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( last night: poetry in motion )

The songs he likes most have no lyrics. Only melodies that tell stories of their own. It's his considered opinion that his life has enough stories to tell, but he doesn't necessarily want to commit them to words. Instead, he commits them to song and as long as he knows what tales they contain, he's perfectly happy.

The song he's playing now, for instance, is called Goodnight Julia. It tells a story of war and innocence and intrigue, of manipulation and spying and betrayal, of confidences won and confidences destroyed. Of chance meetings and unexpected friendships and unexpected loss. It's so rich with content, in fact, that his eyes are closed; the notes drift out over the water of the lake and while the night's a little chilly, he's not. He hasn't been cold since he landed here for good. So far that's served him well, but he wonders how long it will last. He remembers how cold Julia was all the time: was it just the difference in the circumstances of their death, or was it something else? What made death so sad and painful for her, but so enlightening and beautiful for him?

He doesn't know. What he does know is that all journeys are individual ones, regardless of who's along for the ride. People, he thinks, are like satellites. They revolve around each other, attracted to one another like the most powerful magnets imaginable. Irresistable in some cases -- he's thinking about Faye right now, with her legs that go on forever and the brilliant green of her eyes and the swanlike curve of her neck, the way she smells like honey and bergamot -- and if a person is lucky, he gets his own personal orbit with the object of his affection for however long the mutual attraction lasts. Ultimately, though, human beings really are alone.

He was on his way to Titan one last time when the universe hijacked him and let him land here. While he's never claimed to be the smartest person he knows, he's not the least intelligent either and because of that, he shakes off any melancholy and lets the song change, lets it start to tell a different story. This one is all about I think you should stay and ruby necklaces and impromptu seductions and letting go of stereotypes.

That's much better. It's hard to smile and play saxophone at the same time, but he's managing to do just that.

[tag: Wanijima Akito]

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Kaylee hasn't been around saxophones much.

She's wandered outside with a cup of coffee warming her hands, and that sound --

She lifts her head. Smiles.

From her perspective the player is little more than a silhouette; Kaylee takes a few steps closer, but no more. It's her kind of tune, unfamiliar instrument or no, and she wants to follow it to the end.

A lifetime playing music before an audience means that he knows when there is an audience. But that same lifetime playing live music means that he knows to take his time and finish his song, leaving any potential interruptions or conversations until the end of the set. This particular set ends with this particular song.

When it's over and the last sweet note fades, carried off on the night air... that's when he turns and opens his eyes and smiles and nods. It's been a long time since he played to an audience, and he's missed it.

Some things just don't change, no matter what.

Clipping the sax to its strap, he moves a little closer to the woman. It's a nice night, and if solitude equates to melancholy, maybe company will equate to a little bit of easy delight. Anyway, he's a performer. Some might even accuse him of being a flirt.

"Hi there. What did you think of the song? The acoustics out here are great."

"I liked it." Because that's what's most important to say -- first and foremost. "A whole lot." Her smile's easy. Appreciative. "Never heard nothin' quite like it, but I can't say as I'd mind hearin' more."

That's sweet; it makes him smile. "I used to play four gigs a week, every week, at a little hole-in-the-wall bar in a shitty town on Callisto. " He has no idea if that means anything to her -- many people here have never heard of Callisto, let alone Jupiter -- but he tells her anyway. It's something to say, but it's also a little bit of a friendly introduction.

They used to call this kind of thing their break between sets.

"I can play more if you want. It's been a long, long time."

"I got the time if you do." She slips the hand not holding the coffee into her pocket, and tilts her head slightly to the right. "And whether you do or not -- don't suppose you'd let me get you a drink?"

Sometimes you get burned in Milliways, with new people. But not everybody you meet plays music like that.

Except for the setting, this is all comfortable barroom banter for him. It's always a pleasure when someone buys the musician a drink, but it's also fairly common and this whole thing is so familiar that he almost aches for it. Giving up a lifetime's work is no easy thing, and old habits are the ones that are the most difficult to leave behind.

"Thanks, I'd like that. Whatever it is you're drinking."

That, too, is something he learned over the years: never take a drink offer for granted and never ask for more than the buyer's prepared to spend: it leads to ill will.

"I'm Gren. What kind of music do you like best?" Personally he's always been deeply in love with jazz, but he can play just about anything. And since she's buying him a drink, she gets to make the request. If he knows it, he'll play it. And if she has no preference, his song repertoire is pretty big.

"It's coffee. Pretty tame. If you're sure -- it's good, though."

She loads hers down with sugar and milk, but it was a dark enough roast to begin with that a very little bit of the flavor still comes through -- just enough to keep her happy.

"...best? I don't know." Kaylee shakes her head a little. "I liked what you just played, though -- an awful lot." Beat. "And I'm Kaylee, and I'm sorry I can't get more with the details than that." That's said a little sheepishly.

"Hi, Kaylee. That song was one of mine. Lucky for you I've got a lot more of those."

The sax is back in his hands almost automatically. "And we can have that pretty tame cup of coffee after this next song if you want."

Details, details: so often they're just filler, but he doesn't have to hold anyone else to his own standards. There was a time he barely had any standards, but that was somewhere else. For now he launches into the song. It's a slow jazzy ballad and the story this one tells is a story of innocence, of flattery, of love lost and love regained. The ending is a little on the bittersweet side, but that's okay: life is like that sometimes.

Anyway, he's the only one who really hears the story. Again, the notes fade into the night air and this time when he's done playing, he nods toward the door to the bar.

"That's one of the first good songs I wrote. I think I was seventeen at the time -- in my last year of high school -- and... I still kind of like it. Made me think I might have a future in this business after all."

Carving out a living as a musician isn't the easiest thing in the world, but he did all right. It was only that little foray into drug dealing at the end that didn't go so well, but he never had any real interest in it as a business. It was just the most convenient way to get a few questions answered, or so he thought; he doesn't really see the point in revisiting it.

Anyway, coffee's starting to sound good.

"I sure as hell hope so."

The thing about growing up in the middle of nowhere, and leaving in order to pursue a far more itinerant lifestle, is that you don't necessarily get the chance to invest a lot of time in going places to see and hear music. Seeing a musician who isn't just one of the older men in the corner of the local watering hole with a guitar in need of some serious TLC -- Kaylee's pretty sure she's never met one. Not a real one, not one who does just this and nothing else.

Gren's kind of exotic.

"You want to talk about it some over that cup of coffee? I got to say -- my curiosity's gettin' kind of piqued."

"I like coffee."

There are some things he'll share and some things he won't, but Kaylee doesn't know anything about him other than the fact he plays saxophone and wrote a song when he was seventeen. A lifetime as the entertainer means he's got a whole repertoire of stories -- some interesting, some pure nonsense, some honest, some intimate -- that he's shared with people over the years... on the nights when a musician isn't simply taken for granted.

People don't always equate a person to the performer: he's always looked at what he does as providing a service, and he's lucky to be doing it because it's something he loves.

Gesturing toward the bar, he starts walking back that way slowly. There's a convention to getting to know someone and he has it down pat, but he's not quite so shallow as all that. He just knows what he's doing, and he always starts with the basics.

"Where are you from, Kaylee?"

"Little bit of everywhere." One hand in her pocket, one hand holding her cup as she walks beside him. . "Grew up on a moon called Three Hills -- lots of open space, and not much other'n that. I'm the mechanic on board a Firefly -- space-goin' transport. Get a chance to see a lot that way, but you don't so much ever stay in one place for long."

Gren gets a sidelong look. "You said -- Callisto? Right?"

"I did. It's in orbit around Jupiter... if you're familiar with our star system." Not everybody here is, and it's probably best not to make any assumptions about anything these days. When people are from everywhere -- from all over time and space -- common knowledge of places or people or things is a rarity. Throw dead people into the mix, and... well, you've got quite the melting pot here.

"I've never heard of a moon called Three Hills, but that's not surprising. I'm not much of a scientist... or a mechanic. I hear my skills display better when I'm playing sax than fixing my ship, although my little ship never did a lot of complaining my way. Then again, I never flew it all that much." He probably flew it more often than Kaylee's played sax, though. If Faye were out here, she'd probably be okay putting money on that concept.

Opening the door to the bar -- he was raised to be a perfect gentleman, although one with a little bit of a savior complex -- he ushers Kaylee inside. There might be something to the whole concept of not staying in one place for long, but he's such a creature of habit. He wouldn't have even moved to Callisto if it wasn't the safest place to be after Pluto.

"Jupiter's... kind of familiar? Think it might've been..."

Some people are a little touchy about the whole Earth-that-Was thing.

She shrugs. "Probably misrememberin'." And as she enters the bar, Kaylee looks over her shoulder at Gren -- and her face lights up. "You know your way around small craft?"

"Enough to get in trouble with it, yeah." If there's hesitation in her voice about Jupiter, he chalks it up to a lack of familiarity with the place instead of anything else.

As they move over to the bar, he nods a little bit. "I know personal spacecraft best; I had one back home. And when I was in the army, part of our basic training was spacecraft maintenance." It's more information than he usually gives out, and he leaves out a few salient details... like the fact he can take apart and put together a motorcycle engine by himself, even though he didn't learn that in the army, or the fact that his own craft was shot down over the skies of Blue Crow and crashed into the snow.

She isn't asking for a testimonial on how well he can fly, after all.

"...huh." If Mal wasn't likely to get a little... touchy... at questions about how the army does it, she'd ask him whether or not that's something they did. Do.

Maybe she'll ask Zoe. "So you wasn't infantry? -- and what do you take in your coffee?"

The coffee question is easy: he likes things sweet. "Cream and two sugars. As far as the army goes..."

There's a pause as he figures out exactly how much to say. He's not in the habit of discussing anything that happened during his army days with casual acquaintances, but...

He gives her a sharp look. "Special forces. Search and Rescue, sometimes Search and Recovery." For a moment, he's entirely expressionless... but then he laughs. "No, I'm joking, but I've always wanted to say that to someone to see if they'd believe it. I was just your run-of-the-mill ground troop, nothing elite: we were in desert terrain. The other side had a nasty habit of taking people off on small spacecraft, so we were all trained in basic engine repair, which also meant basic engine destruction. It was considered a more honorable way to go to crash the enemy's transport than to be taken prisoner, I guess."

His military career never really got off the ground... not that he wanted to stay in it long-term. But even if he had, the opportunity was taken away from him and that part of the story isn't something he's going to share with Kaylee. He's more than grateful for the distraction of the coffee when it arrives.

Kaylee would have believed it -- but when Gren fesses up, she smiles a little (and it's a little sheepish, too).

Sobers up at the talk of destruction, though. "I can get that. I guess. The part about the honor. Rather go out fightin' than not. Just... don't take it the wrong way when I say I'm sorry for the ships?"

"I'm sorry for the whole bloody mess. But... it was a long time ago, and here we are."

Drinking coffee and talking about things.

"Luckily, I was never taken prisoner, so I didn't have to crash much of anything. Still, I would have liked to go back to Titan one more time. It wasn't all bad." That's more than enough of that: he takes a long sip of coffee and smiles at the way it tastes. He can just about taste the beans being ground... his senses are that acute these days.

"So you like ships, you like coffee, and you have great taste in music because you like what I play. Now tell me, what brings you to the end of the universe?" It's actually a very nice way of shifting the conversation away from himself, and that's something else he's good at doing.

It's a nice way, yeah, and she notices it. Isn't troubled by it, mind -- again, she lives with two vets who'd rather not talk about the war all the time -- but she notices.

A sip of coffee. "Bored, mostly." A crooked grin. "Door here for me comes off the ship, and it ain't exactly like we got much that's fresh, whether it's food or air or what have you. And sometimes it's just kind of nice to get space."

He knows how that feels. "Well, it looks like we're in opposite positions. You get bored out there, and I get bored in here. The only problem is that it's been two and a half years since I was able to leave this place."

The coffee's very good and he's glad to have it. When he first got here for good, he didn't mind because Julia was here. Then she left, and there was a long time where he felt like he was just... floating. But he met people -- Charlie, a few others -- and it was all right. Faye's been a constant for him. A nice... no, a beautiful, exotic, perfect constant for him lately and he hasn't had much desire to rock the boat by trying to leave. Anyway, he promised not to go without her, and as long as she can't see the door, he'll stay put.

He sees it with varying degrees of clarity. Some days it's so clear it practically jumps out at him -- the day he helped dig Charlie's grave was one of those days, he remembers -- but he's not ready to walk through it yet. He doesn't want to go back to Titan one more time that badly any more.

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This reminds him of his regular gig at the Rester House without the other two members of their little trio. There were nights he played sets alone, but that was usually only when there were emergencies. And since they were all musicians, an emergency usually constituted of somebody oversleeping -- past 8:00 at night -- and showing up befuddled and bleary-eyed later on.

The melody moves up one hill and down another, works its way in and out, weaving melodies, telling tales, soft and resonant... until it fades away. Taking a break and a breather, he watches the boy with the blue hair just enjoy the music. At least it looks like someone's enjoying the moment. Grinning quietly to himself, he crouches down by the water's edge, tossing a pebble into its surface.

No one needs to know he's made a wish on it.

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That smile coaxes a little laugh out of him. The kid with the blue hair seems so impossibly shy.

He used to be like that himself.

"Hi."

The fingers of his right hand run restlessly over the keys; it's something he does without even thinking. He's had this particular saxophone for years and even figured out how to get it here after he left Callisto for good. It's his best friend, his other lover, his constant companion.

"It's nice out here tonight. A good night for music, I thought."

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"Since I was big enough for my fingers to fit on the keys." Again, he laughs: people don't usually ask him that particular question, although it's a perfectly valid one. "I started playing piano when I was four, but my love affair with the saxophone started when I was about eight."

Extending his hand, he nods once. "I'm Gren." He could add a disclaimer about how he doesn't bite, but he's not on the prowl. He's just playing music by the water's edge at night because it's a beautiful and fun thing to do.

"Are you a jazz fan?" He used to say it's what he lives and breathes and he could still say it, he supposes, but it would be a little bit of a lie.

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Jazz and piano are a great combination. From Mose Allison to Rachel Z and every letter in between, there are fantastic jazz pianists. But...

"For me, it happened when my mother took me to a jazz concert. I just... fell in love with it and bugged her and bugged her until she finally let me start studying saxophone. I just thought the sound of the tenor sax was so rich, and it wouldn't leave me alone. Since she had a lot of friends who were musicians, that made it easy."

It's easy to talk about music. It's as integral a part of his life as anything, and more important than most things. "Plus, I'm not much of a singer and playing sax keeps me from doing that. How about you? Are you a musician?"

Akito looks to be about... oh, thirteen or fourteen, he guesses, but he's not that great at guessing ages. Young, though. Definitely a young teen, and he wonders what he's doing here... besides reading, that is.

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When Akito tells him he sounds like he'd be great at singing, all he can do is stifle a laugh: he's actually shy about that. He wasn't kidding when he said playing sax keeps him otherwise occupied.

"A friend of mine... gave me his guitar. When I'm playing it, that's the only time I get tempted to sing. But he was so much better at it than I am: it'd be a disservice to his memory."

Charlie. He misses him.

Really, he's not sure whether or not he wants to go down the path of asking Akito what he means about how he used to be a musician. On the one hand, it seems like it's fraught with peril. But then again... well, he's usually pretty good at making valid assessments about people he barely knows. It's only with himself that he has problems reading things.

"I think... once you're a musician, you're always a musician. At least at heart."

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"You mean aside from the one in the middle of the bar?" Laughing, he nods toward the door leading inside. "I haven't played it for a while, but it was there last time I looked. I use it when I transcribe scores."

He learned to read music at the same time he learned to read letters; he's fluent in both languages. With a practiced hand he unscrews the reed from the sax's mouthpiece and sets it into the small case he always keeps hidden away in his shirt pocket; it keeps the reed from cracking.

"Do you want me to show you where it is?"

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"Sometimes the most obvious things are the hardest ones to see." He's thinking of a few things when he says that: Faye, first and foremost, but he's also thinking of Vicious and Titan and the music box and the seamless way he was set up with it. "And sometimes the things we want the most are the things we ought to be most careful of."

The way that music box glittered in the gritty Titan sand was like a fountain of hope for him. He never even stopped to wonder why someone like Vicious would be carrying a beautiful thing like that around with him. Even so many years later -- well after he'd already been sent to and escaped from the prison on Pluto -- he didn't stop to consider that piece of the story.

But they say live and learn, and he did, even though it took Julia pointing out the obvious to him.

He shakes his head. "Don't mind me. Come on, I'll show you where it is. Maybe it's like the front door: it shows up for some people but not others." He's never heard that applied to the piano, but why not? That could be just as important to one person as the front door is to someone else... and right now he's got such mixed feelings about that elusive front door. But he starts off in the direction of the bar itself.

"So, Akito. How long have you been at Milliways, or are you one of the lucky ones who can come and go whenever he wants?"

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"Be careful what you ask for. You might get it." He laughs again, though, with genuine cheerfulness and a shrug, his fingers still playing silent melodies on the saxophone. "It's probably been... oh, two and a half years since I was last away from this place."

But that's neither here nor there, and it's really not Akito's business. The boy's hands are trying to stay occupied; he recognizes nervous habits for what they are but makes no judgment on it. Instead, he does something he's very good at: redirects the conversation.

"You really didn't see the piano?" As he opens the door to the bar, he nods to it. It really is right there, just like it's always been. Not quite in the middle of the bar -- a little to one side -- but still pretty evident. Maybe he's just more keyed in to music and musical possibilities than most people, but he thinks it's probably pretty hard to miss.

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This isn't the first time in the short time since they met that Akito's alluded to something... unsavory lurking in his past. It's certainly not a stranger's business and he used to be a teenage boy himself and he knows how high the general level of sturm und drang can be at that age. Still, when someone continually alludes to a thing, it's so often an invitation to ask about it.

He's not so sure he wants to get involved in someone else's pain. Having done it before on far too many occasions -- never mind the fact that he's had enough of his own, for some very good reasons -- the concept of playing preacher in a confessional isn't very appealing.

But he likes people, and he likes being able to find right words to say. He's very good at it with Faye and always has been, but that's a different situation entirely, and it was the first time they met, too. Still...

"You... want to talk about it?"

If the tables were turned, he'd say no without hesitation... but the tables aren't turned and the door is open... for whatever it's worth. "Or would you rather just play the piano?"

Either way, he won't be the least bit insulted.

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Well.

He knows what that's like: he remembers the disbelief on Julia's face when she was on the receiving end of his story: that was the first time he'd ever told it to a soul. He knows the mix of disbelief and pity, of sorrow and anger, and even if he doesn't know a single detail of Akito's story it doesn't matter: privacy is still privacy, even when it's masked by cautious disregard.

"Fair enough." His job here is done, he thinks: he's gotten Akito to the piano safely and without anyone having to divulge any secrets. Empathetic though he feels he often is, he's certainly not one to pry. Instead, he backs off: he'll listen to Akito play, one musician to another, without judgment and without expectation.

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There are a number of ways for a person to appreciate music. First, there's technical expertise: how well does the musician play his instrument? Are there flaws? Is he confident? A second way is a little more emotional: how well does the musician understand and convey his music? Do strong feelings come across? And there's a third way: how much of an entertainer is the musician? Does he captivate the audience, sell them a story, get them invested in his performance?

Gren knows he's been judged in all these ways countless times by an unending parade of patrons over the course of his career. It's something he expects, seeing as how he's a professional musician. Akito, on the other hand, is just a kid and his music... well, it definitely comes from the heart.

When the song starts he busies himself: turns to the bar, orders a cup of Callisto blue tea, listens with his ears instead of his eyes: when he's keyed in to music the sound is hard to lose, even in a crowded room. By the time Akito's done, though, he's watching again. It's kind of an amazing song and when it's over he gives Akito a small nod of solidarity before toasting him with his teacup.

Nothing needs to be said: mission accomplished.

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"My pleasure."

He means it, too: whatever playing that song means to Akito, that's great. Music is a strong equalizer, a valuable tool, an even more priceless gift. All he did was point out a piano.

"You... want a cup of tea or anything? I wasn't sure."

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It's good: his job here is done. And it wasn't much of a task, really.

"That piano's pretty much yours for the taking. Open to whoever wants to play it any time it's free, so remember that. And... you play well."

That's what he has to say to Akito: whatever else the kid wants to do, that's his own business. As far as he's concerned, he'll just fade off into the crowd, finish his tea, and head back upstairs. He's got a very beautiful lady to see, after all, and she might appreciate a private serenade.

"Take care, Akito." It's old habit, his standard farewell from Blue Crow, and he's comfortable with it. "I'll see you around."

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