Grencia Mars Elijah Guo Eckener

02:15 pm: Gren puts his pack down on the bed and kicks off his shoes. He leaves the door to his room open, expecting word of his return to reach the owner of the hotel quickly. She'll most certainly want to speak with him.

He hadn't meant to disappear, it was just something that had happened. He'd long been a stray cat anyway, so the idea that people might wonder where he'd got off to didn't really cross his mind until some time in the second week, when he realized he missed playing for the people in Margate.

And it wasn't that he'd gone far, he'd just gone...about. Needed to clear his head and escape attention. Not that he'd had much, but it had still been more than he was used to. It's hard to keep yourself held back when there are so many genuinely nice people asking genuinely interested questions. So he'd wandered, and he'd thought, and he'd written a little. And then he realized he missed them and returned to his new home.

Gren threw up the window and let the breeze dance in the curtains before beginning to unpack. There were certainly worse places to return to.

11:38 am: voicesinmyhead prompt #3: What are your thoughts on love?
Love? Gren smiles slowly, as if drawing it up from somewhere deep within him, and runs a hand through his hair, trying to brush it back off his face. ( Few and far between, recently. )

07:00 pm: The kindness of strangers
“That was lovely, young man.”

Gren turned around as he pulled the mouth piece out of the neck of his sax. One of the tourists, an elderly woman dressed entirely in pink and white checks, was standing behind him and smiling in that kind way that always made him ache a little. “Thank you,” he said. He wasn't sure what else to say. Most of the guests at the hotel just took his presence for granted.

“No, it's been a long time since I've heard someone play blues like that. Reminds me of my childhood.” Her voice shook slightly and he turned to face her. He didn't know what he planned to do if she became overly emotional, but sometimes just being in the vicinity helped.

“I can play something else, if you like.” And he could, he'd been practicing during his time in Margate, but the owners of the hotel wanted to maintain a more 'cultured' atmosphere, so he was told not to play anything too upbeat or new sounding. When he heard that he'd had to turn his head and cough away a small laugh. If only they knew how new his music really was.

She smiled and reached her hand into her bag, also pink. “Perhaps another time dear. Here, for you.” She pulled out a ₤10 note and held it out to him.

“Oh, no ma'am, I couldn't. I appreciate it, but just knowing that you liked it was enough.”

She waved it at him and smiled even wider. “Oh come now dear. Look how thin you are. And you need a haircut. It's the least I can do.”

Gren smiled and held out his hand. He couldn't argue with that. She placed the note in it and held onto his fingers for a moment before letting go. “Well, good luck young man.” She turned and hurried for the doorway to the lobby.

He stared down at it for a moment, then shoved it into his pocket. He hadn't ever been told he couldn't take tips, after all. Turning back to the stool his case was propped on he placed the body of the sax in it and then started to fiddle with the mouthpiece so he could remove the reed. He let his lips curve into a small grin, and hoped that she was appreciated and loved by someone, wished her happiness.

Closing the case he checked his watch. It was a little late to show up at the cafe for whatever social night was on, but perhaps some of the people he knew would soon be leaving. It felt like it had been ages since he'd been able to talk to someone who wasn't a guest at the hotel.

12:59 am: Fic/Character Study
Because it's my hot body Gren and I'll do what I want! :p In all seriousness though, this is part of why I've been gone most of the week. Gren and Crowley should be back tomorrow.


Title: Nothing and No Need
Fandom: Cowboy Bebop
Rating: R
Characters: Gren/Vicious
Word Count: 4,547
Summary: The answer doesn't lie in the memories or the madness.


( My memories were quarantined so I set them free in this song. )

02:22 pm: Going forward in movements.
Gren placed the reed in his mouth to wet it, and ran his tongue up and down the smooth bit of wood, comforted by the familiar feel of if. The owner of the inn had been very kind when Gren asked if he was allowed to practice there. He offered up the salon, stating that he hoped it would draw attention from the other guests and possible guests. This gave Gren hope that he might be able to persuade them to pay him something, or at least let the room to him for free if her were to play for the other guests, but for now he just needed to get back into the feel of it. He settled for leaving his door propped open so that passers by could stick their heads in if they wished.

He placed the neck in the body and ran his hand up it, feeling the smooth, coolness of the metal under his fingertips. It wasn’t his saxaphone, not his constant companion, but it was something, and he was sure they’d get to know each other over time. He tightened the reed into the mouthpiece and brought it into his lips.

Scales first, E flat from G to G and then back down again. He played the things that every musician had been taught to play on command from a young age, that his fingers did absently even when he wasn’t near an instrument. It was easy enough. He didn’t know what he’d expected. It hadn’t been that long since he’d played, but it felt like eternity after the surprises of the last couple of days.

When he felt more comfortable with the new instrument he decided he’d try some of the things he knew by heart. He played the one he’d written shortly after ending up on Callisto(1). It was roughly about Vicious, but more about feeling empty. Then he played the song that she always asked him to play(2) as she sat on the corner bar stool, legs draped carelessly off either side and not paying attention to anything or anyone but him and the liquor in front of her, always insisting that he was in more danger than she was. He played a song for Faye(3), and hoped that she hadn’t taken her restraints the wrong way. It was for her own good, after all. Like Julia, he knew that she could take care of herself, but even Julia had been afraid of Vicious.

It was such a relief, to get all of that out of him. Much greater than the talking and the hand at poetry that he knew wasn’t any good. He’d never been as good with words as he’d been with counts and beats and sounds. He decided to adapt something from his own life and give it a new meaning here in Margate. Laying the sax on the bed he retrieved the pen from the dresser and held it over the pad of paper. He closed his eyes and remembered another tune(4), and when he opened them again he began to scribble it all down in a rush.


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OOC: Music time! The first three are jazz pieces; the last is a simple music box melody. All stolen from the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack, because yes.

(1) Blues Sax by Yoko Kanno
(2) Jupiter Jazz by Yoko Kanno
(3) Real Folk Blues by Yoko Kanno
(4) Memory (Julia) by Yoko Kanno

11:40 am: Here comes the sun, it's alright.
Gren stepped off the wooden planks of the path and into the sand. It was a comfortable feeling to walk on land that shifted as he moved across it, even though he hadn’t stepped foot in sand in years. The sun was partially hidden by cloud cover, and the breeze blowing in off the water dropped the temperature a degree or two, but not by much. He estimated that it was about twenty degrees, utterly, regularly pleasant. It was taking a little time, but he was adjusting to the normalcy of this world, which wasn’t as abnormal so much as it corresponded with a different set of people and occupations than he was used to on Callisto.

He trudged out to a halfway point between the dune behind him and the endless water in front of him and placed the pen and paper he’d been carrying down in the sand. Then he rolled up his sleeves and pant legs, and settled down into a cross legged position, enjoying the heat transfer from the ground to his limbs. The warmth worked through him and undid a lot of the tension that had been building in him since his arrival.

Lighting a cigarette, he stared out at the water, forgetting the paper for now. He enjoyed the feel of the smoke in his lungs and thought about what Cesare had said about how cold the ocean here was. He was tempted to try it, just because. But that would have to be later. For now he was tempted to just sit, collect his thoughts, and watch the mix of newcomers and locals who strayed into his view. Half of him wanted to talk, the other half preferred to remain aloof. He came to the happy median that he’d let the people around him make that decision for him.

02:48 am: Smoke again.
Gren set the small plastic bag down on his bedside table and was suddenly gripped by an intense bout of déjà vu. He had done this many times before. He had trudged home in cold so thick it was almost asphyxiating and hoped that his vodka wasn't frigid by the time he made it in. That wouldn't be a problem in Margate now, or probably ever, but looking at the shocking, unnatural white of the plastic against the dark brown of the table made him feel lost. And so did the vodka, which he hadn't needed to keep warm, but had purchased out of habit.

He pulled one of the cigarettes from his new pack and opened the window. The salt air filled his nose and made his head swim, but once he got the cigarette lit and the air had to contend with the smell of a new kind of smoke his head evened out. He'd get used to it eventually, adapt was what he did. He took a long drag and let the smoke fill his lungs. These were smoother than the cigarettes he used to buy on Callisto, and he'd have to remember thank Sanzo for letting him tag along.

Leaning against the window sill with the elbow of his right arm, he held the cigarette out so the ash dropped on the ground below and used his free hand to undo the braid by working his fingers through it. “Shit.” His finger caught on a knot and played with it until it smoothed out. Maybe he'd get a hair cut, start over. He took another drag and watched the waves roll in to shore. It was beautiful. Gren had never seen the ocean, but there had been dunes on Titan which had formed the same sort of wave like shapes. And when the sand storms blew in and the soldiers hunkered down in their tents to wait it out, the wind had blown gusts over the top of the dunes that made them look like they were frothing and rolling.

He stubbed the cigarette out on the window sill and left the butt there to come back to. Then he pulled the curtains but left the window panes open to let in the fresh air. It had been years since he'd lived in a place where you could leave a window open, and he decided that he might not ever close it again. With the curtains closed the room was slightly darker, more like his rooms on Callisto, only lacking in the faded and bent pictures which lined his walls. There was no cocoon of memories to wrap himself in here. He had to be him on his own. He laughed. What a terrifying thought.

Gren untucked and unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled it off and laid it across the foot of the bed. He'd have to find new clothing, but he'd been wary of shopping for clothing since he escaped from the prison. He stood in front of the mirror and and tried to reconcile himself with his new surroundings. His hair fell around his shoulders, the tips brushing the bandages he wrapped around his chest to play down his feminine figure. “You told me that as a man you could use me,” he said to his reflection, “but that as a woman you might love me. You sent me to the place where they did this to me, and then when you met the woman, you tried to kill her. Even before you knew it was me.” And then, even though he knew no one would answer he said “why?” The sounds of the waves crashing into shore and the gulls searching for food were the only answer.

Then it occurred to him that the words in his memories might be bogging him down. If he boiled them down to their essence and could see them for what they truly were, he might be able to create a new life here. He walked around the bed and rummaged through the bag until he found the pad of paper and pens. Perched on the edge of the bed he pulled one of the pen caps off with his teeth and scribbled it quickly.

There's no reason to
believe in anything, you
try, but I survive.

Perhaps he'd show it to Anotsu and ask for some pointers. What he really needed, he felt, was a new sax.

10:31 am: Digging in your heels for Alto Sax.
Has there been any word on the grapevine of any business or person in the area in need of a sax player? What I know is mostly jazz, and mostly from another era, but I'm a quick study. It would just be nice to have something to do until I heal enough to try and repair my ship, you know?

11:35 pm: Settling in
*leans back in a chair on the porch and props his feet up on the railing*
*closes his eyes, letting the breeze blow his hair across his face*
*absentmindedly does sax fingerings*