Gemini sits in a dimly lit jazz club, bathed in the soft, blue glow of stage lights. The smooth, soulful strains of a jazz ensemble set the mood.
“Ah, the sweet, chaotic symphony of jazz, where every note can tell a story and every silence screams a secret. You know, jazz is a lot like life—especially the kind we live. It’s all about improvisation, about making it up as you go. But some folks, oh, they just can’t let go of the sheet music. All because Jazz thrives on the unexpected—something some people just can’t grasp.”
A playful smirk dances on her lips.
“Take our dear Sheriff Jackson Cade. Always so by the book, every step calculated, every move just as the rules dictate. And now, look at him—stepping out with a wild card move, challenging Malakai to a buried alive match. I get it, Jack, they wronged you, but now you’re trying to play jazz when you can barely keep up with the blues.”
On stage, the saxophonist begins to play a solo.
“Improvisation? That’s an art form, and darling, it’s clear you’re still fumbling the notes. Improvising isn’t just about throwing yourself into the chaos—it’s about owning it, living it. And you, you’re just dabbling, aren’t you? Stepping out of bounds, but oh, so terrified of missing a beat. A bit predictable, don’t you think?”
She chuckles, the sound mingling with the sax’s wail in the background.
“It’s cute, really. You think stepping out of line just this once is playing jazz? Oh, darling, jazz is more than just a desperate solo when the crowd gets tough. It’s a whole life of rhythms and rhymes, of notes that clash and harmonize in the chaos of creation. It’s a dance I’ve mastered while you were still tuning your instruments.”
Her gaze sharpens, as she taps her fingers to a slow, deliberate beat.
“Let’s be real, you challenging Malakai to a buried alive match is like a stiff at a bebop club trying to sway—they might move their feet, but they can’t feel the groove. You’re out of your depth, and in jazz, that’s where the sharks swim.”
She pauses, leaning in as if sharing a secret.
“Here’s the kicker, Jack. Jazz may be all about improv, but it’s the seasoned players who make it look effortless. You? You’re like a novice fumbling with a sax, all clumsy fingers and no soul. It’s not enough to mimic the motions; you’ve got to breathe the music, live in its pulse, surrender to its unpredictable heart. And that, my dear, is something you just can’t fake.”
Gemini rises, the blue light casting long shadows as she steps towards the exit.
“So go ahead, dig your graves, but remember—while you’re busy playing catch-up, trying to learn the rules of jazz, I’m already writing chart-toppers. When you step into that ring, remember that you’re just a guest artist on my stage, and darling, the audience knows it. In the jazz of life, some play and some sway, but you…”
She offers a final, disdainful glance over her shoulder.
“…you’re gonna get played.”