As day turned to night, the crowd that surrounded him began to thin out. Passer-by listeners stowed their cameras, a bare few tossing PD and leaving, if they were feeling polite. Callan continued the performance regardless, his mind played riffs automatically, and his fingers followed suit. Every experience he ever had, his mind had composed a short riff or a guitar, playing in the background incessantly, like am addening tune as it synthesized his thoughts and feelings into it. When did it sink into this pit.

As the guitarist continued to play, his Yamper briefly sparked up, turning towards a nearby Herdier. Or... more likely, the potential of treats by the Herdier's owner. Though it sat in place, it's tongue lolled outwards as it spilled into a goofy grin towards its dog-compatriot, anticipating Callan's set ending, so that it could flirt with the leaving crowd. And then, the owner moved forwards, dropping 10 Pokedollars into his guitar case. Callan made brief eye contact, bowing his head, a light nod as he continued playing. It took him but a moment to realize who she was, and the corners of his eyes widened briefly, betraying his surprise. A genuine smile came over Callan's face as she briefly returned to the crowd.

Callan finished his final bar, as he shifted his chords to a more familiar tune, gradually turning the riff from his own, arcane-likeriff amalgamations of crawling out of an endless fog, to the faint light of the sun cutting through the clouds. It was a headturner, how the familiar tune captivated the audience once more. The world needed Melody, like flowers needed rays of sunlight. It was something no technical skill would ever be able to make.

Callan strummed the undertone of the electric guitar strings that played below the voice lines. He would continue to play in this manner, letting his guitar play second fiddle to an invisible voice, as he looked towards Melody, then to the crowd, then back to Melody again.

Would you sing for us? He asked, through his guitar, as he stalled on the opening with variations of the riff of Trust Love. They need you.

⚰︎ --

Melody Miro

Callan felt the knot in his stomach release, followed by vivid euphoria, as Melody took to the stage. He had no clue if she would actually understand what he had meant by it, but there were moments, particularly on set, between musicians and bandmates where all that was needed was a single nod before there was an understanding.

As Melody removed her glasses and took off her hood, the crowd erupted. The shrill of excitement that he could always hear whenever he was at a concert. There's a moment of silence and disbelief, and then pandemonium. Those exiting the park rushed back, the flash of a thousand different cameras, torchlights from phones that recorded. Callan's eyes forced themselves down onto his guitar, following the cadence of Melody's voice as he riffed the chords in between her lyrics, providing flourishes on his chords to allow her voice to shine.

There were no hard beating drums, but Callan specifically toned down the theme to a more acoustic version. It was natural a loud stadium dropping song, but this one played much more like a personal reminder to those apparent. He had missed this feeling, of being able to give joy to others. It was the intention for busking, but more than that, stepping out of his shoes for once and be able to play in a part of something bigger felt good.

As the performance ended to an eruption of cheers and clapping, fans began to swarm towards the pop star, Callan realized that it would take a while before the attention came off from her. He gave his Thank You to everyone else, packed the money in his guitar into a large plastic bag and folded it into his tote, and packed up his busking gear, before moving to help Melody out of the swarm of her many admirers.

Once the crowd had dispersed, Callan turned towards her, the euphoria had not passed from his face yet. "You know, I was just thinking," He began, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it up, as his Yamper bounded towards the Herdier to sniff its backside. "About how wonderful a lie can be." The embers on the end of his cigarette lit up against the darkening sky.

"Everyone has their tragedies, but when you get up on a stage and sing your song, all of those problems go away. Even if it's just for an hour or two." His red eyes briefly met hers, "I'm Callan, by the way. Thank you for entertaining and old man's request." THe guitarist extended his hand out to her.

⚰︎ --

Melody Miro

It was like time momentarily slowed down while he listened to Melody's words. He didn't see it very often, the appearance of sheer joy, whether real or imagined. Most days, he seated himself at home, or in the corner of a library, with a pen in his hand and a cigarette in the other, looking at pointless words so that he could make a better man of himself. The world had forgotten him, and he spent most of his life feeling the gentle indifference of the crowds, or the dissonant hum of his TV in the background as he drank and slept on the couch. Other times, when he played on the guitar as now, he did to feel the moment of human interaction, and the joy of displaying his soul out to the world.

"I think I felt it, when I heard this song on the radio." He replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. But he hadn't known it was her motto, it was a little surreal to see how much energy and life she brought to the place. "Lies are an exceptional form of love, and so they're not without meaning. That's what the feeling I got from the song, even if it feels a little cynical I guess." He paused, "But I think it's no different than telling someone that their cooking is great, even if it's not the best, just to see a smile on their face. Or to make sure someone knows that their efforts aren't unnoticed, I think that kind of lie is a beautiful thing. And when I was riffing at the beginning, I guess I just wanted to bring out a different perspective on it."

He then paused as she suddenly interrogated him on being a stalker, her voice changing suddenly. Callan's eyebrow raised and smiled, it wasn't a surprise given her fame, but he'd play along. "Yeah absolutely." He snickered, "Me busking in the middle of Slateport Park every week since two years ago was a pre-meditated event to catch you on your off day." He cleared his throat. "I'm Callan, Callan Young." He replied. "If you ever wanna do some busking again, I'll be here at the same time next week."

⚰︎ --

Melody Miro