Lije walked into the music store very slowly, looking around almost like he was expecting an attack to come from somewhere. He didn't know why he was doing this, why he was succumbing to the urge, but he almost couldn't help himself. The piano he had seen every day for the past month and a half through the store window taunted him with haunting refrains and damning melodies that screamed with the guilt he carried like a lead weight. He hadn't touched a piano in almost two years, and some days it felt like a physical pain but today it was one he couldn't bear.

The clerk gave him a quizzical look but then returned to her magazine, as Lije slowly walked around the store, looking anywhere but the piano. It looked so like the one he used to play only for his family, he didn't even know what had happened to that piano. Probably sold to some idiot who couldn't appreciate it's beauty. Eventually, Lije could stall no longer, and he sat down at the bench and pushed up the cover. But then, confronted with the white and black keys, he could go no further. He glanced at the clerk, who was now just watching him. He sneered at her and placed his hands on the keys. But the sight of his bandaged hand stopped him, and he had to close his eyes to keep the furious tears inside. He would have to take off the bandages to play. He couldn't do it, he just couldn't expose it to some nameless clerk in the ass end of NYC.

So he sat, and he stared at the keys, the songs of Mozart, of Bach, of Chopin all ran through his head as the sun slowly made its way across the sky. After about an hour and a half of trying to force himself to just do it, he noticed the clerk was walking towards the door.

"Can I trust you not to run off with anything? She asked, not unkindly.

Lije scowled, but nodded. If she left, maybe he could force himself to play. As he did, he saw she was holding a pack of smokes in one hand, and a lighter in the other. Good, that meant she was going to be gone for a good couple of minutes, maybe he'd even get a whole movement in. Without even realizing it he'd settled on playing Mozart's Piano Concerto #21, his wife's favorite piece for him to play.

"You actually gonna play?" The clerk asked, her mouth quirked up.

"You actually gonna smoke?" He returned, nastily. The clerk shrugged, and left.

After waiting a few seconds to be sure she wouldn't come back in, Lije carefully unwrapped the bandages hiding his deformed arm, doing his best to keep them intact so they could be easily rewrapped later. When his arm was completely exposed, he clenched his skeletal fist, and then relaxed it, watching his wedding ring glimmer in the light. He made sure to keep it well taken care of, even though it was mostly hidden under the bandages and therefor protected. God he missed his family. God how he hated himself for not saving his sister. But it was too late for that, and if he didn't hurry, he wasn't going to get to play at all.

So he placed his hands on the keys, and played, and it all came flowing back that it had been just yesterday...

Allison had not chosen the music store for any particular reason. Really, she’d chosen it for a lack of reasons; she hadn’t often visited music stores in New York, and didn’t know enough to pick any one over another. So she’d simply wandered until she found one, and went in.

The store had been a bit disappointing, at first; the entire main room was filled with instruments, and a few shelves stuffed full of strings, picks, reeds, and other supplies for instruments. Which, Allison was sure, were all quite good, but weren’t of any interest to her.

There was, however, a second room, separated by a bead curtain, which was much more to Allison’s liking. The room was filled with music books for every instrument; most new, a few worn, many a bit dusty. Apparently not many people came here for music. Two floor to ceiling shelves held singing music, from carols to hymns to Broadway to last year’s pop hits, and Allison quickly got lost reading them, letting her mind imagine and reimagine bits of sound, as she’d heard some, as they were written, and as she thought might be worth trying to see if it would sound better.

Several shelves later Allison had a small stack of books of music, and turned back toward the curtain out of the room, absently noticing that the radio music that had been playing when she came in had been replaced by piano. Odd; while music stores were happy to sell to classical music fans, it was much less common to see that kind of catering to them. The song was halfway familiar; something she knew she’d heard before, but couldn’t name. Most classical music was like that for her, really.

Allison slipped out of the room, holding the beads out of her way and letting them back down quietly, and blinked as she found the clerk missing. Instead, there was an old man at one of the pianos, playing it.

Well. That explained why there was classical music, anyway.

Allison wandered over to the counter, setting the books she’d picked down and leaning against it, letting her eyes wander over the store as she waited. The instruments were quite shiny… and far more than she could really notice; the details of so many objects that she couldn’t separate beyond ‘guitar’ or ‘drum’ or ‘clarinet’ began to blur together into a uniformity that she knew wasn’t there, but which nonetheless pasted itself onto her impression of the instruments. The pianos were less glazing to look at; only two of them, surrounded by five or six keyboards, and the old man playing one. Quite well; Allison didn’t know the song well enough to know if there were any mistakes, but there wasn’t any of the hesitation she recognized in beginners at any talent, so she was willing to assume there weren’t mistakes, either.

Anyway, the music was nice. Not her preferred style, but nice.

Lije sighed as he finished the song and hung his head, staring at the contrast of his skeletal hand, the golden ring, and the piano keys. He didn't even notice the tears beginning to run down his face. It had been too long since he had played. Yes, it hurt to play, to remember his family so strongly with every stroke of the key, but also it felt good to play once again.

Smiling just a little, Lije began to play again, this time playing his daughter's favorite song. He remembered as he played. He remembered how whenever that song came over the radio he would be forced to turn it up to almost unbearable levels, and sing along with his pride and joy. He remembered the look on her face as her entire torso was blasted to pieces, and the smile that she only had for him, her daddy.

And that was when Lije noticed he wasn't alone any more. He screeched to a stop halfway through the song, lips pulled up into a snarl. His startled reaction was to raise his withered right fist and pull some of his death energy to the fore, resulting in a threatening nimbus of sickly energy to glow about the hand, a bolt of power just barely being restrained. Fury poured through him at someone hearing him play those songs, those songs were for his wife, his baby girl, not some girl!

"What exactly," he growled out, "were you hoping to accomplish by sneaking up on me?" Though he let the bolt dissipate, Lije was still furious, and not just because he had been interrupted, and not just because she had heard him playing. Though both of those things were factors, mainly he was angry because she had seen his hand before he could even attempt to hide it, and he didn't want to deal with the fear and revulsion that he was so used to. So he hid behind his anger.

Allison was not used to that level of venom. At least, not without a reason, that reason generally being either her tattoos or the fact that she was a mutant. The man’s threatening… gesture, maybe, certainly looked like the produce of a mutation, though, and people who objected to her tattoos normally included the tattoos in their criticism. Not that mutants couldn’t hate mutants, but that tended to be included in criticisms as well. So apparently the man actually was that angry that she’d been in a store.

Allison crossed her arms, frowning back at the man. Prejudice she hated, but could deal with. This was just stupid. “I wasn’t sneaking, I was looking at books, and when I came out you were here, and the clerk wasn’t, so I waited. Is this your house, that no one else is allowed in without your permission?”

So maybe Allison was being a bit more insulting than she should, but she was annoyed. The man was just being stupid, and anyway, her life hadn’t been fun recently. She had a bit more contained frustration waiting to escape than normal.

The young woman crossed her arms and didn't look to be very happy with Lije. Her voice was just as mean as Lije's had been, and he gritted his teeth waiting for her to make some disparaging mark about his mutation. They all did.

“I wasn’t sneaking, I was looking at books, and when I came out you were here, and the clerk wasn’t, so I waited. Is this your house, that no one else is allowed in without your permission?”

The woman had bite! She snarked quite pointedly at Lije, but surprisingly enough she didn't mention anything about his rather obvious and alarming mutation. Lije wondered why that might be, and took some time to simply observe her.

She had strange tattoos on her arms and face, but other than that there was nothing about her to indicate that she might be a mutant. Lije considered asking her for a moment, but then dismissed the idea as a bad one. She would tell him, or she wouldn't.

"It is not my house. I was simply... Preoccupied and you startled me." Lije said diplomatically. The anger was still there, simmering just below the surface, but it was mostly anger at himself for losing track of his surroundings. "I haven't played in a long time..." He said softly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

He shook his head, and returned his attention to the woman. He stood up and closed the lid of the piano, gathering his bandages and using the top of the piano to help him begin to wrap his arm. As he did so, his wedding band caught the light and shined, and Lije stopped a moment to look at it before wrapping it away.

"I am Lije. What do you play?"

Allison might have accepted the man’s apology, had he actually apologized. Instead, he’d offered an explanation, with no apologies, so she accepted it as the reason--but distinctly not regret--that it was. Her arms stayed crossed, though the frown lessened into something that could be mistaken for neutral if the man was inclined to do so, and she watched as his attention drifted off, then returned, and he closed the piano.

…The look at his arm she could have done without, though. That looked painful. She shifted slightly, reminding herself that her arm was just fine, thanks, not rotting away, and not needing to feel like it was, thank you nerves, now shut up.

“...I sing.” Allison wanted an apology. She appeared not to be about to get one, though, and she didn’t feel like being the one to provoke more arguing, so civility it was. “I used to play drums, but I haven’t had a chance to in a few years.”

Which should not be a painful loss. She could still sing; she still had music. And the lack of drums was due to space; it had nothing to do with mutations or family or anything else. New York was just a crowded city.

As Lije finished wrapping up his arm, he saw that though the woman looked a little appeased at his statement, she didn't look happy. Perhaps she wanted an apology? Well she wasn't going to get one. Lije may have been rude, even nasty, but he wasn't sorry, that was for sure. He also noticed that she didn't give him her name, but couldn't find it in himself to care. Maybe she was a wanted criminal? That could be fun.

“...I sing. I used to play drums, but I haven’t had a chance to in a few years.”

Ah, a singer. And knowing New York, the not playing drums came from lack of space and/or angry neighbors, not anything else. That said, it could easily be a mutation issue. Those tattoos were unusual enough on their own that Lije would think it almost a shame if there wasn't a story behind them. He almost wanted to ask her if there was a story, but decided it was a bad idea. It was probably something personal.

Then he decided he didn't care, and asked anyways.

"Space issues? Ain't NYC just wonderful?" He said, sarcastically, considering the fact his whole place of residence was a room with a piece'o'crap mattress and a bathroom he knew what space issues were. "What's up with the tattoos? Any special meaning?"

Allison hummed absently in response to the old man’s sarcasm; there really wasn’t much to be said in response to sarcasm that you agreed with. She blinked at his second question, though. That was… quite blunt. Most people either didn’t mention her tattoos, or danced around the subject, or tried to edge up to the question sideways, generally starting with ‘those are interesting….’

Lije, apparently, wasn’t going to. Well, whatever; Allison frequently wished people would be less evasive about what they said, anyway. “I control ink. Can’t do much with it, and nothing useful, but I figure I may as well do what I can.” She had to glance down, unfolding her arms to study them before finishing her answer. “Nothing particular in these, unless it snuck in subconsciously. I change them most days.”

“I control ink. Can’t do much with it, and nothing useful, but I figure I may as well do what I can. Nothing particular in these, unless it snuck in subconsciously. I change them most days.”

Lije blinked. Then, he scowled. So she was a mutant, and one of the lucky ones at that. No price to pay for her power, little though it may be. "That's.. Interesting. I'm afraid I've never really thought about getting a tattoo, would send the wrong kind of message in the business I was in, I think."

Lije looked out the front window, trying to see if the clerk was going to come back in any time soon. It didn't look like it, so he turned back to the girl. Now that he had played again, it was like an itch he couldn't help but scratch just one more time. "Err.." he started awkwardly, "do you have a song that you might like to hear?"

Allison frowned back as Lije scowled at her. What he was scowling at her for she didn’t know, but she felt no need to accept it. He’d asked a question, she answered, and she didn’t say anything that ought to be objectionable. He’d already seen that she had tattoos, he was obviously a mutant, and… really she had no idea what else he could be mad at her for. Not that he seemed to get mad for logical reasons, anyway…. “They don’t send a very appreciated message in any business that I know of, but neither does my existence, and I’ve never found a reason to care about that.”

Allison stared at the man for several seconds before she could respond. First he wanted her dead, then he was civil, then he glared at her, then seemed to imply she was some sort of delinquent, then offered to play music for her. “Are you high or something? Do you have multiple personalities? First you hate me, then you don’t, then you glare, now you ask what I want to hear. What is with you?”

“Are you high or something? Do you have multiple personalities? First you hate me, then you don’t, then you glare, now you ask what I want to hear. What is with you?”

Lije tried, mostly in vain, to prevent a smirk from breaking out on his face. Looked like the girl couldn't take it when he simply spoke his mind. Lije considered leaving the store, then, and perhaps coming back another day (for now that he had played piano once again he knew he wouldn't be able to resist for more than a few days) but he figured that giving some answers wouldn't hurt him any, and it might actually get him an answer.

"I didn't hate you, you startled me. I was unprepared for anyone else to be in the room, and when I noticed you I was surprised. And I didn't glare, or at least not at you." Now that last bit was a lie, of course, because he did indeed glare at her, but she didn't need to know about the constant simmering resentment of her luck bubbling just below the surface. "I asked what you wanted to hear because I realized that I had been, perhaps, a bit rude, and I wished to make it up to you."

“Liar, liar,” Allison muttered. She could recognize glares just fine. “Not on fire, but with that comment you ought to be.”

...She also was feeling childish, apparently. Or nostalgic. Same thing, really.

...Had she ever actually used that phrase when she was a child? She could only remember thinking other kids were childish for using it.

“If someone is interested in making up for being rude, the first step is generally to apologize. Just so you know.” Which meant Allison should probably be apologizing soon, except that she really didn’t feel like making up for anything. She glanced over toward the window; the clerk finally seemed to be finishing her cigarette. About time. She looked back at Lije and shrugged. “I like all music.”