Welcome to Gaia! ::

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. He'd been happy enough to walk out of this with no altercation...humans...and things with human in them, were a helluva trial sometimes.

It was remarkably fast that he suddenly stepped between the two men, becoming solid enough to actually hold a hand to each and have it focus in their minds as such.

"Gentleman. Much as I love this little song and dance you two enjoy? It needs to stop. The button, is adequate officer, not that I really need it, but its the thought that counts. I garuntee on my head that this prisoner will not simply "run off." And Mr. Tomorrow." He turned to the bigger man. "You needent worry about finding the girl, she's comming with us, so I may as well go with you anyway. So can we please refrain from idocies and continue on our way?"

She frowned, she had hoped he could be startled again so she wouldn't have to explain but he was already wary and that was understandable. She picked a pinch from her pocket and held it out to him, the rubbing of her forefinger and thumbe making a small mist rise up as well as a tiny flame, the scent soft and gentle but nowhere near him. Wither her other hand, she reached up and stroked her throat indicating speech, hoping he understood. She had to trust someone...and while it wasn't good policy to trust someone you just stole from, it wasn't like she really had much of a choice.

Throughout the morning of the incident, those walking in and out of the police department where Tomorrow was being held would have seen a small torteshell kitten sat on a wall close by, her gaze fixated on the main entrance, tail swishing behind her and ears pricked and alert. She sat so still that one might have easily mistaken her for some abandoned toy plushie.

Shifting slightly in her position to prevent cramp, seemingly growing a little agitated as she continued to watch the door.

*Tenkyl walks through the streets of Latent, looking around at all of the foriegn goods and food. His nose, constantly sniffing and ears constantly twitching, he was trying to take in all that he can. So many different types of people and so may different cultures, he almost didn't know what to do*

"Rwhateve..." John muttered in Tribal, walking past all three of the people and out after Mere. There was no time to be prancing about with these nancy-boys - it was time for action, and action demanded speed, speed for...

"Oh."

He blinked as he looked straight to the left of the entrance to the small kitten perched on top of one of the walls of the next building. Walking over to it, he held his hands out for it to jump into his arms.

John knew his Juuni when he saw her.

John was laughing as he caught the tiny kitten in his grasp, hugging her warmly to him as he lifted it to kiss it's furry little snout and rub it under it's chin. "Gods...got so worried for you for a little while..." He whispered to her, looking over to Mere and wondering if this was who he meant...

A street corner is a wonderful thing. It can be a home for the homeless, a rest for the weary, a base of operations for some of Latent's less reputable business women, and in the case of one fine young man this bright, sunny day...

... it served as a stage.

Through the teeming morasse of bodies a rather humble-looking figure moved, politely - which meant slowly - pushing past all of the people who just seemed too important to let him pass without a reprimanding sniff of their snooty noses. But he just met any negative feedback with a quaint little grin and a wink of his big gray eyes, muttering under his breathe, effectively disarming half the people who moved past with little more than a look; and if anyone cared to keep track, it seemed to be the female half.

Not to say that he was particularily handsome, he just seemed to have that effect on women. It was a rather helpful talent of his, magic actually, that allowed him to quell the angriest of men, and woo the stingiest of women. And it was all in his voice.

The young man, somewhere in his early twenties by all appearances, wore a dirty and patched jacket of faded brown, multi-colored patches and thread sewn all over to keep the thing from falling apart; at some point in time it might have been a formal coat, but over the years and over the dirt it had reached this state. A pair of slightly faded black pants and some old dress shoes served as his lower 'armor'; this guy was obviously not a warrior. And on his head he wore a brown hat, worn 'stylishly' pushed up towards the back of his head, of the same sort you'd expect to see in an old mobster movie.

But perhaps the most unseeming part of his whole ensemble was the battered old briefcase he cared in his right hand. It was a bit deeper and taller than the sort used by businessmen, the sort people used to use back in the day for travelling. And apart from the small copper plaque, which read 'TGR', that served as the center clasp in the set of three at the top of the case, it was completely unadorned.

His stage came into view after a short time spent wandering the streets, immediately jumping out at him as the right spot; it was a wide span of cement just outside of a busy cafe which stayed relatively clear of loitering people, despite the popularity of the restaraunt. So without any further delay he moved swiftly to the location, as if someone would have taken it, and set down the briefcase. Straightening up and taking half a step back from the case that lay on the ground, the young man raises his hand, pauses, and...

Snap.

A crack of his fingers and the latches of briefcase flicked loose, and the case sprung open as if by its own accord. The interior of the case was of old pink velvet, battered away in some places, but before a close inspection could be had the inside of the vessel seemed to fill with glowing white light that glowed brightly, despite the fact that it was already illuminated outside. The hand that was extended outwards, and had just snapped, now shifted to a position as if it wanted to hold something, and as if reading its master's wishes the briefcase spewed forth an instrument.

A guitar, to be precise.

The guitar was of the electric kind and was a bright, cherry red. The chord which would have typically travelled from the instrument to the amplifier instead connected to some unseen object inside of the glowing briefcase, apparantly serving the same purpose, for when the young man clasped the neck of the 'axe', a slight noise was heard when his fingers touched the strings. He pulled off his jacket and dropped it to the ground in front of him, revealing a plain, faded red shirt that clung tightly to his skinny frame, an obvious indication for a street performer that he wished people to drop tips in it.

Slinging the strap of the guitar of his shoulder as he brushed away a few stray strands of his medium-length brown hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head, the young musician takes a deep, steadying breathe, and then brakes into song, wielding the pick between his fingers like a sword. It was a quick-paced song and perfectly suited for an electric guitar, and began with a positively delightful rift.

"Deep down in Louisiana close the New Orleans,
Way back up in the woods among the evergreens,
There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood,
Where lived a country boy named Johnny B Good,
Who never ever learned to read or write so well,
But he could play the guitar just like ringin' a bell.

Go, go, go Johnny go go,
Go Johnny go go,
Go Johnny go go,
Go Johnny go go,
Johnny be good."

At this point a group of people had begun to gather around the young man, a few of them tapping their feet to the beat, but most just staring at him like he just grown a second head. This sort of thing wasn't really an oddity in Latent, but this type of music... was unheard of. Honestly, who plays rock and roll? But no matter how cynical the listener, damn that boy could play.

"He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack,
Or sit beneath the tree by the railroad track,
Oh an engineer could see him sitting in the shade,
Strummin' to the rhythm that the drivers made,
People passing by they'd stop and say,
Oh my but that little country boy sure can play.

Go, go, go Johnny go go,
Go Johnny go go,
Go Johnny go go,
Go Johnny go go,
Johnny be good."

The mob of listeners had grown expotentially since the last chorus, and now a small army of people gathered in a tight ring about the musician. But he didn't let the pressure of their eyes falter his voice nor tie up his fingers, letting the music flow through him unabaited. And as the people listened on the slightest of changes came into his voice, a bit more pure actually, as something was flicked on; yes, that same trick as before. Anybody within hearing distance would immediately be put at ease and become a bit more cheerful, as was the nature of his voice and his magic.

"His mother told him some day you will be a man,
And you will be the leader of a big old band,
Many people coming from miles around,
And hear you play your music till the sun goes down,
Maybe someday your name gonna be in light,
Sayin' Jonny be good tonight.

Go, go, go Johnny go go,
Go Johnny go go,
Go Johnny go go,
Go Johnny go go,
Johnny be good."

The music slowly faded away and only the musician was left standing there, as he had slipped the guitar back into the apparantly depthless case before the trance of his music had worn off the group. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his dirty pants, and just as the crowd 'woke up' he gave the jacket in front of him a little nudge with his foot, indicating where people could leave tips.

Amidst a pattering of clapping and some whistles people began to slowly file past him, some dropping coins, some dropping bills, but most just smiling and shaking his hand; he even got a kiss or two from the ladies - a few guys tried. But he didn't let any of it phase him, just replying with a small smile, maybe a laugh, and a few humble words. The crowd didn't thin out however once he had spoken with everyone that wanted it, contrary even more people showed up; every person that left was replaced by two more, as word of mouth drew more and more people. Not that that was bad thing, he mused, considering he obviously needed money.

He just began to open his mouth to ask the crowd which song they'd like to hear when something caught his eye, moving through the street some distance away: a woman. But not just any woman, perhaps the most beautiful one he had ever seen. Her skin was of the same golden bronze as the sun and she glowed like a goddess, carrying herself in a way that made the musician's knees go weak and his stomach grasp itself. Girls weren't made like that back home.

"Ma'am!" he called, "Is there any song you would like to hear?"

That magical voice of his carried over to her, although it didn't carry that calming edge to it. He had just made it specific enough to reach her, as she probably wouldn't have heard him if he had simply yelled. Although internally he was writhing, externally he was calm and composed - standing comfortably with his hands in his pockets and a small smile on his face.

Next to him, the light in the briefcase throbbed and a tiny noise like a chuckle rolled out of it...

Amunet looked up as she heard a man's voice calling out to her. Standing on the corner of a street, not to far from her, was a musician with a guitar. "Look at that Tarik... I've been here less than a day and I've already got an admirer..."

"Hmmph... Just be careful Amunet... you know you can't get close to anyone..." Had the cat in Amunet's arms just spoken? Why yes, yes it had. A very charming male voice.

"I know Tarik... but I do like human company every now and then..." That said, the young woman walked towards the musician, a smile gracing her features. "You wouldn't happen to know anything of Egyptian origin, would you? Something a dancer like myself could move to..." Her voice was like honey, sweet and hypnotic.