[ There's good news and bad news for Euterpe: Good news, people are interested. Interested enough that they can afford to set up a makeshift studio in the woods even if it's too expensive to actually record in a real studio. Bad news: it's literally all of their money and it's pretty much ramen all day every day.
Weirdly enough, Felix is happy about this. Not that they're probably going to get scurvy if they don't have an orange or two, but that they're here. They're making art. People believed in them enough to buy shitty merch and hastily recorded singles and pay for their gas money to be the shitty opening band for this.
The Ultimate Experience (tm).
It's something that makes Felix guilty every time he stops and reflects on it--not that he has time to. They have a tight schedule before their cash flow runs out, and they have all of their success riding on this, and it's insane--but it's a pressure that Felix finds somewhat reassuring. If it weren't for pressure or the need to actually make money, he'd happily be playing his guitar on the streets for free.
So they rent a cabin in the lush wilderness of New York and spend the whole day moving everyone's sound proofing things (foam, mostly foam, it's cheaper because they have all of this at their own places anyway). Felix even uses a hammer for more than 20 minutes and doesn't die. It's pretty much a miracle, and when he hammers the first nail all three of them clap like it's some sort of ritual, their bassist mitch even cheers auspiciously. Felix would be mad if he wasn't already so giddy about it.
The next hour is spent getting the necessary things in order--instrument set up, recording equipment and XLR cables ran, and bongs hit. It's pretty much clockwork at this point, nice and easy, and after a while Felix gets itchy and picks up his guitar. They jam for a little bit before jamming turns into the inevitable chaos of four musicians trying to compromise (a good compromise but still verbal insanity with everyone talking at once) when the front door swings open.
Felix's first thought is to ask if anyone locked it. His second is to star at the other's luggage. His third? ]
Hi.
[ That there's an impossibly attractive guy standing awkwardly in the doorway. Felix has a microphone stand he's leaning on, guitar draped over his already lanky frame giving him a weight down appearance, and it's a miracle anyone can see his eyes over how he's in desperate need of a haircut.
[ Although he likes people– actually, that's a strong word, like, more like he finds them fascinating– occasionally he gets the urge to disappear. Like, off the grid kind of disappear. No social media, emergency phone only (at the behest of his agent), no texts, nothing. He jokingly calls it his battery recharge time, though he thinks there's some grain of truth in there somewhere. Because while he doesn't struggle to meet his writing deadlines, whatever they happen to be, he always feels better after going away and shutting himself off from the rest of the world.
And right now is just that time. Truthfully, he's been having some difficulty concentrating on all of his projects. The folder on his computer that contains the month's current work is full of partially written drafts, some articles having several pages of starting paragraphs that go nowhere. Yesterday, he nearly pitched his entire machine in the garbage in a fit of frustration.
So it's with some relief that he's had this trip planned out a number of weeks in advance. If he had a calendar that was remotely organized, it would have every day dutifully crossed off and this date circled several times. Instead, he just has a haphazard system of reminders that go off every three minutes until he's annoyed enough to do something about it.
Eventually, he ends up on the doorstep of the cabin in upstate New York, already feeling lighter than he has in at least a month. There's a problem though and that problem is that there is chaotic noise coming from said cabin. Unlocking the door, he pushes it open and is met with several pairs of eyes staring at him in some kind of shock. Well. Alright. There's a mix up. ]
Uh, hi. I wasn't expecting... people. [ Extremely smooth. ]
Hi. [ It's not stressed, just repeated, and Felix offers a half-wave, wrist nearly colliding with the neck of the guitar. The only reason he doesn't clip himself is practice--he's had instruments haphazardly around his person since he was 8. ]
We're people.
[ Oh, smooth, Felix, really smooth. Mitch stares at him and Matt stares at him and it takes the third member of their quartet's eyes on him before he realizes that yes, he should probably say something.
Felix has the talent to get out of pretty much anything if he really wants. The current band tally is 4 speeding tickets, 2 public intoxications, and one drug posession case that he really was holding on to for a friend. The problem is that normally he doesn't have to charm people that are this ungodly attractive.
His one weakness: jawlines. ]
So-- [ He'll just carefully remove himself from how he's draped over the mic stand and take his guitar off, step forward, and surreptitiously make his way to the door to half-block the newcomer from getting in. ] Hey, hi--what cabin d'you got?
[ People. As in people he wasn't ready to deal with, because this was supposed to be his anti-social hour. Week. Whatever. Ryder looks over at the band, noting that they all seem to be waiting for the alarmingly charming one to speak up. Is he the frontman or something? Or does he just have some kind of charisma the rest of them don't have?
If anything, he's right about the charisma, since he strikes up conversation like it's as easy as breathing. No awkwardness here at all, despite the circumstances, and he feels weirdly grateful for it. This could be so much worse. ]
This one? [ Why is he unsure, he unlocked the fucking front door. Ryder holds up the key, complete with cabin number attached to one of the key rings. ]
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millionways) wrote2018-11-29 08:53 pm
First meeting; loud noises
Weirdly enough, Felix is happy about this. Not that they're probably going to get scurvy if they don't have an orange or two, but that they're here. They're making art. People believed in them enough to buy shitty merch and hastily recorded singles and pay for their gas money to be the shitty opening band for this.
The Ultimate Experience (tm).
It's something that makes Felix guilty every time he stops and reflects on it--not that he has time to. They have a tight schedule before their cash flow runs out, and they have all of their success riding on this, and it's insane--but it's a pressure that Felix finds somewhat reassuring. If it weren't for pressure or the need to actually make money, he'd happily be playing his guitar on the streets for free.
So they rent a cabin in the lush wilderness of New York and spend the whole day moving everyone's sound proofing things (foam, mostly foam, it's cheaper because they have all of this at their own places anyway). Felix even uses a hammer for more than 20 minutes and doesn't die. It's pretty much a miracle, and when he hammers the first nail all three of them clap like it's some sort of ritual, their bassist mitch even cheers auspiciously. Felix would be mad if he wasn't already so giddy about it.
The next hour is spent getting the necessary things in order--instrument set up, recording equipment and XLR cables ran, and bongs hit. It's pretty much clockwork at this point, nice and easy, and after a while Felix gets itchy and picks up his guitar. They jam for a little bit before jamming turns into the inevitable chaos of four musicians trying to compromise (a good compromise but still verbal insanity with everyone talking at once) when the front door swings open.
Felix's first thought is to ask if anyone locked it. His second is to star at the other's luggage. His third? ]
Hi.
[ That there's an impossibly attractive guy standing awkwardly in the doorway. Felix has a microphone stand he's leaning on, guitar draped over his already lanky frame giving him a weight down appearance, and it's a miracle anyone can see his eyes over how he's in desperate need of a haircut.
It's bad. ]
no subject
And right now is just that time. Truthfully, he's been having some difficulty concentrating on all of his projects. The folder on his computer that contains the month's current work is full of partially written drafts, some articles having several pages of starting paragraphs that go nowhere. Yesterday, he nearly pitched his entire machine in the garbage in a fit of frustration.
So it's with some relief that he's had this trip planned out a number of weeks in advance. If he had a calendar that was remotely organized, it would have every day dutifully crossed off and this date circled several times. Instead, he just has a haphazard system of reminders that go off every three minutes until he's annoyed enough to do something about it.
Eventually, he ends up on the doorstep of the cabin in upstate New York, already feeling lighter than he has in at least a month. There's a problem though and that problem is that there is chaotic noise coming from said cabin. Unlocking the door, he pushes it open and is met with several pairs of eyes staring at him in some kind of shock. Well. Alright. There's a mix up. ]
Uh, hi. I wasn't expecting... people. [ Extremely smooth. ]
no subject
We're people.
[ Oh, smooth, Felix, really smooth. Mitch stares at him and Matt stares at him and it takes the third member of their quartet's eyes on him before he realizes that yes, he should probably say something.
Felix has the talent to get out of pretty much anything if he really wants. The current band tally is 4 speeding tickets, 2 public intoxications, and one drug posession case that he really was holding on to for a friend. The problem is that normally he doesn't have to charm people that are this ungodly attractive.
His one weakness: jawlines. ]
So-- [ He'll just carefully remove himself from how he's draped over the mic stand and take his guitar off, step forward, and surreptitiously make his way to the door to half-block the newcomer from getting in. ] Hey, hi--what cabin d'you got?
[ And it's the next one over, right? ]
no subject
[ People. As in people he wasn't ready to deal with, because this was supposed to be his anti-social hour. Week. Whatever. Ryder looks over at the band, noting that they all seem to be waiting for the alarmingly charming one to speak up. Is he the frontman or something? Or does he just have some kind of charisma the rest of them don't have?
If anything, he's right about the charisma, since he strikes up conversation like it's as easy as breathing. No awkwardness here at all, despite the circumstances, and he feels weirdly grateful for it. This could be so much worse. ]
This one? [ Why is he unsure, he unlocked the fucking front door. Ryder holds up the key, complete with cabin number attached to one of the key rings. ]