Who: Raven & Cassandra Where: The Time Square subway station When: Early Evening Rating/Warnings: None yet!
The wonderful thing about the subway tunnels that mapped the entirety of New York’s underground was that the rush of people moving hastily from various points onto other destinations never really ebbed off. Even late at night there were still a few stragglers in a hurry, something Raven found fascinating even though late at night no one in their right mind ought to be traveling the subways sometimes he found himself going just to ride the trains and keep an eye out for anyone traveling alone who might otherwise get themselves into a spot of trouble. He wasn’t a great protector by any means but he could at least do what he could when he was around and keep one person safe on their way home, whether they knew it or not. Helping people wasn’t about praise or accolades to Raven, it was just something he liked doing.
That night however, he was merely Raj Kinahtee employee at one of the many homeless shelters around Manhattan. With his drum under his arm and a white bucket with the words ‘ALL PROCEEDS GO TO BENEFIT THE COALITION FOR THE HOMELESS’ scrawled on the front in black marker he was heading to the place where his drumming group liked to meet once a week, shouldering a bag on his back with the second hand equipment he’d always set up for a performance. He hadn’t made plans with them for that might but Raven was restless, and there was no better way to get rid of that pesky excess energy than sitting in the middle of the subway terminal performing, and if a few dollars were tossed into his bucket? All the better! Christmas was coming after all, and the shelter liked to go above and beyond their usual duties to pull together something really special for the residents.
When he reached his spot the last performer – an Asian violinist was just packing up her own act, and he helped her get her things together with a kind smile before she was off on her way, leaving behind a milk crate for him to have a seat on while he performed. The second hand micstand in his bag was held together with duct tape and good wishes but he got the thing plugged in and the microphone itself aimed at the skin of his drum once he was sitting on the crate with it positioned between his knees. Before he began to play he stretched out his fingers, getting them ready to do their work and checked again to make sure the writing on the bucket was in plain sight.
After he’d cracked his knuckles Raj began to play amidst the swirling crowd, his shaggy brown hair falling into his face as his head bobbed along with the fast and complex beat he tapped out on the drum skin, privately reveling in the way that – thanks to the microphone – the sounds bounced off the tiled walls of the underground station.