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Introducing: Kadiatu (25 Feb 2012)

PostPosted: Sat Feb 25, 2012 8:33 pm
by Hazmat
It is currently 10:03 Pacific Time on Sat Feb 25 2012.

The Underground(#3559RJh)

The decor of the renovated Underground is reminiscent of New York subways. Drab concrete flooring sits under walls covered with artful stylized graffiti backgrounded by deep red. The graffiti itself is musically inspired; geometric shapes mix with various instruments and musical notes, one wall which to the observant displays 'Stairway to Heaven' in its revealing design. The back wall behind the stage is an homage to The Beatles' Abbey Road album cover also with a secret message for the specially perceptive. As skilled as the work is on the graffiti, age shows in the worn patches, the faded paint and the wall underneath peeking out here and there.

The checkout counter near the door has a top made of thick glass dyed to look smoky and dirty with age. On the left wall, three booths sit: two are for listening to available record selections and the farthest, largest booth is a recording booth. Take-home karaoke and bands willing to squeeze in to cut albums are amongst the various uses of the last booth. A raised dais fitted against the back wall serves as a stage and display area for instruments for sale. A large floor-to-ceiling glass display case through which the Beatles mural can be seen through smoky glass displays a collection of rare and mint condition LPs, all Beatles at outrageous prices. Another glass case standing about 3 feet tall lines the right and most of the front wall. The low case holds other rare records of non-Beatles bands. On the open floor, six racks hold more easily found and used records ranging from Benny Goodman to Janis Joplin and any number of artists in between.

At the back hall to the right of the stage, there is a closed door marked 'For Employees Only'. (+view for more)


The girl -- she looks around eighteen, can't be more than twenty -- has presence, that's for certain. She's about five-foot-six in height, broad-shouldered and strong without detracting much from her overall femininity; she has sleek muscles and generous curves. Her dark brown skin is, by and large, unblemished, and the lines of her face are smooth and rounded, with a broad nose and a generous mouth; her teeth are very straight, very white, and appear in great numbers when she grins. And she tends to grin quite a lot.

Her tightly-curled black hair is cropped close to her scalp; she has a wool beanie cap, dark red, for the cold weather, along with a big black wool coat that envelopes her form and comes down almost to her knees. Underneath the coat, her clothing is casual and clean, form-hugging without being overly restrictive; she favors "girl-cut" t-shirts and hip-hugging shorts, both with skin-tight layers underneath in acknowledgement of the cold weather and all of it in bright, eye-catching colors. Her shin-high Doc Martins are the same dark red color of her beanie, with black laces.

Nicodemus is browsing the CDs. The alternative section. He looks a little bored, as if he's merely wasting some time and not really looking for anything in particular. Perhaps this is retail therapy?

This thin, wiry, short (5'6"), and moderately attractive man is probably in his late twenties or early thirties. His (dyed?) black hair is of medium length and unkempt--in that intentionally unkempt way. His attire, appearance, and mannerisms communicate that he's well-to-do but certainly not wealthy.

Nicodemus is currently wearing a practical yet stylish pair of loose-fitting black khaki pants combined with a button-down, long sleeved, dark blue silk shirt. His braided black leather belt perfectly matches his black leather loafers and form-fitting black leather gloves. The loafers look a little worn, as if he gets around on foot a lot. An oversized brown greatcoat, worn open, engulfs his form and plays absently in passing breezes. The exceptionally perceptive might notice that his pants do not quite hang naturally over his right ankle.

He wears little in the way of accessories: a silver chain around his neck plunges beneath his shirt and a small metal owl pin resides on the left side of his greatcoat. There's also a whiff of wood-smoke and ozone lingering in the air about him, possibly from an expensive cologne.

When he moves, it is with a grace, fluidity, and sure-footedness. When idle, he seems alert and focused, yet somehow simultaneously introspective.

Kadiatu isn't too far away, flipping through the thin plastic cases and chewing her gum really loudly, making snapping and popping noises as she blows the occasional bubble, the sound accompanied by the quick tic-tic-tic of CD cases knocking against each other.

Contrastingly, Nick is pretty quiet and, rather than systemically flipping through the CDs, just pushes the row open to one of the CDs every so often--prefering to read spines (when there's a label on them). His method seems faster and more efficient, but he's missing all the cover art. He pauses at an older Smashing Pumpkins CD, plucking it from the rack and eyeballing its condition and price.

Kadiatu's own searching moves her a bit closer. She glances sidelong at her fellow shopper, sizing him up and eyeballing his potential purchase. "That one any good?" she asks him.

Nicodemus glances over towards you and lifts a shoulder non-committally as he responds. "90s goth rock. It's pretty good if you like that sort of thing. It's before they went big with their 'Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness' album." He points nearby to where he spotted that double CD album.

Kadiatu glances over briefly to where he's pointing, though her wrinkled nose makes it clear that his description isn't attractive to her. "Ugh, no, /definitely/ not. All that mopey doom music. Bleah."

Nicodemus looks the young woman over from head to toe, attempting to assess musical tastes via wardobe. "So you're looking for something more electro-club with maybe a dash of punk?"

"I like the old stuff," she says. "Y'know, from the 80s, mostly? Like Joan Jett and--" At that moment, her pocket starts blaring a tinny version of "Konya wa Hurricane" from Bubblegrum Crisis. She pulls out her cellphone, looks at it with a frown, and gives Nick a "One sec, sorry," before putting it to her ear. "Hello?"

>>>>>> The voice on the other end is soft and clear, with a British-touched Indian accent. "Hello? Is this Kay Too?"

Nicodemus waits a few seconds, then kind of half resumes flipping through CDs while the girl talks on her cell. He's angled slightly towards her, enough to indicate he's not brushed her off completely. He hangs on to that earlier Smashing Pumpkins CD, though. Apparently he doesn't mind the mope and gloom rock all that much.

Kadiatu grins toothily. "Yeah, that's me," she says into her phone. "Who's this?" She glances over at Nick, clearly having not forgotten about him, either.

>>>>>> There's the space of a breath before the man's voice returns. "My name is Kavi. I saw your flyer. I. I'm interested in your idea of a band."

In perusing the racks, Nicodemus stumbles across, and pulls out, a "Best of Billy Idol" CD. He taps it with one finger, as if perhaps kadiatu might be interested in looking at that one. That's followed by The Clash's "London Calling."

"Awesome!" Kadiatu says into her phone, enthusiastically. She's one of those people who grins with her whole face and seems to have endless teeth when she does so. Bright, sincere, kind of infectuous. "Whatta'ya play?" She sidles over and picks up the Billy Idol CD, looking over the back with interest.

>>>>>> Again there's a slight pause, this one just a beat longer. "Mostly guitar. Accoustic. But. I can play... just about anything with strings. I have a few-- I can play some more unusual instruments, too. Sarod, Rudra, Vichitra. And I sing."

Nicodemus pulls out another one while you're eyeballing the Idol CD. This one's Siouxie and the Banshee's album titled "Hyaena." He carries on looking for more classic 80s bands and albums.

Kadiatu's brow furrows as she listens to her phone, her grin fading a little. "Vich... huh. You'll hafta show me." She brightens up again. "But, hey, unusual's good. Singing's good too. You ever played electric guitar, or only acoustic?" She watches Nick and checks out his new suggestion, grinning at the title. "Hmmm. Okay. We should meet up and jam sometime, see if, yanno, things mesh. When's good for you?"

>>>>>> Kavi's answer comes more quickly, this time. "I can play electric. I don't own one. I like the sound from the accoustic, better. The vichitra and the others, they're related to the guitar. But Indian. I play mando, too."

>>>>>> The man's smile can almost be heard in his voice. "Early afternoons, or late evenings, I'm usually free. Where would you want to meet?"

And, in case she'd never heard of them, Nick pulls out a copy of the Ramones' "Rocket to Russia" and places that atop the stacks. He resumes perusing, but it seems to be a fruitless effort for the time being.

"We can meet at my place," Kadiatu tells the person on the other end of the line, with utter confidence. "It's kinda small and the neighborhood's a shithole, though. Unless you know someplace better." While she talks, she goes over Nick's selections with interest.

>>>>>> Kavi seems to consider that for a moment before he answers. "No," he says eventually. "I know places we could get access to, for practicing. But. Your place is fine, to meet and talk."

Nicodemus continues coming up empty as he browses the stacks. He plucks out a copy of Enigma's first album, but that goes into the 'keeper' he's got with The Smashing Pumpkin's CD he's still carrying.

Kadiatu grins at her phone again. The call's definitely going quite well, since she's now discussing a date and time to meet with whoever's on the other end.

>>>>>> Kavi agrees quickly, his own smile easily heard in his tone. Then, "Thanks," he offers, and waits a moment before closing the connection.

Nicodemus doesn't really bother paying the call all that much attention. He skips over to the rack opposite: blues. He starts cassually poking around in that bin's small selection of offerings.

"No sweat," says Kadiatu into her phone. "Look forward to meeting ya!" And when she finally clicks off, she does a little victory fist-pump, grinning from ear to ear.

Nicodemus pulls a CD with a no-name blues artist on it. "Good news, it sounded like?"

Kadiatu turns that big broad grin onto the man. "Got a nibble for my band. After only a couple of days in town, not bad, right?" She picks up the CDs that Nick pulled out for her.

"I suppose not. Never had much luck with playing in bands," Nick offers. "I used to play bass guitar, which is what you play when you can't play worth crap. Anyway, those are some punk-pop hits of significance from the 80s that are in a Joan Jett sort of vein."

"Cool," says Kay. "And, hey, don't knock the bass. A bitchin' bass guitarist can, like, make a good song great. And a sucky one, well, y'know. Kinda like the drummer. Everybody overlooks the drummer, but a good one's like /gold/."

"True," Nicodemus concedes to the younger woman. "But it's nice and easy to not be so great and manage a passable bass guitar."

Kadiatu concedes the point with a shrug, then asks, "So how come you stopped?"

Nicodemus spreads his hands noncommitally. "College. Work. It was really only something I was dabbling in, anyway. I wasn't particularly good either. Just good enough. Music history will not morn my passing," he adds with a wry smile.

Kadiatu considers that for a second or two before nodding. "I guess I can see that. I mean, if it's not, yanno, your /passion/ then why bother, right?" She grins. "So what /do/ you do?"

"Exactly. It was fun, but it wasn't my passion." Nick then explains, "I'm a private detective. I help people find missing people. And, occasionally, take incriminating pictures of husbands with mistresses and wives with a slice of something on the side. I prefer the finding missing people aspect, though. I'm guessing you're going to.... /are/," he corrects himself. "A musician. Not from around here, though. Your accent is different."

"Pretty obvious, huh?" Kadiatu regards her new friend with admiration; apparently, being a private dick is pretty cool. "Originally from LA, just outside of it. Name's Kay." She shifts her CDs to her left hand in order to stick out her right for shaking.

"Welcome to Hell's Freezing Asshole, Kay." The man shakes with his begloved right hand. "Nick," he says, by way of introducing himself. "Should be a bit quieter here than in LA, from what I hear. LA is a bit rough and tumble." That prompts another question. "What in the world brings a budding musician to Saint Claire? Wanting to be a big fish in a small pond so you get noticed locally? Because Seattle is just down the road a ways, but there's a lot of talent there. Might be easy to be overlooked."

Kadiatu shrugs and, to be honest, looks a trifle shifty, though her manner stays pretty light and casual. "It was my mom's idea. Change of scenery and all that, good experience. Hey, I don't mind." She flashes another of those toothy smiles of hers. "And Seattle's just /passe/, yanno?"

Nicodemus doesn't seem to notice or care about the shiftiness. He does, however, concur. "Seattle has kind of declined since its heydey in the 90s with the whole grunge movement."

"/Exactly/," says Kay. "'Sides, this place seems pretty cool. I went over to, like, Montrose the other day. They had some great shops over there."

"Midtown is nice. It's got a nice, artsy vibe to it--and, honestly, it seems to be making a comeback. It's still rundown, but it has a--je ne sais quoi--/vibrance/ to it," Nicodemus says, finding the desired term and dusting off a little French in the process.

"Ooo, fan/see/," Kay says, with a bit of a laugh. "So, hey, thanks for the recommends." She holds up the CDs; looks like she's going to buy all the ones he picked out for her. "You got an email or phone number or somethin'?"

Nicodemus takes one of his private investigator cards out and offers it to you. "I can find missing people, but I can't find you band members." He grins quietly at his lame little joke. "But when you get your band together and a gig, throw me an e-mail and I'll see about making it to the performance."

Kadiatu takes the card. "Sweet, my first groupie!" Her own lame joke, though she clearly finds it hilarious. "See ya around, then!" She heads for the cash register to make her purchases.

Nicodemus goes back to browsing the stacks, little realizing he'd just met a soon-to-be-famous rock star.