socialcapital | [ JACKSON HEART ]

"Yeah! Or, well, I can write anywhere if I have a notebook and a pen, but this is the best place to actually practice."

Are you mostly by yourself?

He looks slightly embarrassed.

"Well, I have some friends, but they're not into music as much so I usually write by myself. But once I have some solid songs I'm going to try to meet some other music people!"

I think, if you've had enough passion and dedication to come this far on your own, you aren't going to have any problems at all finding people who want to share that journey with you.

I'm not a music person either. But I can tell this is something you love.

"I hope so! I have a lot of songs I want to share with people. Obviously a band first, but then once we have a band, the sky's the limit, right?"

He swings his legs a little where he's sitting on the stool, excited and energetic.

The sky is where you find the stars. Isn't it?

He laughs in the way you might laugh at a bad joke you did find genuinely funny regardless.

"Ooooh, corny."

And this is why not all of us are as suited to writing poetry. Regardless of whether it's the kind set to music or not.

"A lot of lyrics are corny! It's not too late for you!"

Perhaps. But the roads I want to travel lead in other directions.

Still... if you have an extra page or two, would you be willing to write down the first verse for me? So that if I ever hear it again, I'll remember the day our paths crossed like this.

"Ah, sure! That's no problem, I have it memorized."

He pulls out his notebook and starts writing quickly.

Is there anything I could offer you in return?

"For writing down some words...? I don't need anything for that! If anything, it makes me happy you liked it enough to wanna keep part of it!"

They're not just "some words". They're your words.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna put them out there because I wanna share them, y'know?"

I know. Then, for that path, I'll just wish you the best I can.

Good journeys, Totality. May your shoes always be up to the roads you'll tread.

"Wah, Sun Sign even has special themed see-you-laters... I don't think we have those so- so! Um! You too! That thing too but for you!"

[He holds out his hand for the paper.]

You're with Siren's Melodies, aren't you?

"May it always be good publicity."

He puts the paper in Satin's hand triumphantly.

"I've heard there's no bad kind. Hehe. But yeah, that!"

[He takes it with the gravity of someone receiving something precious, and rises.]

Good luck with your practice. If the one you work on next turns out anything like this, I think you'll be just fine.

He kicks his legs some more.

"If I make it big I'll invite you to a show!"

I'll look forward to it.

[He heads to the door, closing it softly behind him.

... and stays there a moment, hand flat against the door frame.]

For now... keep this moment and all its dreams just as they are.

The vibes in this area ARE good. The feeling in the air is excitement and passion and anticipation. They only dull a little bit as the door closes, that's how saturated they are.

Also you got the song lyrics!

[He tucks that page away, lingering a bit to appreciate this time for everything it is -- like the garden in that other childhood, something sweet and precious and holding an innocence long lost to time.

And then he heads back, following the signs to the dressing area.]

This area... this area. It was evident as soon as he entered, but the emotions here permeate the air in a way he would probably be able to feel even if he had no specific sense for darkness. In the rest area they were light and giddy, but the closer he gets to the dressing room area the more everything feels almost saturated.

These are old emotions, blunted by time and distance, but digging under the surface does make them feel fresher. It's the exhaustion so deep it's turned into despair. Something bleak and inescapable, the furious agony of a trapped animal, the miserable exhaustion of a swimmer who's realized they're too far from land to even know how to make for safety, of a wanderer in the frozen woods who wants more than anything to just lie down in the snow. To give up. To stop. To stop. To stop.

The guards in this section almost seem more concerned with keeping someone in than keeping you out, and barely notice you. Near the door to the dressing room is a man in a suit, talking on the phone. He bears vague family resemblance to Jackson, and is arguing with someone on the other end of the call -

"No, you don't have to worry about it. Whatever it was you sent over last time shut him up for hours. ... Well, no, obviously we made sure it was safe. ... No, listen, we have medics on staff, we're not about to make pâté out of a goose's still layin', y'know? We wanna keep him happy. Ish. Yeah, yeah..."

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