Alix took a deep breath and looked around. She loved these early mornings and the way the air smelled so crisp and clean. It was a little chilly, the last reminders of winter carried on a slight breeze, but it wasn’t too cold. In fact, this was the first time it had been warm enough for her to bring her baby out in a long time. She smiled. She would eat well tonight.

She found a seat on the corner of a small concrete planter close to the road. It held a spindly tree, the kind that might flower in a month or so. The poor thing looked starved to death for the company of others of its kind, but the closest trees were several feet away. Alix reached out and rested a hand on the rough bark.

“I’m sorry, little one,” she whispered.

Bending over, she opened her case and pulled out her pride and joy, her baby. Her guitar had kept her company through all those years of college, and now it was her only means of support.

“Come on, baby, let’s make some music,” she said to it. She knew she looked crazy, but things always went better if she sweet-talked her guitar beforehand. Looking around swiftly to make sure no one was watching, she pulled a handful of coins out of her pocket and seeded her case. If it looked like someone else had given her something, then others were more likely to leave something.

Carefully tuning up, she strummed across the strings and began to sing.

There's something so enchanting about a clear sky. It wasn't just that it reminded James of the sea, reaching its blue into forever...it was more that an empty sky let the sun in. So despite the fact that a red scarf was nearly choking him, and he was almost swallowed by his coat, James was content to stand with his face turned towards the warmth. Maybe it was warm to Alix, but James was never warm enough without his skin on.

But even standing still, the boy was in motion. His body swayed to the lilt of the breeze and his fingers were dancing in rythm. The boy's mind needed to catch up with his body. James was starting to get annoyed at the repetitive thock he heard nearby and it wasn't till he stopped attempting photosynthesis that he realized it was his fingers doing the tapping.

And then he heard a lovely voice. Singing and acoustic, mmm, what a delightful combination.

He followed his ears and the pull of his feet, sidling up to the pretty little musician. It was an awkward dance he was doing, a shuffling sort of tap dance that was probably only popular for about five minutes in a bad part of the '20s. He didn't really care, though, and added a dollar to Alix's take and a floor show with her music.

Alix was so caught up in the music that she barely noticed that she wasn't alone. It wasn't until the man came between her and the warm rays of the sun that she looked up. He was so bundled up in furs that she couldn't tell much about him, but he threw a dollar into her case, so she figured he must be alright.

A few moments later she came to the end of the song, slowing until she plucked the last chord one string at a time.

"Thank you, sir," she said as the last vibrations died away. "Is there anything in perticular you want to hear in return for your generous donation?" She mentally cursed at her obviously Southern accent. People always took her for a simple redneck the moment she opened her mouth, and it just wasn't true.

One thing random passers-by would not guess about James, is that he is a great student of accents. It's one of his passions. After all the traveling he's done with his family, all those beaches with all the vacationing tourists in the world, he's learned to soak them in like one gigantic sub-culture. He liked hers in particular. He thought it was cute.

"Oh you know," he turned to face her with a brilliant smile splitting his features, "I like a lot of what I hear," and see, "Sometimes it's hard to settle on a tune." He did his best to not trace the outline and inlines of her body with his eyes. It'd be terrible manners if he came off as a creeper in the first five minutes of conversation, right? So his eyes stayed dutifully on her face.

"I could do with a little Sinatra. You know 'Luck, Be a Lady?'"

Alix smiled. It had been a while since anyone had asked for anything quite so vintage. On the other hand, if he really liked the song and she played it wrong, it might upset him

"Sure," she replied. "If you don't mind my asking - is it a favorite of yours?" Alix always found it easier to play if she knew what the audience was thinking and what they wanted to hear.

James was sure that there was very little Alix could do at this point that would upset him. Short of running around and declaring that she was an animal killer, of course. Self preservation and all that.

A favorite? Oh, there were so many. But he laughed while rubbing his chin, trying to decide if he should shave off the stubble before hitting the bars tonight.

After a brief second, he shook his head once, "Nah, more like a personal mantra." You sorta had to depend on luck when you started dodging prop boats in the marina for fun. It was also a helpful prayer when you looked for a different girl to take home every night.

James looked at the ground with a smile and wiggled his toes inside his bright blue converse. His eyes invariably wandered and--ooh! He enjoyed her shoes very much.

Ah. Well, then. She took a deep breath and bent over her guitar, starting to play, putting a feel of prayer into the jazzy rhythms. She submersed herself in the music and started to wrap it around herself and him before allowing it to drift across the park. He had the requested this song, but he had already added to her take. It was rare to have much of an audience at this hour, but it didn't hurt to try.

James liked her music. It felt good. Even though he'd heard the song a thousand different times in his head, and even though his uncle kept the record out for James to play whenever he felt the urge, it felt like the song was new in his chest.

His entire body rolled with the sigh induced by the girl's music. It caused him to realize the need for a solid place to sit, and he rolled right down to the ground, leaning his back against the planter. He hummed along on the chorus, and added a rich undertone to her sound.

This is good, he decided. James tapped his foot against her case, and some loose coin jangled around. One or two people walked by and added their spare change to the mix. It was mostly tourists, some of them just needing to empty their pockets of foreign currency before their departure. But one or two of them supported her music out of genuine appreciation, and that just made James smile all the wider.

When the song drew to a close, James was a little disappointed. But oh well, he knew it'd happen sooner or later, no matter how late he believed he could push her.

"Thank-you, miss," he expressed, "That was nice."

"Thank you," she blushed, unused to the open praise of her music. There were a few moments of awkward silence. She studied her shoes, strumming a few chords so that she wouldn't lose the interest of the passerby. She found that often people returned during their lunch hour if they liked what they heard on their way to work.

She looked up finally, studying the face that had been hidden in the glare of the sun. She found the soft, boyish curves of his chin a welcome relief from the harsh rugged look that was being touted in the media.

"So, um-" she starts, unsure what to say but unwilling to shoo him off just yet, "what brings you to the park this morning?"

Well that wasn't a tough question to answer...sort of. James had never quite decided where his home was. Did he belong in the sea with his brothers and parents? Or was he more suited to the flow and bustle of the city?

"Just.." he looked down at his feet...he never got to see them much when he swam.

A shrug. "Heading back. To my uncle's."

He smiled, still feeling the after effects of her prayer-song.

"You play a nice tune, how long you been playing?"

She smiled. " 'bout as long as I could hold a guitar. Gran couldn't keep it from me." Not that she had tried too hard. Of course, Gran had wanted her to play something a little more "traditional" like the banjo or something, but she let up eventually when I begged enough.

"I didn't get good 'till I was about ten though. I don't know what happened, but suddenly everyone who listened to me thought -" she paused. It didn't do to tout your playing too much. Let the music speak for itself and the people paying for her to play would come back. "Well, they thought I wasn't too bad."

His eyebrows went up and his mouth whistled, "Wow, that's a long time to dedicate yourself to something." He couldn't imagine it, himself.

"Congratulations, though, that's amazing. So," he started, as if just now considering the thought, "if you're so good, why you sitting out here catchin' change from strangers? You could do good in clubs."

"I'd like to," she said, "But I don't quite know the right people, and my sound just isn't cut out for the club scene. I don't have the money for an amp, and acoustic just can't compete with the background noise. Besides, I'm not long out of school. I'm - well most people think me too young."

"No," he grinned, "Not night clubs. I mean like jazz clubs, small joints, contemporary stuff, you know? Just go in and ask. I know this place on Willard that's got the perfect vibe for you. Wood floors, couches, everything."

While his mouth spoke, so did his hands. They gestured and snapped and weaved through the air like a living paintbrush. It was another thing he liked about his human hours.

"Really? I guess I should check it out." She won't though. She doesn't like to assume that people would want her to play, even though most people seem to think she's good.

Well with confidence issues like that, what's she doing playing in public on the sidewalk?

"You should. S'called 'The Beat' on Willard. Don't forget." It's almost like he's reminding her about a homework assignment or something. James isn't the teacher type, but he does think that good music should be heard.

A bright sound jumps from his pocket. His uncle just texted him, wants to know when he'll be back.

"Look," he says, putting the phone back in his coat with one hand and rubbing his chin with the other, "They've got an open mic night, too. This Thursday. You should come."

'Come', like he's going to be there, too.

"Oh, um," she was surprised at the offer. On the one hand, she didn't want to put her neck out there just to get her head chopped off, but if it was a true open mic, then why shouldn't she? Besides, the publicity wouldn't hurt. "Alright. I'll be there." She wouldn't turn down the chance to see him again, either. "I'm Alix, by the way," she said, all while strumming out a few pleasing chords.

"James, it's good to meet you."

Today was going to be good, he decided.

"Hey, listen, I've gotta go, but I'll see you Thursday, then. You better bring your a-game, you know? I won't stand for anything less."

He smiled for her, backing up a foot or so to get ready to leave once she acknowledged him.

"Sure. See you then." She bends over her guitar, picking out the first few chords of the most recent pop tune.

"Later."