A/N: More from Jess. : Still tooling around with the same timespace-- Ghoul and Woof are closer to their destination by this point, but they've still got quite some travelling to go.
His map had said they were five miles away from Metropolis, but that was eight hours ago.
Between taking a wrong turn, getting lost, realizing they were lost, and staying that way for quite some time, Ghoul realized with dull satisfaction that he'd collected enough sidewalk-given change to buy himself a coffee.
Maybe. If they hadn't increased the prices again.
Black. No sugar, no milk, no extra-large or no-fat hazelnut-and-brown-sugar-with-extra-cream or white chocolate mochas, just plain coffee. He forced his legs (having adjusted to the familiar pace of one foot in front of the other, don't cramp, don't hesitate) to stop in front of a rather battered-looking Starbucks.
Goddamned expensive Starbucks. He cursed every penny he handed out, but the caffeine, warm in his hands, was worth it. He tugged furtively at the ends of his gloves and tried to warm his fingers.
Woof waited patiently outside the shop, ears pricked attentively, never questioning, never complaining. They travelled the backalleys nowadays-- easier to pass by unnoticed in the rush and clamour of everyday life. Sometimes, when they felt particularly brave (or just particularly hungry), they'd venture out onto the louder, noisier main streets, though no amount of hunger could change their wariness of every sluggish car that passed them by.
Though Ghoul's mind used to run freely in the time between day and night, those twilight hours where everything was quiet and nothing was certain, nowadays he didn't have the luxury of picking his own schedule. This city didn't run on light and darkness-- it followed the flow of time charts and traffic lights, and nobody ever slept.
The bag at his side was a reassuring weight. He knew he looked homeless-- but then again, who didn't?
Ghoul wasn't a particularly poetic person, but he couldn't lie-- everyone in this city looked too desolate, too wrapped up in their lives to really have the chance to find a place they could call home. He fit right in.
They shared the coffee, like they shared everything-- little luxuries. It was a rare moment, being able to pretend everything was perfect and normal.
The pair of them rested in the same spot Ghoul eventually dropped the styrofoam cup, crumpling it underfoot. The alley wasn't the dirtiest he'd ever been in, but it was close.
He woke early, when the traffic was just a lethargic trickle on the streets, where the sunrise was orange and purple and the air was biting. He pulled his collar higher up and tried to focus on not freezing as he wandered the sleeping city.
But he couldn't go far. Woof, with all his senses and careful balances, would notice when he'd left. He had ten minutes, tops. Ghoul returned to the alley with a few coins in hand, but not enough to make any difference. Damn the rising prices to hell.
His eye had caught on a certain store, one which seemed familiar enough.
Sorry, we're closed.
So he, with a sense of what could have been disappointment in himself, asked Woof if they could maybe wait a few hours until it opened. It's not like there was much of a chance they'd find their way out of this city without some serious scouting, anyway.
The store was only a few blocks away-- in a quieter, more neighbourly part of town, or as close to that as you could get in such a foul place. Ghoul stared at it with narrowed eyes from across the road, a little bit of remorse and a little bit of regret clouding his features.
"I'll just be a sec--" he started, but Woof had already ventured off, back into the safer shadows between buildings. For a moment, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes blank.
Ghoul's stomach twisted as he made his way across the busy street.
The door opened with a friendly jingle of bells, reminding him of bakeries and family-owned convenience stores, though the sign above the windows plainly said Music Emporium. Out of habit, Ghoul traced the scar tattoo along the back of his right hand, though it was covered by a fingerless glove. He could almost laugh at how much of his 'last' self he'd left behind in that burning factory-- the makeup, the attire, the cocky attitude, all gone and buried in favour of being able to roam the streets, free at last.
Stitches covered and facepaint washed away, he felt... cleaner, but not in any good way.
Free at last, free at last, thank god I'm free at last.
Ghoul chuckled mirthlessly to himself and began to scan the shop.
The lights were bright, too bright for such an early hour, searing the backs of his eyelids, but still, he felt comfortable. Some wannabe new singer crooned over the radio-- not like he kept up with the hits nowadays-- soft enough not to disturb anyone who might choose to pick up the various instruments lining the walls. Pianos covered the main area, sleek and black and expensive-looking, guitars and violins and flutes lined the walls, waiting to be touched, daring any curious onlooker to reach out. Ghoul exhaled slowly.
A salesperson, some twenty-something who looked like she was barely out of college, appeared from one of the back rooms. She looked frazzled, but not frazzled enough to be unable to plaster a smile onto her weary face. "Hey, sir," she said, her casual tone completely contradicting whatever attitude she may have wanted to show-- because the customer knows best, except when the customer has no money, and she looked like she could tell. "Anything I can help you with?"
Ghoul gave her his best bright-morning smile (though it may have been a bit much, judging by the way she almost cringed-- but so what? He couldn't help it if days like this made him look a bit crazy) and shook his head. "Think I'll just browse for awhile." He wandered over to one of the closest pianos, sitting down on the cool wooden bench like he was meant to be there.
The ivory keys were in perfect condition-- he thought back to his mother's baby grand piano and all the lessons he didn't care for. Carefully, he pressed down a single flat note, an E flat, and his mind immediately went to years of school band, from clarinet to trumpet to keyboard to bass guitar. He played through a few scales, ones where the notes came readily to his fingertips-- B flat major, C contrary motion, A minor melodic.
He'd never been a particularly musical person; though listening to music was one thing he couldn't live without, playing it had never been his specialty. He'd embraced the faux-rockstar persona for a few months when he picked up a bass, and to some extent, every time he stroked away haunting melodies on the keys of a piano brought a sense of calm, but it was never his place.
Still, some songs never left his head.
He played whatever came to mind until his fingers ran out of notes and his mind ran out of tunes. He left the store a little bit more okay with the world in general.