My window's painted shut

[panspermia]

Who: Greg Universe and OPEN
What: You gotta appreciate the little things when you've made it big
When: Late March
Where: Various Places Around Vista City
Warnings: nah

A. OPEN

It's been a while since Greg's hung around in the Virgo common spaces; he often holes himself up in the Virgo penthouse, but he's trying to get himself back in the songwriting groove with different workspaces than his room. He hasn't been nearly as productive lately--his career and band is the last truly solid thing he feels like he can protect, so he can't keep letting himself wallow.

Piles of crumpled paper strewn around him are a good indicator of how that's turning out. Greg raps his pen rapidly against his notebook, frustrated and tired. Everything feels stilted and forced. Why is it suddenly so hard to feel passionate about things?

B. OPEN

When it comes to museums, Greg prefers natural history over art, but the public archives in the lower levels of Virgo are pretty pleasant to hang around and people watch. He appreciates the displays of musical history as something largely separate from everything else here.

He might be appreciating it a little loudly. Sorry, he has trouble not air guitaring or humming along when he's got headphones on. Like this is a music museum, it's okay to be loud here, right? Yeah?

C. OPEN

With the first days of spring, Vista has gotten its first real bouts of warm weather in months. Even with the ground still wet from rain, people are laying down blankets in the park to enjoy the sun. Some people might find the pleasant atmosphere marred by the small crowd of birds flocking a nearby bench, pigeons and seagulls impatiently harassing its occupant.

"I've only got so much popcorn, guys," Greg insists to birds who neither comprehend nor care. He thought throwing out a few kernels was harmless, and now he's got some type of feathered mafia glaring him down. A seagull gives an impatient squawk, flapping its wings by way of threat. "Geez! All right, all right!" He tosses out another handful, sending them into yet another flurry. He is trapped. There is no escape.

D. Closed to Pinkie

Greg doesn't drink a whole lot nowadays, but this place has good bar food, and private booths to talk. Given a few hours later at night, this would have been the sort of party place the two of them would have usually run into each other, last summer. He only just realized how long it's been since they got to talk in person.

Comments

C

[eba02]

There seems to be a Hitchcock movie going down in the park, and J can't help but intervene. He waits until there's a break in the cloud of birds and heads up behind the bench, putting a hand on Greg's shoulder. "Come with me if you want to live." Okay, he can't resist. After a moment, he adds, "and leave the popcorn behind - it'll distract 'em."

[panspermia]

Greg looks between the stranger, the avian mob roiling before him, and his popcorn. He does so hate to leave food to waste, but... at least someone will get to enjoy it.

"I'll miss you, bud," Greg somberly confides to the bag. If J can go for the dramatic line, Greg gets to milk it too. He takes a breath, and drops the snack to spill over the well-trodden park pathway. The birds go wild, and Greg takes the chance to hop over the back of the bench in the chaos.

[eba02]

"His sacrifice will be remembered," J intones solemnly. It's nice to have a moment to screw around every once in a while. "Now c'mon!" He grabs Greg's arm and books it out of there, far enough away that the birds shouldn't follow them.

[panspermia]

Greg can't hold back his laugh as they abscond from the scene. The birds, pleased enough with their ill-gotten gains, fail to notice their prisoner's escape, and the two get away scott free. "Thanks, pal. I dunno if I'd've had the strength to do that on my own." He really likes popcorn.

[eba02]

"No problem." J grins at Greg - it's good to actually hear a musician happy for once, even if the dissonance in his tune is awful. Well, hopefully he'll have some time here to work on that. "Bet we can find you more popcorn, too, with a little less Hitchcock this time."

[panspermia]

"I wouldn't want to give you too tall an order. It's a pretty limited resource." Greg can't possibly know what J's hearing, putting up a perfect front of cheerfulness. He gives him a once-over. "You work at the record store? I swear I've seen you somewhere."

[eba02]

J looks over his shoulder, where a cart (covered - this guy has learned from the birds) is selling popcorn in small bags, then looks back at Greg with a grin. "Uh-huh."

He can hear a lot, and even more nowadays, which is a little disorienting at times. He's started to be able to identify a pattern in musician dissonance: Virgo musicians had a deep bass in theirs that sounded like the common thread in Blanche's tune, and Pride musicians had a teeth-grinding high note that screamed Santiago. Greg's tune is arguably worse than most, even worse than the last time J heard it. There's still a quiet acoustic guitar somewhere, but the dissonance and warping and that awful deep bass are all louder than before and doing their best to drown it out. It's going to take some work to get Greg right again.

"Coffee shop, actually. You've been to Priscilla's, right?"

[panspermia]

He snaps his fingers. "That's it! The lifeblood. Small world."

His smile's wide enough to show teeth. It's nice to recognize people instead of being recognized--makes him feel like a normal person.

...Uh. What was he thinking about...? He can't remember. It probably wasn't important. Greg shakes off the moment's haze. "Woah. Head rush. Maybe too much coffee, actually."

[eba02]

J shrugs and returns the smile. "We get a lot of traffic from the labels. Location, I guess."

He has to fight to keep that smile from turning into a grimace as Greg's tune twists and warps, that awful bass rising from the depths and rattling it it loose. It's a wonder Greg's still in one piece right now.

Yeah, he's not going to put up with this. Not when he can fix it.

He taps his fingers against his leg, reaching for the traces of acoustic guitar and drawing them towards the surface. It's a place to start.

"Or maybe you need somethin' more than popcorn to eat."

[panspermia]

"You caught me." Hah, he should have known this guy would recognize him. It's not like Greg minds, anyway. "Crossing my fingers word doesn't get too far out about you all. Paparazzi don't make great customers."

Then, Greg's brow furrows, just slightly. Something feels... strange. He can't quite make out the sensation--it's too faint, too hard to even place as a good or bad feeling, but it's definitely... something.

He looks around, trying to place it without looking too obviously distracted.

"Miiiight be part of it. I gotta make time for stuff beyond junk food and energy drinks." It's a wonder he keeps in shape...

[eba02]

"I wouldn't worry about that. Angela broke a guy's camera once when he tried to run out on his bill to chase someone. After that, they don't come in much."

Even through the static, he hears the shift in Greg's tune. He's suspicious, he's distracted, he's-

Is Greg on to him?

The thought sends a chill down his spine. Gold had said it was possible for magicians to change their tunes, and that some of the kidnapped people were starting to get music magic, but- Was Greg that far along yet? How would J even know?

Well, if things went south, that'd be an answer. Aside from that, he needs to keep on and be careful about it. Even through Greg's suspicion, J can still hear his tune - what's there of his real tune - and he mimics the beat, using it to smooth over static and warping. It's not as easy with Greg as it has been with other people - the damage is extensive - but it's working, at least.

Of course, he needs to still keep up a front. No reason to get that suspicion turned on him. "It's still kinda junk food, but I think there's a hot dog stand 'round here somewhere."

[panspermia]

What is that? It's like... like the air's cleaner, nicer to breathe, or a tinny ringing he'd stopped noticing has started to fade, or...

He bites his lip, still grinning at J. Maybe if they move away, it'll clear up. Does he want it to clear up? He's so lost.

"You kidding? That's a quality meal in my book. C'mon, I'll buy you a 'dog, uh..." Greg purses his lips. "Ah man, I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

[eba02]

The confusion's still there, but Greg's tune is already sounding better, and the more J works at it, the easier it gets to fix. The static is diminishing, the acoustic guitar is coming through, and while he can't get rid of that ugly bass, he can at least downplay it. It's not perfect - it probably won't be perfect, not while Greg is still under Blanche's influence - but it's better.

J returns the grin with one of his own. "Jeremy. Sounds like a plan."

[panspermia]

The sensation resonates stronger, and it's as though suddenly things are all clicking in together, like he's lining himself up with some unheard metronome. Greg can't say he's ever gotten that sensation before, yet somehow it feels like a return to form.

A warning buzz warns him this is wrong, yet something in Greg's gut shrugs it off. For once, something weird happening to him doesn't feel dangerous. Just different.

As he starts walking, he looks over his new companion again, curious.

"You lived in Vista long, Jeremy?"

[eba02]

He grins, easily falling in step with Greg, keeping his fingers tapping all the while - on the opposite side from where Greg's walking, of course. Greg's tune continues to fall into place, static clearing up, as they walk.

"Less'n a year," J replies with a shrug. "Visited a few times before, but I figured I'd need to actually live here to make it big. Ain't happened yet, but I'm still workin' on it." He looks over at Greg. "How 'bout you? How'd you make it with Virgo, anyway?"

He knows the answer; he also knows he's going to need to work through the ugly parts of Greg's tune to fix them. It's not a great strategy, and it sure isn't fair to Greg, but he's got to make the most of his time with Greg right now.

[panspermia]

"Luck, mostly." Which kind of luck is up for debate. "You're in a good place to make connections, I'll tell you that."

Greg chews the inside of his cheek, trying to clear his thoughts. Now that he knows the truth of his abduction, it's become difficult to tell where his memories and where his label-approved, publicity-approved story begins. He's gotten the impression there's a fair amount of overlap, and for once he can nearly feel his usual buzz of confusion straining against the familiarly foreign sensation.

"I uh... I tried going it on my own. One man band, touring the country, big concerts of maybe two or three people in the audience... and then one day..."

He pauses, the memory taking a second to settle comfortably back in place..

"Only one person showed up, and she was from Virgo. For once, someone liked what they heard, and the rest is pretty much history."

[eba02]

"That is why I moved out here." That could not be further than the truth, but he's been telling the story so often that it's an easy lie.

Greg has a good story, and J finds himself smiling; his tune's in sync for most of it as well, which definitely helps with shoring it up.

Right up until she was from Virgo, where the whole thing crashes and burns and, for a few moments, his smile becomes a bit more forced. So close and then there's that. Still, he pushes through it, nudging Greg's tune back into place where it's gone off the rails.

"Heck of a story," he comments. "Who was she?"

[panspermia]

"She was--"

Suddenly, there's a crash. A bland, unmemorable woman in a suit--the most beautiful woman he's ever--plain, servicable, straightforward--tall, bright, flirty--impressed--amused--an ALLIGATOR!--No, it was your--!

Greg sucks in a breath, disoriented, and quickly turns the sudden bout of dizziness into ducking down to tie his shoe.

It's not for J's benefit; he knows he's got security somewhere nearby, and the last thing he needs is them getting on the two of them right now. Something's wrong. Something's right.

"Are you doing that?" he asks, voice low, fingers yanking at his laces.

[eba02]

This isn't something J's heard before, and he's not sure it's a good thing: Greg's tune - his real tune - actively struggling against the static and bass, trying to reassert itself. He leans on that guitar, lending it what he can, helping it smooth over the static. Greg's tune is so close to complete - or as close as J will be able to get it on his own - and J isn't about to back down now.

Of course, he can't give the game away either. He stops short and looks at Greg, expression concerned. "Doin' what?" he asks, voice quiet to match Greg's. "Are you okay?"

[panspermia]

His head clears. The memory settles into place, clear and gentle as she was. Rose. For the first time Greg can truly feel his full age--full of longing, and loneliness, and love. The static is practically audible even to him, trying still to block her out, but it's too late. She's ingrained into him.

Greg takes a breath, and straightens up. "I'm fine. Thanks."

J is responsible, he's sure of it. Discretion is for the best. He gives the strange man small, tired smile, and repeats himself. "Thanks."

[eba02]

For just a few moments, there's nothing but acoustic guitar, quiet and simple and pure. For a few moments, it's a relief.

When the static resurges in Greg's tune, it's not nearly as bad as it was. The bass is still loud as ever, but that's still off limits to J, much as he might try to tamp it down.

And there's a line of certainty, deep down, that gives J the chills. Somehow - he doesn't know how - Greg knows he did this. It's a dangerous bit of information for anybody to know, let alone someone so thoroughly under the thumb of the labels-

So he keeps playing clueless, still concerned as Greg gets to his feet. "If you're sure."

[panspermia]

He meets the concern with a wider smile, doing his best to chase off any remaining anxiety. "Yeah, I've just been working too hard. Sorry."

Seriously though, who is this guy? A defector from the labels? Part of the rescuing team? A separate agent all his own?

Greg could muse on it all day, but in the end only J has the answer. Curious as Greg is, he gets the feeling it's in both their best interests if he doesn't pry.

"All work and all play makes Greg a tired boy. I definitely need that hot dog. You still want one?"

[eba02]

Hearing Greg back away from the question doesn't do anything to ease J's mind - Greg still knows, and he still has a deep connection with Blanche, and as long as that's the case, J is nowhere near out of the woods.

All of that stays out of his expression, though; worrying about it right in front of Greg isn't going to help. "Definitely. They gotta be 'round here somewhere, right?"