13101/Cool Jazz Wanderings

Cool Jazz Wanderings
Date of Scene:	17 October 2022
Location:	Greenwich Village
Synopsis:	Kwannon finds Alexander at a quiet jazz bar. They chat then he quickly departs when she asks too many questions.
Cast of Characters:	Alexander Aaron, Kwannon

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Alexander Aaron has posed:
    There are hundreds of clubs in Manhattan.
    Any given day of the week something is happening on the Scene as some people call it. Always three or four different gathering points where the young and wild of the New York upper crust get together and see exactly how many reality altering narcotics they can consume, how much alcohol they can drink, and how many partners they can indulge in. It's always happening, always going on, and in the depths of those clubs it is quite the panopoly of minds and souls all shouting their wants and desires. In some ways it could be interesting. In others it could be horribly banal.
    Yet for someone like Alexander Aaron, it held little appeal. Oh when he was there he could feel all of the fear in the air, the anxiety. How everyone was afraid of being seen. Or even worse not being seen. How they wanted so badly to be noticed but were afraid of being embarrassed or shown up by a social better.
    It was tiring. And after the last few days...
    He wanted quiet.
    Which was why he was nowhere near the thump of a bass speaker. Nowhere near loud techno beats. Nowhere near people shooting up and dropping out. At worst here at Fats' Place, a jazz bar where he met a cousin ages ago, Alexander found quiet. The hardest thing people were into here was maybe vodka, and a little bit of weed. The music was nice, and at two in the morning there were only a handful of people within.
    And he was one of them.

Kwannon has posed:
Fats' was a nice place. Quiet and less busy. Especially at this hour of the morning when alcohol sales ended and people started on their treks home. Thankfully being in New York City, most didn't try to drive. Many of the regulars lived within walking distance.

And into that place came a woman who had never set foot. Nor did she really 'blend' with the usual crowd. She was quite tall considering she was obviously Japanese. Her dark hair was down around her shoulders. No makeup as she didn't see a reason to bother with it. She wore a red dress. A halter style top and neckline, low cut and showing a bit of cleavage. The bottom half was a bit more flowy but fell to just above her knees. Enough to be a touch daring but not to the extreme. Yet no heels. She wore flat red slippers that matched the dress.

What brought her here? Boredom. She had wanted out of the hotel and started to wander. The soft sound of jazz piano had caught her attention as she passed and she used that as her hint from the gods this was the place.

Once inside, she paused to let her eyes adjust. No stepping to the side, no obvious scanning of the room to give away she was picking out every detail. Just a brief turn of her head as though looking for a seat. Already she could hear those whispers in her mind and she quickly tightened her shields to quiet them a bit. They were never silenced. As much as she might want. It was one of those things she had lost during that change.

She moved toward a table over in a corner.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    As her gaze flowed over the room she could get a feel for the place in a way none of these others could. It was like being able to sense the temperature of a place before even it itself was aware. But the impression she most likely would come away with? Subdued. Quiet music played, light brushes giving soft 'tss-ts-ta-tss' whispers of sound accompanying the mournful saxopone that trilled notes gently, easily. The people who were listening were around the stage, though one might even be asleep considering the empty bottles on his table.
    Across the way she would see a couple curled close, holding each others hands. Older, but very much in love as they... were celebrating an anniversary. That was a lovely thing.
    There were locals at the bar, a group of young men playing cards at one of the tables. Though one was wondering if the other was bluffing. While another was wondering if his friend across the table from him knew that he'd been sleeping with her girlfriend.
    The range of emotions around them ran the gamut from warm acceptance and happiness with life. To a sort of deep melancholy for some. To something near in the middle which might be when she sees the blond man.
    He was handsome. Needed a shave. Perhaps two days growth of beard, but his facial hair was so pale that only hints of the scruff could be seen easily near his ears almost like mutton chops. He had beautiful eyes. And his mood?
    There was a sadness, but not a pained thing. More accepting of it, understanding, but taking it within. A pleased feeling that it had happened, and a disappointment in the world that it had ended.

Kwannon has posed:
The quiet of the place appealed. While the music was not to her personal tastes, the lack of strong emotions slamming against her like waves on the beach during a hurricane gave it an appeal unto itself. Unlike telepathy, empathy didn't really have shields. It wasn't something she could block. It simply--was. It helped she could compartmentalize things but it didn't keep the emotions from being there for her to pick up on.

She paused in her path, zeroing in on the one that was confusing. Happiness and sadness mixed in an odd combination. Typically it was one or the other. It wasn't overwhelming. It didn't bring that sheen of tears to eyes unless tamped down.

Instead of continuing to her seat, she changed direction and paused at his table. "Konbanwa," she offered in greeting as she pulled out the chair across from him. She smoothed her hand over her skirt and sat without asking if she was welcome to do so. The word was a Japanese version of hello, but used evening and night. The better known Kon'nichiwa was more for afternoon, though many didn't realize that. Her accent was obviously fitting her heritage.

"I believe you need another drink." There was something slightly different about her accent. Just a hint of something off from the norm. Someone quite observant about languages might pick up a British lilt on a phrase here or there when she spoke. It didn't stand out horribly but it was a little oddity.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "Konbanwa," He replied with an ease of a native speaker, his response utterly perfect in tone as he turned his head and lifted his chin. There was a hint of fatigue in his eyes but nothing approaching tears. They were this beautiful pale sheen of hazel, almost hinting toward champagne as he meets her gaze. When she starts to take her seat he rises partially. A touch of manners before he sets back down as she takes her ease.
    Then she suggested he needed another drink and his gaze settled on it. She'd see that slight tilt to his lips, a smile. He wasn't wearing anything approaching the beauty of what she had on. Perhaps earlier he might have looked better, for his shoes were a dark ebony leather and shined to glisten. He had black dress slacks on with a leather belt around his waist. That belt gave a place for his white dress shirt to be tucked within. Though he had no jacket, perhaps it had been lost at some point. And the collar of his shirt was undone, the buttons parted and looking clearly like at some point?
    He had called it a night.
    Though now he looked to his empty bottle and his mostly empty glass. Then across the way to her. "Would you join me?" Though either way she answers he lifts his glass and catches the attention of the bartender. The bartender gave a slow nod as he continued to dry a glass he recently washed, then turned to get another bottle and two glasses ready.

Kwannon has posed:
At his accent, her eyebrows went up in surprise a bit. She was used to people having no idea what she was saying since most Americans didn't speak Japanese. And when someone did know, their accent was usually horrific. His was not. It was perfect.

Her lips twisted up into a smirk as he asked her to join him. "I believe I already have." Since she was sitting across from him at his table. She was sitting comfortably, even crossed her legs under the table. It wasn't a large table so her foot brushed his pants leg. "My apologies," she murmured immediately, because that was the right thing to say. Not that she really cared. She shifted in her seat so her foot was aimed a little to the left of his legs instead to try and avoid that.

"You look as though things are going...poorly? Should I ask or would that be impolite upon first meetings?"

She glanced over as the bartender approached with another bottle and the two glasses. He didn't bother to pour for them, just left the items on the table and gave them their privacy.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    If he had sake on hand she might well have become suspicious. But fortunately it was instead an aged brandy that had a hint of timber to the scent, very slight as he poured it. His manner of doing so was easy, and his hand did not shake nor quaver at all despite however long he had been here indulging in drink.
    The caramel liquor gurgled faintly as he held that bottle sideways, then once their glasses had been filled he tilted it back and set it down precisely from where he picked it up from. One hand curled around the base of his glass as he drew it toward himself, then his smile met her eyes as he says, "I meant in a drink, you are already welcome to the table."
    Though she had claimed it as her right, yet he spoke no ill of it. Yet she could feel those gears turning in his thoughts. She was Japanese, given not to give offense, even apologizing as her foot touched his. Yet she had just stepped forth and taken a seat without asking. Some might imagine she was more reserved that she let on, but this young man opposite her seemed to key in on the possiblity that she was far from demure.
    "Things have gone well. And better in the past." Then his eyebrows lift and he smiles a little as he says, "But not impolite at all. If you tell me your name."

Kwannon has posed:
He was observant, picking up on that detail. For her mask was that politeness. It was a requirement in her country of birth. It was used for social standing. People were expected to act in a certain way, giving no offense. Not bringing dishonor upon their family.

Yet, that was not her way. She had been raised where respect was important but it was flipped on its head from normal society. Considering her job was to kill people. Which most people took offense at.

"Kwannon." It was pronounced much like the goddess of mercy in Japan, a figure that had many statues erected around the country or upon shrines in households. She picked up her glass and lifted it, eyeing the liquid within then bringing it up to catch the scent a moment before tasting. A nod of approval as it was far smoother than she had expected. Apparently, he was willing to buy the good stuff.

"And may I know to whom I speak? Before you begin your tale."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "Alexander," The young man answers smiling as he lifts his drink while she does as well. When she sips he sips. Then having shared the drink he sets it down with a soft clink of glass upon the tabletop. Though after that he looks across the room toward the two-piece band as they get ready for their next song. He smiles a little, then looks back to her.
    "What makes you think things are going poorly?" He asks her directly, though she'll see him sparing a glance downward as if to see if he had spilled something on his shirt, or perhaps if he had looked more dissheveled than he thought. Which, to be entirely fair, he did look a little scruffy.
    Those pale hazel eyes returned to hers and he had such an easy-going smile, it reached his gaze, lit up his features. When she had first seen him he did indeed look a little down. When he looked back at her now, she could feel how he felt. Like a warm bonfire before her of positive feelings tinged with that sadness.
    For he had... there she was. A blond woman in his mind's eye. That was the source. Isn't it always that? Love. Trials. Tribulations. And she was beautiful. Perhaps not in the same way as Kwannon, for the Japanese woman had that tall look of a model so perfect in proportion. The woman in his mind's eye was beautiful as well, but also cute, down to earth, loving. And... wild. There was a connection to her that was long, years in the past. But that had ended now.
    And so he mourned that ending even as in some ways he celebrated that it had happened. For he had loved and enjoyed life. And life did not work out for them.
    It was such a healthy take, rare for her to witness. And something in his smile. He had a way about him that seemed to give people a wish to make him have that smile. Because it lit up his features, and when it shone upon someone else it was like the two connected entirely.

Kwannon has posed:
"I am a bit of an expert on...reading people." Which he could take as being able to tell from body language or the like. Technically, not a lie. Simply an omission of the details. Though, that was still a lie of sorts in some viewpoints. Not hers.

She continued to hold her glass in her left hand, arm propped slightly on the edge of the table. So it wouldn't get too burdensome as time passed. She could rest it on a knee but then she'd have to shift and might touch his leg again thus best avoided.

"Yet you confuse me. On one side, you seem to be sad. Having...lost something recently perhaps." The petite woman in his head. Though his memories were shifting from blonde to brunette and back which was a little odd. Perhaps she had changed her hair recently as the dark hair was shorter than the blonde. Cut and dyed? That fit the scenario. "Or someone."

She tilted her head a little, that tiny narrowing of her eyes as she studied him. "Yet you are content at the same time." What was wrong here? Something felt like it was missing. She started to reach deeper into his mind, trying to understand what it was. But before she got too deep, it clicked in her mind.

Most people broke up with someone and they had a fear of being alone again. A fear they might never find someone else. It was a natural thing. Everyone had it happen at some point, from what she had sensed. Yet, that wasn't a thing with this Alexander. He wasn't afraid of the lost relationship, wasn't afraid it was a sign of something wrong, wasn't afraid of being lonely as he drank expensive liquor in a jazz bar at 2 a.m. He just was.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    A small laugh comes from him as his eyes crinkle a little, that gaze lowering. Then he looks up at her partially under his eyelids and smiles. "I didn't think it would show so much, but then again..."
    He lifts his chin and looks the place over, eyebrows rising as he considers their surroundings. "I suppose I /am/ drinking alone in a jazz club at..." He stops and glances toward the door that leads outside and up the steps back to the streets of Manhattan. "Two in the morning?"
    Which might show that he's lost a bit of time.
    Then he swings his attention back to her and he says, "I broke up with my significant other. It wasn't a bad thing, we both are busy. Both don't have as much time and she lives..."
    She'd catch a glimpse of Gotham, a distance, see the silhouette of the woman though now with that dark hair and shorter. She was short, but strong, muscular, in shape and there were a few moments... glimpses of her smiling. Or of her above him clearly making love and giving the most endearing look to him.
    But there were other tendrils of thought, tension, desire, intensity. That wildness and perhaps a single image of her in a gi taking stance and shouting a loud kiyai at him. And for some reason that had a soft spot in his heart.
    "She lives a good ways away. But still." He shakes his head a little. Then straightens up and smiles as he starts to button up his shirt as he murmurs, "I must look a mess."

Kwannon has posed:
"You are," Kwannon confirmed as he pointed out where he was and the time. Including his status of being alone. So maybe it wasn't such a stretch. Of course, she was still using her powers anyway because that was her way. Those with a moral compass wouldn't dare pry into minds without permission.

Kwannon's compass was more like that of Captain Jack Sparrow. It pointed to what she wanted instead of worrying about morality and the like. Leave that to those who wished to be limited. She played to win, be that in a fight or just general life.

As he explained, she was catching those glimpses in his surface thoughts. Though the fact that the woman in a gi was the one that held the most emotion for him was --odd again. He was full of surprises.

At his comment as he started to straighten his shirt, she shook her head negatively. "You look quite handsome. Despite the fact you have a two day scruff on your face. And look like you may have lost your jacket at some point in your travels tonight."

She did look at the bottle on the table. Recalling the empty that had been there before their new order, she arched a brow and looked back at him pointedly. "And you've had quite a lot to drink. Yet, you do not seem the least bit intoxicated. You are very puzzling, Alexander."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "I pace myself," He says with that easy smile. And that was the first time when she catches that hint of her own morality in his words. For it wasn't a lie... he did pace himself. It's just there was more to it that he was leaving out. He seemed entirely alright with that.
    "But thank you," Alex says as he looks at his drink, giving thanks for the kindness in saying he was handsome. He was still trying to figure her out, as even though he was considering his glass?
    His thoughts were on her. Bringing to mind the look of her as she moved, her body's fluid grace, that way she eased into the seat. Perhaps considering if the touch to his leg wasn't an accident. He was measuring if she was attracted to him perhaps... or if she was here to assassinate him curiously enough.
    Which was when his eyes returned to meet her gaze. And she has been scrutinized by agents and warriors and ninja. She has had some of the greatest fighters looking at her as she read their thoughts. This young man before her took her all in entirely, measured her as if they were immediately about to leap and fight. His eyes swept along the lines of her arms, noting the musculature and that subtle swell of her bicep. Those long legs, the graceful fingers. She can feel his thoughts as he considers what it would be like if they were to match against each other. If she was a hidden master of some kind?
    And then he makes the decision that he doesn't think she's there to kill him. That she is a blade in its sheath. And all of this is ascertained in but moments.
    "I should have shaved before coming out." His lips curl a little as he rubs a hand along the scruff, then he turns his head to catch his reflection in the mirrored glass along the wall. "I sort of like it, though."

Kwannon has posed:
Now he had her attention.

Before it had been idle curiosity. Something to pass the time in the middle of the night. But when she read what he was thinking, those thoughts skimming over the surface of his mind and flashing into her brain. He was a warrior. A fighter. That is why the woman in the gi had appealed. And now he was measuring Kwannon's worth. Just from scanning her in those brief seconds. Picking up those telltale signs that were so small to be imperceptible to the average person.

And even more interesting, he wondered if she was there to kill him. Normal people didn't wonder such things with approached by an attractive woman. Only if a circumstance was unusual such as being cornered in a dark alley on the way home. Or that feeling of danger from a psychopath. Yet, he thought it. Wondered. Dismissed. Not that she wasn't a threat. She was still that. Only, she was not a threat aimed at him.

"Grow it out more, perhaps? At the moment it is very...unkempt." That was about as rude as she was going to get about his scruffiness.

She took another sip of her liquor then set her glass down finally. A moment to look at him appraisingly. "You are not like most people." Which might seem like a line but something in how she said it let him know she knew it was true. "Even paced, an entire bottle of alcohol would have some negative effects. Your hands and movements show you have...skills." No mention of what skills. She didn't really have to say them outloud. They both knew.

"What do you hide behind your easy manner, Alexander."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    She teases him a little, or he perhaps chooses to interpret that as teasing as she tells him to grow it out a little more. Which renews his glance into the mirror along part of the wall. The jazz club was all red velvet and black leather, so the mirror went well with the decor. But he was a splash of color with that blond hair.
    Shaking his head he murmured, "Nah, I think... I'll shave in the morning. If I let that go then next thing you know I'll be doing other things like not returning my library books on time, or tearing labels off pillows, and then where will it end? A slippery slope."
    Jokes? Perhaps. But there is something sad about them in a way as he says them, as if the way he was saying them was for someone else. But then he remembers he should not indulge in such, especially when he has company, "Forgive me, I'm being foolish."
    But she doesn't seem too concerned as she presses him then on how he's not like most people. At that he nods, for he won't deny her outright. Most people can't hold their liquor as well. And when she asks him what he hides, his brow knits a little and he says.
    "Is it better for me to just tell you? Or would it be better to learn them yourself?"

Kwannon has posed:
At the jokes, she does smile a little. But she does get that impression it was not meant for her. Then that hint of sadness presses out from him and passes through her. "Nothing foolish about humor. Though I tend to disobey laws as well. Particularly when it comes to my mattress." Because that label has got to go, warning or no. True if the small print was read, it was legal for the owner but most people didn't get that far. She'd never bothered to read past the first line. It just got removed and she slept well without feeling like something was odd under the sheet. The princess and the pea? Not quite. But same theory.

At his query, her smile spreads a bit. "In truth, I prefer to learn as time goes. But that would imply we will meet again after tonight." Which was an unspoken question maybe? If he chose to interpret it that way. Or it might be a statement of fact that she was drawing a line.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "Then isn't more enjoyable to live with a little mystery? If we never see each other after tonight you can think, 'How curious, I wonder what that was all about?'" He leans forward and refills his glass with another small pour of brandy, offering her the like if she was so inclined.
    Then he eases back and takes another sip. "And you can create all sorts of lovely imagined scenarios, thinking of what it was, or what it could have been. Perhaps reviewing the smallest detail."
    Then his brow knits a little as he looks past her, "Although," He keeps his eyes distanced, before slowly turning back to her. "When I meet someone interesting, I tend to find them again in some way down the line. Usually through coincidence." A pause then he adds, "Or fate."
    Then he smiles as if trying to slip past that moment as he asks, "What would you most like to know?"

Kwannon has posed:
She thinks over his response, weighing the details. That would again mean she'd think about him in the future. Would she? After this odd, chance meeting? It was a curious thing to mull over. She gave a small nod at his offer and slid her glass a little closer to him, so he could top it off.

At mention of fate, her expression changed and she shook her head the tiniest bit. "I suspect it is more coincidence. Or perhaps some admission of stalking behavior on your part." Did /she/ just crack a joke? Not a good one but still, it was humor. Just her version.

She purses her lips a moment at the last question. Stalling as she pulls back her drink after his pour and takes a sip. She watches him over the rim. Then the glass is set back down in front of her.

"I would know if you are as good as you believe." And something shifted in the air around them. A roil of chi perhaps. A moment later it was gone but there had been no mistaking it.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "Could be that," He admits with raised eyebrows, as if indeed he could be a big creeper who wanders around the city late at night. She might even catch a glimpse of an image in his thoughts of him doing so, looking so horrible and wicked.
    It's that imagining that gets him to look down at his glass as he smiles to himself. Then he looks back up at her and their eyes meet. Such an openness to him, as if he was afraid of nothing in the world. As if nothing could touch him. She asks her question?
    "I am very good," He says with such surety, a clarity of statement. Then he adds still with that easy bravado, "But there is always someone better."

Kwannon has posed:
"Wise. For your age." Which might seem an odd statement considering she was just a little older than he was. Though at least he was of drinking age. Unless they didn't card in this place. Speaking of, they hadn't checked her identification. Thus, they probably didn't. He could be underage for all she knew. Though he looked to be in his early 20s.

That lack of fear though. That was the strangest thing perhaps. Nothing seemed to touch him. Even mentioning someone else might be better, there wasn't that pang of worry about being defeated. Which seemed completely foreign to Kwannon who might not have those worries now but had been very aware of them as she was growing up in a criminal family. Of needing to learn more, be better, earn her spot. Those that were useless were killed. Or worse, sold into the human trafficking circles that so many crime lords ran. That truly was a fate worse than death.

"Often people like us have a false sense of immortality. That they will never lose. Never face the dangers of defeat." Which sounded a lot less like a match at the local karate dojo and more like something more final.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    He listens, those pale eyes lingering on hers. At times dropping to her lips as she speaks. She can feel that he is watching her, listening to her with focus, but there is a part of him that is almost as if it were outside himself. It is that that seems to feel no fear, as if he was at such ease that he had several ways of looking at something all at once existing together.
    A small smile as she spoke of that immortality, then the philosophy behind it. He lifts his chin a little and since she did not ask a question... it was his turn.
    "Why did you approach me?" His lips part as he lifts a hand slightly, as if to stop the first thing she might say by reflex as he murmurs, "I don't hold any delusions. That I am what some would consider fairly attractive." As he says that last his smile broadens a little, "But you are a beautiful woman who I feel likely... knows to take what she wishes, and for lovers rarely has to look far."
    He settles back in his seat again, both hands around the base of his glass. "Was there some other reason?"

Kwannon has posed:
She didn't get the fact that immortality would actually mean something to him. After all, Kwannon presumed he was human. Perhaps a mutant. There was no way she'd be suspecting he was a god. That was a bit outside her experiences.

At mention of how he perceived her, there was that slight nod as a reaction. She continued to regard him evenly. "You are attractive, yet that is not the reason I approached." That tight smile, a flash of something almost like amusement in her eyes. "Though I will not say I am disappointed."

Careful word choices as she continued. "Though you are right. In my country, I would be considered far too bold should I remove the societal mask." She motioned to his hand. "May I?" Asking for him to let her touch. When he agreed, she took his hand in hers and turned it up. As though she was reading his palm. Only, it was not his palm she read as she held hand loosely atop his. Her other hand was brought over and she lightly ran the tip of her index finger across his palm.

"Blocks against a Mu Ren Zhuang. The Wooden Man Post." In case he didn't know Chinese as well as Japanese. "This..." A slide of that finger against the blade of his hand. "Not just the Wooden Man. The calluses here seem more from something else." Then another spot. "Your knuckles have been broken many times. Though they have healed well. And this...means you enjoy swords. To the extent they have left their mark upon you."

Then the hand she had on top of his turned palm up, revealing the same sort of subtle changes to her flesh. "Between the mix of emotions and this? That is why I approached. How could I not?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Brows knit as she takes his hand and he seems to go with it, letting her touch and explore though there is a slight hint of trepidation. Yet as she examines the small marks, the idiosyncracies she might well notice the faint race of goosebumps along his forearm in response. Perhaps the chill, perhaps the touch, or perhaps the memories she might see brought forth as she speaks.
    But then it seems as if she perhaps pushed a touch too far as he draws back. At first mentally, as his mind closes with a flicker of that other woman's face. But then he gently eases his hand back and smiles toward her.
    "Forgive me," He says again, then lets those words hang there as he looks to her. As if not entirely sure what to say. But he shakes his head and says in that quiet tone though still with that ease to him. "My mind is too..."
    She can tell exactly what his mind is, thoughts distanced, lost with hints of memory. And a small feeling of betrayal as if it was too soon to let himself have such thoughts. But instead of fully answering he just smiles a little.
    "I hope to see you here again. Some day." As he withdraws some cash from the inside of his pocket, then sets it on the tabletop. A fair amount to cover the tab and more for the tip.

Kwannon has posed:
As he pulls away, Kwannon does not resist by gripping his hand. She simply releases and pulls her hands back to her side of the table. The loss of contact with his mind had been clear. She could push. Dig deeper. Yet, there seemed no reason. Not at this time.

"I apologize. I meant no offense." The words at automatic, a slight bowing of her head in that polite manner. "Nor to make you uncomfortable. It was a pleasure to meet you, Alexander."

She glanced to the money, realizing it was more than enough for the mostly untouched bottle of whiskey.

"Perhaps we shall meet again."