-:-

"I'll sing 'neath a bleary-eyed moon, a rowdy and rollicking tune! But no time for sleeping have I; I'll sleep long enough when I die!"
-Shinbone Alley

A good example of why Kell-El truly believed that his life couldn't suck very much more before he finally bailed on Metropolis sat in the bottom of his guitar case, practically glowing snide and unhelpful representation at him as the sun drew closer to setting.

He'd thought that even that, just maybe, he'd make enough tips from strumming his guitar to cover up the blemish in his case he absolutely refused to get rid of. But, no, no, he'd have to glare at the fork, spoons and knives the previous owner had melted into the casing and curse them for the... sixteen dollars he'd made from taking requests. Neil Diamond did not translate well in this district as anything but annoying; nobody could appreciate Mozart on the guitar strings plucked by fingers showing through black knitted gloves; and Sinatra was a washout before he'd even gotten to "South of the Border."

The tall young man that had come from a city that could have been the other side of the galaxy as far as the other passerby shapes and figures were concerned glared up at the billboard standing above the water fountain he'd been standing across for hours. The image of President Wazzo being voted into her second term of office was not unpleasant, but it had been there for three weeks already and he was looking forward to not having to stare at so much white the bounced light off and onto the figures of the legion honor guard statues in the fountain. Too pristine for his taste, even if he could almost say it was relaxing to listen to the water above the sound of his own voice for the few hours a day he sometimes took to draw in as many dollars and coins the citizens of the city were willing to drop and color up the silver blemishing his black grunge case.

"At least there's food to be had from this dabbling," Kell sighed, rubbing his hands together and making to remove the strap and bulk of the guitar to gather his coin and green paper, head for heat and drink with a small bite to swallow before escaping to his apartment that stood lonely, even with him inside.

However, there were footfalls he had come to recognize as the closest possible thing in this city of faceless nobodies and hollow smiles as a viewing friend. These feet and the body attached, always promised at least a small reprieve from being cross at the city as a whole and a break from just staring at the inanimate billboard that gave him a headache and the fountain that made him ache to sit down for a time.

He stood up and to remove the look of disappointment the almost glowing blue eyes had at the registered realization Kell was leaving for the evening, placed his hands on the guitar and just waited a moment for the other young(er) man to take his usual position on the rim of the fountain.

Fingers that weren't covered by the gloves he wore (nobody he'd met had guessed that they weren't just an aesthetic he'd developed after moving to the California coast; it really got cold once the night scuttled along the horizon, turning his knuckles to that of the like of an eighty year old coal miner) strummed and feathered touches. The one thing that seemed to be an agreement between them was the rendition Kell made of Live's "Dolphin's Cry" for whatever reason it was that he actually sounded good singing it, and the other always gave him a five or ten for the song.

The violin was new. Kell had not been expecting that the next day off he'd had from work moving things around at the command of some artistic type with the assistance of his boyfriend that had the personality of a rock; or a day where he wasn't being pestered relentlessly by his twin about eating things other than take-out or meat slathered in BBQ sauce.

But it looked good on the other and, once they were in tune with the music Kell had rolled into rather by accident, and they had drawn an actual crowd.

By the time night had rolled in on the skyline and the both of them had finished "Purple Rain" by Prince as well as Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody", Kell found himself blinking at the contents of his case.

"Can't see the silverware?"

Green-black eyes blinked up at the other that had actually managed to stand right across from him without being noticed and, for some odd reason, the first words out of his mouth was not a commentary on his person (wouldn't that have just been so easy; he did it so often when faced with a new person in his life; flirting or sarcastic shutdown was always a better defense than his actual thoughts and less than stellar opinions) but a commentary on his skills, i.e. gratitude for them, "We made almost three times what I normally do with just the guitar. Holy shit, you're talented."

"...Meh," he shrugged, tucking his own instrument into its case (quite a bit more intricate and professional looking than Kell's own; at least it still had enough lacquer to shine and the felt wasn't cut down to patching) with that usual mellow air that seemed to follow him around any time that he wasn't around that ginger haired guy Kell sometimes saw him with before he entered the park area, "It's the long weekend; maybe people are just feeling more generous."

Kell shook his head and started dividing the bills and coins into equal parts, not being able to see in his peripheral the other raising his eyebrows at the dividing, "Not this generous. Not since I've been here. You're good...um..."

"Mekt. Mekt Ranzz."

"Kell of House El."

"I know, half the time I come here you're still in half of your work clothes. You have that tag hanging off the side of your jacket."

He actually made a point of leaning across the threshold of the open guitar case to flick at the offending object Kell absolutely hated, but sometimes straight up forgot to take off due to time constraints.

But if it works, it works.

It was impossible not to get along with Mekt after that particular night. As it turned and as words were exchanged, it was found that, they had more in common than they had any right to have, Kell being a loner painting assistant who could only just pay rent off of that particular check paid for food and other such things with the guitar and his poor singing; Mekt being largely just alone, working well where he could before moving on in an apartment complex that actually managed to be shadier than Kell's own.

And yet, and yet, and yet...

Somehow Mekt's apartment, after they were done with a set of violin and guitar, weeks after the first score among the public, Mekt's place was usually where they ended up.

And sometimes they actually took the quiet time to practice before the next time they went to sing and play under the open sky; not just eat poorly made home cooked food, or greasy takeout either of them brought in.