interstellar5555 | Punk is not dead

Entry tags:

Punk is not dead

Who: Xanxus, Sabo and YOU
What: Sabo insulted punk, so now they're haivng a little music battle
When: 3 Feb
Where: Club VorTeQ
Warnings: Xanxus warnings apply, more as added.

It's time. The infamous little punk club is filled to the brim with curious fans. Ever since that little twit-fit, the club has been really playing up the upcoming battle between Sabo and Xanxus. There are posters and special drinks, themed for each musician.

The stage is set up for the two, with everything they need. The bar is active and the club is hopping. While this isn't a legitimate contest like the Song Contest, there's something more on the line here. The pride of punk music.

[ooc: open prompts below or make up your own]

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That is one of two things Roxas can hope to agree on by the end of this evening: good talent, yes, definitely, but good stock? Hopefully he'll find out. Judging by the crowd drawn, probably, but the best way to know for sure is personally.

Those drink names mean nothing to him; the only kinds of drink he's familiar with would be the popular varieties and mixes that aren't too far off the deep end of them. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't be interested in trying.

How.. did this guy know he was in Virgo? Maybe he saw him performing, practicing, walking to and from the suites, who knows. "Yeah, I am. They got a hold of me before anyone else. Put me in as a drummer, which is fine and all, though I was hoping to get a gig as a vocalist.. ah well, it is what it is, right?"

Looks like the bartender has taken heed of the order and is working on fulfilling it. In the meanwhile, "Do you work for any of the labels? What do you do?"

When the second drink comes, there's only about half the previous amount of liquor in the glass, and to the side are a shot glass of water, a sugar cube and a flat, slotted spoon. The pale man places the sugar cube onto the spoon and proceeds to pour the water over it slowly, speaking as he does so.

"I know that feeling: I'd hoped, when Pride offered me a contract, that I would be a keyboardist or a violinist, but they signed me on as a vocalist. Best thing to do, in that case, is to make the most of what life has sent you.

"And so, I signed on with Pride Records, and now Crown of Thorns has had an earth-walking angel appear in their midst." He'll push the glass closer to Roxas with an inviting smile. "Enjoy the kiss of the green faery."

What is this? Isn't a person supposed to order a drink, take the drink once it is ready and just drink the drink? What's going on here looks more like a ritual. Not that he's going to complain, a free drink is a free drink, but why all this effort is being put into it... maybe the taste will tell.

As far as the advice goes, it's definitely a piece Roxas should take to heart ~~(ha)~~. It's sound enough, and would make life much less complicated as far as the music business is concerned.

Here we go with the drink. Taking it in hand with a "Thank you", because politeness shouldn't be left at the door here, he carefully observes it for a moment prior to taking a sip and whoa. That's a taste. That's a strong taste.

"Wait.. an angel?" Here's where the not-all-there comes in. "Are you an angel?" He'll believe it.

It likely tastes oddly sweet and bitter all at the same time, with a spicy note as well. "Anise and wormwood, along with the sugar: the water helps to keep it from giving one too much of a kick in the taste buds," the pale gent says.

He might chuckle, almost affectionately. "It's a notion I've played with, as part of my stage persona: I found angels fascinating since I was a youngster, the legends of a group of earth-walking angels known as the Grigori or the Watcher Angels in particular. They were, in a sense, the ultimate outsiders, and since I've felt like an outsider since the time I was young, I found their story especially inspiring."

Given this is his first, the pleasant part of why the sugar cube ritual was enacted doesn't hit him at first. It's all bitter, all the way down. But he's going to keep going, despite that, knowing it'll probably get better.

"Huh.. never thought of doing anything like that myself." But as a drummer, he wouldn't get much attention even if he did. "So you dress up like an angel and go on stage?" Sip. "Do you have wires attached that lift you up during the set?" That would be different and interesting. Sip.

"Oh, nothing that flashy, not yet, though it's certainly a clever idea," the pale gent says, intrigued and reaching into the pocket of his pants to take out a small grey leather-covered journal to jot something. "But I have performed darkly angel-themed songs whilst wearing costume wings of various sizes and qualities of construction. Sometimes I'd dress in white, sometimes in black and red."

"Sounds like polar opposites." Some nights one persona, others another. Seems like it could be fun, but also a lot of work. This guy puts a lot of effort into his stage appearance, or appearances as it is. Roxas could learn a thing or two from this. Sip.

Aw, the drink is getting low.. he should pace, it isn't like the world is going to run out anytime soon. "That has to be fun. Does anyone else in the band--" He's interrupted by the distracting sound of people yelling at the other side of the bar. Of course, he has to stop and look to see what's going on, sipping the drink in his hand slowly as he watches two people berate each other. Are they the ones this night is all about? They sure are loud. And angry.

Oh well. Back to this, "..I was saying, does anyone else in the band dress up or anything? Ours is pretty simple.. jeans and t-shirts. It would be nice to try something else sometime."

"Mmm, the two sides of the Angel Sariel: the white-clad child of heaven who gazed down to earth and found it too wondrous not live upon, and the dark clad earth-walking being travelling about among the children of earth, teaching them new skills and learning the ways of human love," the pale gent replies.

-And then the yelling breaks out, at which the pale gent smirks, chuckling gently, deep in his throat. "Probably their version of a friendly rivalry: sometimes the closest friends can get on each other's nerves the worst," he says.

"Some of them do: one lady in particular goes for a kind of... darkly Victorian look, though she sometimes wears more daring albeit tasteful things, if you can imagine that," he says, and a very fond look might come into his eyes and a tender tone into his voice. It would seem this earth-walking angel has an earthly lover or at least an earthly crush of his own.

With the mind of a sixteen-year old, anything is imaginable. Especially any lady in any particular dressing in anything that could be described as daring yet tasteful. And darkly. Something about that seems exciting.

"That's pretty cool. You got any pictures?" It would be nice to put a face to this vision he's conjuring up in his mind. Which is, by the way, is buzzing pleasantly from just one drink of this stuff. This is something he'll have to revisit if he doesn't get sick off it.

"As a matter of fact, I have one at hand," he says, reaching into a pocket of his jeans and taking out a smartphone, scrolling through the contents and at length pulling up a photo of a tiny woman with tousled red hair in performance, seated at a piano, her small but shapely form clad in a white dress adorned with pearls. "The lovely Tamara Seward, in performance," he says, with a hint of pride.

A hint? Someone like that deserves a lot more. In fact, they warrant more than just a teenager gawking like he is. Roxas doesn't know her personally, so for him it's okay by his crazy logic to demand more than that, but if question is raised anyone else better pay heed and respect what is owed.

"Wow.. she's something else, huh? I hope someone's taking care of someone like her." And by that, he means she looks special and deserving of having someone giving her all that she had wanted and then some. Though.. in the limited confines of his teenage mind, it may not come off like that or even be remotely close.

"She is: a lovely flower, and yet a flower that can hold its own, as it were," Sariel replies. "We in the band all keep an eye on her, not because she needs it, but because deserves it, commands it, even." He says this with a more clearly defined pride, almost like a courtier speaking of his queen.

He's picking up on that. "That's cool." And completely different from his own band dynamics. Oh well, can't have everything in one go.

"Who else do you play with?" Maybe he has more pictures! And.. drink done.

"Mmmm! we've a youngster with a deep fondness for cats and a dark young lady who fits the whole goth persona to a tee, even playing a bit of a werewolf angle," he says. "Alas, I haven't any good photos of them, not just yet, at least."

Something tells him that he'll live without photos of these people. Besides.. the cats thing sounds familiar. Didn't he see a feed on social media about someone with an excessive amount of cats in their apartment? ..probably.

"You got a nice mix there.. I think I'm surrounded by angry and angrier." Sigh. "No wonder I come to these places for drinks and things. And man.. I don't want to start any shit, but the managers? Are yours decent to you? I think mine hates me. Like, she wants me dead. Or something horrible."

"Oho, ours is something of a tyrant: I'm due for a photo shoot, and I've been warned she's likely to really put me through my paces," he says, lowering his voice and glancing around to make sure no one is listening. In a normal voice, he adds, "They do say that anger is an energy, but it sounds as if you've got more energy than she can handle around you."

It's not just him. Why are they like this? He's too young for someone to be this cruel to him. "I guess it's a part of the business.. man I got into the wrong line of work." There's always healthy coping mechanisms to deal with this kind of thing though, right?

Or, what he'll more than likely turn to, unhealthy vices. "Good thing the age for buying your own alcohol is younger than most out in public.. except for a few." Like here. And without that, the show practically over after the yelling match from earlier, "I'll probably hit up another place tonight before going home." Ah, that youthful energy. "How about you?"

He'll keep his voice low as he replies, "Mmmm, it's worth it to have a broader audience, but the kind of hoops that our managers and the bosses of the label can make one wonder if it's all worth it.

He'll get up from his bar stool, reaching into another pocket, taking out his wallet and signalling to the barkeep to pay up his tab. "I was thinking of an old haunt of mine, a basement Goth club for a nightcap during their weekly open mike night."

What's a weekly open mike night? More so, what's a basement Goth club like? "Oh.. cool. They having that night tonight? That'd be lucky for you, huh?"

"As a matter of fact, tonight is that very night: You're welcome to join me, if you haven't any other plans," Sariel replies, pocketing his wallet.

Tempting.. he hasn't been to one of these 'Goth clubs' before. It could be fun. It could introduce a whole new spectrum of calling. Anywhere else he goes probably isn't going to be any more or less interesting anyhow. So, "Yeah, let's go."

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