"...I try and control what I can, and let go of what I can't," charlie smiles, his deft hands scrubbing out the inside of a bar-glass as he explains himself to clemency, the latest fascinating stranger to walk in off the street. new york may be the city that never sleeps, yet cafe fortune provides a well-hidden solace for those who are fortunate enough to discover it among the metropolitan bustle.
"honestly? at the end of the day, I'm just glad I have a small slice of the world to call my own," he hums, a familiar, self-deprecating laugh leaving his lips as he gestures around the cozy space. louis armstrong rasping softly on the record player. the well-worn wooden stage and varnished countertop. the ever-present scent of coffee and musty sheet music hanging in the air. and his little black cat, luck be a lady, stretching languidly in the windowsill. charlie turns his attention back to the glass. "...what brings you to the big apple, miss...?"
late nights at the cafe often turned philosophical, reflective...and such idle musing is always better with company.
It is not yet clear to Clemency Payne what has brought her here, though she has her theories. Had it been the warm light cutting into the darkness of the early evening sky, the signage in front like a prophecy, a promise of music printed rather than scrawled by her own hand, or the serenade of Satchmo calling to her like an old friend?
In any case, she perches now on one of many chairs in the café, her purchase resting on the table beside her. She has exchanged heavy skirts and wool for sheer fabric and crushed velvet in the interest of camouflage, but she carries herself with the same elegance and poise. Her hands rest in her lap, her ankles are crossed, and although ruby lips move as he speaks to mouth while I'm alone and as blue as can be, dream a little dream of me, no sounds come out.
Despite the impression she may give, she is giving as much attention to his words as she is to the music. When he gestures out to the room, she smiles.
" I often find myself feeling the same way. One must have a space in which they can be themselves in order to properly function. " Her manor, as haunted as she is, stands three thousand miles away. There are seldom few places where she can take as full a breath or sleep as deeply.
" Mrs. Clemency Payne, thank you. "
Her answer to his question requires a beat of consideration, during which she studies her long nails. The truth: it had been a century and a half since she had last graced the States with her presence. She has been itching to step outside of the constraints of her world. She was curious to see the skyscrapers for herself. She wanted to see if that portrait she had modeled for so long ago had actually made its way to display at the Met, or if she had been lied to.
" That is a good question. " There is a bit of humor in her voice, as if she isn't quite sure of the truth herself and, yet, she continues. " I suppose you could say that I am interested in the arts and culture, though I am rather curious about the nightlife, as well. "
❧ @charliesgotchops ( charlie. )