ArchivedLogs:Good Vibrations

Good Vibrations
Dramatis Personae Emma, Nox	2013-02-08 Light and Dark take sanctuary from the storm.
Location Blue Note Jazz Club, Manhattan
The Blue Note touts itself as one of the world's most popular jazz venues and it has the atmosphere to back that up. The drinks are strong, the tables are comfortable and they book some of the best to justify their high entrance fee. Lighting is low, with the stage serving as the rightful focal point. The long bar is also lit in varying shades of blue, gold and pink. Servers circulate constantly and the room is never, ever quiet. Tonight, the attraction is the Ron Carter quartet but the audience is being entertained, between the 8PM and the 10:30PM sets by a local trio--one man on bass, another on drums and a third rocking a mean saxophone. In spite of the storm outside, the Note is filled to the gills with those who'd rather celebrate nature than hide from it. The tables have filled up--and at thirty-five dollars a table, there's usually at least one or two left open. Seating is at a premium, however. With one exception. Nox has a table to herself and those around her are content to leave it that way; no one's even asked if they can steal one of the empty chairs that surround her. That could be due to the woman's appearance. Even solid, even woman-shaped, dressed in a classic little black dress and matching satin opera gloves, it's plain she's no mere homo sapien. She sits at the center of the rectangular table, facing the stage, and her starry eyes are closed as the notes wash over her. Around her head, around her shoulders, like a reverse halo, her hair is snaking in lazy patterns that match the trio's playing. Emma Frost comes in looking like a gust of the blizzard raging outside, completely white with fuzziness around the edges. She strips off her fur trimmed hooded coat to reveal more white beneath and cream colored skin at the edges of her well structured little white dress. Her boots are a necessity, but they are elegant against her calves all the way up to her knees. Little bits of frost curve their way across the empty space above her neckline, distracting the eye from her not quite cleavage. She scans the room, finding some open space and some darkness that just might set off her dress further, but pauses when she spies the table's occupant. Emma reaches out with her mind, gently, sizing the woman up and studying her unique coloration. /Interesting./ There's a fuzziness to Nox's mind, an intangibility. But, solid enough for clothes, she's also solid enough for pleasure to be felt. Deep, pure and all consuming, her enjoyment of the music seems more real than the woman herself. When she stirs to reach for the drink before her, her hair drifts forward too, like smoke moved in a wind that isn't there. She lifts it, she sips--and then she pauses. Surely she has to be accustomed to stares but all the same, her head turns and depthless black eyes fix on her white mirror image. After a brief study, she turns her gloved hand to the adjacent chair in invitation. Emma is peeling off a pair of white leather gloves, but decides to leave them on when she finishes looking over the other woman. She raises a well manicured eyebrow and does indeed take the seat, looking deeply into those dark eyes of hers. Her eyes narrow a little in the frustration of the study before turning her head and lifting her hand to summon a waiter. "Dirty martini, please. Extra olives." She looks over at her table companion. "Can I get you another, for the chair?" "No but thank you," Nox whispers. She betrays some amusement in that response and a wisp of a thought--like looking into a brighter mirror. And then, even softer: mirror mirror, on the wall... "The company alone is enough. It's always a pleasure to meet another music lover." Her head tilts, she seems to look down to take in the other woman's attire. Or... "You are here for the music? Or sanctuary, from the storm? This is the best haven. So sweet, so warm," she says, turning her face back to the stage. "I'm here for the diversion. We're looking to be stuck inside quite a bit the next few days. Might as well go somewhere hot now than be frozen solid, at home and safe." Emma tilts her face toward the music as well, turning her chair to accommodate her view of the stage and that of her table companion. "Music is the great unifier. It's hard to restrict it from anyone. All they need is the ability to be receptive to the vibrations." "I come for the music as much as the heat. The vibrations, yes." Nox's murmuring is broken by a hum, her version of a chuckle. "Do you find it unifies?" She reaches out and with one satin-clad finger, draws a circle on the table--indicating, of course, the table they occupy with its plethora of empty chairs. When the circle is finished, she reaches for the glass, with its amber liquid and melting ice cubes, and brings it to her lips for the tiniest of sips. Must make it last, such a waste but too sweet to pass on. "It's brought us together," Emma muses, still gliding gently over the other woman's thoughts, curious. "It's given this club a reason for being. It's resonating in every being in this room and while stirring up a million different things, it's also the same instigation." Emma looks up when her drink arrives. She slips a plastic card across the table, opening a tab, and leans back in her seat, her attention drifting back to the stage, cradling the fragile glass near her lips before sipping. "It's unifying, but not miraculous." The concept of miracles conjures a few bars of music, a woman's soft voice singing something like a lullaby. The words are as elusive as the emotion in Nox's eyes when they turn back to Emma. "I don't think the world is built for miracles any more," she whispers, "but it would be the height of poor manners to not be glad for your company." The current set is winding down, a man stepping onto stage to take up the mic and announce the soon to arrive presence of the billed quartet. As musicians filter offstage, Nox extends her hand towards her table companion. "I am Nox. And you are...?" "Emma," She reaches across the table and takes Nox's hand, letting the physical contact distract her as she probes a little deeper, looking for her connections, the people affecting her life. She swings her drink laden hand around so that she can sip while facing Nox, as the setting up musicians are no where near as entrancing. "I loath to be anything but courteous." She sets her drink down on the table and finally begins to strip off her gloves and stuff them in her purse. "In fact, tonight, I am striving to be pleasant. It was quite a day, and a night out is a great reward." The hand under the satin glove isn't as solid as it could be and her mind is the same. Both are lift squeezing or sifting through velvet. But there are fragments: tunnels, darkness, water dripping, strange faces and laughing voices. It reads like a nightmare but is touched with the deepest affection. Love, loyalty, a fierce protectiveness. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Emma." Nox is the very spirit of courtesy, herself. Her smile can be heard in her voice, soft though it is. "Striving...that has the sound of a challenge. A poor day? Nights are always kinder. Softer." "I do rather like the nights." Emma inhales deeply, somewhat lost for a second in Nox's winding passages. "Velvety," she breathes, riding a bit off of the affection she finds in the other woman's mind. "But yes, striving, with excellent benefits. It's not that hard of work once the wheels are in motion and the company is right. It's just like pushing something down hill. Pretty soon, I should be racing to keep up with all the magnificence of the night." "Ah, the magnificence of the night." Nox is charmed by that phrase and she feels it. Deeply, as she seems to everything else. "Lovely. Velvety, yes. So rarely do I meet those who make me want to pry. Privacy is so often forgotten in cities. But I want to pry, I do. What is it that you do? You cannot be a long-haul trucker, they have engines to make the wheels turn, as do the cab drivers." Emma laughs quietly and shakes her head, wisps of hair floating around her face in a lovely, but very much more normal fashion. "Oh, no. I'm one of the office bound individuals in the city, stuck greasing proverbial wheels rather than being one of the wheel people myself." Her mind pulls back and just monitor Nox's surface thoughts for the time being, which is looking more and more like watching the ripples on a river. "I specialize in metaphors rather than the real thing. But to be straight, I plan events. Boy, do I /plan./" "So you wheel the people to where they need to be, by the city's standards? A Herculean enterprise, to say the least. So very exhausting." Nox hums again with good humor. In the background, the quartet have taken the stage. They're quiet but polished, with a soft energy that speaks of years of practice, years of /history/. The shadowy woman's attention is pulled that way, her focus divided. "'Tis the season for it, one supposes. So many events. So many people in need of planning." "Oh, yes. So many things in need of planning." Emma's voice is dry as she picks up her glass and turns back toward the band, sipping a little deeper of the liquor. She is quiet for a little while, letting everything wash over her and still her thoughts, looking out toward the rest of the room, eyes focusing on heads as she begins sampling the audience's surface secrets and intentions. "There's a great lack of finesse out in the world today. It's astonishing, really, that more people like me aren't being snapped up and used to make things go a little more smoothly." Nox is one of those who's content to sit in silence. She doesn't need words, inside or out. As that moment stretches out, her eyes slip towards shut and the hand she'd left curled around her glass relaxes. Hers is a quiet, reverent meditation under the wash of music flowing from the stage. When Emma speaks again, it draws a small smile, a soft sound like a whisper without breath. "We are none of us taken for who we really are, for what we are really worth. But if we were, what would there to be to strive for? Nothing, nothing." "Here's to striving then," Emma lifts her glass and finishes off the liquor. She entertains herself with the music for a while, nibbling on the olives while listening to the set. She is quiet for the rest of the evening, and when it is time by her inner clock, Emma gets up to leave, offering Nox only a nod before heading back out into the snow.