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Restless Souls; Janurary 9th
Topic Started: Sep 4 2009, 15:57 (280 Views)
Gloria Davis
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The All American Girl
After class, Gloria feels restless and burnt out, both emotions wrapped tight around her so she's never sure which one will claim victory. Either she'll be stuck back in her dorm, pacing from wall to wall and unable to sit still, or out on the street, yawning and barely dragging her feet along after her. She blames it on her professors. Her beautiful, backwards, bigoted, free spirited, genius, lifeless, revolutionary professors. By her senior year, Gloria has learned a whole lot, including which teachers to take and which are best to avoid. Some she loves and their classes never fail to expand her mind, others she can't stand listening to their dull platter, reinforcing all the ways in which the world hates her, and still others she likes but in their classes finds herself unstimulated and never challenged, and taking others is a challenge in itself as she sits in the classroom with sharp eyes and her heart racing, lashing out against the professor every chance she gets.

Her father use to tell her that complacency is a state of ignorance. We learn when we are incited to passion, and that came come from someone who is speaking straight into the core of you, and that can come from those who would see you destroyed. Gloria took her chances, she learned from who she could. And if it ended up destroying her like it did her father, then she wanted it to be beautiful, to mean something, and to resinate with the whole world.

So, restless, then.

With her books tucked in her arms, Gloria takes a sharp turn away from the dorms. No point in trapping herself in there now. Besides, it's only a bus ride down to the Golden Gate Park. It was a little out from Berkley, but it acted as a mecca fro restless souls from all over the nation. You could always find someone to fit your mood, someone to match up against, down at the Golden Gate Bridge Park.

Word from the underground papers were saying that it's about to become something more than a park, a whole other thing out of time and apart from this nation of war and hate. The message was to start gathering forces, they wanted all ends of the spectrum to unite on this. Gloria wasn't always big in united. Some groups, they like to use you and then leave you out flat when the good came down. They were even quicker to give their half away when the sirens sounded. Others, they stuck by you, they took their share of whatever came hailing. It's just a matter of knowing who to deal with, which groups are worth rapping with and the ones that are best left playing out side the sand box.

Of course, a lot of people considered Gloria to be a go between for some of the groups. She was active in the Berkley chapter of Students For Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, she had helped drive up the participation in the Free Speech Movement that had spread to other campuses and even worked with SLATE directly. She's well known for her radical feminism, her rejection of contemporary sexual and beautiful standards. She's been approached by more than a few people these last weeks asking for her to help them contact the Black Panther Movement which is just stupid. Those are her friends, and if they want to speak to them, they'll do it on their own damn time.

It's got her head buzzing with excitement though. If they pull this off. If they really pull this one off, it's going to make headlines. Of course the media will make it all up, but sometimes that's okay. Sometimes the myth can be more powerful than the truth, they can use that. Gloria needs to talk with some of her friends in the communications department, see what they say. A little help here and there, they could end up rocking this world, putting a whole new spin on the minds that clutter up this space.

Gloria is smiling to herself, feeling that spirit of hers already flying high as she steps off the bus, ignoring some of the looks she's getting from a few of the more straight edged passengers. So what if her hair is natural, her skin is dark, her shirt is tribal. She's beautiful, and their glares are because they can't believe it, feeling attracted to such an intelligent, black woman. She tells herself that and they don't matter at all as she steps down onto the cool grass of the parkway.

They'll need speaks, of course, and bands, too - always good to keep people entertained and you don't want to come off as just being the same old style. Their revolution has love and music entertained with their message. She keeps wandering on down the grass, looking this way and that at some of the people already sitting around, keeping a look out for anyone dressed like a hobo but who looks all business. Or maybe a local musician she can chat with, see what's going on with that front, if the other partners are doing their work yet and getting the word out there.

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Colten Lain
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The Child From Paradise
The day was glorious. A true San Francisco day where the weather never goes above 60 degrees, where the sun remains hidden behind sheets of clouds, where the cool sea wind wrapped around your body and embraced you like a long forgotten lover. Colten was slowly getting used to not feeling the sun on his skin, he's been in the city for at least a month now, and he was already starting to lose his awesome tan. Actually, funny story, Colten didn't remember the last time he saw his natural skin color. For all points and purposes, his bronzed out hide was...normal. Not this alabaster layer that was slowly starting to take over his body. It started from his chest, and then started spreading outwards. A real interesting phenomenon really, and sometimes Colt wondered if he'd every reclaim his tan. But, perhaps it was easier to just accept the change, he'd always went with the flow before, why was he thinking of fighting it now?

Colt's lazy day started off in the apartment he was staying in. Him and about 6 other kids ranging from 16 - 25. He had the day off from work, so that meant he got to sleep in. Some of the kids were up and about by 7am, going to off to school, going off the work. After the usual morning rush Colt was left alone again. He wasn't a particularly deep sleeper, but he had a knack for falling sleep when no one--or nothing--forced him out of his warm cocoon. When Colten was finally up and ready for the world is was already sometime near noon. He shared a blunt with some buddies, scrapped together a sandwich and shared it with the same group of people, grabbed his guitar, and walked out of the building.

On Colten's days off he usually played his guitar in front of the Blue Unicorn, in Buena Vista Park, or in Golden Gate Park. Colt didn't really like Golden Gate Park though, it was big, and sometimes you'd walk for hours if you didn't know where you were going. Of course, all the better for an adventure. A lot of kids wandered through the large park after dropping. There was a lot to see after all. Lately, Colt's been hearing whispers of something big getting ready to happen there. Which was probably why he subconsciously found himself wandering one end of the park, the one that was right off of Haight. There was no point in going too far, despite his adventurous spirit, Colt knew that he should stick close to home. Unlike back in Hale'iwa, Colten had responsibilities here. The apartment took care of each other, like a family.

There was a nice patch of grass Colten found himself sitting it. It was where he still sat now, some hours after he'd first arrived at the park. When he was at his highest, Colt had jammed on his guitar for whoever passed by. The children of Haight were usually friendly, sitting down to chat if they had time, then politely excusing themselves when duty called them east or west. It was a sure way to meet people. Now Colt was slowly sobering, moving into a more lethargic state. He had stretched out on the grass, and laid his guitar beside him to rest as well. He wasn't really sleeping, but he felt at rest either way. Dreamy blue eyes gazed upon the endless shield of clouds, unable to discern any significant shape in them.
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Gloria Davis
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The All American Girl
Guitars are always a good sign.

She goes for bassist more, personally. There is something sexy about a man who can keep beat and still go wild with rhythm. Mmm... Saxophones, that's another instrument, although that was more sensual, more of a curl of a finger and brush of a breath over your lips. That's what a saxophone did to a girl. And a bass set her up, let her find the melody and just keep the thrust of it, bucked against her with loud, forceful tunes and twists until she's wailing out yes, God, yes.

Guitarist were too handy, too into themselves. They wanted to be at the front of the stage and everyone else just fall behind and into tune. Some girls dig having guys with guitars. Gloria didn't get off on the whole ego scene.

Still, she's got a mission in mind, to help build this thing up from the roots of the grass and march it straight up into the sky. That kind of effort takes a whole lot of people with a whole lot of taste. It takes peaceniks and black panthers and musicians and dope heads. Yeah, it even takes the sort of boys who like to pretend to be men when they have command of a stage.

So, for that reason, guitars are good.

Gloria catches sight of the create across some little lump of grass. He's sprawled out, his guitar looks to be in better shape than him. Pretty normal state of things around here, it doesn't surprise her. The Haight attracts all sorts, but mostly the sorts who have dropped out of life, of fashion and jobs and clean showers depending on how far they've tuned in with the revolution. Gloria's gone a different way. She wears the bright, natural colors of his grandparent's people. She carries herself with confidence that they don't want her to have, that's how she says 'fuck the man' with each little step across the grassy knoll until she's up by this boy's side.

Staring down at him is a bit of a shock. She'd thought he'd be passed out on some trip. His eyes don't look like they come from reality, they're too far out there, but they're open. That's the surprise. Gloria leans over him, checking out this boy before she says a word. He's not a pig in disguise, waiting to catch a bust, she can tell that much. If he is, he's the best she's ever seen. He even smells the part of an artist.

"That your guitar?" Gloria asks, content with the fact that he's just some boy out in the park with his guitar. Only he isn't just some boy. She can see it in those eyes, so detached from the reality of the statues quo, his clothes not US issued but wild and unclean. Every bit of him is lazy revolutionist.
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Colten Lain
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The Child From Paradise
Nothing.

Nothing but shadows rolled across the sky. Shadows where the clouds were thicker than in other areas, light where they were thinner. It wasn't like watching the lazy scroll of turtles or hearts across an azure Hawaiian sky. Now that was a sight. This was...This was nothing. Yet in this nothingness, Colt found himself unable to look away. Sure the smell of pot clung to his skin, but that wasn't so strange. Especially in these parts.

He blinked lazily when he realized that a deeper shadow that fallen across him. New alertness flickered into his gaze, yet his eyes remained a smoky. A soft smile curled his lips when he saw the woman looking down at him. Her hair was dark, as was her skin. Right on. The small amount of light that managed to break cloud cover was eclipsed by her body and fancy clothing, and seemed to consume her in a halo. Or...at least that's what it looked like from Colten's angle.

Colt's momma always thought him to be a gentleman, but his childhood was a strange blend of etiquettes ranging from the dirty American south, to the exotic orient of Japan. One of Colt's best friends back on the island had been a young Japanese boy. Micah Yukimoto. He never been to Japan before, but his mother was born there, and Mrs. Yukimoto was a force to be reckoned with. So, for all the time that Colt spent at the Yukimoto residence, Micah's mom was pretty much his second mom--and vice versa. Hell, Colt was pretty sure he was learning Japanese faster than Micah.

Oh, but that was neither here nor there.

He raised himself up on his elbows, glancing over at his discarded guitar beside him, then back at the woman. Another slow easy smile crept across his face--almost cat-like in appearance. A lazy cat though. "That's my Sasha, yeah."

Yes, he named his guitar.

He tilted his head a little, studying the woman that had approached him. It was always nice to get to talking with a stranger. Colt saw it as a means of broadening his world. He didn't go to school like he should have, he barely even finished, so he just considered talking with people and listening to their stories the equivalent of listening to a lecture. "I dig your threads." He finally stated truthfully. The colors were attractive, and he could only assume it was some kind of tribal gig. Colten digged that a lot, he was from the tropics and there were plenty of tribal assortments there too.
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Gloria Davis
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The All American Girl
Gloria has a lot more to her than fashion, alright? And this is business, so she's not playing around - you can't get the nation to meet the demands of a thousand of thousand hurt voices if they're all laughing and covering up their pain, acting funny instead of acting up. Still, when this boy with his far out eyes and spacey smile says he likes her shirt, Gloria slips up on her own rules. She smiles.

"Thanks, boy. It's kente." She even goes as far as to say it all with a proud streak to her grin. She didn't make the shirt, she didn't even buy it, to be honest, it was a gift from her sister. But it's something wild, something she could never get away with wearing in some place like Kansas, and this boy, he looks like he could be from some place like Kansas or one of those other states where they don't allow anything that isn't of the wonder white bread variety. It doesn't even make sense, but she still smiles when he says he likes it.

There are more important things than white boys with taste in traditional fashion, Gloria reminds herself, and she gets down to it.

She starts by getting down on the grass. Let it never be said Gloria is one of those upper class, college girls whose afraid of staining her high priced jeans. For starters, this pair was ripped off some corporation that was using her brothers and sisters as near slaves, and they didn't deserve the pennies it took to put them together. Gloria isn't afraid of getting some dirt on her, no, that's part of the whole activist gig. Almost, it's part of what makes it so groovy, being a girl and being loud and being dirty and being so confident in it, loving it so much, that no one can say a Goddamn thing to make you ashamed of the tears and grass stains.

Hell, speaking of grass.

By the time she has her legs curled under herself, seated in front of this boy, she's got a joint curled in her fingers and she's holding it out, seeing if he has a light."Your Sasha?" She asks, eyebrow going up. When she was in Europe, she knew a Sasha. Nice guy, too, if a bit of a blow hard for communism. Gloria, she leans socialist, and Sasha just didn't know when to quit, or to keep his hands out of her pockets. "Well, you play him, then? Nothing worse than some white boy pretending he's Hendrix just to get laid," she points out, which is maybe more than she should say when she's going for diplomacy. Gloria has a problem that isn't a problem: she speaks the truth.
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Colten Lain
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The Child From Paradise
Kente. The word was foreign to him, and, like an open book, his confusion could be easily read upon his face. He only assumed that it would be some kind of organic material from a far off place, since the shirt itself looked organic and far out. It just wouldn't seem right for something like this girl's shirt to be made from processed fabrics and factory made, so that it looked like hundreds of others. No, Colt didn't seem to think that that would be right--call it an imbalance of the universe--but he was no clothing expert. It was just the vibe he got.

He watched her very carefully, but not because he was suspicious of her. Even if he should be, just because she was a stranger in an equally stranger land. No, that was not why Colt watched her movements so precisely. It was more because of the bud he had that morning--or early noon rather. He felt his attention focused, but his thoughts elusive. He watched and registered her movements with that dreamy grin on his face, childish and a tad stupid, but didn't really understand what she was aiming to do. This girl looked different from the usual dirty faces Colten saw in the area, faces that were very much similar to his own. She was different alright, from what the young man could gather. Another vibe perhaps. Although, it could have also been the way she carried herself so confidently, making her seem filled with purpose rather than the wayward wanderings of some restless teenage soul.

He gave his head a slight tilt when she was seated before him with a joint in the air. One of his hands reached into his dark board shorts--not the best choice of clothing considering the weather, but it was all Colt had--and pulled out his lighter. Emergency lighter, actually. He offered it to her, flicking the flame alive with dexterous fingers and holding it out for her. His grin widened, if that was possible, not even fearing if he may have looked creepy or strange.

Colten couldn't really hold back his laugh, and he had a habit of laughing whenever he felt like it. The type of boy who didn't care if the rest of the room was quite, so long as he found something funny. And Colt always seemed to find something funny. Call it immaturity, but he's rather fond of his strange island humor. Everything was worth joking about, because the days on the island were long and the sun was hot. Because the surf was good and the shaved ice was better. Life was supposed to be full of laughter.

"Sadly, my name's Colt, and I can only wish I was Hendrix. But I've been told I'm decent." he finally answered her with a confident grin, even if what he just said really didn't seem to have any amount of pride to the words if you looked at them separately. It was in his voice which, although an airy tenor, was strong and didn't leave signs of inadequacy. He was usually more proper in introductions, but given that this girl was trying to enjoy her joint, he should probably save the handshake for later.

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Gloria Davis
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The All American Girl
Gloria thinks him with a smile, taking a long draw from the joint. She tucks her hands up against her knees, letting the smoke just float out around them like San Francisco fog. "Well, that's good," she tells him, licks of smoke slipping out with each word, and then it's gone altogether. "No offense, you just don't look like Hendrix."

She holds the joint up some, offering it out to Colt. The modern day peace pipe, that's what it is. Her way of saying, look, even if I've fucked up so far, you can't get mad at me, I'm offering you some really sweet pot, and not making you pay a cent. That right there, that's an offer of love, that's a gift of peace, so you can't get too pissed. Gloria had to give away a lot of joints in her life, she knew how the system worked.

"But, so you do play, right?" She asks, scouting forward some, getting to the meat of her proposal. She looks this kid over again and wonders, is he connected? Does he have a band? Does he have friends in a band? Or is he just another guy who piked up a guitar for cheap and thought it was worth hanging onto? She doesn't have time to play up that style, she isn't here to flirt with some cat just because he's got a set of strings. Don't let the joint fool you, honey, this is a business meeting.

"You play around here at all? Ever go to any shows? Know the local circuit?" These were things Gloria wants to know, and she asked them without being shy about it. Some girls would be all coy, acting like they want to ball when really they're trying to make a deal. Gloria, she spoke up and made it clear what she wanted.
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