Josh Corviss (corviss) wrote in genetic_opera, @ 2009-03-06 11:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | corviss, indigo |
Setting: The Seven Veils
Time: Almost midnight, and ten years ago
Characters: Indigo, Corviss
Rating: PG-13
Indigo was just finishing his set. He tended to get a more lukewarm reception when he was playing male, but it hadn't been too bad tonight. Possibly because people were starting to know the club had a hermaphroditic dancer, and were sometimes showing up now just for the novelty. There were others, of course, but the half and half thing was still kind of rare. As he cleaned up in the dressing room, wiping the sweat from his face and re-touching up his eyeliner, he wondered if he was okay with being a freak show attraction.
Oh, who the hell was he kidding, he loved people looking at him for any reason. And there had been a guy in the corner who'd been eyeing him particularly appreciatively. It might turned out to be a productive evening in more ways than one. Ruffling a hand through the longer black waves he was sporting today, the dancer walked back out into the bar proper, looking around for the hopefully big tipper.
His eyes passed over a few people, not seeing who he was looking for ... and then his brow furrowed in surprise. Was that ... ?
Despite the Graverobber's warning, Corviss had arranged to meet another well-known necromerchant, hoping to learn if Amber had another source, and as the night grew longer it was obvious he'd been stood up. He was pissed as hell for the second time in less than a week. What was with people making him wait these days?
Growling low in his throat, he'd settled at the bar, away from the other patrons, reasoning that he may as well have a drink. He'd watched the dancer with a critical eye, recognizing a talent beyond the stage in this place, but he hadn't thought much about it. He had bigger problems. He'd dressed down, for him, with a black cotton button-down and a black vest over it, accentuating his narrow hips, but he still wore the matte-black leather jeans and boots. He couldn't think of the last time he'd worn something that wasn't black, and idly he began thinking back, trying to remember.
Slowly the dancer approached from behind. Of course Corviss wouldn't recognize him. He'd looked so different, over a decade ago when they'd last seen each other. But oh, Indigo knew who he was. Knew very, very well. A slender hand reached out and lightly tapped the singer's shoulder.
"Josh?"
Even with his face plastered on billboards, people didn't often recognize him in public on the rare occasions he went out, so he was generally left alone, but even if he'd been swarmed with fangirls, there wasn't a single one who knew him as anything but Corviss. At the quiet word, his perfectly-sculpted face went white and he looked over sharply, green eyes wide. Prompted by the name, the irises were rimmed with a thin line of brown.
"What did you call me?" he asked in a low tone, watching him, trying to recognize him. It was the dancer who had just performed, and Corviss didn't know him. At least, he didn't think...but there was something there. Something familiar.
"You got your eyes done, didn't you?" the man in front of his said softly. "It's not just the contacts any more." The features were far more lush than the ones Corviss would have remembered. The lips fuller, the cheekbones higher. The eyes a much more unusual shade of grey-green instead of plain old blue. But the slightly uncertain smile was pure ... well, he hadn't always been Indigo. It was pure Steve, a skinny, angry kid from the lower levels of the city.
Corviss's brow furrowed just a bit and his eyes moved over the features of the face in front of him, mentally changing them, and the smile just brought it back. Corviss had just been remembering the night when Josh Copeland had first looked in the mirror and seen Corviss smirking back at him, seen the face of what was to become his future, and here was the man who had finally cajoled him into changing his image.
"...Steve," he said at last in a slightly stunned voice. Those who knew Corviss well would have been hard-pressed to recognize him as his attitude changed completely, instantly, as the arrogant thrust of his shoulders changed to a quieter, less aggressive posture. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and when he opened them, the brown had taken over. "Got them done a few years ago," he answered, and the voice was far softer, friendlier.
"It's Indigo, now," the man who'd been Steve - and was once again, no matter what he said - claimed. "God, Josh, it's been ... forever." He pushed a hand through his hair nervously. "I ... wow. What are you even doing here? Obviously you're not here for me ... "
"Ten years," Copeland said softly, dropping his eyes as he remembered the past ten years. He looked frustrated and shrugged a bit. "I was supposed to meet someone here, but they didn't show up. I didn't even know you were..." He gestured aimlessly at the stage, and even his movements were different, less calculated to draw the eye, more graceful and natural. He smiled a bit, looking at him again. "It's good to see you," he admitted. "Sit down for a few minutes?"
"Yeah." Indigo raised his voice to the woman bartending, and the smile this time was brighter, warmer. More artificial. "Hey, Jeannie, do me a favor and put this guy's drinks on my tab? I'll settle up out of my tips, okay?"
The blond nodded, eyeing Corviss curiously, and then the dancer jerked his head toward one of the semi-private booths near the back. "You wanna - ? It's easier to talk back there. Maybe prevent you from getting recognized." Indigo's tone was slightly bitter for that, and his eyes dropped briefly before coming back to Copeland's face.
"You don't -" Copeland started to protest, but he paused and tilted his head a bit, studying the change in Steve's - no, in Indigo's face. He nodded briefly, picking up his drink. "Good idea," he murmured and stood, waiting for the dancer to lead the way. He felt Corviss bristle a bit at the bitterness in the words but he didn't answer to it, not right there.
The back booths had curtains that could be pulled, doubtless to encourage certain kinds of bargaining that the strip shows were only a prelude for. Indigo drew the curtain halfway, but left some space he could look out in. Once he'd settled on one side of the booth, arms crossed on the table, he just stopped and stared at Copeland. "I didn't think I was going to ever see you again," he said softly after a few uncomfortable moments.
Copeland followed, moving a little awkwardly between the tables, something Corviss would never do. He settled opposite Indigo and flushed a bit at the scrutiny, dropping his eyes. "I didn't really mean for what happened to...to happen," he finished, rolling his eyes at how ridiculous it sounded. "They just came up to me after the show and handed me the contract."
He shifted and glanced out between the curtains. "I never got a chance to thank you," he added, and this last was in a tone much flatter and more rote than anything he'd said so far. He did have Steve to thank for the last ten years, but considering he, Copeland, had spent most of them watching through Corviss's eyes, he wasn't entirely sure what exactly he had to be thankful for.
"No. No, you didn't. Never had a chance to say much of anything, did you?" Indigo asked, and his voice was tight with remembered hurt. He hadn't expected to get into this right away ... but why not? He had thought Copeland might not even remember, but the dancer guessed he must have.
"I haven't had a chance to say much of anything for ten years," Copeland said very quietly, staring at his drink, his shoulders hunched slightly. He looked drawn-in, nothing like the larger-than-life attitude he usually projected. "I'm sorry, Steve, I didn't mean to just...leave you behind. I don't really know what happened." He looked up again, meeting his eyes, looking penitent. "How have you been?" he asked, knowing the question was entirely inadequate but having no idea what else to say.
Indigo's face had slipped into a morass of anger and regret, but it softened just a little at that look. He supposed the PR people had probably been keeping a tight lid on Corviss. But still, he could have tried to find Steve again! Not just disappeared! "Oh, you know. I get by." The dancer wasn't about to go into how close he'd come to repossession on several occasions now. Not and risk looking like he was begging for handouts. "This place is a shithole, but I guess I never rated much better than that. Like that place we were at, back in '46. You remember?"
"Oh god, the floors in that place, it was like they sucked at your shoes," Copeland answered, closing his eyes in remembrance, grimacing a bit. He shook his head, staring at his drink again. "Corviss was a good idea after all," he said with a tight bitterness, his hands white-knuckled around the glass. "So good I haven't been able to drop him for more than a few minutes at a time in ten years," he added in a lower voice that sounded almost desperate.
Indigo's brow furrowed, bringing more of the old Steve back. "What do you mean?"
Copeland's eyes were closed, his face tense as he wrestled with his thoughts, quite literally. Corviss was straining to get back to the surface, to keep Copeland from saying anything, but the sight of Steve's different yet achingly familiar face had made Copeland more determined than he'd been for years.
"Remember when we first came up with him?" he whispered, pushing the glass aside, running his fingers through his gelled hair, the follicles now permanently black. He'd never have the soft sandy-brown again. "I strutted in front of your mirror for hours, trying to get him right. Sexy, arrogant, you said he had to look down on everyone, that no one could be as good as him, he had to think that."
"I remember ... " Indigo said softly.