Hell Toupee 3 - The Spirit-Corrupted Blues
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Date: 11/03/2018 |
Jumpin' Jive House of Java -- Hamtramck
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Cast: Storyteller: | |
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It's one of those weekends when the band only has one or two gigs, rather than an extended road trip; they've just gotten back from a Samhain gathering out of state, and there are only a couple of in-town things Saturday and Sunday. So she's here, playing on her own, curled around her instrument and sending out all the hope and good vibes she can. It's a decent night so far: not a massive gathering, but a good handful of people. One table has three young people, as preppy as it can get in Detroit; the sleeve-tattooed barista idly bobs his head in time with the music; two students work on homework together, letting Maya be background music for them. A young woman comes in, wearing hair extensions of a slightly lighter shade than the rest of her hair. She makes her way toward the counter, but just as she passes by, someone at the preppy table just happens to draw her chair back far enough to bump into her. Music comes naturally enough to Maya that it doesn't distract her; if anything, it helps to expand her senses. Yet for now, it's only vague. /Something/ has come in along with that woman with the two-toned hair. Maya actually misses a beat, a barely-there mistake where the lyrics falter. She keeps a surreptitious eye on the woman. The two-toned woman stumbles, recovering from the shove. She keeps her head down, her eyes lowered, and she just looks... tired. She comes to the counter and practically whispers her order. Which brings the barista to demand. "What? Speak up!" far louder. It makes her flinch, but she repeats herself. Soon after, the coffee's made, and roughly shoved towards her. There it is again, that sense of something /off/. There's a splash of it with each aggression. It sets the hairs rising on the back of Maya's neck, in a particular way. This isn't just a vague something, but a something in the Umbra. Maya disappears into the back office, taking the instrument with her--it's the space she uses to warm up beforehand and set the ritual. Now, though, she trades one form of Sight for another... using the existing sacred space to run through the quicker version of dual-vision, to perceive the spirit world alongside this one. Even in that back room, even with her gear around her, it takes Maya an uncharacteristically long time to pierce through the Gauntlet and get her eyes to see. There's something /weird/ going on, something twisting the local spirit architecture in ways she wouldn't expect, something twisting local spirit /behaviour/. By the time she comes back out, that two-toned woman has found a seat, by herself in the corner. Fresh coffee has spilled across her front, and she dabs at herself with napkins to try to dry off just a little. And now that she has the right kind of eyes, Maya can see the spirit that walked in with her. Its body is made of whispers and passed notes, words swirling and shifting -- sometimes growing thorns, sometimes softening into near-silence. Its shape is hard to pin down. Any time someone glances its way, it morphs and bends, like a conversation stilled when an authority figure passes by. A tendril of notepaper curls around the woman's shoulder, keeping it anchored to her. Maya takes a look around the room, as she tunes up... and changes her set lists, shuffling songs in her head to counter what she sees, to lessen the influence of those malicious whisperings. There are sings about love, and compassion, and kindness--and, as always, hope and change and building a brighter future. She throws her being into it, into swaying the room and fighting that subtle voice from the other side. Maya had already had some time to warm up the crowd to her influence; she just had to ramp things up. She isn't just trying to bring good vibes to bear against the slings and arrows of life, but against the whispered corruption of an active spirit. The spirit itself doesn't respond -- she isn't assaulting it /directly/, but thickening people's ears against it. The two-toned woman rises from her seat, shuffling over to the preppy girls' table. "Um. Excuse me, do any of you have some water? This could stain..." As soon as that opportunity rises, the spirit reaches out from her, a tendril of whisper in each of the girls' ears. One takes the bait instantly, snorting. "Why bother, with a hand-me-down like that?" Yet with the others... the spirit misses its mark. One of them fetches a water bottle from her bag, while the other elbows the first, weakest girl. "Don't be a bitch, Erica." Now the spirit /knows/ something is up. It hisses, the sound like a swirling of hushed insults. It doesn't have eyes, but she feels its /attention/ turn towards her. Maya watches that thing closely, checking on it from time to time. All the way until the end of the performance, she keeps up her work to counter its influence... until she finally signs off. All throughout the performance, the spirit kept trying -- a tendril here, a flickering whisper there -- but now that Maya's own influence has set in, it can't bring even a single act of further harassment. Just before her last song ends, the Whispers grows irritated. Like a wild animal protecting its hunting grounds, it lashes out, like a spear of provocation. But it's not dealing with a normal human being anymore. Maya's here, under the totem of Hawk, acting as the singer she was born to be. Even as it gives almost all its remaining power, it barely manages more than a tickle. That attack had tried not just to touch her, but to reach in and through to her darker places... but her will pushes that away, just as smoothly as her avatar had deflected the brunt of the assault. Afterwards, the Whispers hang in the air, made thin from overextension. Only a single thread of vehemence still connects it to that woman with the two-toned hair. Curious. Before, it had been anchored more on her shoulder, on the woman herself. But that trail connects more to the lighter parts of her hair, the extensions. Which, Maya just now notices, are the same colour as that toupee she found. Maya packs up her guitar, closing down the ritual with her usual moment of silence before rising again to talk to anyone who'd like to meet her... and if not? She knows who she'd like to meet. There's applause for the last set, light and polite. But these people have no idea what force she's just protected them from. Nobody comes forward to meet her and thank her for that. The two-toned woman had splashed herself, and since returned to her seat -- again, sitting alone, scrubbing over herself with those napkins. She'll still have to get that shirt into the wash, but it's in far better shape than it would have been otherwise. She doesn't look up, perhaps not even noticing Maya's approach. "Hey," Maya offers, awkwardly. "You okay?" The young woman jumps, her eyes wide. She hadn't expected to be approached. "Oh! Um. Yes, I'm fine." She smiles. It's a lie. A lie she's used to telling, a smile she's used to faking, but a lie nonetheless -- and what's more, a lie Maya's used to seeing. "Oh stars," Maya says, flushing. "I'm sorry. I-- d'you mind if I--" She looks around briefly, and then back to the woman. "I'm Maya," she offers, belatedly. "Dana," she says. "And, thank you for the music. It was really..." She takes a breath, sorting through her feelings. "...uplifting. I really needed that, this week. Um, mind if you... what...?" "I was gonna offer to get you another coffee?" Maya says, tipping her head slightly. "Mostly I just want to sit and chill for a sec and... there aren't many places to sit, and... you looked like you could use some company?" She's trying to strike the right mix of friendly openness and diffidence. Dana shakes her head. "N-No thank you." She scoots her chair back. "I'm not here for 'company'." She puts a little heat into that last word, a level of venom which manages to be almost homophobic in three syllables. Walls slam into place -- reflexive, thorny walls. Maya draws back half a step, putting both hands up in a small gesture or harmlessness. Color floods her face. "Whoa," she says quietly, "sorry... I, what's not that I meant. I. It just, I..." She shakes her head, flustered, a little upset and trying to suppress it. She takes a deep, steadying breath, eyes lowered. "I'm, ah-- I'm glad you enjoyed the music. Sorry about-- I didn't mean to upset you.Or come on to you, or-- or anything." She backs off, turning away before the woman can see her blinking a few times. Dana blinks. Her mouth works silently as Maya starts to back away, and her whole face turns hot with blush. "Fuck." She scrambles out of her chair, almost knocking it over. "I'm sorry, that was... that was a bitch move. I've been /trying/ to be better, but it's been... a rough week. Please, sit down. /I'll/ get the coffee, okay? Uh, what do you want?" The scrape of the chair makes her turn around. Maya's smile betrays her relief, though it's a small thing. "Just-- just a latte. And thanks." Dana purses her lips. "Just a latte? You're sure?" She gives her a chance to add to the order before walking past. Whatever Maya asks for, she gets, and Dana gets herself a flat white. Which doesn't get spilled on her, this time. She claims her seat again, hands over the drink, and... sits in awkward silence. How /do/ you talk to someone you just insulted? Maya stirs a little sugar into her drink and says, again, "Thanks, um... Dana. That's after a goddess, y'know." Then she reddens again, a little. "*Not* flirting," she adds. Dana shrugs. "I think Dad just liked it because it was the closest thing he could come up with to, like, 'Damian Junior' while being a girls' name." She sighs, head hanging. "I know you're not flirting, it's just... yeah, that was a bitch move from me, can we please forget about it?" Maya's best smile dawns slow, but reaches an open friendliness. "Yeah," she answers. "Yeah, no worries." She lowers her eyes and drinks, cautiously. Dana sighs, relieved as she sinks back into her chair. "Thanks," she says. "Really. And for being, you know... nice. I swear, this past week /everyone/ has been acting like a dick." She runs a hand through her two-toned hair. The singer nods. "Yeah, there's something messing with your energy," she says, as if that's a totally normal thing to say. Hell, around *here*, it might be. Her rep definitely has come to include the sort of music she believes in. "It's not your fault." Dana gives her a long, slow blink. "...I'm sorry, my /what/?" Maya tips her head, studying the young woman. "Your energy. Your... I don't know. Aura? Something outside of you is messing with you, somehow?" Dana wrinkles her nose, the way most sub-stitious people do when Maya starts talking about spirits. It's a look which, if she weren't making the effort to be polite, would say 'I smell bullshit'. Instead, she verbally just says, "I don't think so. Karma's not a thing. It's just... coincidence." She nods, steadily persuading herself. "Yeah. I mean, it's not like 'hand-me-down' is that original, right?" Maya hitches one shoulder at the response, in a 'whatever floats your boat' sort of way. Then she frowns in confusion. "Hand-me-down? What?" Dana blanches. She'd said that part aloud, hadn't she? "Uh. Just, something one of those girls over there said. It just reminded me of..." She shakes her head. "Never mind." There's something else behind the wall of thorns, a hint of old shame in her eyes. Maya's brows draw together in... sympathy. "Why is it that women can be so nasty to each other, when we need to be helping each other? Seriously." Dana flinches at that, her arms drawing in front of herself. "A lot of reasons!" she says. "It, just... you don't know!" She sounds more like she's defending /herself/ than that preppy girl, who's since left the cafe. "Yeah, I guess," Maya murmurs. "There's so much out there that makes us insecure, or angry, or... all sort of things." She takes a breath, and lets it out in a sigh. "Man. This city." "I. Yeah. This city." Dana nods, happy to slide under that smoke screen. "Look, I should be going, but thanks. I'm just going to..." She rises from her seat. There's plenty still left unsaid, practically written on her face. "Hang on," Maya says, rising and taking a small card case from a pocket of her jeans. "Lemme give you my card? In case you need anything. If you change your mind about... I mean if you want help, with... what's hurting you. I can help." She pulls out a card and offers it, her cheeks coloring a little. "You don't have to believe. But it can't hurt, right?" Dana pauses, not having quite left yet. She furrows her brow and looks over the card. "I... well, maybe. I mean, everyone's been a dick until you showed up. Even if it's just coincidence or luck, maybe lightning can strike twice, right?" That spirit, though gutted by overexertion, still hangs over her shoulder, its trailing end anchored in her hair. Maya gives her a grateful nod. "Just... feel free to call me. It's not, like, something I charge for or anything, it's just... part of what I do." She makes a gesture that encompasses the room. "All of it, you know? I figure the more people try to make things better, the better our chance of making change happen, right?" Dana's thumb brushes over the card as she reads it. "Meditation, huh. Mmn." Skepticism is still stamped across her face, but that's just like any other mask a person can project. The talk about positive change, working together... that draws another cringe from Dana. "Right. Maybe talk to you later, Maya." Maya smile tugs up wryly at one corner. "Nice meeting you, Dana. Walk safe." Her expression shifts a bit, as she watches the woman go. | |
