Logs:Cowpunk Improv

Cowpunk Improv
Dramatis Personae Astrid, Gaétan	2020-10-30 “This is information that would have been great in some sort of handbook for new arrivals, right?”
Location <XAV> Treehouse - Xs Grounds
Built by enterprising students of yesteryear, this treehouse has weathered generations of Xaviers' students coming up here to study -- or escape from studying. A cozy retreat, its wood planks are sturdy and well-sanded, fit snug together to keep out draft. Snacks occasionally find their way up here, and the roof keeps the rain off well enough to pass a night -- so long as the teachers don't catch any students at it. For anyone agile enough to make the jump, a lucky leap juuust might carry them from here to the school rooftop, so long as they're careful of the drop... The evening is chill, desultory flurries sputtering from the sky but not sticking on the ground -- maybe not the perfect weather for tucking yourself in the unheated treehouse, but Gaétan doesn't seem bothered. He's ensconced himself out here with his bass guitar and a large thermos of tea, warm enough for now in thick corduroys, boots, a heavy green and black flannel. There's music spilling out onto the grounds, an intricate and lively melody that his laptop, open beside him, is capturing as he plays. The cold weather is never a deterrent for Astrid as she heads outdoors with her banjo in tow. The instrument is strapped across her back, the weight of the neck slanting downward while the headstock bobs closer and closer to the ground with each step. The flurries are almost enough to end this thought, but then she hears the music coming from the treehouse. Curiosity being too much for her to ignore, she heads up into the structure to scope things out. She’s dressed in layers - a dark brown raincoat covering all but the black hood nestled like a Russian doll inside the outer layers hood, dark blue jeans and a pair of dark brown Danner hiking boots. She gives a quick nod to Gaétan before plopping down onto the floor of the tree house, banjo moved around to rest in her lap. Gaétan glances up as Astrid enters, though he doesn't, at first, stop his playing. He gets a few measures further, brow scrunching when he finally lays the guitar across his lap, squinting down at his screen. Then up at Astrid. "Yo." His fingers flex, squeeze together, flex again. "I know I should be inside but I could not deal with meatloaf again." He glances towards her banjo, a smile lighting his face -- brief, but genuine. "Hey cool, I didn't know you played." Astrid remains quiet, listening as Gaétan finishes playing his melody. Her eyes briefly fall over to the laptop, before ending back on the bass playing teen with a toothy grin. “Hey.” She responds, watching as he flexes his fingers. “Ah, it’s not that cold. Plus I’m not sure I’ve had the meatloaf enough yet to deem it worthy of chasing me out. Should I expect that my second year?” The grin grows wider. “Oh, yeah, this…” She looks down at her instrument. “Been playing for a little while now. Try to find places to play that won’t bother anyone. How about you?” She gestures towards the guitar in his lap. "Oh yeah. Miss Savita's a great cook, but -- not when she tries to do boring stuff." Gaétan's nose wrinkles. His head bobs along as Astrid mentions trying to find a place to play. "Here during mealtimes. The boathouse is good -- a lot of the time, it's usually quiet." He gestures over one shoulder, presumably off in the direction of the lake. "Just farther. I've -- been playing since always, I think. My family always kinda... well, s'hard to remember." He looks toward the banjo again, his fingers drumming lightly against the body of his bass. "Can I hear?" “This is information that would have been great in some sort of handbook for new arrivals, right?” Adjusting her glasses, Astrid offers up a lazy shrug. “At least I now know to avoid the mundane choices.” She leans forward, nodding along in acknowledgement of the quiet places to sneak off to and play her instrument. “Thanks for the tips. I’ll try not to steal your favorite places, but no promises.” She cracks another smile. “Musical family then? That’s cool. It’s just my younger sister and I that play any instruments in my family.” She picks up the banjo, and as requested starts plucking away. There are a couple false starts, but eventually she gets going with a paced rhythm reminiscent of old-time folk music. “Sorry, forgot to grab my finger picks.” She adds once the music stops. "But whenever there's Indian food on the menu it's like. Better than any restaurant. They really should let current students write the welcome pack." Gaétan's nose wrinkles up; he's a little dismissive when he says, "They're, like -- theatre people." He falls quiet as Astrid plays, head bobbing along to the rhythm and his fingers tapping noiselessly in the air. He hefts his bass back into position when she's done. "I like that. Can you do it again?" “Good Indian food? Now that is something to note.” Astrid smiles and let’s lose an awkward laugh. Then she nods twice in quick succession when asked if she can repeat what was just played. “You betcha.” The instrument is momentarily placed in her lap as balled hands are raised close to her mouth and breath applied for warmth. Once fingers are sufficiently warmed, the banjo is pulled back up and the fingers in her left hand begin to deftly pluck away at the strings in the claw hammer technique. Her concentration falls to her right hand that attends to the frets across the neck. There is no false start this time, and once comfortable, her eyes settle back on Gaétan. For a moment, Gaétan watches Astrid's fingers plucking, curious interest in his expression and a small twitch of smile on his lips. He lets the tune wash over him, then closes his eyes, his fingers curling against his own frets as he joins in, weaving a harmony to in among the tune that Astrid plays. For a time he keeps up the deft improvisation until it breaks down in a soft burst of laughter that puffs out in a cloudy breath in front of him, guitar set down and his hands cupping together held close to his chest. "Oh man," his voice is bright and cheerful, before he reaches for his thermos, "that might be easier, like, inside." Astrid stops playing as soon as Gaétan does, reciprocating the burst of laughter. “No kidding!” She blurts out. “I think cold is making everything twice as stiff as usual.” She breaths on her hands again and rapidly runs each finger into the matching thumb trying to get some blood flowing. “That was really good.” She lays her banjo in her lap. “Seriously. Way better than me.” She pauses, biting into her bottom lip. “Hey, can you play double bass too?” "That was good. I really like your style. That folksy kinda... I don't know if you've played with Harm at all, but if not you should do." Gaétan takes a long swig of tea and re-caps his thermos. "Oh, man, no. I mean I've tried but it was horrible. Might be cool to study it for real, though. Orchestra might be fun." He sets the thermos down beside him, hands rubbing together. "We should definitely do that again. Like, with heat. And maybe calories? I've pretty much only had caffeine and skittles since breakfast." He sounds very unabashed about this dietary choice. “Thanks.” The words fall out of Astrid’s lips in an uncharacteristically soft manner. “My grandparents are really into old country, so I grew up listening to a ton of it. My parents not so much.” Her eyes light up at the mention of playing with Harm. “You are not the first person to bring that up. Didn’t get to play, but did catch Cassy do a crazy rendition of The Rite of Spring all by herself.” She pauses long enough to mess with her glasses again. “We should all get together and jam. Maybe start some sort of cow-punk folk band.” She laughs at her own words and clearly is not at all embarrassed by her self amusement. “You should.” She comments on Gaétan studying the double bass and then playing again somewhere warmer. “And we definitely should.” "Holy crap like, every instrument?" Gaétan's expression lights, impressed. He closes his laptop, slipping it back into his backpack. The thermos, too. "Cowpunk. I could dig it. You're from Portland, right? I grew up in Queens." His grin is quick. "Harm's probably the only one of us with an actual claim to being country. Still. Sound good enough and who'll care." He hefts his backpack onto a shoulder, closing the guitar into its case before he starts toward the ladder. "Gonna at least try to find a vegetable tonight. Wanna come with?" “Yeah, it’s pretty wild. I’d hate to volunteer her to do it again, but, you know, I totally will.” Astrid is clearly very amused with herself as she laughs. “Yep, from good old Pdx.” Each letter is pronounced. “That reminds me, I need to bug Harm to tell me all about the commune...” Suddenly her tone shifts to pure excitement. “Oh, so you are essentially local then? That’s cool. I still need to get down to the city. I’ll have to pick your brain when the opportunity pops up.” Standing up, Astrid swings the banjo back around to exactly where it was when she first showed up. “It’s a deal then. We can discuss band names over some eats.” Her wise toothy grin reappears.