warmeryouth | With skin too tight and eyes like marbles, you spin me high. {Open}

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With skin too tight and eyes like marbles, you spin me high. {Open}

Bailey, much to the dismay of both his mother and his sister, has always been a morning person. No matter how late he crawls into bed, he finds himself up as soon as even an inkling of sun sneaks its way through his window. He's never minded, besides; the early morning hours prove something of a holy hour, during which he finds himself blessed with tides of inspiration.

He watches the tides this morning, standing at the very edge of the boardwalk, the sun just beginning its climb in the sky. The salty air bristles his skin and his lungs as he breathes it in; guitar strapped around his shoulder, he strums on the instrument a bit, letting the quiet melody blend with the cry of seagulls and the fervor of the waves as they rush onto shore. For once, he pours his siren abilities into his playing, to add to the lilting quality of the song as the lyrics start to from in his head.

He sings them as they come to him, the words flickering out into the world like the wings of uncertain sparrows. This is his calling in life, he knows. And not just because of his siren abilities. Music lives in his blood, and he relishes the beauty of it as it unfurls in his veins.

Siren Cove is where he's meant to be, he realizes, as his fingers stir more fervently on his instrument and his song takes flight to greater heights. There is magic to this place beyond that of sirens and witches; a magic only music can really translate.

So in the early morning hours, he stands. And he sings.

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No matter how she tried to let herself sleep in, the first rays of morning came in through her window to warm her and called her to the day. She began the way she always did, stepping out to her forest and digging her toes into the dirt and fallen leaves, connecting with the earth. It felt different this morning, more, like there was something else pulling at her.

Waving that off as lack of sleep talking, Brigid dressed for the day and walked along the beach towards the shop. She was a few blocks away when she heard it, the guitar and the voice, and walked in that direction. She didn't call attention to herself, she just sat, closed her eyes, and listened.

Bailey lets the song sweep through him for as long as he feels the melody; he can already feel new blisters forming on his fingers, and his grin only widens at the sensation. His voice never wavers as the words spill from him, as though the water below him conjured their presence. The morning air chills him, even with his leather jacket, but he doesn't let that bother him. Not when he has a song to play.

He only turns around when he finishes, which is when he catches sight of Brigid, sitting nearby with her eyes closed. Warmth flushes through his cheeks when he realizes she must have been listening.

"Hello," he swings his guitar over his shoulder with a practiced ease, before joining her on the bench. She looks breathtaking in the morning light, and so he leans in and kisses her in greeting. "I take it you liked the song?"

"Aye, I did," Brigid returned, eyes still closed as the morning sun washed over them both and his kiss still tingled on her lips. "And it's a wonderful way t'start the day I must say. Ye've a great talent, Bailey, and it's m'privilege t'hear it."

She finally opened her eyes and met his, a smile curving her lips.

"Thank you," he tells her, warmth filling him at her words. It means the world to him that she likes his music, and he hopes she realizes how much he values her opinions. "That means a lot, really. Music is to me like clay is to you, I think."

He grins when she meets his gaze. "How soon do you have to get to the shop?"

"I have no doubt of that. And ye work it with the same skill, I think."

Brigid's smile grew wider. "Now that would be th'benefit of workin in yer own place. I can get t'the shop whenever I get there. If Kennedy arrives first, she'll open. I do th'same if I do. We keep artists hours," she added with a wink. "What did ye have in mind?"

"Artists hours, I like the sound of that," Bailey says with a grin, holding out his hand. "Would you like to take a walk on the beach? I was thinking it's such a nice morning for it. And other things, perhaps." He blushes to his ears, but his eyes sparkle with mischief.

"Other things, perhaps?" Brigid asked with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky smile. "I b'lieve I've mentioned it b'fore, but I do like the way ye think, luv."

Brigid slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. "I would love t'take a walk on the beach with ye."

"See? My mind is good for something besides music," he says, squeezing her hand back before helping her to her feet; he begins to lead them down the boardwalk, in the direction of the shore just below. "And there's nothing like a walk on the beach in the wee hours, is there?"

"You're mind is good for many things," Brigid nodded, walking with him down to where the water could call to them both. "Unless it's when th'moon is high and the stars are out. That's m'favourite time t'walk along the water. I love it th'most when I stay out walkin so long I get t'greet the sun as it rises."

"Yes," Bailey agrees when they reach the edge of the water. He pauses briefly to rid himself of his shoes, tossing them over his shoulder before walking in the water, letting the waves lap at his feet. He squeezes her hand again. "Nothing quite being by the water beneath the stars or just as the sun rises, is there?"

"I wish ye could see it where I'm from, back home on th'west coast of Ireland. Not a city light fer miles off, just the cliffs and th'sound of the waves crashin into them." She laughed a little, a memory coming back to her. "When I was a wee thing, I would get all wound up about why th'sea wasn't warmer when th'sun was touchin it. No matter how much they tried, they couldn't get it through m'thick head."

"That must be beautiful," he admits, trying to picture her home as she describes; he's positive his imagination, great though it may be for lyrics and songs, could never amount to the real sights to be seen from Ireland.

"So you've always been a handful, then?" He asks, eyes twinkling as she recalls more mischief from her youth.

"Aye, I have," Brigid laughed and gave him a little nudge sideways. "Didn't help I was raised with a whole lot of even worse handfuls. M'brother Liam once pulled heat from our bonfire into the water where m'feet were when the sun came up and I was positive after that I was right an th'rest were bloody well wrong. I was all of five at the time and indignant with it."

Bailey laughs with her, unable to contain such an infectious sound as she tells him of her family. He nudges back playfully before replying. "Sounds like your family really knows how to keep each other on their toes," he tells her. He thinks of his sister then, how often they would play together like that when they were younger.

"Dunno that ye'd find a closer family. I've been tryin t'get them t'come over and visit, but so far I'm gettin a load of excuses," Brigid smiled, not worried because she knew she'd wear them down eventually. Her mother, though, she could really use; especially if she doesn't stop with the sleeping problems.

"Tell me somethin about young Bailey then," she prompted, moving a little closer to grin up at him.

"I'm sure they'll make their way over here," he tells her. "I find that the louder the grumbling, the more they actually want to visit; they just might not be able to find the time yet." He thinks of his sister then, of her endless promises to come visit him. She hasn't, yet, but he also knows she has a new girlfriend in her life, and so, she's understandably busy.

"Young Bailey was definitely not an angel," he laughs, recalling his various adventures as a child. "I used to climb trees and fences myself, much to my mother's dismay; my sister and I would chase the garbage trucks down the road, too."

Brigid giggled as her mind conjured images of the young Bailey at play in the limbs of a tree. "I can see ye doin just that. Reckon m'mam would have appreciated that a bit more as broken bones are easier to mend than a wee girl comin home with half the garden on her clothes and in her hair. Have ye just the one sister or are their others?"

OOC: I apologize so much for how late this is! I've been struggling with my character load, but I'm better able to concentrate on Bailey now. Again, I'm sorry for how late this is. D:

"Just the one," he says, thinking of her now with a grin. "We're best friends; she's still mad at me for leaving New York, though. How about you? Any siblings?"

"Aye, I have. Five of them. Four sisters and a brother," Brigid smiled easily, prepared for the reaction she'd grown accustomed to when mentioning her large family. "Anna's th'oldest, then Liam, Siobhan, Collette, and Maggie. M'mother would have had another six if she'd been able t'manage it, now she just helps delivers every one else's."

She missed them a great deal and it showed in her voice.

"Wow," Bailey lets out a whistle. "Sounds like a full house." He can't say that he's never thought of having other sisters and brothers, but as he grew up with Adelaide, he realized he didn't need any other siblings; they became each other's best friends. "Have you talked with them recently?" He asks, catching the note of pain in her voice. "I know that talking on the phone helps me when I miss my sister."

"I ring home a few nights a week, on the computer, and speak with whomever is at the house, or I ring them directly. It's a good connection, but it's not quite the same as bein there, ye know? Doesn't help that I'm the youngest of the lot and they're overprotective."

Brigid looked around as if suddenly remembering where they were. "We're not getting much bowlin done, now, are we?"

"Yeah, there's nothing like actually seeing the person in real life," he says with a nod. "Especially when you haven't seen them in awhile."

Bailey glances to where she looks and laughs. "Not much of anything, really. I didn't realize we were bowling on the beach."

It perhaps doesn't count as being up early when you haven't gone to sleep yet. Old habits die hard, and besides, Wren's always loved the golden, fleeting hours just before and after sunset and sunrise best. If that makes him a little nocturnal sometimes, so be it. Working out problems or getting invested in new interests at three in the morning doesn't bother anyone.

He's already fed and walked the dog in the first touches of dawn, and restless, he heads out to see his new home wake up, with his acoustic slung over his shoulder just in case. The waves are beautiful, and a little dangerous, defiant: equally soothing and deadly, and he likes that.

But it's the sound of music on the air that calls him, and he finds himself drawn in as he catches sight of the young man watching the sea and singing. The song is like and unlike the music he's been thinking of: not the same kind, but something linked into this place and the sea. He's talented and his voice is strong, but more than that Wren can tell he loves it. He pauses, behind him, just enjoying being caught up by music, by someone else's impromptu playing for one of the few times since he's left New York.

On an impulse, he swings his guitar into his hands and very quietly, with a bit of a playful eyebrow raise, works in a harmony line to the young man's melody. To Wren, it's meant as a better greeting than interrupting him.

Edited 2014-09-27 16:09 (UTC)

Bailey stops singing when he hears the second instrument, but his fingers only fly with more determination over the strings. He grins in response to the other man's quirked eyebrow, gladly accepting the addition to the song; his harmony brings additional life to the tune, makes Bailey want to dance around the boardwalk like a complete buffoon. Luckily, he pours his intentions into the music instead.

From the way the other man plays, Bailey can tell he appreciates music as a craft; his harmony echoes with a sense of passion, the kind that one harbors for years. It isn't the same music Bailey himself is so fond of, but it's brilliant, and he enjoys hearing the way it sounds with his own.

"Does everyone in Siren Cove walk around with the guitars? I must say, that is pretty nifty," Bailey comments once the song dies down, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

Wren grins when the man doesn't startle or stop, delighted at having someone to play with, and the way the tune takes on a life of its own, winding and dancing. He leans into the beat of it a little bit, coming closer to pick up on his energy and play off it. It makes him miss Rian and Lex, a little painfully, but in a way that's better than pretending he doesn't.

"Actually, when I moved here, they handed me a guitar and let me know it was recommended I keep it with me at all times," Wren deadpans. "That wasn't in your welcome kit?" He suspects, at least, from the phrasing that the man's newish here too. He smiles. "To be honest, you're the first other person I've run into, especially at this hour. But luckily so, your playing is beautiful." He shoulders the guitar and holds out a hand. "I'm Wren."

"Damn, wish I'd gotten here when they were giving out guitars," he replies with a knowing grin and a laugh. "All I got was a coupon for a free coffee from the Quill. And the coffee here can't compare to New York." Bailey finds himself greatly enjoying hanging around a fellow musician. He'd, of course, fooled around in a band with his friends back home, but never in a serious way; he enjoys the sheer fun of such an improvised moment of collaboration.

"Yeah, I don't tend to meet too many other morning people around here," Bailey admits with a sheepish grin. "And thank you. Your playing is wondrous as well." He shakes the other man's hand with a grin. "I'm Bailey. It's great to meet you, Wren."

Wren raises his eyebrow. "No, it can't," he says. "Are you from New York? I lived there for --" he makes a face at dating himself. "Years. Funny us running into each other here. Whereabouts?"

He nods in thanks for the compliment. "It's a pleasure, Bailey. Thank you for humoring my harmonies there, it's been a while since I had someone to play with."

"New York's a big place," Bailey replies with a smile and a shrug. "I grew up in the suburbs of New York City, nothing especially glamorous. Still, the best coffee and pizza I've ever had." He always misses home when he mentions it, and now is no exception. He misses his family's small apartment, his mother and his sister who still occupy it.

"Well, I'm always around to play again, if you ever want to have a jam session some time," he offers. "It's nice getting to meet fellow musicians here."

"That's part of the charm, really," Wren smiles back. "Don't worry, sharing a one bedroom with two other people isn't particularly glamorous either. I lived near the Bowery for a really long time. I do miss the pizza. And fresh garlic bagels." He's going to have to take a road trip sometime. There's a lot about NYC he misses.

"It is. I'll hold you to that," Wren nods, then smirks a little mischievously. "Do you have a number, Bailey, or should I just come down to the sea at dawn and wait for you to appear?"

"I can only imagine," he says, shaking his head. He'd had to share a room with his sister, but it had been at least marginally big enough in space for them to be able to mark off their own sides. "Hmm. Yeah, don't remind me about the bagels. The ones here are shit." He likes The Quill well enough; quaint, cute little coffee shop that is. But New York had better food.

"Your best bet is probably the sea at dawn," he chuckles, finding a scrap piece of paper and pen to write his number on. He scratches out said number before giving it to Wren. "But I do answer my phone, too."

Raleigh's been getting up early for years; before the bakery it'd been for classes, before classes it'd been for work. Since she'd been in Siren Cove, it's 3 or 4 AM almost every day, but now that she's working on building her own bakery instead of working at the Seaside, she tries not to get started until it's a little later, letting herself start after dawn.

That leaves her some downtime, and usually she goes to sit on the boardwalk with a cup of coffee from the Quill, but today she walks along the boardwalk and she just hears somebody singing, and it sort of takes her breath away. It's the music and the guitar, but she just sort of stands there, not realising her coffee's going to go cold. She's wrapped in an old sweatshirt over her shorts - there's just enough chill in the air that she's realised that she can't just do a tanktop anymore, but not so much she has to do real pants as well. Normally, she'd leave him be, she'd keep walking but keep an ear out for the music, but she just... it's so beautiful, she's just kind of stuck.

Bailey lets the song wind down as the sun begins to rise in the sky, drawing out the last notes with a yawn-like ease. He always feels the most alive during these early morning hours, letting the increasing light wash over him along with the salt from the sea. Perhaps a bit cliched in the world of men with guitars, but Bailey can't bring himself to care; he takes comfort in the familiar, after all.

When he turns to put his guitar away, he catches sight of the young woman watching him and he blushes.

"Well, I hope you enjoyed the show?" He calls out, wondering if she's cold, just standing there in shorts.

It's when the music finally stops - it stops, the silence descends, and then he speaks - that's when the silence is broken with a crack. She actually blinks, like she's coming back to herself, and she tugs the sleeves of her sweatshirt down over her hands when she suddenly realises they're cold.

She's had this problem, ever since the... incident, months ago. She's cold. She's always cold, she can't get warm; even in the heights of summer, in the evening or early morning she'll be wrapped up in a hoodie of some sort, and summer's a long way away, now.

"I- Sorry, I just- That was beautiful." Raleigh takes a cautious step forward; she's the most on-edge this time in the morning; the greenish-gold of the rising sunlight reminds her of unpleasant memories, and it makes her twist briefly to look behind her before she moves close enough that he doesn't have to raise his voice to talk. "Do you do this every morning?" She hasn't seen him before, but she doesn't make it down to the docks all that often. Her coffee's gone a bit cold, but she takes another sip of it anyway, the sea breeze tugging at her blond hair.

"Yeah, pretty much," he answers with a small smile and a shrug. He's a morning person, right down to his bones; he sleeps better when he's been out in the dawn light, strange as it sounds. "And thank you. I've been practicing for awhile now."

He glances at her, notices how she seems to be trying to get warm.

"Are you alright? You look a little cold," he observes.

Moving closer, Raleigh shifts to stand on the edge of the dock - far enough away that she's not crowding him, but she can rest her hands and her coffee on the railing. "You can really tell that you've practiced. I can't believe I haven't heard it before, but... if you don't mind, I'll make sure to keep an ear out more often."

She smiles, even though it fades a little when he remarks on her looking cold. "I'm- I mean, I'm always cold, it's no big deal." She shrugs, and looks back out at the ocean before she takes a breath, her smile back when she looks over at him. "I'm Raleigh, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

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With skin too tight and eyes like marbles, you spin me high. {Open}

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