max yorke just wants to go home (capgrased) wrote in mnhttnprjct, @ 2010-04-10 00:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, max yorke, noah locke |
log: max and noah
who? Max Yorke and Noah Locke.
what? The two friends carry an electric piano up the stairs while having conversation and singing Thriller. Hell yeah.
when? After this.
where? The stairwell of Max's apartment building.
rating? PG-13 for stupid behavior and language.
MAX: Getting the electric piano out of the store and to Max's apartment building wasn't hard considering he had procured one of those little moving trollies. Sure, they looked just a bit ridiculous pushing it down the street, but neither of them really cared. The problem with moving the piano came when they actually arrived at their destination. First, they had to haul it up a few feet of concrete stairs and inside the building. Once inside, they discovered that it was a few inches too big to fit in the regular elevator and no one was around to give them the keys to the freight elevator. Well, shit. So that was why the two were carefully carrying the piano up the regular steps, probably to much chagrin of the people trying to get past them. It wasn't so bad. Max only lived on the eighth floor, after all. However, they had to take a break a couple flights up on one of the landings and once the piano was secure, Max took a moment to sit down on one of the steps. "See. I told you it wouldn't be so bad." He was only huffing and puffing just a bit. NOAH: When he signed up to move stuff, there hadn't been a nagging voice to remind him to check dimensions or anything similar. Just to go over and move. Leaning against the railing and using the shoulder of his shirt to wipe beads of sweat off his forehead, Noah was now wishing he had really thought this through. His back ached and he was pretty sure he would need someone to rub the kinks out of his shoulder tomorrow. "Oh, yeah, not so bad," he huffed, knees going weak and sinking down onto a stair lower. "Yeah, not so bad at all... Max, I'm goin' to kill you," a weak threat accompanied by a fist shaking. Noah was pretty fit in general, but this was pushing it for him. His body wasn't that muscular, just sinew. His knee was already throbbing. "I need carbs. I expect a full-fledged date now." MAX: Checking dimensions would have been logical, though it really didn't surprise Max that he had forgotten to do that. Oops. He was just too excited, OK? Shouldn't buildings have some sort of regulations that you had to be able to fit a piano in the elevator? Stupid America. "You can't kill me. Then who would you hang out with," he asked after a big sigh in an attempt to catch his breath. "We'll go for Italian. But only one glass of wine. That stuff isn't cheap anymore." NOAH: Max had a point. If he died, then Noah would need not only a new blog partner, but some other slightly rebellious fool to go do crazy things with and pretend he had some other husband. There would go all his summer plans, too. Damn. "Alright, but red, I'm not down for your fancy white wine. I want to get drunk." He's no cheap whore, either. Granted, the last time Noah was considerably drunk was awhile ago on some house mead. Wasn't half bad, if he recalled right, but then again any night where you wake up in a monkey suit in some lady's rooftop garden a whole district away from your own was never bad. "How do you think we take this upstairs, or maybe just leave it here and sing in the stairwell? neighbors gonna like that?" MAX: See! You couldn't get rid of him just like Max couldn't get rid of Noah. They were BFFs, afterall. So killing was out of the question. "Ugh. Red wine. Fine." Why couldn't you be a cheap whore, Noah? "But you're not getting a good night kiss. I draw the line there," he joked. Depending on how good the wine was at the place, maybe he would go crazy and actually pay for two glasses. It had been way too long since he had a good drink. "Half the neighbors are already weary of me. I think that might push some of them over the edge." Not everyone was too keen on having a resident from a suspected terrorist neighbor in their building. NOAH: Oh, lo, how meeting over sausage and beans in a locked bar could bond such friends. Theirs was truly an awkward situation turned gold. Noah wrote many songs over it. Most of them make him the hero but, then again, what kind of song about holing up in a bar wouldn't make him a hero? Better than both being losers. Jubilant for winning their date night, he grinned and reached up to pinch Max's little cherry cheeks. "I think your neighbors are more confused by a terrorist and a cowboy hanging out. It's like that one war, but on a much tinier scale," he pinched his fingers together with an ant's space between. See? Tiny. "And I'll get my goodnight kiss if I want my goodnight kiss, now move your ass up and let's haul this thing to it's final destination." MAX: That was a good night. Perhaps not so much for the club they were at, but for them in general. Max had recently been stranded in the country, so it was good he met a friend (and a fellow musician at that) pretty close off the bat. It was a Good Thing. Leaning back, he tried to swat the hand out of the way because, hey, he didn't like his cheeks being pinched. "Well. We are both from foreign countries, even if yours is on a more lame scale." Republic of Texas. PSSSSH. "You will get no such thing," he started as he stood up and went to his end of the piano. "That would be like kissing my brother. If I had a brother. I imagine it would be like that and why am I even making this comparison?" NOAH: "Because you're a homo terrorist is why. Haven't you read the papers? all you homos like to make out with your brothers while launching bombs into homes full of straight people. God, get your stereotype right!" Noah bapped Max against the side of his head lightly while chuckling, amused by his own immature crack. Hoisting his own end up, Noah grunted and wished he head a cap to keep his hair back with right about now. "Don't hate on my country, it brought this land some great bar-be-que before the whole bomb happened. Yours just failed and gave everyone fish'n'fries and soggy bacon. Bacon isn't soggy." MAX: "Excuse you. I'm not a homo terrorist." He nearly failed science back in the day, so making bombs and such was just never going to happen. "I'm just greedy. Get your stereotypes right please, Noah." Geez. This was probably why some of his neighbors looked at him strangely. "Bacon isn't supposed to be brittle and run the risk of cutting up your mouth." He then nodded and started to walk with the piano. Since he was such a nice guy, Max was the one going up the stairs backward. "And you gave the world George W. Bush and rewrote your history books. Enough said." NOAH: "You're homo and I'm straight, and together we're like a really fucked up version of Sesame Street. Which reminds me, should we do a small blog on why Oscar the Grouch had it right living in a can?" Just something he had been thinking about lately, with all the crap happening around them, that the rent in a garbage container would be much cheaper, albeit smellier, but cheaper. Shrugging, he tried to not drop the piano and shake his head all at once. Might as well as color his hair blond some days. "I like bacon crispy. No wonder the world hates us so much, but I was barely even, I dunno, five? when Bush left office, so you can't blame me too much. Parents, oh yeah." They're die-hard reds and Noah was as blue as the sky. "But what can we do about it. Ffff this is heavy." MAX: "How the hell is that like Sesame Street?" He didn't quite understand that one. "You know, they would probably applauded Oscar these days for being green and all that good stuff. He was definitely ahead of the curve there. Though I really can't understand where he put all his stuff... unless his can was connected to the sewer system then." These were the things he thought about a lot. Sadly. "All right. I blame your parents." This is your fault, Noah's parents! "It is heavy because it is amazing. Just be glad I didn't buy the real piano that was in the paper this week." NOAH: "You're Ernie, I'm Bert. In the entire bromance, I'd be top because I'm het. Ernie was a queer. Duh." Noah rolled his eyes and gave him a 'you should know this!' look. Totally all self-explanatory in his mind. "Oscar was the original hobo, too, but they wouldn't applaud that now. He'd just be the new Che Guevara. No one knows his initial mission, but he's good in a silhouette on a piece of paper." Noah tsked, "I would have preferred the sound of a true piano, ebony against wood, but there aren't any real elephants left for ebony, and on top of that, those are so fucking heavy. I found one in a bar once, totally out of tune, but maybe I'll go back. We can buy that, too, but put it on wheels. The Amazing Locke & Yorke On Wheels." MAX: "Oh please. Bert was clearly the gayer of the two." Everyone knew that. "And don't mention sex and us in the same sentence ever again." Noah, you had long since become asexual to him, so please don't tell him things that would gross him out here. He even added a disgusted look there to hit the point home. "Elephants have ivory, not ebony. I think you are confusing it with that song by that guy in the eighties." Max didn't care to remember who exactly sang it. Stevie Wonder perhaps? "Out of tune pianos make me want to kick things. This one will never go out of tune you know. Never." And then he stopped because someone was coming down the stairs. NOAH: "Oh, yeah, sure. I can't mention the bromance that exists between us but you can!" Feigning sadness, Noah dramatically sniffed and blinked rapidly to usher away invisible tears. "You wound me, Max, would me." Sniff. "Whore." He knew that song! Highly off key, Noah began to sing and fill up the stairwell with his voice, "Ebony and Iiiivory! Live together in perfect haaaarmony! Side by side on my piano key, oooh lord why don't we? Sing it Max!" MAX: "You're not mentioning bromance. You're mentioning us getting it on." Oh hello there, neighbor. Max did his best to smile at the little old lady, but she just did her best to shuffle past them. "Slut." That was to you, Noah. And they started moving again. "No, I am not singing that song. We have to get this piano moving." NOAH: "Don't call me a slut," he gave a toothy grin to the old hag and hefted the piano a little higher, arm muscles screaming out in agony and revolt, but Noah just kept on truckin'. "Fine, I'll sing! Oh baby baby, how was I supposed to kno-ow that somethin' wasn't right here? Oh baby baby! I shouldn't have let you go-oo!" MAX: "Fine. I'll call you a ho. Ho." Oh God, his arms were literally on fire right now. Only three more floors to go. Once in his apartment, Max would get them some Ibuprofen and bags of ice. "You really shouldn't quit your day job, Noah." Pause. "Could you at least pick a better song?" NOAH: "No, this ho only sings ho songs," Noah was defiant in his plans to only sing crappy pop songs from by-gone eras. Although... Grimacing, he bopped his head to the Thriller beat and howled, followed by, "It's close to midnight and something evil's lurking in the dark, under the moonlight, you see a sight that almost stops your heart!" Michael Jackson, regardless of decade or century, will always be a thrill. After all, Noah was only seven when the genius died, he dressed up as him for Halloween when he was six and sixteen. "Because it's Thriller! Thrill-ill-ill-er-er." MAX: "Then you should sing Lovegame or something..." he mumbled. You know, that one about riding disco sticks and what not. Oh, that just gave him the idea that he should cover a Lady Gaga song. Thanks, ho! And now that was a better song. "And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike. You know it's Thriiiiiiiler. Thriiiler night." At least they could sing on key. NOAH: "You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight! Haha, I think your neighbors hate you a little more, ol' chap." That sounded so funny with his southern accent, like a cowboy running some really bad play lines. Dead pan, too. Noah enjoyed making fun of Max. "Ugh, what's this, the last of three?" MAX: Aww. Max enjoyed making fun of you too, Noah. "I think it's more like two and a half now. I don't know. I lost count." Through all the pain, he really couldn't think correctly. "But just think of all the awesome fun we are going to have with this. Well. Once our arms recover and what not." NOAH: "Yours, maybe. Remember mine are as thin as sticks, I'm gonna need a couple days to recoup. You're gonna have to play Miley for me, by the way, a pick is gonna be a little too hard to lift." Strum his strings, baby, oh yeah. Noah was pretty serious about it all, too. After they collapse, he'll record a tiny blog on his iHolo about what they just did. MAX: "I will not be playing anything Miley what so ever." Hell no! "However, if you like I will play you a nice rendition of Tiny Dancer." It would make a nice little addition to the vlog recording. Yes. |