Mark & Jay, backdated to Friday evening

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While getting ready for the night, Mark finds Jay passing the time playing.


Mark had, like everyone else, spent the past week desperately tapping into every resource available to find Amanda. That they had confirmation that she was alive was cold comfort, but still a hope that he desperately clung to. Unable to sit around with his thumbs up his ass any more, he decided to head to Silver early tonight. It was still mostly empty, just a few people milling about, so after a few hellos he headed over to his booth to set up. He was not expecting to find a winged mutant cowboy playing the guitar there. "Broadway's northwest, you know," he quipped.

"Ah ain't tha Broadway type," Jay monotoned back though he smiled briefly without raising his eyes. "Them folks don't like country as much as they do other types." He had come to work early to pass time because time seemed to drag at the mansion. Here, it sped up a little and by some offhanded chance, he wished his luck would change like some bigwig would walk in, be floored by a few little practices and sweep him off with a contract. As if. "Yer 'ere early."

Mark shrugged and sat down in front of his mixing boards. "Long week, need to start unwinding, like, right now." He fell uncharacteristically silent, still half-caught up in worry over Amanda, but, quite characteristically, was soon sucked in by the unfamiliar music. He stopped futzing around and just listened to Jay for a couple of minutes.

Nodding, Jay turned his attention down to his guitar, strumming the strings, picking away at the heart of his humming. He was mindful not to break full out into song - most people didn't like country - he unknowingly tuned Mark into the background, unaware he was being watched.

Thankfully for Jay, Mark is most definitely not "most people." Years of constant exposure to all sorts of music, not to mention a mutant power fueled by it, offered him a wide appreciation for all styles. "I didn't know you played. Did you write that?" he asked, cracking his knuckles.

The humming stopped yet his fingers carried on rhythmically, looking up briefly and nodding before he turned his eyes back down and picked at the strings elaborately breaking into the chorus he would have been singing. "Yeh, been doin' it fer awhile now. Ya like it?"

Mark nodded and smiled. "S'pretty good. Just a hobby or somethin' more serious?" Jay hadn't been playing much, but something in his form just screamed big.

"Thanks." Jay bent over his guitar more, hunching and letting his bangs fall over his eyes. He felt like shit, blowing out a sigh and letting to seep into the song he was playing. "It ain't nothin'," he said absently, trying to disregard the whole topic all together. "Yer stuffs pretty good too. People like wha' ya do." He could never remix like that. Not that he had tried alot.

"Hey, you okay there, man?" Mark pulled his stool next to Jay and raised an eyebrow curiously. Not that he knew the other guy well, but he was another queer music-loving mutant. Some kindred there.

"'Bout as okay as the next guy," he commented, lifting his eyes and stopped playing. He reached up and turned the knob, adjusting the string while one finger picked at it, testing, listening. "Boyfriend, friends, music, pick one - they all been problems lately. Work's 'bout the only thing Ah like that don't give me much grief."

Mark's hand found Jay's shoulder and offered it a reassuring squeeze. Since meeting him a couple weeks prior, Mark had done some digging on the journals to learn about the new kid. "Can't say I'm a boyfriend expert, but I know music. You got a demo tape?"

"Thanks." He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about Kevin right now and with Mark falling back onto the topic of music, Jay couldn't really resist that pull. "Yeh, all the time." Just in case someone ever asked. He stopped toying around with the guitar and leaned over, fishing out a cd and holding it out. "Somethin' from awhile back. It ain't really good, but..." he shrugged.

"And thank you." Mark took the CD and put it aside for a listen later. "How long have you been writin' for?"

"Sometime. Ah gotta lotta notebooks full of songs an' some lyrics. Nothin' s stuck so far. Ah work on 'em when Ah'm in the mood." He was definitely in the mood tonight. His entire demeanor took a nosedive in the tank. It only lifted a little talking about music with someone who shared the same interest. "You write too or you just mix it all up?'

"I'm a DJ, not a poet. Different kind of artist." A refiner, not a creator. An important distinction to Mark. "I learned, like, piano and stuff when I was a kid, but everyone learns that. I guess I'm just more electronically inclined. I think it worked out well."

"Where do ya live if ya don't mind me askin?" The question seemed out of the blue but Jay hadn't seen Mark around the mansion and figured he was living elsewhere. "Ya livin' in the area 'ere, or just somewhere else, closer to the mansion?"

"In Emma's brownstone in East Village with Angie, Sarah, Amanda -" Mark choked a bit on that name "-and the other SV folk. It's kinda like Real World, just with less . . . Actually, it's exactly like Real World." Sex, drama, drugs, violence, cameras, and all.

"Ah should get outta the mansion. Feels like Ah'm suffocatin' all the time. Makes fer good writin' sometimes but piss poor company, if yanno what Ah mean." Jay looked behind him, and then down at the floor. "Gotta half hour. Ya wanna hear somethin' that Ah wrote that's recent?"

"I seriously think anyone living in that place is certified psychotic, so unless you're there for training or whatever, s'probably best to get the fuck out." Mark grinned wryly. "Yeah, I would."

"Like Ah said, good fer writing, shitty company." Jay leaned back a little, brushing his fingers over the strings before singing something low keyed, maintaining an unobtrusive tone to his voice as not to distract too much attention. He played for as long as he could recall what he wrote for the song, reaching lower octaves that almost took him out of the category of country and placed him elsewhere.

Listening to music, especially live music written by the performer, was as close to a religious experience as Mark could have. He had to admit a certain jealousy of those who could create. He listened intently to Jay's song, remaining completely silent through the whole thing until the final note. "You sound like an angel," he said finally.

It was one thing to play in front of an audience of a hundred, but another thing to play for an audience of one. He was very aware of Mark's awe and shifted on the spot, dropping his eyes down to the strings at the compliment. "Thanks," was all he could muster, pulling his wings back and brushing his bangs away with a hand. "It ain't finished, but Ah'm workin' on it. It got no good chorus goin'. Wha' ya heard is some half assed attempt ta write on a good day. Ah'm in tha mood ta write, so Ah reckon it'll come out better now."

"Is that thing with your voice part of your mutation, or is it, like, a Peter Frampton trick?" The music was good, maybe not necessarily Mark's favorite style but he could appreciate it nonetheless. It was the singing, though, that grabbed his attention and refused to let go.

"Part of the mutation. Pales in comparison ta someone already wit' a rep. But Ah manage," Jay said without concern. He would make it, eventually. "It's jus' a matter o' time before someone moseys along an' hears me. Just gotta get ma voice out there, be heard an' Ah'll get somethin' goin'. Force feeding himself positive crap didn’t' seem to go all the way, nor reach his eyes as he smiled to Mark. "What about you? Ah mean, yer pretty good, from what Ah hear. Any plans ta go big?"

Mark shook his head dismissively. "Nah, I don't want anything big like that. I have other important things in my life to focus on now." He raised a hand to his head without thinking about it, to run fingers through still non-existent hair. He sighed when he felt that wool cap on his head instead, a reminder of what exactly his life is.

"Wha's wrong? Yer lookin' alot like someone who'd had their dog run over." Just like him, to be more to the point. He stood up, pulling the guitar strap off and setting it aside.

"It's nothin'." Mark smiled and hoped to dispel the gloom. "Probably oughtta get ready now. Larry's gonna have your ass if you're not down there soon."

"Yanno, tha' wouldn' be such a bad thing if he was gay," Jay winked.

"Gay shmay. Remind me to tell you about the time I convinced him to dress up with me as Ace and Gary for Halloween . . ."