Repo!fic: Angel Chile (GR, gen)
Jan. 12th, 2009 09:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
transemacabreTitle: Angel Chile
Fandom: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Summary: A glimpse into the past and pysche of our graverobbing drug-dealer.
"Let me tell you something," his mother would say, her finger in the air. "No, let me tell you something. Los Angeles thinks she's a jazz city, but she ain't nothing but another low-down blues town."
And she would know, coming as she did from the world's only jazz city, the ruined city of New Orleans. She was airlifted out when she was fifteen along with a few thousand others, and washed up in L.A. Three years later she had him although she had no name to give him. She brought him up like a three-chord lament on the wrong side of the tracks, in filthy tenements and abandoned slums. In the heat of the summer they slept on rooftops, straining for a glimpse of the full moon. "Nothing but blues rains down in Los Angeles," she said again and again on those hot nights.
His beautiful mother would wander from bar to bar, getting filled up on good liquor, using a tear for a chaser. Half a dozen Sonny Boys and a dozen Misters flitted in and out of their lives. "You never get nowhere by being an angel chile," his beautiful mad mother warned him. She spoke French with a Creole accent and English with a Southern accent. Foreign in her own land. She prayed to St. Peter and St. Paul and Baron Samedi and saw no conflict in any of it.
Her heart failed her as it always had, and the undertaker man arrived two days later to find nothing but cornmeal on the floor and her idols in the trash. They hadn't saved his beautiful mad heartbroken mother any more than they'd saved New Orleans from the waves.
And that's why Graverobber knows L.A.'s secrets. He's got her number and he calls her by her true name. He whispers in her ear in half a dozen languages and she hears exactly what she pleases to hear. He lays his head in her lap like a bluesman laying his head on the train tracks. She'll never have his heart.
He knows you never get nowhere by being an angel chile. The blues rains down. The blues reigns down.
Fandom: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Summary: A glimpse into the past and pysche of our graverobbing drug-dealer.
"Let me tell you something," his mother would say, her finger in the air. "No, let me tell you something. Los Angeles thinks she's a jazz city, but she ain't nothing but another low-down blues town."
And she would know, coming as she did from the world's only jazz city, the ruined city of New Orleans. She was airlifted out when she was fifteen along with a few thousand others, and washed up in L.A. Three years later she had him although she had no name to give him. She brought him up like a three-chord lament on the wrong side of the tracks, in filthy tenements and abandoned slums. In the heat of the summer they slept on rooftops, straining for a glimpse of the full moon. "Nothing but blues rains down in Los Angeles," she said again and again on those hot nights.
His beautiful mother would wander from bar to bar, getting filled up on good liquor, using a tear for a chaser. Half a dozen Sonny Boys and a dozen Misters flitted in and out of their lives. "You never get nowhere by being an angel chile," his beautiful mad mother warned him. She spoke French with a Creole accent and English with a Southern accent. Foreign in her own land. She prayed to St. Peter and St. Paul and Baron Samedi and saw no conflict in any of it.
Her heart failed her as it always had, and the undertaker man arrived two days later to find nothing but cornmeal on the floor and her idols in the trash. They hadn't saved his beautiful mad heartbroken mother any more than they'd saved New Orleans from the waves.
And that's why Graverobber knows L.A.'s secrets. He's got her number and he calls her by her true name. He whispers in her ear in half a dozen languages and she hears exactly what she pleases to hear. He lays his head in her lap like a bluesman laying his head on the train tracks. She'll never have his heart.
He knows you never get nowhere by being an angel chile. The blues rains down. The blues reigns down.
