Milo {Mac} MacKenzie (macfrontman) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-02-08 19:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | milo mackenzie, morphine |
Who: Mac and Morphine with appearances by Martin (NPC) and Ecstasy.
What: The beginning of a beautiful relationship.
When: Monday afternoon.
Where: Twin Roses Studios, then Nepenthe Clinic.
Warning: Language, at least.
Thank god the flight had been short. There hadn't been any delays coming out of Chicago and there weren't any getting onto the ground at LaGuardia, and for that Mac couldn't be more grateful. It meant that, at least, he wouldn't be taking out hours of accumulating frustrations on Ecstasy when he was picked up at the airport. He exchanged a brief embrace with the god before saying, with little enthusiasm, that he needed to go to the studio and he'd swing by E's place when he finished with all this ridiculous business.
And he did just that, braving the insanely bitter cold to dodge into the studio, looking worn-out, miserable, and more unhappy than he'd ever looked walking into that building. Jay was in back, on the label's side of the building, sitting in his office on some conference call with someone and their manager when Mac came in a plunked down in the chair across from his desk. No words were exchanged as he slid the paperwork across the desk with a pen. And that was it, it was signed and that was everything Mac had come here for. He felt worse now than he had stepping off the plane.
It must have shown, too. On his way back out through the lobby, he was stopped by one of the label's new artists, who frowned at him and informed him that he looked like Hell warmed over. Mac laughed, though it was hardly an amused sound, more like a tired and weary sound. But he nodded and replied that shit had been rough and he was starting to feel the grind all the way down to his bones. A short conversation and he'd confided that his usual source of happiness (Ecstasy, to be specific), had been turning his stomach upside-down and on top of everything else, he was starting to crumble.
Funny thing was, the guy pulled an appointment for a place called Nepenthe Clinic. Mac furrowed his brows and looked it over before the guy pat his shoulder, told Mac he needed this more and quickly dialed the number on the card to change the appointment. Mac was pretty floored that the guy would do this for him - even moreso that the appointment was for... well, 45 minutes from now.
Luckily cab-drivers in this city were properly insane and if he left right away - which he did, telling the guy thank you about five hundred times for letting him take this appointment before he was out the door, back into the cold and feeling a big hopeful for some kind of chemical cure to whatever was putting him so far down in the ditch that he was starting to think he'd never crawl his way back out again. He didn't give any thought to what this could mean further than that his whole being within and without was going to stop hurting soon. Just a little bit longer.
He didn't suppose he was really the kind of guy who strolled into that clinic on a daily basis, though. Twenty-two years old in a leather biker jacked and a Mickey Mouse Club baseball t-shirt underneath, skinny jeans, black Vans and sandy brown hair flopped over one half of his face. But he walked with the same sort of trudging gait that the others who slipped through the door did. Mac made his way through the door, having only been in New York two hours and already feeling like he'd been wandering around in the cold for days, and leaned against the reception counter.
"Hey," he said a little awkwardly. "Milo MacKenzie. Uhm... Greg Nicholas just called in to trade his appointment with me. I've never been here before." He pushed his hair out of his face and gave a small smile to the man behind the desk. Well, at least he wasn't bad to look at - not that Mac had any mind on looking at anyone right now.