interstellar5555 | (no subject)

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Who: the new Nuclear Parliament.
What: meeting the band.
When: throughout January.
Where: Parliament penthouse.
Warnings: nawp.

The penthouse is pervaded by a sense of emptiness.

The disappearances had been slow; first Kanami had gone, and there had been a serious noise reduction which Parker had always thought Chris had been doing his damndest to make up for. Then he'd disappeared too, and with three, they'd really started to feel it. Shotaro disappearing after the party sapped the last of their energy; Parker spent most of her time in her room or gone, and the luxury of the property had faded to white noise. The penthouse is clean, but in a sparse, barely used kind of way. Parker feels like they could disappear and leave it empty at any minute, almost as if there had never been a Parliament at all.

[mingle-style log; put up top-levels as you please.]

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It's a while after the time given for the meeting that there's a pounding knock at the window, behind the curtain - it seems to be coming from the balcony. There's another vicious rattle, and then the sound of the lock being figured out. The door opens, and the curtain parts.

"Sorry I'm late," Cloud says, staring around himself in a flicker of eye contact, with little expression - his body hard with tension, like his casualness is a pose. He goes back and shuts the door behind him, then takes the keyboard out of his gig bag and starts setting it up. "But I'm here now, so let's get on with it."

The opposite of the image Cloud projects upon arrival, being visibly tense, is that which is Roxas sitting in the area that Cloud took the time to break into - he knows the door at the front is open to him, right? - and set up his gear. The chair, plush fabric lining the back and seat and wheels to allow it motion (which Roxas uses to his advantage often), rotates in place so the seated can pay attention to the noise created by Cloud's entrance.

There's a face and... hairstyle that looks like, if Roxas had a few more miles on him, could be similar to his own in some good years. "You're late? Since when?"

Did they get a schedule in the mail or something? Roxas doesn't remember. Surprise. "I don't think anything is going on right now, so not like you're missing out.."

There's a brief hesitation as Cloud tries to remember why he thought he was late, but then he straightens, batting his hair out of his eyes.

"I'm always late. Just what I always do."

He must have been late, or he wouldn't have gone to the effort of clambering several floors the side of the building with the wind chewing at his elbows and the ground very solid below him in order to make that big entrance.

Then he looks at Roxas, properly, and visibly jumps.

Something needles his mind - the stars are out. I asked her to meet me. She won't even come. My heart is racing and I think I'm going to be sick and no matter how many times I look at my face in the mirror, it's just... - but he grunts, blinks, shakes it off.

"Did they really assign me here just because I looked right?" he asks, and while he's still playing sardonic he seems genuinely a little disappointed. "It's really that superficial? And here was me thinking they wanted me because I could play a bit."

Are there.. thoughts going on in his head that no one else can hear? The way he's moving, subtle, yet noticeable, suggests this. Roxas should care, would care, but he knows well enough what it's like to be under the influence of something.. maybe it's that. Doesn't make sense how this guy would scale a large building that offered a freaking entry door in that state, but hey, anything's possible in show business.

Hm, the answer to that question, as random as it is, isn't very obvious because Roxas is new himself. But he'll try. "It's probably a combination of both. Never hurts, right? They wouldn't hire someone who can play but isn't something to look at, but they also wouldn't bring someone on who is good looking but can't play worth shit."

Pause. "Unless.. they were really hot." Sorry for giving you a glimpse at the mind of a sixteen year old, Cloud. Once whatever thoughts occupy his mind from that statement fade, he's back to semi-normal. "What's your name?" It's obvious what this guy does, given that there wouldn't be any other reason he'd carry something that heavy up the building. ~~It's not like he's used to lugging around unnecessarily large and heavy objects over his shoulders anyway, right?~~ "I'm Roxas. I do drums." Yay.

Cloud folds his arms, taking Roxas's comment as an accusation.

He's always been very aware of and proud of his good looks.

"So we're just here for the aesthetic," he snaps, lugging a keyboard amp over from the corner. "I'm a whole lot better than that. I used to be a member of S★O★L★D★I★E★R." He shoves the cable into the output, hesitating, looking across at his bandmate as if looking for him to be impressed. "Name's Cloud. I hope you're better than this, too."

They didn't really look that similar, he tried to convince himself, especially with the age difference. The haircut was close enough to annoy - Cloud hadn't gone to the trouble of getting such a ridiculous haircut to see anyone else having it - but Cloud's colouring was a lot colder, with blue veins visible under his white skin and no warmth in the yellow of his hair; his face harder and sharper and more uncompromising, with a fuller mouth. And at least he still had the talent to distinguish himself with.

"So I've had a few ideas," he says, spreading his hands over the keys. "Leave the music to me. I'll leave the percussion to you, if you can keep up."

All that sass is lost on Roxas who, instead of letting it get to him in the slightest, doesn't even notice as it flies over his oblivious head. Never heard of this SOLDIER thing, but it must be a respectable enough of an organization for Cloud to carry himself with the confidence he does. Maybe Roxas should up the ante on his game here, act more 'professional' to gain some respect of his band mates.

But.. he doesn't care to.

"Guess you'll find out." Roxas isn't overtly cocky about his abilities, but he knows he's enough above average to be considered pretty good. He just doesn't brag or show. Let the performance do the bragging for him, that's what he figures.

"The percussion thing is kind of my job, so don't worry. I got it." Go at speed metal tempo if you want, Cloud. Roxas is young and willing and nimble enough to keep up.. unless it's in the hours of 4am to noon.

"What kind of ideas you got, though? Never thought I'd be in a punk pop band, but here I am, so gotta make the best of it. Maybe there's something to it that'll make it different and more interesting." Here he is, silently hoping Cloud, or someone, can offer that something different.

Cloud plays a few chords on the default Grand Piano setting, before squatting down to fiddle with the amp. More distorted than he wanted.

If Roxas had been bragging, Cloud would have cut him down; if he'd been nervous, Cloud would have picked a fight with him and probably the manager. Quiet confidence was exactly the right answer.

"Don't let me spoil the ending for you, but the thing is, it's all just pop, really," Cloud says. "No point bein' snobby about it. All 'pop' really means is that we're accessible, and we play real songs, with verses and choruses - not ten-hour ambient sound sculptures or twenty-second bursts of screaming, or any of that kind of thing no-one should want to do anyway. And that we can dress up in outrageous costumes and be stars on stage. And - oh yeah - " he stands up, striking a pose with his hips cocked and his other hand drawing attention to his cheekbones - "we don't have to take ourselves too seriously."

Cloud was from a pop background himself. He liked structure, catchy tunes, chord progressions that did what they were supposed to. As a kid he'd been fascinated by hit-factory pop, although he couldn't remember what any of his favourite songs were. Long time ago.

"So anyway," he continues, "if we've got guitars involved we really should be working in E, so I'm thinking we start with an E, but then you move up to the mediant seventh and go here and then here and - you know, easy stuff anyone can do. Let's go."

And he launches into a slightly chaotic rhythm-and-blues riff, something that would be at home in glam rock or jangly retro pop - but there's something obsessive and dangerous about the way he does it, with dissonance at the bottom end and unpredictable 9ths. It almost has a vibe of a mad circus.

Edited (tense hell) 2016-01-29 13:28 (UTC)

The 'not taking yourself serious' boat is one Roxas had been on board with long before this business. At least he's got that going on for him. And though Roxas doesn't have speakers or amplifiers to tamper with to finely tune his sound, there's always other methods in the creative reservoir to give him that something different he's looking for if the situation calls.

As Cloud is talking and playing, fidgeting with the settings on his amplifier until they're to his liking, after he propels into a segment of music with little pause Roxas is up and at the kit set up in the main of the penthouse (because of course there's a drum set in there) like hopping to the controls of the weapon deck during an ambush.

And like an experienced fighter pilot, having only a few seconds to gauge the situation is enough for him to thicken the texture of this irate grove Cloud insists on playing. He doesn't try to take away from what Cloud is creating by overpowering it, but add to it by following second in this mad pattern he's filling the air with. There's only a minimal element of unpredictability in this run, especially when he hits the ride cymbal which is holding an item on top of it for more than decoration, but otherwise every hit of the kick drum, snares and tom-toms compliment the lead in the room.

Roxas might notice a slight rhythmic hiccup in Cloud's playing as he locks into his groove, but his eyes are wide with the pleasure of simply being really good at something with someone else who's really good at it. He likes that Roxas isn't showing off or upstaging him - it's always good to play with people who were generous in that regard.

"Do you sing?" he calls. "I'll do it if you want, but I don't feel like it."

When he had been considered for this gig, he originally expressed interest in singing. But the lure of being in the background and providing a solid beat while getting a good workout doing it won the pick though; being at the front and center would've meant a lot more work and attention. That's not exactly something Roxas wants to deal with.

While playing a less demanding segment, "Yeah, I can." About what though? There isn't anything particular standing at the forefront of his mind that he feels would compliment the music they're making. There is something, that one thing always in the back of his mind like a dream he can't quite put together the morning after.

Why not, maybe it'll help.

"Forgotten days, a fading memory
Lost and no longer seeking one another
Desperately still, you're reaching toward him
Hopelessly certain you can mend the broken"

He's good. Cloud can't help but notice Roxas has a really good voice, especially for a drummer. His own's a bit weak, but why not riff off Roxas's hard work with some of the high-fantasy samurai stuff he's had on his head?

He takes the chord progression into a secondary thing for the bridge and nods to indicate it's his turn:

"Forgotten games and fading melodies
He's the legacy, kings slaying mothers
Fathomless will, controlling the swordsman,
He'd walk the world to make sense of the omen."

Let's see what he can do with that.

And here will reveal why this singing and lyricist business eluded him. It might be age that lends credit to inexperience with this, most his focus was obviously put into the craft he's decent at, so other than what first came to his mind.. all bets are off.

Well, maybe not, they are keeping a nice groove going without any interruptions, so why not just keep on spilling what comes to his mind? He kicks up the beat a little, the light crashing sound of symbols taking a back seat to toms stealing attention.

"Crossing the land, searching for meaning
Ghosts of memory's past haunting pleasantly, still
Motions tangled in a web of history
Ties to obligation pulling at the threads

Where will there be left to go from here?"

Whoever has been appreciating any clean sense the penthouse had to offer is going to have to be make peace with that feeling and say goodbye, because a 16-year-old doesn't care to care for or pick up after himself is going to be moving in. This means clothes left in black and white piles around his door, random gadgets and food occupying what was once empty table space, and a night-owl trait so great that it's safe to assume he's on something good to keep him up all those hours while still being active. Except from the times of 5am to noon. Unless forced, it will sleep.

Good thing he's dedicated at what he does and decent enough at it, or else who would willingly put up with something like that?

Welcome to living with Roxas. Someone who looks like a younger version of a certain some other new band mate, almost uncannily so. And if you think that's odd, wait until you see him side by side with his counterpart in Pride. Please don't bring that up unless you want all the cattiness a teenager could offer.

Parker is in actual hell, she has been condemned to an actual, literal hell, and she would sell out to Pride if she could be saved. God is punishing her with teenage boys, and if she could fight him she would absolutely do it right now.

Eventually, it's too much, and she throws Roxas' door open unceremoniously, kicking his clothes in so they don't litter the hallways, scowl etched furiously into her face.

She sure has, and she sure is! Of course, Roxas is oblivious to this 'problem' because he doesn't see a problem. It's an issue when it starts to smell, right? Right?

No? Why are we busting open doors and kicking other people's things? That's not very nice. Headphones around his neck, earpiece on each side of his face and music loud to a degree of unhealthy beating relentlessly, the ferocity of the scowl on her face is loud enough to drown out the noise so close to him.

"Hey... why?" Not what are you doing, can I help you, or is there a problem? Why. Good luck, Parker. You got this!

"Because your shit should be kept to yourself, is why," Parker says flatly. "And not in the fucking halls, jerk."

"It's not in the all the halls! Just the parts that are close to my door." How is that so bad? "It doesn't smell." Yet.

"Dude, I don't know where you got the impression that I care," Parker says, glancing idly about the room with a carefully put-upon air of disdain, "but I really, really don't."

With that dumbfounded look, holding from earlier, "But.. why did you throw open the door then? If you don't care, seems like a lot of effort."

With a sigh, "Look, we're in the same band and have to work together, shouldn't we kind of try to get along? I can keep my crap in my room. When you're here, anyway."

Once in a while logic and willingness to compromise strikes the mind of those who may appear allergic to it. But only once in a while. And he'll honestly try if it's on the table.. doesn't mean it'll happen all the time, but it'll be a valiant attempt!

"We can get along," Parker stresses, "if you keep your shit in your room. All the time. Because that's basic suitemate courtesy, to not leave your stuff lying around in the halls. Welcome to the music industry."

"Sounds rough." If only he knew. "Anything else you want to add?" Because, he's willing to guess, there has to be.

"Don't get fired," she adds dryly. "If we get another shakeup they just might drop all of us immediately." This is one part joke and two parts not; Parker is very concerned about the way the wind might blow in the near future, and Roxas is not granting her confidence in the band.

"Please, I'm not aiming for that." It has to take some effort, he's guessing, to get to that point. What, with how vigilant the managers are at keeping them in line, at least what he can tell in his short time here.

"Just wait until you see us in session again." Hopefully that'll erase her doubts. "It'll be fine. If shit on the floor is the worst, it's not that bad."

With a nervous laugh, because he does want to know, "What do you have to do to get fired, anyway?"

That gets a shrug out of Parker and not much else. "Be good, be popular, something. Know people? Network? Who knows. Kanami disappeared inside a week, and Chris just kind of dropped out in the middle of the night a week later."

There isn't anything specific about that pattern, so maybe it is random. If that's the case, stuff on the floor isn't that big of a deal and won't get him fired.. just earn him a pissed off band member and co-inhabitant.

"Well, if it happens, it happens. Until then, I'm just gonna enjoy my time here and do good by the band." By bringing up enjoyment, his gaze moves towards a semi-full bottle of something he has by his bed. "And.. maybe move my stuff out of the way. Hey, we don't have to just work and live together, we can have some fun too, right?"

"I guess we'll find out," Parker says slowly. "You're less annoying than Kanami. And you don't seem like the type to get high before you're onstage."

Dismissively, "Nah, never before a show. Only after. Or on days off." And he's not lying. "Did Kanami do drums too?"

"Kanami was on synth, it was Chris who was our high drummer. Kanami was just a stupid diva." Parker leans against Roxas' doorframe. "You seem similar."

"Diva, huh? That doesn't do anyone any good."

With a smile towards that gaze concentrated in the frame ahead of him and judging, "What do you mean?" Hopefully she doesn't go on to say that 'all you band boys look alike'.. even if they do. ~~And they kind of do, don't they?~~

Edited (fffthenightwaslate. orz) 2016-02-03 00:07 (UTC)

"Dumb, self-absorbed egocentric jerks," snorts Parker. "What do you think I mean?"

Sigh. "I was kind of hoping you were going to say something semi decent? Guess I'm too new here and my naivety hasn't been completely killed off yet. I got a feeling being around you will get the job done though." That's one way to help him get accustomed to the place.

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Cloud

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that icon.. my fav

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