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+---- Thread: whiskey, smoke and aces high (/showthread.php?tid=5405)
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Ronin - 04-25-2021
Ronin pulls a face - the only things on his Instagram are motorbike spray jobs, and almost all of them end up getting covered in something plain and practical; Saki in the parking lot below them is a prime example, and holds unimaginable colours beneath her veneer of jet black. Still, there's a twinkle of something just as sugar sweet in his own eyes as he takes in the man slouched on the sofa beside him. [say]"Mm, I'd have definitely still given you my number,"[/say] he agrees. [say]"And I almost definitely wouldn't have ended up in a fight."[/say]
Unaware of the song being written in the mind of a man he doesn't yet know well enough to assume things about, instead Ronin's stomach decides to rumble obnoxiously, and he rolls his eyes at it. [say]"Sorry,"[/say] he says sheepishly. [say]"I don't have any pets, but my appetite is enough of a beast on its own."[/say]
Shifting to sit up a bit, he tunes into the other man's words again, not having expected such candidness (but perhaps he should start expecting it, given their conversations just now). [say]"That makes a lot of sense. You were one of the reasons I drank so much so quickly. And probably why I shoved that guy out of my way. At least now I think we can agree that I am definitely not straight,"[/say] he murmurs, flashing a smile that doesn't try to hide the cheerful note of satisfaction in it.
[say]"Oh...?"[/say] Knowing something of rules and regulations himself, Ronin nonetheless pulls a face to hear that Remi literally can't go off script, so to speak. [say]"That fucking sucks,"[/say] he says simply. [say]"How long is the contract for...?"[/say]
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Remi - 04-25-2021
Remi hates how easily Ronin is able to make him smile despite himself. Indeed his cheeks are so round he can very nearly see them out of his peripheral vision. Huffing a laugh he directs toward the ceiling to give himself a reprieve from the laughter in the mechanic's eyes, he shakes his head. [say]"Oh? Not even if someone made some huge art blunder, or said Banksy is just an asshole with a spray can?"[/say]
Ronin's quip is just stupid enough that Remi's smile returns to normal as his gaze dips back from the ceiling where he can pin his new .... whatever Ronin is, with an unimpressed stare. [say]"Phone just vibrated. Foods about 3 minutes away, if I'm—"[/say] Knock knock. Cue laugh track. [say]"Well. There you go."[/say]
Rising as if the apartment is his own and collecting their food from the awkward teenager who probably delivers food to pay for his gas money, Remi wanders into the kitchenette with a smirk. [say]"Is that what it was about? You shoved someone?"[/say] Pausing as he sets the food down, the smell of basil and freshly baked bread beginning to push through the plastic bag, Remi snorts. [say]"Look at us. Straightish, but for different reasons."[/say]
Within the plastic are carefully wrapped sandwiches, not unlike the one Ronin would have had for lunch—and not unlike the one probably in his fridge right now, the one Remi hadn't eaten. These sandwiches have freshly baked bread with Italian herbs and spices, holding between them large hand-rolled meatballs, smeared with a red sauce that already has Remi's mouth watering. And of course, there's the cheese. [say]'Two years.'[/say] He replies with a frown, before glancing vaguely at Ronin's cupboards. [say]"Should I even bothering looking..?"[/say] He wonders, insinuating of course that the man doesn't have any plates.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Ronin - 04-25-2021
[say]"Aren't we all just assholes with spray cans?"[/say] Ronin says airily, a hand fluttering to his chest in a mockery of how he'd likely respond if he'd become an art lecturer instead of a scarred, ex-army biker. Perhaps that's why he appears like so much of a contradiction to Remi a lot of the time - because he is. Of course, then there's a knock at the door and before he can so much as shift to his feet, his guest is already up and wandering through the apartment like he owns the place.
And Ronin finds himself not minding it at all, as he watches, and that definitely brings a few awkward insinuations with it. Only when the smell of herbs and cheese and meatballs hits he air does he come back to himself, all but drooling as well around his explanation of the fight. [say]"Yeah, some asshole with a polo shirt and too much gel in his hair. He came to the bar to offer me a shove back - pretty sure it was to keep his girlfriend sweet - and so we went outside."[/say] If it sounds lame it's because it is, and yet the bruises on Ronin's face are still bruises.
[say]"Two years is a long time to be straightish,"[/say] he remarks, finally able to see the sandwiches and practically able to feel his eyes light up. The implication that he doesn't have plates, though?
He snorts. [say]"Bottom cupboard on the right."[/say] Like the tumblers he served the whiskey within, Ronin's plates barely look as though they have been used. It's all white, minimalist porcelain, more out of practicality than preference.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Remi - 04-25-2021
[say]"That right there? That is why I would not like you more."[/say] Remi points out with a huff. Though he might have his head in the clouds most of the time and the lyrics he writes might border on philosophical sounding, the musician has ever been turned off by that sort of pungent intellect.
[say]"Not gay, but you noticed the type of shirt he was wearing and how he had styled his hair?"[/say] Remi tilts his head skeptically to the side, letting the silence do the talking for him. [say]'So that's why he went. Why did you?'[/say] His feelings are only still slightly raw that Ronin walked out during what was arguably the best part of his show.
[say]'Well, it was three. I'm down to two.'[/say] Pulling out two plates and frowning at them—okay Ikea—Remi washes and dries his hands before plating their food. Included in the bag are spices to be added on top, and a small container of hot sauce that Remi generously sprinkles onto the meat. [say]'Voila. Qui abbiamo un classico panino con le polpette, fatto con bisonte, pane appena sfornato e il miglior formaggio che tu abbia mai assaggiato.'[/say] Remi rambles this off sounding both musical and pleased, as he hands Ronin his plate.
[say]'Buon appetito.'[/say]
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Ronin - 08-19-2021
[say]"Good thing I ended up the way I did then, isn't it?"[/say] Ronin says, implying that whatever the fuck he's doing with his life in this apartment and at his garage is better than being a snooty art lecturer. (And it is, but Ronin will never get to experience that side of things to appreciate it all that much). He can only scoff at the shade thrown his way - because it's true, he had definitely noticed what Angry Soup had been wearing and the way he'd styled his hair - because suddenly there are fancy ass sandwiches on the way and he's quite frankly forgotten why he's being insulted.
Why did he follow the meathead out to the parking lot, though? [say]"Drunk, ego, maybe I just wanted you to notice...?"[/say] That last one is a helluva longshot, and he knows enough about this mostly-stranger to know he won't fall for it. But again, sandwiches.
Or whatever Remi wants to call them. The blank look on Ronin's face says it all, really, and he accepts his plate with a vacant sort of smile that still tries to be almost sweet in its ignorance. [say]"Cheers,"[/say] he says by way of thanks, and then falls silent to dig in.
All in all this is the weirdest hookup he's ever had, but he can't find himself complaining one bit.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Remi - 08-19-2021
No, they weren't dating. They hadn't even had ThE TaLk about exclusivity, which both seemed as appropriate as it was annoying. They were just...having sex. Sometimes. Usually after long periods of time peppered with a few memes, until one of them would get drunk and message the other, and then someone would show up on someone else's doorstep, and...
[say]"...anyway. That's what's been going on."[/say] Remi murmurs into his cellphone. Sounds like you like this boy. Comes the reply—a woman's voice, with wind chimes in the background and though he isn't there to smell it, Remi imagines patchouli and cinnamon rife in the air. [say]"I mean..sure, but it isn't...I mean, it isn't anything."[/say] Which is the line Remi had been telling himself all along. It wasn't anything, because it wasn't. He and Irish were just...you know. Whatevering.
Pulling out his phone he finds the chat history where the name is just "☘️", and swipes it open.
O 🌾.
I left two tickets for you at the will-call for the show tonight if you're still free.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Ronin - 08-19-2021
[say]My name's not corn. Maybe he's free, tho? My schedule's pretty packed. I meant to wash my windows tonight.[/say]
There's nothing else for a minute or two, before another text comes through.
[say]Suppose I could squeeze you in. Food before? Or will you be busy preening?[/say]
Remi doesn't see this, of course, because Remi isn't there, but Ronin delivers these messages with a smile on his face that's nothing short of dorky, and he covers it up as soon as he can with what looks like a welding mask, except it's used to stop him getting high off the paint fumes from his spray jobs.
He quite enjoys whatevering with Bandcamp, he finds, especially once the initial do I hate you? Do I want to fuck you? Can we get through one conversation without wanting to kill each other? shit worked itself out.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Remi - 08-19-2021
Remi's heart does that annoying stutter-stop that he pretends he hasn't noticed when Irish replies right away. Frowning hard at his phone, a number of replies flash before his eyes before he mentally chastizes himself for overthinking this. Ronin doesn't deserve carefully crafted messages, because they're just friends. Just. Friends.
It was wheat. You know, wheat makes hay. Oh Hey...?
And then, because Remi is one of those people who sends multiple texts instead of just thinking it through, adds:
I haven't heard that euphemism before. 😏
And then another message.
I have soundcheck before, but it's catered if you want to stop by early.
Resisting the urge to make a joke about Irish's lofty pre-NYC lifestyle, Remi instead sits on his piano bench, one leg anxiously bobbing up and down with his phone in his hands, willing a reply to come through.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Ronin - 08-19-2021
It'll unfortunately be a few minutes before that reply comes through, because Ronin has to finish applying a basecoat to a bike he's working on. But he's finding, these days, more and more, he actually wants to check his phone when he knows he's expecting a message from Remi. So after about fifteen minutes, he takes a break and rolls his eyes to find a neat little row of texts. (He doesn't really mind, but he's definitely going to complain about it given the chance).
He sends back:
[say]That was terrible and you should be ashamed of yourself. Catered soundcheck? Weirdest restaurant name I've ever heard of. Sure tho - 6pm?[/say]
Then it's back to the bike, at least until the little phone at the front of the shop where a receptionist should and doesn't work rings. Then Ronin has to put on his definitely give a shit voice to answer.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Remi - 08-19-2021
The minutes drift on, and Remi finds himself pressing one piano key over and over and over again while he waits for his phone to light up. Amazing how he can go from Jack Nicholson in the Shining to beaming like some romcom jackass in just seconds.
[say]Catered soundcheck? Sounds like a good name for a band
6 works. See you then.[/say]
Now, Remi thinks looking at the clock which only reads 2 p.m.. Time to drown these butterflies in gin.
When Ronin makes his way into the theatre, he'll find a bunch of techs working through various lighting cues, which basically just looks like multiple attempts at blinding the musicians on stage. Not yet dressed in his Cool Show Clothes that have been picked out by someone else, Remi is wearing a t-shirt with a microscope on it that says biologists take cellfies and a pair of faded jeans. Unable to see anything other than the wash of white light scattered in his eyes, the musician noodles away on his guitar; playing nothing in particular while the sound guys (or girls, he doesn't know, he can't see) work their magic.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Ronin - 08-19-2021
6pm it is, then. Ronin doesn't actually get to read that text until it's about 3pm, by which time fuuuuuuck is about how his day has gone. He manages to peel himself out of the garage and home to shower, and he even takes an Uber to the theatre so he doesn't rock up in biker leathers. He's starting to learn that the sort of crowd that Sunset Patrol draws is not the grease and oil type, and so it's in a black t-shirt and pale jeans that he rocks up to the soundcheck. After he collects the tickets, of course.
He figures that Bandcamp is busy bandcamping (he doesn't know that the lights are blinding him), so Ronin lingers towards the back of the room with his hands in his pockets, trying and failing not to watch the ease with which he plucks at the guitar strings. He'll notice him eventually (probably), and until then the mechanic will content himself with making comparisons between this place and the bar he'd first seen Remi play in.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Remi - 08-19-2021
It's far grander, that's for sure. The room has a vaulted ceiling and can probably seat about 2000 between the floor and the balconies. Remi looks wildly out of place even if his music rises and falls with utter ease. For all his talent and his aspirations, the musician would sooner be playing in a small bar where he could throw on a jacket at the end of a set and have a beer at the bar without being swarmed. Ronin will likely have had to push his way through the crowd outside who've been lined up since about noon.
[say]"We good, Charlie?"[/say] Remi asks into his mic which crackles with feedback and thus answers his own question. Sighing, Remi sings a few bars of a Taylor Swift song until Charlie has worked out the levels with his mic. Raising an appreciative hand before setting his guitar onto its stand, Remi squints out into the theatre, blinking stupidly as the lights are turned down with a mechanical thunk.
[say]'I said no autographs until after the show.'[/say] He calls once he's able to make out Ronin. It does take a moment given his friend's dark hair and dark shirt, this poor attempt at humour a reflex meant to hide how nervous he suddenly felt to be here in this place, in this theatre, with this man. Shuffling himself off the stage, Remi walks down one of the aisles toward the back of the theatre toward Ronin, his lips moving slightly as he mumbles something over and over to himself under his breath.
[say]"Hey."[/say] He says awkwardly, cheeks flushed (probably because of the nerves and being under the lighting), torn between a high-five and a hug, and so just shoving his hands into his pockets instead.
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Ronin - 08-19-2021
He can't say much for the Taylor Swift song, but the man singing it is fine enough, and even better once the mic has its shit all worked out. Ronin is also left blinking as the lights go down all of a sudden, rubbing at his forehead and letting his hands drop to his sides when Bandcamp finally calls out to him and hops down off the stage. [say]"What about dinner?"[/say] he asks, as if that would be less effort than an autograph - and honestly it should be, given that they've already sort of made plans.
[say]"Hey,"[/say] he greets, having been more than geared up for a clap on the shoulder or something suitably platonic, so to find Remi's hands in his pockets as well is an even further step back than expected. [say]"This place is swish. I swear that crowd out there tried to mug me when they saw me coming in here, by the way. Your fans are vicious."[/say]
RE: whiskey, smoke and aces high - Remi - 08-19-2021
[say]"Swish?"[/say] Remi repeats back, frowning and smiling at the same time, not sure if he heard the word properly and just didn't understand, or if this was another Roninism. [say]"I'm sure it wasn't a mugging so much as them just trying to put their hands down your pants. I mean, look at you."[/say] Said far too casually, Remi swallows in the wake of this compliment and tries to backtrack. [say]"You look like you could be a member of the band dressed like that. And no grease? It's like you're trying to show me up at my own show."[/say] Remi would be forced to look suitably heartthrobby once the show started, but just now he looked like he might as well have been an off-duty usher.
[say]'Green room is this way.'[/say] He says, feeling like some juvenile idiot who is going to replay the last few seconds relentlessly in his mind. Leading them backstage and into the green room (which as it happens, was in fact green), Remi pushes open the door for Irish to enter first. With just a few couches and chairs and a table with thin-crust pizza and a few pastries, the room is as unluxurious as the theatre was swish. [say]"How...was work?"[/say] Remi asks stupidly, pushing the door closed behind him and running his finger consideringly over the button on the knob which would lock it.