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Vincent ([info]king_of_gods) wrote in [info]paxletalelogs,
@ 2010-08-04 13:29:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:baldr, zeus

Who: Billy & Vince.
What: A disguised, yet cruel and unknown twist of fate!
Where: On the road, then to the lot in Burbank.
When: Afternoonish.
Warnings: Doubtful.



There was a pang of guilt for making that comment about retards on the forum; a little needle-stick on the edge of a forgotten ventricle in his big, big heart. Not because Billy was retarded! Oh no, he wasn't... he was uhh, disabled? Or was this not his car? That's not retarded. He meant like, drooling and staring at the sun retarded. Billy was amiable and totally not staring at the sun or drooling. It was just a far-reaching stab at his ego and his pride, not wanting to sound like a COMPLETE dick, if this guy didn't like retard comments. Some people were all politically correct and shit. Okay, he'd stop fucking thinking about it now. Vince's charm and gregariousness could mend any tear which his belligerent, often tumultuous words rendered to his pubic persona.

By no means was this, the fact he had a robo-car and wheelchair in the back, taken into account as a surprising turn of events that would display on his happy expressions, nor even a daunting one, though he did at first wonder how precisely his driving was going to be accomplished. Like, how do they do that? Vince had seen stranger, maybe worse, and spoke nothing of it although curiosity made his blue eyes more stormy. Maybe this wasn't even his car, as he'd thought before and now again. Maybe it was his sisters or something.

"Sup!" he'd said, leaning in the window. "You must be my new girlfriend." he joked with a grin, testing the boundaries of where his sense of humor could venture.

His garb consisted of the utmost reach of business casual. Somehow, with jeans and a colorless t-shirt, sneakers, he wore his blazer like the president of the United States. There was also an intenser air about him today, softened by the fact that he was making a new acquaintance, and he had thus enjoyed his company. At least on the forums, Billy had seemed like a nice guy.

"I forgot your flowers. Forgive me?" he opened the door and began to let himself in.


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[info]susceptible
2010-08-04 09:34 pm UTC (link)
Billy's nature was the sort that was utterly compromising, and while not necessarily accepting of other people's... "eccentricities," it was very hard to offend him. Billy just didn't get offended. Maybe it was because he didn't have a sister, or maybe it was because his ego was just the right size in just the right place, but even if Vince had stood there and then pretended not to have any idea what he was doing there to avoid the acquaintance, Billy still probably wouldn't have been offended.

It was only in music that Billy's definitive opinions remained his alone, and he didn't care who they offended or when or why. Those who worked with him came to accept the wild contrast, especially as South Portal grew more popular.

He grinned from his seat, which did a better job of holding him up into a strong L-shape than most factory options, and said, "If I'm your new girlfriend we both must be pretty pathetically desperate. Get in." The invitation wasn't necessary, clearly, but he gave it anyway. The car smelled like fresh orange peels--there must have been one of those scent cans under one of the seats. Other than the modifications and the wheel chair in the back, there wasn't any evidence of what would prevent Billy from driving just like everybody else. He had a clean blue t-shirt on and gray jeans, and he looked quite healthy, if not as tan as eighty percent of Southern Californians. There was a Dodgers cap on his head.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-05 12:15 am UTC (link)
"Sir, yes, sir." he sir sandwiched him.

Relief. The humor was well received and even answered. Though he'd beg to differ on the pathetic-ness or even desperation of either of their pretty situations in the general area of their face. He climbed into Apollo 13 and buckled up, click it or ticket, California, and adjusted himself in such a way as to become comfortable now, instead of later. They had at least a forty minute drive with how traffic was acting up. Vince pulled out his handy dandy iPhone and tapped the google freeway map.

"It wasn't red last I checked coming down the elevator." Said he, positioning the device for mutual viewing pleasure betwixt them. "So maybe we'll get lucky... but is anyone ever really lucky in l.a. traffic?"

As if to answer them, the universe honked a horn remotely somewhere behind them. A screech followed. It could be assumed that within the realm of that 'out there' sound, it was to do, indeed, with traffic and the disgruntled, pent up aggression of l.a. drivers. He raised both his brows; had he heard it, too?

"An omen. Dundundun."

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-05 01:50 am UTC (link)
Forty minutes (or the more realistic hour, with that red freeway map) was a long time to be doing anything for Billy, but he wasn't admitting that. Vince had agreed to a midway stop point, so if he was too tired or in too much pain to drive, he'd just stop. That was the plan.

Billy leaned very slightly to observe the map, and grimaced. "Great. Guess we could try the 57 instead, at least for part of it." Billy raised both eyebrows at the screech and then leaned back to squint out from under his cap. "Screw omens," he said. "We're going. I've never been on a theatre lot, or whatever you call 'em." He reached down, pulled a lever, and set them out toward the freeway. Billy's friends and parents were concerned, initially, about him driving again, but if he was ill at ease he didn't show it.

"Probably like you're going incognito in this thing, huh?" he asked good-naturedly, referring to the fact the sedan was hardly a Ferrari. Billy assumed that Mr. P3 Film Producer had enough in the bank to afford better.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-05 02:15 am UTC (link)
"I can bring you back to the fake city, too. You into Harry Potter? There's a museum by the lunch place and you can get sorted. I was Hufflepuff." Cue eyes rolling a perfect loop. "Huffle-fucking-puff, the gay hairdresser house."

Wait a minute, that's right, he was bringing him on the lot. Of course, this meant he'd have to get him a pass ASAP. Our writer has had the experience on more than one occasion of being a non-tourista feature of the Burbank lot, knows the drill, and so our character Mr. Producer Vince has just awakened this remembrance in kind. Legitness. "I need your name, full, as it appears on your I.D. You got your I.D. on you, right?" he retreated the phone from both their sight and brought it up before himself.

"I have to call in a pass for you." Said he, flicking down his contacts and finally pressing onto one. The phone was brought up to his ear, and he impatiently tapped his knee as it raaaaaang. Raaaaaaaang.

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-05 02:35 am UTC (link)
"Read all the books," Billy admitted with a grin. There hadn't been a lot to do between physio sessions.

Billy pushed the handle that was apparently the gas, as the car revved onto the freeway and they joined the other million people inching northbound. "Harrison William Gregory," he recited, easily. "Friends call me Billy. Easier to say."

He turned to glance at the phone then looked back at the road with a slight grimace of distaste. "You gotta use the full one, huh? My manager isn't going to like hearing I was on a lot, to be honest. It looks like I'm on the market." Vince didn't need to worry--Billy didn't expect him to know who he was, or South Portal, either. A lot of people did, but a lot of people didn't, too.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-05 05:06 am UTC (link)
Vince furrowed that mephistopheles brow of his, eyes flashing a swift and fascinated lightning streak of mischief and interest, Manager? he'd said with only the use of his lips, now tenanted with questions was his mouth, but with no sound to voice them quite yet as:

"Hey Kelly it's Vince, I need a pass for Harrison William Gregory."

Moving the phone away from the familiar deluge of abusive nonsense, since he didn't really give a shit about what the girl on the other end of the phone was actually gossiping about (this much was evident by the distinct noise of her high-pitch.), he as well sought to have his toil commiserated by demonstrating how very loud she was indeed, even without the speaker phone mechanism engaged, by putting it near the dash.

'Kelly' was so obnoxious that she could wake a mummy from a thousand year old slumber. He let her prattle on.

"Manager, huh? What is it you do? And why's your manager such a control-freak dick?" he added as if an after thought. "No offense if he's usually a nice guy. Oh, and P.S., we're totally going to the museum and having you sorted. You dork."

Kelly prattled on.

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-05 05:21 am UTC (link)
Billy just shook his head a little at the silent question, watching the road with a little smile of what can you do? on his face. He was good with the controls, flipping switches for the blinkers and pushing and pulling levers. He wasn't effortless with it yet, since one or two times he made a small mistake, like hitting the wipers instead of the blinker ("shit"), but otherwise the ride was smooth.

He gave the phone a look of bemusement.

"Got a band. It's called South Portal. My manager is freaking because I'm not putting a face on the band right now--I'm not supposed to be doing any public events. Some of the fans can be rabid about that kind of thing." Billy smiled at the thought of being sorted, however. He wondered (but didn't ask) if they had the food that was supposed to come after the Sorting.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-05 05:51 am UTC (link)
The time machine was an impressive device that Vince admired him for being an apparently growing master of. It ignited a forest fire of questions in the famished landscape of his dry curiosity, but while he was a very brutally honest man, he wasn't an idiot. Asking him why this contraption was necessary was at the bottom of his priority list. Priority numero uno being friendly conversation and not Hey, let's get awkward with the history and the stuff about why you have this robo-car.

Oh, Vince. The thoughts you think.

"Oooo a band? What kinda band? I wanna hear." Genuine interest was evident through the pitch of his delighted voice. He liked music. He also liked building his entourage of talented individuals and doing his best to assist in the receiving of their well earned accolades. He was generous as much as he was at times intolerable, aware that he had a manager, but knowing that if his band was good... like really good...

Kelly was suddenly quiet and Vince pulled the phone back to him, saying thoughtfully and with a clue of gratitude. "Thanks Kelly!" he hung up the phone.

"I'm really curious now. C'mon, indulge me. You have any songs in here?"

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-05 06:42 am UTC (link)
Billy was trying not to think what Vince might be thinking, and he wasn't doing too bad of a job. Such things made people bitter, defensive, and uncertain. Billy generally thought positive, which meant he thought his own thoughts--not anyone else's.

"No, none in the car." Billy grinned at him. He didn't listen to his own music much once he was out of the studio, not unless they were rehearsing for a tour and there was something off with the sound board. "Hard to pick a category for it. Something like rock, though these days I guess they call it 'alt rock.'" Billy didn't give a damn what they called it. It was what it was. Some people would label one song or another "pop" and then they'd fight about whether or not South Portal was "selling out" and the whole thing was fucking ridiculous.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-05 07:07 am UTC (link)
"That sucks."

The defeat wore on his expression like the heavy kabuki mask of tragedy; it was the real deal, dreams shattered, hopes blown. It was like glitter being tapped off of construction paper--fleeting, untidy, artistically despondent. We can surmise that he was disappointed by not being able to hear his music, but would pull through like a champ.

"Music is a deep endeavor. Admirable. In the same way that scent can alter the senses with memory, music can alter the mood by being simply well put together. Of course, this has to do with some low frequency noise as well, which can affect certain functions of the brain supposedly." Oh, right, he might need to explain how he knew all that stuff. "I recently read a book about life after death." Admitted he, clearing his throat. A man not comfortable with the subject of mortality. "More so about the scientific study of it. No nonsense voodoo shit."

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-06 01:08 am UTC (link)
Billy actually thought that maybe Vince was serious in his disappointment--but by the time he looked over, the shine was gone. Thrown by the shift into serious conversation, Billy frowned at the road in concentration. The traffic, miraculously, began to pick up. "Life after death? How can you study life after death? Since once we're dead... there's nothing to study, is there?" It was obvious that Billy wasn't much for the astonishing world beyond the pearly gates--even though he phrased his objection in questions.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-06 01:33 am UTC (link)
"There is no question these days with the advancements of science that you, or that which is made up of you in a non-sensory environment, waaaaaay down to a place called Planck scale geometry, does depart and or transmigrate. There's proof of that perhaps not as much as there's material proof that we rot, but the question that is problematic, and unanswerable, is where do we go?"

It probably was surprising that Vince actually read books, on account of his being abrasive and very forthright, instead of steady and calm. Though, who that reads on subjects such as the ones which interest him, salvage any sort of societal norm in their behavior? Mad scientist, anyone? Vince glanced over at Billy, watched with interest how he operated the vehicle, how he reacted to the things he'd say. And decided he liked him.

Billy had officially just passed the 'Does Vince like me?' test.

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-06 06:07 am UTC (link)
Unaware that the exam had finished, or that he'd been taking it, Billy obliviously maneuvered them down the freeway, listening with a frown of concentration. Billy read too, though very few of the works were scientific in nature. South Portal's lyrics could be light and vague, but if the spirit took him Billy didn't hold back on poetry, be it social or literary. You had to have some kind of background for that kind of writing.

"How did they manage to find the part of me that's me in a non-sensory environment?" he asked, cautiously. This was bordering on territory he had briefly explored with Merc and Simon--about the reoccurring dreams where Aura talked about death more than anyone Billy had ever known, and yet he never died in any of them. Aura could accept that it just was, but it freaked Billy out, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-06 07:16 pm UTC (link)
Someone was actually asking him questions about the shit he reads? Hm. Seems like his education and ability to absorb information methodically, neatly, and (at times.) well, comes in handy in the most surprising of events. He moistened his lips, determining that yes, he had too much to explain. To little time. And too little words to create a strong enough argument. He'd however, do his best with the short and sweet.

"It's as simple as the simple fact that there are irreducible features to the universe. You are one of them. When the Big Bang happened, everything was entangled very intimately--there's evidence of this, like a big ass long explanation but I'm giving you the gist-- and everything is still entangled, space being a construct that gives an illusion that things are separate. Reality is all up here. " He taps the side of his own temple. "You might not be you when you die, or here, but you'll be around. The evidence is all around you. This exists. That's just the tip of the scientific iceberg as far as spooky science goes."

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-06 08:38 pm UTC (link)
"You're saying my molecules go somewhere. If I'm not me then what difference does it make where I go?" He wasn't being argumentative, he was trying to figure out what the point of it all was--just like every other human on the planet. Billy hadn't stuck around in college long enough for a philosophy class, so he didn't know Descartes from Skinner, he just operated on his own.

He'd have a hard time answering if someone asked him whether or not his continued existence was his purpose, though. There had been times when his existence had sucked so much he couldn't really see the logic of dealing with it. Aura had been around for those times. Before he had met her. (What happened to sense?)

You could tell he was thinking about something that wasn't in the car with them, because he blinked hard to pull himself out of it.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-06 09:10 pm UTC (link)
"It's kinda thought of as you being aware of who or what you are, since it's also thought that conscious is primary and matter secondary, but it's hard to say. Purpose isn't what purpose means to all of the world, in fact, the goal is to eliminate purpose as a pursuit. To minimalize. It's even believed that purpose is as simple as existence--my purpose today was to tell you my idea about purpose--It changes. Adapts. I have a few books you could borrow if you're interested. I'd need a few Americanos before all my knowledge really gets a'flyin' at you."

Vince flipped his phone over again having felt the faintest hint of a vibration, indicative of a text or voice mail, but, funny enough, it was only a ghostly reminder that he'd far too long been acquainted with receiving both those alerts. It was a phantom flicker of his psyche--like a lost limb, it twitched--and as if by cue, nothing was there for him to read. He thought it was amusing, and grinned that broad, vivid grin, thinking that the apparition of a follied beat was just in time for their supernatural conversation.

"Life's a funeral anyway. One big funeral. We just get attached to the company."

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-06 11:31 pm UTC (link)
Billy's voice was light. "At least the food is good."

He didn't want to get too deep into the quagmire of life vs. death. Billy had decided that life was worth trying, and that was the only reason he was here. Viewing it as just another long path to death was too depressing for thought, and Billy had enough depression to last him a lifetime. There was something about lying there and thinking about lifting a hand to scratch your nose--and not being able to--that brought all life's little depressions (she left me, the car broke down, I lost my wallet, I got fired from my job) into perspective. He decided to turn the conversation.

"This is the kind of thing you write about? Seems like you're in the wrong industry."

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-07 01:32 am UTC (link)
That comment was acknowledged with a dual raise of his magnificently arched brows; he couldn't agree more. At least, as far as food that was actually interesting, exciting, or a pleasure to eat. Mostly food soaked in chili or covered in sugar.

Vince hijacked an enthusiastic, quiet, long breath inward--how to tackle that inquiry?--he was right. He did make it seem as if he was in the wrong industry, but the fact was, with his hands neatly folding over his torso, and supplanting himself into the chair just so, he was very content being a Jack of all trades, and a master of only few. After glancing at the clogged-up road, he looked back at his ol' driving buddy.

"A man should never settle on any one industry. Everyone is equally capable of being part of many enterprises at once. Of course, we have the things we're best at... mine happened to be law, politics, philosophy... but I'd never stop there. Why would anyone? Life might be one long funeral, but it's also one fuckin' big fount of knowledge. And knowledge is power."

As if on cue, his customized ringtone sprang into audibility: the Imperial March from Star Wars.

He of course, pressed to ignore the call.

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-07 06:49 pm UTC (link)
"John Williams," Billy observed. Many of the composers known best were not the ones easily recognizable by name. Billy found that movie composers were some of the best at what they did, not cheap versions of the old masters. "Nice." Billy was a one-man show. Especially after the accident, the only thing he was any good at was music.

Billy thought about asking how good Vince was at his job(s), but he realized that was rude, and didn't. "I'm awful at industry. All the business stuff bites me in the ass every time I turn around." Merc was better at the business end of things.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-08 12:17 am UTC (link)
"A lot of people out here are sharks, that's why, hungry-hungry-hungry for anything and everything they can sink their teeth into. They wanna make money off of anything they can. They wanna network and kiss ass after important ass, until they kiss the most important one. Then there's people who are actually creative, want to make money, deserve money, have talent, but want to help other people make it too, 'cause once you make it, all your homies make it, am I right?"

His brows shot up just once to pronounce the obvious truth in that statement, as Billy did seem to be a pretty nice guy thus far in his estimate of him. It'd be an unforeseen pierce to his usually impeccable screening process if he ever proved to be otherwise.

Which he'd bet money against ever materializing.

"That's why I go stalking deviant art and online communities to find my artists and writers. They deserve it... if they're good, of course."

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-08 08:16 am UTC (link)
Billy smile at the comment about sharks. It was an old story that everyone in the entertainment business told each other. It was even more ironic since the people who told that story tended to have just as many teeth as the other sharks. It was like one massive inside joke that no one found funny.

They crawled along the freeway, and another half hour went buy before Billy started shifting painfully in his seat, and finally, at forty-five minutes, he pulled off the freeway and stopped in a Denny's parking lot. As they eased to a stop, and Billy pulled himself up with a hand on the frame of the door at the edge of the roof, he said, a voice meant to be easy, "Feel like driving?" Too long in that chair, tensing and focusing on the controls, and all his joints went to hell. He hauled himself out of the car and quite literally set himself on his good leg. It did not look like an enjoyable experience.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-08 07:25 pm UTC (link)
Perceiving by what area surrounded them, he managed to believe it wouldn't be too long now before they arrived, as he slid out of the car with a squint and observation of the clouds obscuring Olympus Heaven. Without answering him justly by the question, which he took as his assigned duty unspoken in either case, he came around to the other side of the car in a proud stride. Much like a lions knowing where ever it may choose to saunter, it could consequently choose to make it's territory.

A somewhat deep, protective layer of his very big, fat heart, concealed by all that bravado and dignity, swaggered past the hallway of his archives noted for worry. He could tell something was bothering Billy, and spoke no words in the direction of the trouble, nor did he ask if he was all right. He thought it was understood, you know, one of those manly things.

"I hope you're ready." he'd said as he arrived on the driver's side, oblivious to how Billy had gotten into the condition he was in. "I drive like a gangsta." And he proceeded to C-walk a little, just to lighten the mood. "We'll be there in no time." he reassured. "And then we'll get some food in the buffet."

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-09 12:38 am UTC (link)
If Billy did any walking he did it with a support, and the cane was sitting on the floor of the backseat. Instead he moved around the back of the car as Vince moved around the front, supporting most of his left side. Billy was pleased that Vince didn't mention it, and he sat/dropped onto the passenger side. "It all works like normal," he said, through gritted teeth. "Just ignore all the levers and stuff."

He sat down, trying to avoid moving his bad leg too much. His optimism wasn't lacking though. "Gangsta, huh. This isn't exactly a low rider, homie." He buckled his belt and shoved the cushion from the driver's side behind him to keep himself upright.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-09 01:50 am UTC (link)
"Oh, don't worry." he'd reassured his driving buddy while patting the area over where supposedly his own heart may lie beating, folding into the driver's side with little complexity, though inwardly he vowed to feign his best disinterest in all the super gadgets of the machina. It was quite a feat not inquiring about them, and he made a list, mindfully and mostly all crossed out, of future questions he could ask when they knew one another better.

"It's all in the swagg'uh."

The car, presumably left awaiting it's new rider in park, was flicked into drive carefully. As promised, he did lean back like a gangsta. That was no joke. One hand at twelve-o-clock that barely moved around the hours save for turns, which mostly were performed by his knee. And the seat? A far too relaxed position, one that could rouse concern if not for his pretty impeccable style of maneuvering. Surprising, considering it seemed in that position he was at a disadvantage.

"I think we'll be there in like ten minutes," said he, cutting a few people off, but in such a way that somehow raised no alarm.

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-09 05:18 am UTC (link)
Billy just grinned at the pose for casual cruising, and played Low Rider in his head as they joined the flow of traffic once more.

Having lived in California for some time, driven and driven by all manner of people, Billy didn't cling to the side of the car--but he also didn't particularly relish the ride. There was a particularly close call when someone crossed two lanes to move into theirs, and Billy saw bumper and headlights and quite physically twitched. Reaching out for distraction, he turned on the radio--popular rock.

Turning his attention to the front of the car and Vince, Billy very deliberately didn't look either way and waited until they arrived at the lot.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-09 09:11 am UTC (link)
If only he knew...

Ah, and thankfully, as the various new release posters and bursting DC character's came into view (of course eventually.), it was only a matter of time until they were pulling up to security. "You have your ID?" He'd asked at the red light which would soon turn green, giving him plenty of time to produce it before he'd be making the turn into the beginnings of the lot.

The withered, yet jovial security guard with his peppery hair and potbelly recognized Vince instantly and spoke his familiar words of wisdom: "You have to raise a little Hell to get into Heaven!" to which Vince replied, all poked with friendly laughter. "Of course! Raising Hell. That's what I do best. Me. The Hellraiser."

He forked over his client card and Billy's ID. The lot pass was printed after the name was found, and he handed back both the items to his driving buddy. Vince thanked the too-friendly guard, who actually always said the same shit, before they proceeded inward. The time machine, gadgets and gizmos a'plenty, could rightfully rest.

Nothing much was going on where he'd pulled in. His office was the first, quietest sound stage, shared with same company who produced the Watchmen. Though, they were obviously filming inside the two adjacent ones. Trailers lined the street.

"All right dork, food or Harry Potter first? You SO wanna be sorted! I can see it in your eyes!"

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-09 08:52 pm UTC (link)
Billy handed over his ID obediently, and was pleased that the vast majority of the people he saw were over thirty-five, which meant that it was less likely anyone would know enough to connect his face with his music. He hadn't been nervous about it, exactly, but he would have preferred to avoid more awkwardness. The exchange between Vince and the guard only made Billy blink with the "man outside of the inside joke" expression on his face, and as they moved in, he shook his head with the ruefully amused expression again. It was the new oh, Vince expression. Look for it in days to come.

As he shoved the car door open, Billy made an executive decision to continue this trip on wheels. He was in a lot of pain since the drive was a bit harder than he expected, and it would be stupid to try to toddle around a movie lot with one bad leg. The wheelchair folded and it was built extremely light, so Billy extracted it from the car without much trouble. It was no bulky hospital thing; the arms were very low and the wheels thinner and more stable than the bicycle tires that were stuck on the slow-moving ones.

After pulling his bad leg in and scowling at it for giving him hell, Billy wheeled around the car to take back his keys. "...Tour, if you got a minute." Maybe he'd be hungrier later, and Vince was bound to be an entertaining tour guide.

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-10 01:21 am UTC (link)
Unfortunately for Vince, who of course at this unbeknown interval of fateful meetings, at this apex of destiny, crux of the fork in the road of his past misdeeds, tip of the titanic's iceberg, he'd gotten to really studying the class of person he was keeping company with today. Gauging not only his 'usefulness', but also the circumference of his intentions and his heart. He liked people with heart. Who were true, who weren't fake, who didn't pump sunshine up his ass. Seemed his company, who he was faintly becoming endeared to not out of pity, but out of having heart himself, was a genus of good he was glad to have met. Thus, as he watched him in a detached but in engaged way transfer himself effortlessly, routinely, from car to wheels, he grew a notch more curious what had befell him to make him so...

"Let's get this show on the road then," he'd grinned, tip of his tongue at the nip of a canine lingering. "Fake-ass New York city is our first stop."

There was a 'Central Perk' mock which held the contents of the buffet, at the end of a long row of trailers, filming for various T.V. shows, or being outfitted for movies. Each sound stage listed the popular movies that had been filmed inside of it. Though, you'd have to get up close to read the placards. Lots of people were out and about, but before he was going to turn the corner into a crowd that clogged up the path to the mock-city, a tour cart drove around the corner. Vince hurriedly took out his cell phone and hustled closer to Billy.

"Hurry, take your phone out! They'll think you're super important and in cognito. Though maybe they'll recognize Mr. Rockstarrrrr." He flicked his sunglasses out of his pocket, putting them on just as hastily. And he proceeded to pretend he was on his phone.

Would someone recognize Mr. Billy on the tourist cart? There were people the appropriate age...

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-10 02:55 am UTC (link)
Billy was as interested in the proceedings as you might hope, watching people zip by in golf carts and argue with each other across great distances. He would push the chair forward and then coast for a ways, smiling around, obviously entertained by the scene. Most people just went around the chair, and Billy didn't have to say 'excuse me' or wake anybody up from their cellphone conversation to prevent a collision. There was nothing fake about Billy. Never had been, really. It was one of his better qualities.

"Man, you think I got a third hand?" But Billy was laughing, grinning past him at the rows of tourist who were staring hard at them both and talking excitedly as they tried to identify Vince, who looked more the angry Bruckheimer than the guy in the wheelchair. Billy found that a great many people just focused on his legs, trying to find what was wrong with them, rather than his face. There were a handful of people that frowned at him with recognition, however: a teenage girl doing her damndest to look bored, a pair of college kids, a young woman with a nice camera, and a young couple obviously on honeymoon. Nobody shouted his name, however. They frowned, blinked in cautious recognition, stared to make sure it was true, and (as the car pulled away, over their shoulders) goggled, as if they couldn't believe it was true.

Billy turned his head away, casual, and looked at the 'Central Perk' facade. "It all looks really familiar, but I can't figure out where I've seen it."

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-10 03:21 am UTC (link)
"It's from that gay-ass T.V. show friends." Flicking his sunglasses up onto the top of his head, commencing the journey with a jauntier stride, raking through the black-rimmed glasses and business casual drones. The sea of trying to be somebody's. It was his sincerest hope that one of those tourists went on believing that they'd seen somebody oh-so-important on their phone today, possibly discussing a hidden secret of the universe, or turning over a dialectic on how to cage a rainbow.

There were some benches in front of it, people eating lunch, but beyond it was the promise of the stage fronts. They hit a fake, very accurate looking Brooklyn front that's impressiveness was unfortunately shattered by the door slightly left ajar, which revealed the vacant inwards and wooden ennui.

"You see that fake theatre? It's a real one. We get to see movies the weekend before they come out sometimes."

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-10 06:15 am UTC (link)
"Awesome," Billy said, suitably impressed. South Portal had made a great deal of money, and they also had a great deal of media clout if you were trying to hit the 18-25 crowd, but for some reason it hadn't ever occurred to them to try to use that clout to do fun things like see movies before they came out. Billy wondered why. Too busy partying, perhaps...

No, definitely, too busy parting.

He wheeled in a small circle to check out the facade and the paint that made a wall look like a door, craning his head like the tourists. Wicked. "That's a helleva paintjob." The wheelchair returned to its straight path. "You ever go on set?"

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-10 10:58 pm UTC (link)
"On set? Yes. It's the most boring experience one can ever endure. The food's good, though." Clearing his throat of a perceived dam of parching, he squinted toward the eighty-something-degree sun that glared down mightily but with the sensitivity of a flicker in its howling gestures. He decided it was probably best to scoot his Ray-Bans back before his eyes.

"But if you're working with people who are actually creative, and you're collaborating with them, as well you know my rock star friendo, it can be a little less of a chore." The city had a fake subway entrance, even the ER reception area from the popular show still stood. Rigged for piling torrents of suspense with long metal beams. There was a middle area, too. Surrounded by little houses that seemed plucked from Dorothy's neighborhood, spun, and plopped onto the lot.

"You notice how all the streets curve so the camera will never catch the truth?"

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-11 07:02 am UTC (link)
"Tell me about it." Billy smiled still. Yes, the creative endeavor was usually the best part--right until you were on stage. He'd watched a documentary on the Beatles once where Ringo said the screaming was so loud he couldn't hear the other guys, and so he couldn't get fancy with drum fills or play anything but the straight rehearsed song. In Billy's day (which he felt had passed, secretly), there were special speakers set up so the band could hear each other, and Billy thanked God for it. That was the fun part, feeding off of each others' energy and making a recording into a living breathing thing.

He missed it.

Billy ooh'ed and ah'd at appropriate intervals, and he got a kick out of the visual tricks of the place, an art that was lost on him since his creative side didn't venture into the visual. He was impressed, nonetheless, and at the end of the tour he gave a happy (if faintly fatigued) sigh. "Your job rocks."

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-11 07:37 am UTC (link)
"My job is pulling strings and making knots." Said he, a smirk smudged and smeared across his mouth and even in his arched brows, as he lead them to destination numero uno. "Any boy scout can do that. Next stop, Billy gets sorted. Hopefully not into Hufflepuff like I fuckin' did."

The list of priorities had consequently dwindled smoothly along with their loosely methodical plan. Good. Vince was highly appreciative of the gesture bestowed upon him and wanted to make sure that his new friend felt rewarded for it. Tour of the fake scenery, check, museum where Dorky McAllister was going to get sorted, next. If they were hungry afterward, or if Billy had to bolt by then, either case would inevitably be met with Billy going back into his space machine where there was a surprise shoved down the side of the driver's door...

But, obviously the most important thing which the cosmos had planned for their day of budding, fateful friendship, was the useful endeavor of knowing exactly which Hogwarts house Billy belonged in.

The museum had old costumes, figurines, security, and a whole upstairs dedicated to Harry Potter. It wasn't too far. Smashed between some offices. They'd take the elevator to the second Harry Potter floor, of course. Giant acromantula to greet them kindly.

The sorting hat sat upon a chair in the middle. A single sallow light upon it. Unfortunately missing was the heavenly music, but Vince provided it sarcastically. A man whose only job was to put the hat onto somebody's head stepped forward.

Vince stopped 'aaaaaaahhhhh'ing operatically to announce, "The moment of truth!"

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-11 07:50 am UTC (link)
"I wouldn't mind being a Hufflepuff," Billy was laughing at his tour guide as he rolled them up the ramp into the museum. "The good looking martyr was in Hufflepuff in the fourth one." He also didn't mind being Dork McAllister, either. The silly multicolored tomes had been good friends to him ever since he'd regained the ability to turn a page, and he sort of felt he owed Harry Potter for sticking around. It was a whim he kept to himself, however. The elevator dinged and Billy wheeled himself (a little awkwardly, as the gap between elevator and floor was pretty wider) out onto the Harry Potter floor. He was amused as hell.

He gave the Hat-guy a friendly sideways look and then shook his head at Vince before the (obviously wired) hat got plopped on his head. The speakers announced (rather tinnily, honestly) "GRYFFINDOR!" Billy was left looking surprised, bemused, and altogether very un-Harry-like. "Don't recall ever doing anything particularly brave," he confided in Vince, as he rolled away from the chair that he hadn't used. "That thing ever announce anybody as Slytherin? 'Cuz that would be hilarious."

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[info]king_of_gods
2010-08-11 09:02 pm UTC (link)
Vince snapped his fingers in defeat, threw his arm down as if dismissing the winning football for a touchdown spike at the end of an excruciating game, and growled like a wolf. Was he the only one that was ever going to get Hufflepuff? Fuck!

"Probably. There's a lot of assholes strutting around this lot, I'm sure. I would've preferred Slytherin to fucking Hufflepuff any day." Vince then took on a scarily accurate English accent, though he stole so in a higher pitch to of course, mock the pre-pubescence of the Harry Potter cast. "C'mon then, 'Arry. Bloody 'ell! Let's 'ave ourselves sum loonch! My stomach is all a'growl!" Both brows rose, pronounced as an unspoken thank you, to Mr. Sorting hat holder. Vince briefly imagined what it would be like to have that job, in much the same manner that there's a brief, comically boring cut-away in 'Family Guy' every now and then. It consisted of him... standing there. All day.

Unless Billy wanted to stick around, he'd eventually head for the elevator, and of course, back outside.

"Don't be surprised if I occasionally call you Potter now. I love inside jokes. It makes people feel left out, thus making me feel special."

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[info]susceptible
2010-08-12 10:18 pm UTC (link)
It was horribly politically incorrect but Billy started cracking up so hard at the fake accent he had to stop wheeling for a second. 'Loonch.' God, he couldn't breathe. "People call me all kinds of things," he said, undaunted. "Half my life is an inside joke." Though maybe that half wasn't funny, he mused, silently.

They went down the elevator and out into the sunshine again. Billy enjoyed being out in the sunshine; it improved his already positive mood quite a lot. People underestimated the effect of sunshine.

"Alright, but I gotta go pretty soon." He was going to time it so that most of the traffic was gone, and honestly he would have liked it if he wasn't quite this bad off, but he drove here and he was going to damn well drive back.

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