He so was a punk, but Ariel kept that thought to himself. Personally, he was actually rather fond of bands like the Vibrators and the Buzzcocks (so they weren’t very original. It happened). The enjoyment they brought was different than, say, Anything Goes, but that was what was so fun about it. It was fast and careless and rough. Even a boy who wore a bowtie could appreciate that. - However, that was something else he kept to himself.
Instead, he laughed, watching amusedly as Mao clambered atop the counter like a kid. Ariel himself was often found climbing around on furniture during his dance routines, but he knew that joining the drummer wouldn’t be a wise choice given the fact that he was suddenly feeling a little woozy. So he leaned against the counter, rather than trying to scale it, and smiled happily at Mao.
“Do you know how fabulous it would be to do a Michael Jackson night?” Though he was serious, Ariel had added the “fabulous” to build on the other boy’s idea that, apparently, he was a walking stereotype.
He drank slowly from the cup - only the beer didn’t get too far before he spat it back out as he laughed again.
Small talk.
“I do, like, go to school.” Grinning, Ariel attempted to distractedly run a palm over his hair to put it back in its place. It didn’t work. Luckily for Mao, the singer actually enjoyed inane chatter with people, mostly because he didn’t really understand feeling awkward. “You’ll laugh because you’re an ass, but I’m at NYU for musical theater.”