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[acaseofyou]

they say that death is a tragedy it comes once, and it's over

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[noreasonneeded]

Given the conversation topic, he's not surprised that her eyes remain averted to the record spinning, going in circles as the songs plunge forward. His fingers stop tapping as he listens to her talk instead, unveiling a little more about her family past. A year out of a sibling's violent death, he can imagine she was still in a raw place. He gets it, that frustration and rage. He's seen many people die because nobody would help them, nobody would listen. Bodies being nothing more than trash on one's doorstep to wipe aside when walking their narrow paths. His heart aches that Birdie knows that pain all too well herself. People being considered nothing more than pawns used as fodder for politics, power, or pleasure. It was devastating, whether met overseas or in one's backyard.

He's quiet after she shares about Sam, there doesn't seem to be much that could be said in his mind. The loss of a brother is, unfortunately, not something even he has the power to fix. Not that she's asking him to, but thinking like that is his natural instinct.

"Things that don't come out of you, you mean complimentary personalities?" He can relate to that if so, he's certainly surrounded himself with people who make up for areas he lacks. Though there's overlap still in certain areas, such as having good work ethics and some semblance of morals.

Not to leave the rest of what she'd shared hanging, he adds after another pause, "Also, I can't blame you for trying. With the protests, and the songs. Doing whatever you thought you could to get heard. Sometimes it doesn't always work. Or it takes years, or lifetimes. Most people only care to change when it affects them personally, and that's unfortunately true for people in power, too. Getting through to them... well. It rarely happens quickly. Your music still means something, though. And I think it could inspire those that do hear it."

[acaseofyou]

It's a tragic kind of memory. More so than she usually shares, though she doesn't get as deep as the violence of it. Birdie prefers to remember him without the trip wire and the explosion--they hadn't even really learned about it until well after it'd happened. It's the violence, though, of him being sent there to begin with that follows her around, that haunts the record still playing. She could go on about it, about how much it was, how terrible and how constant, but talking about Sam is enough for the night.

"Something like that." At this point, with quiet and a change of direction, she's able to look at him again. "And something deeper. Complementary is part of it, but there's things that are the same. Notes can be different and go well together and it's harmony, but it's more like matching pitch." When she struggles, Kaz has probably noticed how she retreats back to music. "A way people resonate with how they are, beneath all the things we do."

For a moment, Birdie considers what it is she just rambled off and shakes her head with a small smile. "If you managed to follow any of that, you deserve a commendation."

The rest of what he says settles over her in pieces, not unlike a blanket. For all he can intimidate and glower, he's got his way with words that need to be heard. "You're right, change is hard and long. I've seen it happen in inches over decades, but it does happen." A slow craw, always, but she could list things off that have ended, that have gotten better, that still need work. She smiles, small but genuine. "I do like to think my music helped, at least a little. And if you're inspired, I'll consider sharing it a success."

[noreasonneeded]

The lack of eye contact is less worthy of note to Kaz, he completely understands why it can be difficult in times of personal unveiling. That her eyes land on the record player is more relevant to him, though not surprising that Birdie would find it a source of comfort. Her words follow a similar path, clinging to notes and harmonies that make sense and express what might otherwise be incomprehensible. It matters less that he can fully parse out the meaning than it does for her to express it. That she’s doing so to him. Much like Kaz finds firm ground in numbers and figures upon which to stride, she sways to music only she can hear, neither of them remaining still or silent for long. That much, he fully connects with her.

When she looks at him, he gives a little nod of encouragement that he’s with her. She’s still got one foot at least in the present and he can follow where she’s heading with her words. “What manifests on the surface might differ, but what drives those acts are a collective pool from which all resonate?” If so, he can get behind that. There are a set of emotions and needs that drive all actions, though how those actions manifest can differ. A song about grief or love can connect many people to it, even if their reaction then to the music or how they act on that emotion can vary. And sometimes, those variances or differences can make something greater rather than act against one another.

The smile might be slight and small, but it still tugs at him. It’s nice sometimes, in the darker recesses of his being, to know that he can bring out something positive in those around him. That it isn’t all merely teaching people near him how to fight and survive, not just handing them chances to save themselves. Birdie already knows well enough how to do that. What else he can offer people beyond that and a day’s pay he’s figuring out, so used to just encouraging purposes that align with his own. “Plus, it’s not over yet,” he teases. “You have plenty of time to keep influencing with your music. The world still needs plenty of work. Rest is for worse than the wicked, it’s for the boring and useless.”

[acaseofyou]

Sometimes, after their conversations, Birdie wonders about how much more open she gets to be. Never in the moment, though. In the moment it simply is what it is, a perfectly strange inversion of how she usually operates, all her physicality of affection replaced with near complete honesty marred by choice omissions more for the benefit of others than herself.

He is, though, very good at getting her to smile. There's more to him than the things he can do, but this is her favorite.

"Yeah," and that smile widens when Kaz explains about the surface and the pool. "Just like that." Granted, those collective pools are harder to find than the surface, but she holds onto them much as she can when she finds them in people. Kaz is one of them, much to her own personal satisfaction.

The music keeps on, but the mood around it is brighter than before. Or, at least less melancholy after Kaz has his say about it. He's right, there's always work to be done, always a new song ahead to sing. Maybe not right from her, but from someone. "No, it's not over yet. And the boring and useless at the top can come tumbling down eventually."

[noreasonneeded]

While he’s only a very beginner at playing music, he’s always liked the phrase in tune. He’s not above scavenging language like he does other parts when it makes sense, and the analogy of the term fits so well in different settings. Kaz has always felt in tune with reading a person’s wants and needs, with figuring out what makes them tick. It’s not foolproof, but for a person who’s closed himself off to emotions for so much of his life, he’s seen the value in understanding those of others. Birdie’s had years of experience fitting into different eras and worlds, but she’s been open enough with him to pick up on what she’s been willing to share. At the very least, he’s made the effort to follow along, and she’s one of the rare cases of being his friend to where he doesn’t plan on using it against her.

The mood in the room shifts, bringing a new hue to the songs playing. He’s never much sought to find nuance in musical sounds, but he can appreciate the layers that songs provide depending on what a person is bringing to their side of listening to them. “I’m certainly ready for such a fight. Don’t know who I’d be without one, and I’m fine not finding out.” It’s mostly true. There are moments where his past makes him doubt the violent man he’s become, but by and large, Kaz is settled into the role he willingly fills. Into what he can accomplish as Dirtyhands, as a Brekker.

He rolls his cane between his fingers in time to the tune, still perched sitting on the edge of his desk. She’s not staring at the record player, not as seemingly lost in another time as she had been a few moments ago. She’s sharing a piece of her with him, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. It hasn’t come without a price, and he gets that, too. “I’m gonna get greedy now, though. When you put out new songs, you’ll have to let me know if it’s not in Ketterdam. Send a text, or a news article, about how people rallied against the dying of the night while listening to a certain protest song. Long as I’m around I’ll listen. It might do both of us some good.”