Greg Universe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
panspermia) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
interstellar55552016-03-27 11:27 am
panspermia) wrote in interstellar55552016-03-27 11:27 am
Entry tags:
My window's painted shut
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.
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
J returns the grin with one of his own. "Jeremy. Sounds like a plan."
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
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?"