December 1st. Three P.M., Eastern Standard Time. 

Clouds swirled above the concrete jungle's canopy, bringing the chill of winter and the threat of snow. Below, the ants scattered the streets, wrapped up tightly in scarves and jackets and hats and gloves, breathing out clouds of mist as they sighed at nothing in particular or laughed with their friends. The asphalt was chilled, gleaming in the sunless light as the boots that trotted over each pothole attempted to stay steady on the somewhat icy patches that coated the road. In the streets, hulking beasts honked and groaned, still as death as their colors, dulled by salt and exhaust, reflected off storefront windows and coated Alphabet City in faded reds and grays and blues. 

Garbage bags and homeless gathered against buildings and alleyways. Dirty blankets and patched clothing covered the begging folks, and as they shivered through their clothing, they held out cans and boxes and signs and all seemed to groan in a similar way. They were indeed pitiful, but most who walked by ignored them. There were better places to be than this East Village in Manhattan, far beyond the garbage-filled streets, and they could not be held up by the beggers that clutched at their ankles and cried for mercy.

Then there was music. Street performers, banging against pickle tubs and strumming old looking guitars as crowds gathered and dispersed with each song. On one of the many street corners, just at the cross section of East 11th and Avenue B, were two performers. A girl with massive hair and a heavily painted face, and a boy with a rather thick, patchy parka. Kaya and Kimbal, regulars at that particular street corner. Her eyes were shut lightly, mouth half open as her hands repeatedly hit the tub between her legs. A catchy rhythm was born from her erratic hand movements, though it didn't seem to be the main focus of the performance. Instead, Kimbal seemed to be the main focus. He was speaking, familiar words, one of the monologues of a popular play that was currently dominating Broadway, and with each tap of the drum he would move, dancing slowly to the words that he uttered and the beat Kaya conjured. It was a show, a very odd show, but beautiful as well. Dollars and coins had piled up over the time frame of a few hours. When they both turned to look at the clock, it had just ticked to three-ten. Kimbal turned back to Kaya, a goofy grin dominating his face as he watched her still the tub and reach for the money filled can.

"Got enough for lunch?" He questioned, moving closer and dropping down to peer over her shoulder. Slender, shivering fingers flicked through the contents, pushing away random business cards while at the same time gathering what ever cash had been rewarded. Eventually, the total came up to ten dollars and fourteen cents. Kaya turned to smile lightly at Kimbal, gathering the cash in one fist while she chucked the can and whatever was in it away.

"Should do, I'll be working a bit there today too, in case we're a little under. Hopefully the tips will be generous." She shoved the money into her jacket pocket, forcing the broken zipper closed and standing. Kimbal nodded once, straightening as well and offering his arm to the taller, thinner woman. She took it graciously, leaning against him as a gust of wind threatened to blow her frail self away, and then they were walking, both set on one destination. The Life cafe, the place where they spent most of their mornings, afternoons, and nights. At the far corner of Avenue B and East 10th street sat the tiny establishment, a mere corner diner surrounded by industrial buildings and homeless. Only one window was visible from the outside, allowing passing folks to peer in at the colorful, yet somewhat dirty crowds that flocked to the cheap food and light atmosphere. A single stage was sat in the corner, and atop the stage was an old piano and a microphone and stool. The two friends watched as their destination grew with each step, talking about nothing in particular just to pass time and watch their breath swirl above them.

The two often stayed close, almost like lovers, though they were anything but. Kimbal definitely considered Kaya to be his sister, as the dating thing didn't really seem to work out for them, and as a good big brother did, he protected her. Glared at the cat-callers, sneered at the potential gropers, anything to keep other men away from her. If only she was as cautious as he was around men, instead she would smile at them and bat her eyelashes, acting cute for something return (and that something was, of course, money). Hard to take a dancer out of her club, it seems.

"It's so cold!" She suddenly exclaimed, scaring the thoughtful man, "it's gonna be a cold Christmas, that sucks. I don't wanna start setting fires again. Hate fire..."

"Too bad, kitten, only way were gonna stay warm is fire and an overabundance of blankets." He sighed, reaching forward to pull open the door of the cafe as Kaya let out a loud moan of distress. Fires, always fires. No such thing as a heater when they lived. The warmth of the diner and smell of food quickly overwhelmed the two, silencing their previous conversation, and the host nodded and forced a smile upon the two, obviously not a fan of the duo. He wrote a quick note into his pad, then nodded towards the few empty tables that were gathered around the center of the cafe.

"Table for two just over yonder, and be sure to keep it down. Don't want you bothering the other guests-"

"Thank ya, Jimmy! I'll be playing today though, and more people might show up, so expect some table moving." Kaya smiled, blowing a kiss to the vaguely annoyed worker before stripping off her ratty, black coat and bounding towards the stage. Kimbal gave an apologetic look to Jimmy before wandering over to one of the empty tables, flagging down a waitress to ask for a few menus as Kaya prepared herself on the stage. She had allowed her coat to gather behind the piano seat in a messy heap, and as her heeled feet once again got used to the brass peddles she tried to recount some nice, cheery songs. A not so cheery song, however, claimed her senses. She hadn't played the lovely Musetta's Waltz for awhile. That could be nice. She stretched her arms, nonchalantly kicking forward the tip can she had started storing near the piano, and then lowered herself down to play.

The keys were worn, and loose, and the strings were somewhat the same, giving the song a hollow, disconnected sound, but it was okay. Kaya still got into the musical, swaying and humming as if she were sitting a top on concert stage. But what what famous pianist used a ratty sweater to hide the needle marks, what famous pianist wasted money on all that [i]junk[/i]. Music always made her feel somber, always made her regret everything.

[i]Bang[/i]

'Wrong note'

Kaya felt her eye brow raise in a grimace, glancing at the fleeting afternoon crowd before continuing onto another song, and once again her face became stone-like in concentration. There were no tips yet. Meanwhile, Kimbal was busy ordering for both of them, two black coffees, grilled cheese and tomato soup combo, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Kaya didn't eat much, anything other than soup or noodles would make her a sick, but they were working on fixing that. They were working on fixing a lot of things within their lives. He passed on the menu again, leaning forward on the table as Kaya's music filled the once quiet room as the booth just two tables away was in a hushed conversation about Christmas.

'Ah, right, it's December... Wonder what we should do for the holidays...'