InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "toolbelt of love"

Robert Drayton. (stringthetrail) wrote in bellumlogs,
@ 2010-01-02 00:14:00

Entry tags:

big bad wolf, gingerbread man, meg giry

Who: Robert Drayton.
What: Oh bother. Damn you elevators!
Where: The elevator.
When: Today in the evening.
Warnings: None at the moment.
Notes:

Unlike most of the current tenants in the building, Robert didn't know nor cared about the events that transpired between themselves. Having just moved in, he could already see his original intent and hope that it would be a quiet building were dashed. Far move from where I was, he thought. In all reality, he hadn't wanted to move. Going away from what he deemed to be his home base gave him a weird unsettled feeling in a way no one else could. But he had to. It was the best decision for his music and more producers were willing to sign in New York than Memphis (waaay too many blues players out there).

Speaking of which, it was time for him to go to the studio and practice. Hopefully he would be able to record a few sessions, listen to the end result and get one step closer to making a full-fledge demo.

So he stepped into the elevator from the second floor, pressed for the ground floor, and waited. The car began to slide down then paused, as though it was thinking, before moving up. It reached halfway between the fourth and fifth floor before stopping altogether, the regular lights switching off to the emergency lights. Staring, he pressed the ground floor.

Nothing.

So he pressed another floor.

Still nothing.

"Well shit," he muttered.

After pressing all the buttons on the panel (nope, nothing), he searched for a phone, but thanks to the miracle of antique elevators, it seemed when people were stuck in elevators back then they just sat in a corner and waited to die. Since Robert didn't enjoy the idea of screaming and wailing, he merely banged on the door once before settling on the floor, pulling out his harmonica from his jacket pocket, and began playing a tune which sounded suspiciously like Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues. Someone will need to use the elevator eventually. Then he'd get out.

Hopefully.

(Read comments) - (Post a new comment)

wolfishane
2010-01-06 05:56 am UTC (link)

He looked down at it, nodding with approval. "I feel more rebellious already," he said. "You've accomplished exactly what you set out to do."

She was very close to him, the way she was sitting and leaning up against him. She still smelled wonderful, all sharp clean sweetness with that leather and layer of musk. This was someone not at all like Boyd, someone who had it in them to draw a skull and crossbones on his arm in sharpie. This was the sort of person who he could take and never tell a damn thing about himself, or his history, someone he could break off and try to be different with, move in another direction, forget everything that had happened and not have to worry about or really let know anything about him.

He thought of sitting in Daniel's kitchen with Boyd, her eyes far away with sedation but every word hitting home uncomfortably in him, and sitting here with James in his lap, sexual and undeniably gorgeous, sketching out a joke on his arm. It would be easy, very easy, to take that and run with it and never, ever come back.

Would it be real? No. Would it last? Probably not. It would be an escape, something that he could sink into and pretend with, but he was very tired of lies. And besides, the old life was the only one he fit into with any semblance of comfort.

There was a long silence and then he smiled, and touched the side of her face, and said, "Will you kill me if I ask you for a rain check on any more tattoos? I have to call someone."

(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

ex_peepshows656
2010-01-06 06:04 am UTC (link)

James saw the change, or maybe only just now noticed what had already been in place. There was quite evidently something on his mind, something other than her or his new rebellious streak. She capped the pen slowly, eyes searching in that low-burn intensity when he touched her face. But she smiled, apparently unbothered, when she slid off of him. "You just saved my life, Shane," it was a loose interpretation of tonight's events, "I think killing you would be bad form."

She dropped the pen onto his coffee table and moved for the door. "I'll see you around."

(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	wolfishane 2010-01-06 06:11 am UTC (link)
	That sounded about accurate. He stood, but didn't follow her all the way to the door, stopping halfway across. "And I you," he said. He didn't know what he'd do when he saw her again. But, whatever else, she'd caught his attention, even if he still didn't know so much as what floor she lived on. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

ex_peepshows656
2010-01-06 06:41 am UTC (link)

James slipped out the door after collecting that crowbar and giving Shane a brief smile. She closed door six-oh-one behind her and headed down the hallway with a new energy. The stairs were a wise choice, but she didn't stop at the fifth floor. The lobby led her into the dark crush of night, and James braved the unbearable cold for a block before snagging a taxi. Just a lady and her crowbar on a late night ride. Now, for girls in glasses? Or lasagna?

(Reply to this) (Parent)

(Read comments) -