maybe. Either way, he's not about to do anything about it right now.

"No, I have no preferences." He sounds a bit robotic himself. The more he gets back to himself, the less and less he seems to care about food. But he was a cyborg before all of this happened and food wasn't a necessity. And now that his core and torso are back, he doesn't particularly need to eat either.

Edited 2016-03-07 02:08 (UTC)

Ever since the event Greg's privately been calling "The Barber Ambush," he's been in need of a new coffeeshop where he can show his face again--albeit, shown through a disguise. The atmosphere at Priscilla's is fairly warm and inviting, though he doesn't know the difference between half thse blends.

He plays off his confusion with a grin for his server--a smile that looks genuine, despite the crackle of warping and whining static all but obscuring the guitar that should be underneath.

"Any chance there's a recommendation list for first timers?"

Edited 2016-02-13 04:51 (UTC)

Man is this guy ever hard to read. J can catch snatches of a what the tune should be - something simple and gentle and sweet - but it's layered over with so much distortion he can barely make it out, let alone hear the emotions in it.

Still, he matches the grin with one of his own. "Sure! What d'you usually like?"

"Well, left to my own devices, I generally just grab, y'know, coffee with milk?" Greg scratches at his chin, looking over his options. "Does adding foam actually do anything?" He's not being sassy, he genuinely doesn't get it.

"Foam's part of what happens when you heat the milk." J shrugs. There's a lot more to it than that, but he gets the feeling this guy isn't interested in the long, technical explanation. "We got a good medium roast, if you wanna keep it simple."

That's likely a smart choice on J's part. Even if Greg's not sure how that helps, anything more complicated is sure to go over his head. He admits caffeinated defeat with a sigh. "Yeah, better play it safe. Thanks."

She's been bouncing around places lately. Not sure where she wants to go just yet and not really able to keep up appearances all the time, especially with her eyes still fucked up. Her earbuds are shoved in her ear as she taps her pen against the table, frowning, so she doesn't hear or notice him at first. When she finally does (she assumed he was her guard, to be honest, but he's off in a corner of the room, probably), her face turns red and she yanks the headphones out.

"Sorry, what?"

J gives her an easy smile. She's got to be one of the kidnapped people - there's energy in that tune, but it's skipping and warping too badly for him to get the rhythm right away. The longer he can listen, the easier it'll be.

"No worries," he says, grin never faltering even as the girl's tune stutters. "Just checkin' to make sure you're doin' alright. Need anything else?"

She glances at her coffee, which she hasn't even touched, letting it go cold on the table in front of her. She doesn't need anything--she probably would just waste it anyway, but...

"I think I'm okay." She... tries? to smile, but it comes out shaky. "Unless you want to write this song for me."

It's a start, but the tune's still shaky, so he's still not leaving. "Well, I'm no great shakes at love songs, but..." He's joking - you can tell by the grin - except, deep down, he's not. If he can, he plans on sticking around long enough to get a feel for this girl's tune, and she just offered him a great excuse to do just that.

"Good thing it's not a love song." Kido smiles at him. It's soft, but its... mostly real. "I don't write love songs. I'm not great at them, either."

She smiles, and for just a moment, her tune slides into place, long enough for J to catch a few beats before the skipping starts up again. "That makes the two of us, then." He returns the smile. "What's it about?"

"A dream I've been having lately." Her smile fades and she stares at the paper. "There are four kids, two brothers and two sisters. And they're always together. The younger three start out scared and lonely but the older sister teaches them how to stop hating themselves." She taps the page again with the cap.

"But one day she leaves them behind like everyone else has."

It's a sad story, definitely, but it's also the most stable her tune has been and an opportunity for J. He taps his fingers on his thigh in time with her tune and out of her line of sight until he's got the hang of it. "Rough ballad," he says sympathetically. "You know how it ends yet?"

"Not sure, actually." She leans back in her chair and takes a sip of her now-cold drink. She catches herself and smiles again but it's a guarded one. "You'd think making it in the big leagues would be a happy ending, right?"

She has her band, her friends, Genos, Momo and Celty to call a family. But she doesn't feel right. She's empty somewhere inside of her.

"I'm not sure it's an ending at all," he says easily. "I mean, every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end, right?" He can hear that gaping hole in her tune, hear every time it makes her tune skip and distort, and he keeps on tapping in time, filling in the gaps where he can. Don't do that; do this. He hears a piece of her tune click into place, smoothing over a bit of emptiness, and something in him settles. It won't fix everything - it might not really fix anything, the way things are going - but at least it should help. "Then again, I never made it to the big leagues, so I can't say I'm an expert."

A familiar tune comes into the coffee shop, although J might need a second to recognize it. The last time he'd heard it, the original song had been lively and active, pressing against the discord the brainwashing brought against it.

Now, well, now he probably doesn't need to glance at the woman incognito who comes into the coffee shop to realize something's gone wrong with Luce lately. Her music gives away the recent re-brainwashing, despite the attempts to fight against it, and that effort- along with just plain being overworked- makes her look unhealthily pale.

Despite this, she seems to be trying to push on, waiting for a much larger order as she sits at one of the table making faces at nearby guards that don't let her go anywhere without being watched. At least she'd convinced them to not be too blatantly obvious.

When J approaches her, she blinks herself out of her own thoughts. "Ah, I'm sorry, I'm waiting-" A pause. "Actually, what's your strongest drink?"

She doesn't recognize him.

On one hand, it's a good thing - it lets him keep a lower profile and doesn't give the game away too soon. On the other hand, it means that she and possibly the rest of the brainwashed people don't remember the dreams, and any progress is back at square one.

Plus, she sounds worse now than she had before. What were they up to in those record labels?

Still. He's got a good poker face for a reason. "Depends. Are we talkin' flavor-strong or liquid-heart-attack-strong?"

"Liquid heart attack might be a blessing, as a matter of fact." With more days passing, it's getting easier to make one of her small grins. "Better coffee do it than work, right?"

Wouldn't that be a middle finger to Blanche- pain rings throughout her head and Luce winces, rubbing at one temple. "But really, I'm dead on my feet... So something to perk me up for a while would be welcome, honestly."

Her tune picks up just a bit with the smile, and J smiles back. "Usually, yeah."

Then the screeching speaker feedback crashes through her tune, and it's all J can do to keep a completely straight face. Holy Hendrix that hurt. And she's wincing, and for a moment he's got the crazy notion that her pain is reflecting her tune and not the other way around- but it doesn't work that way, does it?

Around here, he has no idea.

So he nods sympathetically - "Gotcha. Sit tight - I'll be back in a few." - and heads back to the counter. He returns a few minutes later with a glass of ice water and a small mug in a saucer, full to the top. "We don't usually make flat whites with double shots of espresso, but it sounds like one of those days."

When he comes back, she hasn't moved much. Her fingers are still laced together, and she seems to have spaced out a bit. The only thing that seems to keep her going some days is the thought of her band, and of the people from her memories... Two who she's seen here. It's hard to think of them without triggering whatever they did to her head, but... She's managing.

J's arrival snaps her out of it, however, and she smiles up to him as she reaches for the mug. At the sight of water, however, she pauses.

"My. I didn't think I looked that bad."

If it's not feedback, it's heavy static. He can't decide which is worse. It lessens a little when he gets back, but not enough.

"Ma'am, five minutes ago you asked me for a heart attack. I'm just coverin' my bases." He smiles and plays up the joke a little, hoping for something that'll bring her tune - her real tune, under the mess the execs have caused - to the forefront.

"Oh, I thought that sort of request would be common at a caffeine place like this." While the water is a nice touch- she'll be sure to leave a tip, it'd be rude not to- her hands still go to the mug in the end. The warmth of it in her palms is reassuring, and Luce sighs.

"I usually make my own espresso, but... There's not been enough time, lately. If it's not one thing, it's another." She can't be trusted with spare time anymore, and there's a flicker of bitterness in her heart at that. Luce tries to move past it. "Do you have busy days like that here often?"

"Not usin' those particular words." He keeps smiling, trying to keep things light, even if they're anything but.

If her tune is anything to judge by, it's not working. There's a sour downturn in her tune - all her own - and a hiss of static to go along with it - from the damage. "Sometimes. College finals, an' anytime there's an event nearby." It's an easy lie - he hasn't been working here nearly long enough to experience either of those, but he remembers it from his previous stint as a barista half a lifetime ago. "Gotta say, music helps." It's half shameless fishing and half basic truth.

"Oh, college?" She cracks a grin, faking well as always despite what's really going on behind the scenes, so to speak. "You don't seem the type at all."

Mentioning music draws her mind to so many things in the past month- the music she's played with her band, the song she sang for Tsuna that lead an old face to her again, the bass that had resonated from that woman... Her fingers tap against her mug. On the other hand, there's the knowledge that so little was her choice.

"You know, I'm not sure how to feel about music lately."

"Probably 'cause I'm not," he replies, matching her (admittedly fake) grin with one of his own (not much better). "I'm just the one gettin' 'em their caffeine." She makes a passable fake grin - or she would, if he couldn't hear right through it. Still, no reason to let on just yet.

"Yeah?" There's an opening in here somewhere, some piece of tune that's decidedly hers, and he just has to find it. "If you don't mind my askin', what's up?"

How to explain it? The question goes around and around in her head, almost like the path her finger traces around the rim of her mug. How to explain it without it sounding completely preposterous to anyone who isn't involved?

"Lately," Luce manages, "it feels as though music has been taking more than it's given." Another sip of her coffee. It's not a lie, either. The joys she'd taken at the beginning of her career- if it can really be called that when it was never her choice- don't match up to all the pain she's seen others and herself go through.

August finds that he likes this coffee shop, it sort of reminds him of the ones in his hometown. The sorts of places were the servers know you by name. If J spots him there might be a faint jaunty tune. This one is new, his song still sounds fresh and not jaded or tired at all.

"Hey, what the best thing you got here?"

The tune still has some swing to it, sure, but it skips and distorts just often enough to throw off the rhythm. This guy's not as broken as half the other people J's met, but he's still hurting.

"Gotta be the Midnight Roast, but you're talkin' to someone who likes coffee black an' dark as it comes."

The sad part is, the guy's not even aware of it.

"I don't know, you aren't prone to judgin' people that put sugar and cream in their black as night coffee, do ya?"

Most of them aren't. It's both a blessing and a curse.

"'Course not. Takes all types." J gives him a smile. "But we got a medium roast that's a little smoother with cream an' sugar, if you want that instead."

"Nah, the midnight roast sounds cool. I'll take that with cream and sugar. Maybe something to eat it with it would be good too."

August looks up from the Menu. "Nice hair."

Ivan walks in with a bodyguard trailing behind him. He tries to ignore the guard, ignore the pounding in his own heart. It has been days since the ghost rescue, and Ivan can't believe he hasn't discover and captured already. Are they observing him? Are they hoping he could lead them to the ghosts? He couldn't have gotten away with his role in the rescue... Could he?

Regardless, if he were to keep up the guise of not being involved, he had to leave Virgo HQ at some point. His excuse is to visit a cafe and work on a new song. A change of scenery would do the muse good... or something like that.

Dressed simply but still wearing his sakura tinted lenses, Ivan continues to the counter. "A large green tea please." It's not the strongest in terms of caffeine or even coffee, but it's the first thing that comes to mind. He fumbles with his credit card, half mentally chiding himself for choosing that drink. "And, uh... a chocolate cookie." Better?

His tune's agitated, but compared to the dream, it sounds more like Ivan. He's fully regained his shapeshifting and has started to really believe that he's supposed be more like what he sees in his memory-visions. Although, with that comes his natural negativity. Ivan doesn't necessarily like what he sees either.

It takes a moment for J to think, remember that this isn't that dream anymore, and stop himself from calling Ivan by name. He sounds better, in a way - his tune isn't skipping or warping nearly as much as it had been a few months ago, and as far as J is concerned, that's a step up. He can't say he likes the undercurrent of negativity thrumming deep in the tune, but...well, repairs first, encouragement later. Priorities. "Sure! You want that hot or iced?"

The negativity stems both from what happened to Luce and what Ivan has learned--remembered about himself... about ruining a friend's life and nearly being murdered by that friend. "Thank you." Ivan pauses as if the question hit a roadblock before hitting his ears. Oh, he didn't answer the man's question at all... "I-I mean, h-hot. Please."

If his bodyguard was human and cared, he might have arched an eyebrow at Ivan. It's just ordering a drink. Nothing to act so nervous about.

For someone who sounds a lot better, Ivan sure is off-kilter. Of course, tall, suited, and soulless standing behind him probably didn't help matters. Hopefully the bodyguard would step off pretty quickly - it'd be hard to do anything with him around. "Got it. Why don't you go find a seat an' I'll bring it to you when it's done?"

"Th-thank you, sir." Ivan finishes paying and goes to sit down in a corner away from the window. The bodyguard stands off near the entrance and appears to be reading something on his phone. (Most likely all a programmed act to not look too inhuman with his stillness.)

Once sitting, Ivan keeps his head bent low like he's trying to avoid looking at the guard. It was so easy to forget about the guards before rescuing the ghosts. Now, Ivan feels like he's waiting for him to slip up. There's no way he could have gotten away from punishment for his involvement in the rescue....

"Hi!" Ryouta chirps happily. "Can I get a vanilla chai latte?"

He's cheerful enough, more or less ignoring the guard behind him. This isn't his usual place, his usual place is where Kai (aka Kuroko) also works, but he's in the area and needs a break, and this place will do.

Edited 2016-02-14 23:02 (UTC)

This is not the first tuneless guard J's seen today. The record execs are wising up; it's going to make his job that much more difficult. Still, no reason not to try.

"Of course. What size?"

"Venti please," Ryouta chirped happily and pulled out his wallet. "Can I get extra whipped cream on that too?"

While there are other, much closer shops that Lapis could have gone to, it's J's that she gravitates towards, the slightly crumpled paper in her hand. In her human guise, she nudges open the door (only startling slightly at the bell) and waits at the counter for his attention, a small knot of concern between her brows.

She doesn't call out for him. In truth, she's forgotten what name she's supposed to use in public for him. She wards off another barista with a quick shake of the head, eyes on his back, waiting for him to turn.

J hears Lapis coming, hears the door chime when she comes in, and stays busy. She's not any more anxious than she usually is, and he doesn't want to make people start thinking he has a sixth sense of a sort. He finishes cleaning the coffee pot, turns around like he's looking for any new customers, and gives her a grin. "Well if it ain't my favorite customer. How've you been?"

There's the smallest of smiles at his words. Small and tentative and undoubtedly pleased, a small flower hidden under a leaf.

It can't last too long, though. There is something on her mind. Turning the bit of paper, she does her best to smooth it out for him, sliding it forward for his view.

"They sent me for coffee." That small knot appears again, and she drops her voice. "I don't . . . know what most of these are, and they said everything so fast, I'm not sure I got everything down." The notes are scribbled in pencil in a tentative, spindly hand . . . and unfortunately, Lapis' spelling is not the best.

Her voice drops, almost guilty. "I'm . . . also still not very good with money."

Nothing more embarrassing than having to fumble out and probably fail at what she should know with a stranger. Better to bring it to J, who won't laugh.

Her tune perks just a bit, and his grin softens into a smile. It's good to hear that bit of happiness in her tune, even if it's only temporary.

He looks over the proffered paper and listens to her tune swing back into its normal low-level anxiety as she explains. Yeah, these aren't all that easy to read, but he can puzzle most of them out. The one at the bottom with six different modifications is going to be a Bieber to make, but as far as J is concerned, the person behind that one can deal with it if it's not perfect, as that tends to be what happens when you play telephone with a complicated drink order. "Don't worry about it," he reassures Lapis. "Gimme a minute to get these goin' an' I'll meet you at the register."

He'll . . . fix it?

That is to say . . . he understands?

The confidence in the declaration makes Lapis blink; she wrote these things down and she still is unsure about most of them.

J seems to have a strange sort of magic about him sometimes . . . just an ease of going ahead with just about anything without any apparent concern or worry.

She can't fathom it. But she does find herself admiring it.

"Okay." Her eyes linger on him a moment more as though to try to confirm that he means it . . . and then she slips down a ways towards the register to watch him work.

Artolo Apemis walks in looking alright, but sounding like someone smashed their face into a keyboard. Ironically enough, this might be a case where the brainwashing has actually done his broken tune a favor.

The only effort he's made to, uh, "disguise" himself are a pair of thick blocky sunglasses that completely hide his eyes, and he seems at home as he stretches out at a small table very pointedly made for one.

"Coffee helps hangovers, right?" are the first words out of his mouth.

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Turn the Beat Around [Open]

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