Valerie knows Arthur (takespoint) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-01-10 21:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | arthur, multiple man |
Who: Caellum and Cory
What: Hanging out
Where: Minigolf
When: ...Lately.
Rating: Safe!
Caellum walked down the stairs from his tiny studio to the little Honda Civic parked on the street. It was an older 90’s model, faded from it’s original bright red, to a fairly dull red. However, it was paid off and it had very few problems. It had served him well, and he didn’t think Cory would mind too much. Neither one of them were wealthy, and Cael didn’t feel out of place with him, strange enough, considering the pairing.
On the surface, they were pretty different people. Cael was a wild child. He liked the life of a starving rock star, just cutting his teeth in the business. He loved clubs, he loved people, and he had a habit of illegal substances that had gotten him evicted from the last few places he had lived. He was trying the sober life for as long as he felt like it, although the want was still there. He didn’t know how serious he was about it, which usually meant that it wouldn’t last that long, but for now, he was holding on.
His new friendship with Cory, who was very much a different sort, was helping. Usually, Cael would hang out around other musicians. The similarities in the lifestyle made him comfortable. He also loved to play his guitar whenever possible. Cory was one who liked video games and lived at home. He couldn’t see the guy in a club, even if he was certainly older than Cael, who had just turned 21 last March. He was the kid that Cael had been before his comic book collection and love of games had been replaced by an obsessive need to learn to play the songs of the rock legends that adorned his walls at home. He liked revisiting that side of himself. He was having fun with it.
He walked up to the door and knocked. From the conversation they had before, he could see his mother not being very receptive to the tall blond with crazy hair, ripped jeans, sunglasses, and long black boots. He didn’t put much of an effort into picking clothes. He put on what he felt suited him on the day. Today, this was it.
Cory appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. He had about an inch on his mother and no more, and you could see some of his soft brown eyes and rounded chin in the set of her features and the tilt of her head. Cory knew she was seeing Becky’s crowd in the rag-tag guy at the doorstep, because Cael was exactly the kind of person that Becky had been: whiplash edged, unpredictably mad, and a regular challenge to society in almost every way.
Cory had always orbited such people, finding in them counters to himself and always drawn to their inner agonies, usually with drugs and their families--or the lack thereof. He was very much delighted to be with someone who obviously needed a friend who was sober but not preachy, and Cory nearly always tried to be what such people needed at the time. Cory’s parents wanted him to grow up and learn to be himself; after he’d lost Becky, Cory had simply tried to be a better version of what she’d wanted, instead.
Cory gave Cael a little upnod, stepped around his mother without saying a word, and moved out to join him in the cool, dry desert air. He was wearing a worn out sweatshirt that probably dated back ten years, a very old version of a Green Day concert tour. Much about Cory was a decade too old, from his shoes to his slang to his hair. “Hey,” he said, once the door had shut behind him. “How’s it going?” The question was earnest and not casual conversation; Cory accompanied it with a clear, serious look into Cael’s eyes, and it was obvious he’d spent enough time around addicts to know what to look and smell for. His expression was all bright, earnest attention.
Cael turned and flashed Cory’s mother his ‘mega-watt smile’ as his own mother called it. She said it spelled trouble, and Cael knew how to make it work. He also knew how to make a quick getaway. Once in the car, he let Cory get a good look at his eyes. They were the usual blue, with traces of green, minus the redness of a stoner, or the dilation of cocaine. He nodded, satisfied, dropping the sunglasses over his eyes. “No problemo,” he grinned, “I’m all good. I will tell you if I’m not.” He was a pretty honest guy, at least when it came to his friends.
“Now, where do you want to go. There are a few places on the strip, like Circus, Circus, or we could go for rides on the Stratosphere, or there’s King Putt, and they have some bad ass laser tag.” He had a Rockstar energy drink in the cup holder between the seats, along with a pack of Marlboros. In the back seat was a guitar, tucked neatly in a case, along with a stray shirt, and a wrapper or two.
Music thumped through the speakers, which he turned down a little. Tucking a strand of blond behind his ear, he looked over again as they turned off the street, leaving Cory’s house behind. “So, what’ll it be?”
Cory grinned back. He had a good smile, because it was a real, and he was never the kind of person to pretend to smile instead of frown. Cory had a great many faults, but he was deeply honest on an almost cellular level, and it tended to get him into trouble. He lied all the time, but he was terrible at it. “You don’t have to tell me, but it’s cool that you would, because then I can help,” Cory said, almost self-satisfied at the fact.
Cory buckled his seatbelt and glanced once in the back out of pure curiosity. He had a guitar gathering dust in his room, but he hadn’t touched it for a really long time. He vaguely remembered getting it in the hope he could write really tragic love songs, but in the end that had required more skill and patience than he had. At this point “Smoke on the Water” was his greatest accomplishment, and he’d really only managed the riff.
“Let’s do the mini golf while it’s still clear out,” Cory said. Vegas residents didn’t get out much in the blistering heat, and in the winter, when you could just bundle up and deal, Cory liked to wander under the sky a little bit. This too got him into trouble on a regular basis, but surely a minigolf course couldn’t be so bad.
“You got it,” Cael said, flashing a grin. He had been to King Putt several times and it was always fun. Usually, he was with the band, which meant he was also higher than a kite, and the black lights messed with his head. This time, he didn’t have the wings, but he was still in a good mood. It was actually fairly difficult to put Cael in a bad mood. He was used to rolling with whatever was thrown his way.
He noticed that Cory was looking at his guitar in the back. “Do you play anything?” he asked. “I’ve played for years. I was working in a music store when I got my first guitar. That was back in Oklahoma. There was literally nothing else to do.” He could also talk for days, and had to remind himself to take an occasional breath.
“You should come and see the band play sometime. I’m working on getting some sets lined up.” There was a small problem with that. He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to resist the temptation. His band mates were all stoners, although some dabbled in other substances. Passing on the customary pre-rehearsal joint wasn’t something any of them did. He wasn’t going to stop playing though. He couldn’t stop that one thing that truly gave him the ambition that he lacked in everything else. His hand grabbed for the can between them, taking a quick drink, wondering if Cory could see through his concerns there.
“No, I don’t play anything good. I got it after Becky--” he cut himself off and blinked. It had been a long time, and there was no immediate spasm of pain, he just looked troubled that he’d mentioned her without intending to do so. “I mean I just got it when I was being emo about stuff, because I thought I might as well, but I never got any good at it. Probably because I tried to learn off the internet.” He flashed a grin across the parking brake at Cael.
“It’d be awesome to see you play.” Cory had seen his share of high school garage bands, which was about what he envisioned now, without much trouble. Cory glanced over to see Cael chewing on something as he mentioned his band, and it didn’t take too much of a leap to figure out what it was he was thinking about. Cory was only a little bit off the mark. “Don’t worry,” he said, quickly. “I get along with pretty much anybody, and if you’d rather I didn’t say anything about... stuff... that’s cool, too.”
Cael turned his head, looking at Cory through shaded lenses. “I’ll teach you how to play,” he said easily. “We can do that after mini-golf, and laser tag.” He had to make laser tag a point. He actually loved it nearly as much as paintball. He could run like a wildman there. He put it on a mental list of things to do later.
“Say whatever you want,” he told him with a nod. He took another drink of his Rockstar. “I know I’m pretty fucked up. I don’t take shit seriously. I met this girl a few weeks ago, and she’s going to help me with a portfolio. I can’t very well go into that when I’m jonesing for a hit, or wired for sound.” He did have the face of a model, even if he was a little unconventional.
They were getting closer to King Putt. Cael pulled out a cigarette, lighting the tip. “I gotta have at least one of my bad habits.” He rolled his window down and blew out the smoke. “Who was Becky?” Cael often didn’t seem like he paid attention, but his sober head picked up on more things than he did when he was high. He took another drag, looking out of the corner of his eye at Cory.
As for the guitar, “I don’t know if it’s my thing anymore. It was kind of a phase. But I still like hearing good stuff. You’re good, right?” A teasing smile shot his way as Cory leaned back into his seat and spread his worn shoes out underneath the dashboard. “I bet you are. You look kind of like a rock star waiting to happen. You gotta lay off the stuff though.” Still the slight smile, though not much teasing any longer. The cigarette didn’t bother Cory; but eventually its time would come. He knew all the numbers, and if there was anything in reach, he’d fix it if he thought it was broken. “What kind of portfolio?” Cory wasn’t particularly familiar with that industry. Or any industry, really, except cheap casino floors.
Cory turned his head to concentrate on the road outside the window, but sadly a delivery truck pulled up right next to them at just that moment, so he was left staring at a graffiti’d white wall and nothing else. Shifting uncomfortably on the seat of his worn jeans, Cory said, “She was my girlfriend. A while ago.” He fidgeted with the white threads coming loose at the seam on the inside of his knee, his head bent.
Cael’s guitar was truly his baby. If he had to choose between his guitar and people, in most cases, the guitar would win. “I’m good,” he admitted, with a grin that was full of charm. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever done that has stuck like superglue. I picked one up and it was love. I played everything till my fingers were all torn up, over and over until it was right. If I would have put half of what I put into learning guitar into school, my teachers would have been so impressed.”
He also enjoyed that ‘rock-star’ look. His crazy hair and piercing eyes were complimented by a handsome face, and he knew how to use it. “I’m working on a modeling portfolio. I met a girl who wants to be a photographer, and we made a deal. She can do my portfolio, and try to sell it, and sell her work at the same time. It’s a win/win.”
Cael whipped in the parking lot and pulled into a space near the entrance. He looked at Cory, taking another drag of his cigarette, considering what he said about Becky. “Was it a bad breakup?” he asked, getting a feeling that it was a lot more than that.
Cory liked listening to other people’s hopes and dreams, liked it when they had them and liked it even better when they had plans to follow them. Cory couldn’t remember having too many of those, just passing ideas really, thoughts of doing this thing or that. They’d never lasted long, Cory’s dreams, centered as he had been on Becky and her crazy ideas about seeing every concert venue in the country and stuff like that. He stared out the window for a while, and he could see it easily: Cael and his rockstar smile could have what he wanted if his talent held up, and Cory, Cory wouldn’t say he didn’t have it even if all he could do was pluck at the strings one by one.
He glanced over, blinking some of the clouds out of his eyes. “Oh... no. She died. In an accident. But I told this girl on the journals she was still here so don’t... like, say anything.” He opened his passenger-side door and pushed out before Cael could put a reply together, not really eager to see the other guy’s face, in case he thought it was weird.
Cael was a little shocked to hear about Becky. He tried to keep the jaw drop to a minimum, but he wasn’t quite sure he pulled it off. Out of all the things that had happened to him, none of it was truly bad. It was one of the reasons he couldn’t quite commit to staying sober, or taking a more responsible turn. He was still young and invincible, the way it was with most youth before a real tragedy struck home.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said at last. “That sucks, in a very deluxe way.” He wondered if Becky’s death had anything to do with his anti-substance stance, but Cory seemed disturbed enough by it to only go for small bits of information at a time.
There was one question that he couldn’t resist. “Why did you tell a girl that she was here? I mean, your secret is safe. I won’t say a word.” Cory seemed like a polite guy. He might have been trying to tell her he wasn’t interested. Cael was much more direct when it came to people he was, or wasn’t attracted to.
Once outside the car, Cory tucked his hands away into his jacket pockets and stared out past the parking lot toward the long flat desert. There wasn’t anything out there, just the prickle of buildings clustered near the Strip and the flat houses that were too adobe to glitter even without the heat haze. He shrugged at Cael’s sympathy; he had gotten used to it over the years but he’d never really settled on the best way to handle it. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it was okay, but he also wanted to say thank you to whoever bothered to be sympathetic without thanking them for being sorry. It was thorny. “It was a while ago,” he decided in the end.
Cory scratched the back of his head as they stood in line for entry and tickets. “I don’t know. She just kept pushing me to go places and do things and I wanted her to leave me alone about it. Like I’m sure she’s... great, and stuff. But I don’t want to get involved with some random girl if she’s going to want me to be amazing and I’m not.”
Cael definitely didn’t linger on the bad feelings for too long. That was just the way he was, bouncy by nature to a point that was impossible to keep down. The sun even reflected off his golden hair that made him look like an extension of the sun, bursting with energy. “Maybe you just aren’t ready to date yet,” he offered objectively. “You are into comic books right? You could just say yes and then stop at random places and start reading. It would be kind of fun, and if she got offended, she could leave, or damn, if she joined in then maybe you should keep her.” He shrugged, chuckling at his own odd thoughts.
“I don’t really date, so what would I know. I just have this little problem being really serious. It either drives people crazy, or I manage to fuck it up.” There were times when he wouldn’t have minded a boyfriend or a girlfriend. He did like having someone there, but there was always someone else coming along. Musicians were his weakness, and being faithful was not easy.
He pulled out money for admission, crumpled bills that were shoved into pockets, as opposed to a wallet. He took a blue ball and a club, thanking the cashier with the same charming smile that he used to excess. The cashier giggled, and he swept blonde curls out of his face. “Too bad you’re working. You could always join us.” He knew that wouldn’t happen, but flirting was too easy. He grinned at Cory as they left the line. “So which girl was it on the journals?”
All the therapists and psychiatrists told Cory to move on. Joseph told him to move on. Anybody who found out anything about him, that was all they said: date, move on. Pretend the whole thing is over. Understand that she’s gone forever, that the dead never come back, that the dreams will eventually stop, that she wouldn’t want this for him. The messages cycled over and over, and now Cory’s mind just translated them all to say the same thing: forget her.
And Cory refused. Flat-out.
“You sound pretty determined to fuck it up,” Cory said, far more ready to discuss his friend than himself. “You go into it like that, you probably will.” Cory waited patiently through the cashier and the flirting, giving a neutral smile that somehow suggested he was used to being flirted over or past. He didn’t interfere, waited for his turn, and was somehow even more colorless than usual as he requested a green club and a yellow ball.
As they walked out onto the course, Cory hesitated, and then finally gave as he indicated Cael should go first. “That one called Val. Big letters. Full-blown geek. She’s hot and heavy about everything all the time. She’s really intense.”
“I just don’t know what I want, or I haven’t found someone that becomes that all consuming inferno yet.” His smile was soft. His mother had always said that it was a lot like the sun. He liked the idea of someone who could just captivate him, but he definitely hadn’t come across them yet, as much as he enjoyed the idea.
“I know Val. She’s - ,” his voice trailed off, a dealer wasn’t the best thing to say to someone who was pretty adamant about staying clean, “cool. Not right for you though.” He looked up again, face falling slightly. “You don’t have to be in any hurry, or even looking. It’s not a big deal. Friends are cool that way.” Cael was not a heavy guy. He didn’t really delve deep into emotional issues. He avoided them if he could, not wanting to over analyze himself in the process. The flaws glared from beneath the surface all too easily.
In that, they could agree. Cory was pretty sure he had a lot of flaws, and honestly he couldn’t imagine what someone would need to be like to be interested in him and all his baggage. They were always telling him he needed to find someone, and he didn’t know what was scarier: that the someone would be like Becky, or that she wouldn’t. Nodding in agreement, Cory made up his mind to try not to think about it, and as they moved out to the first hole, he filled his thoughts with hopes about getting his yellow ball into the slot under the rotating windmill instead.