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Taeja Kim ☠ Jörmungandr ([info]jormungandr) wrote in [info]paxletalelogs,
@ 2011-10-03 06:51:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:jormungandr, loki

In Útgarðar the Ancient Live...
Who: Richard & Adam.
What: Richard sets an effective lure for meeting fellow tenants.
Where: 507.
When: 30 September, 11:37 a.m.
Warnings: None yet.

It had been a long and arduous night for Adam Vejas. To the EMTs, nurses, physicians, and other medical personnel with whom he came into contact, it seemed that the nearer October drew, the stranger their work became. His own experience seemed to bear the theory out. Injuries were more frequent, particularly those of the inexplicable or atypically brutal variety. Violent crime had increased. Car crashes, house fires, assaults... the list went on. Even the waning of the full moon had done little to help things, thus keeping the more superstitious in their line of work quite thoroughly on their toes. But perhaps, he thought, it was only his shift.

Following the uncomfortable altercation with James, Adam had arranged to switch shifts with a coworker. His new assignment meant seeing less of Alex, but also less of his newly returned tormentor. He suspected it was a poor deal for more reasons than he dared admit, but for the time being, it was all he knew to do. As Adam stepped off the elevator, back onto his comforting, familiar floor, he could not help but press cold fingers to his cheek, prodding at the mark still fading there. Thus the double edged sword of pale skin shone through: It held color remarkably well, as both his tattoos and the faint grey smudge of his bruise could equally attest. The late shift had allowed him to hide the mark from the better part of their neighbors, but it also meant being party to the worst the steadily cooling nights had to offer. This was an acceptable, rational explanation to the increased violence he had seen, and Adam resolved to take it. He had had enough of mysteries.

Thus distracted, he was nearly to his own door (ignoring, of course, the sudden quickening of his pulse as he passed Alex's) before he heard the faint but rising notes of music. His keys stilled in his hands, the song sounding louder once that merry jingling was silenced. He cast his dark gaze down the hall, noting an open door, and light streaming from inside. The apartment in question had stood empty for some time; curiosity got the better of him, and he found he had to answer. He slipped his keys back into one pocket of his jumpsuit, his head canting curiously as he drew nearer.

"Hello?" he called, a friendly upward lilt creeping into his voice. Drawing up to the open door, he rapped his knuckles against the frame, peering inside. "Anybody home?"



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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-04 07:15 am UTC (link)
Today was going to be a good day.

Unloading the Monster had been a production number, but it had made unpacking so much easier that it was worth it. The apartment was better than he could have hoped, considering that he had rented it sight-unseen from Chicago, and after a day of moving furniture and sorting through boxes it almost looked presentable enough to entertain in. There was a small mountain of flattened cardboard by the door, and absolutely nothing on the walls, but all and all he was pleased. It wasn't bad, especially since he had spent a good part of yesterday sleeping off his roadtrip. And the view! He had promised himself a trip down to the beach as soon as the last box was folded down, and by god, that was going to be today.

Until then, he had work to do. He was down to the last few boxes, true, but if he went out exploring before they were unpacked, he knew they wouldn't be. Ever. And dinner and a movie in an ocean-view apartment didn't sound half as appealing when the apartment's main feature was a stack of Charmin and Capt'n Crunch containers. So instead of going out into the world this morning he had showered, dressed, opened the door (all the better to meet the neighbors), and thrown on some music. If he had to keep working, he might as well have a good soundtrack.

That was the idea, anyway. Having something to listen to did keep Richard's mind busy during the otherwise stultifying task of sorting the kitchen drawers (he so very much did not care where the spaghetti strainer went, or if he had one at all) but it also kept him from focusing on the world around him. That meant work went faster, but it also meant that he forgot about things like the open door. So when his favorite song from high school came from the record player he joined right in, wandering from room to room with various household items and singing along in his off-key tenor.

"It's all the same!" he agreed with Bon Jovi from the kitchen. "Only the names have chaaaaanged! Every day! It seems we're wasting away. Another place! Where the faces are so cooooold! I drive all niiiigh..." he trailed off, hearing an unfamiliar voice coming from the other room. Oh yeah. The door. That was slightly embarrassing. He chuckled, shoved the current handful of spoons into his silverware drawer, and walked back out to the livingroom.

Of all the things that he expected to see, none of them was a tattooed EMT with the remains of a nasty shiner. He grinned and walked over to turn down the music. "Well, I'm not quite sure it's a home, yet, but yes. I'm Richard Wainwright. Just moved in yesterday." Once the volume was down to a more manageable level, he turned back to the newcomer. "I promise, I don't need medical assistance. Well, no more than usual, anyway."

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[info]jormungandr
2011-10-05 12:41 am UTC (link)
Adam quirked a self effacing smile, black eyes meeting Richard's own. "Not a business call, I promise," he said, raising one hand, palm out, politely waving off any real concern on the other man's part. "I actually just got off work. I'm down the hall, five-oh-four." His dark head - his hair, for work's sake, not gelled into prickly, upraised spikes - tipped back toward the hall, canting toward his own home a few doors down. "Adam Vejas," he offered, tipping his head in a kind of greeting.

Though the door had been left open, Adam did not presume to enter unbidden. This did nothing, however, to curb his unsubtle appraisal of the apartment, his eyes crawling over every surface in sight. He could not shake the sensation of familiarity worming its way firmly into his brain; perhaps it was only something in Richard's decor, or his demeanor. Perhaps, Adam thought, he had at some point answered a call and come to Richard's aid; perhaps they had passed one another in a hospital, or even in the lobby below. The logical part of Adam discarded these options, knowing them for the grasping attempts at rationalization that they were. The more distressing (and therefore more frequently ignored), intuitive part of him insisted it was not so tidy as that. At last this latter portion took hold, and he could not stop himself.

"We've never met before, have we," he said, attempting, at least, to frame the question as mere statement of fact. "You just moved in?"

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-05 04:04 am UTC (link)
"Nice to meet you, Adam." Richard nodded back and leaned against the entertainment center, arms folded. The pause went on a little long for comfort, but Adam was obviously checking the place out, which was exactly what Richard would have done. Even better, he wasn't trying to be sneaky about it. Richard got a kick out of that. He sat back and waited for a verdict, all the while trying to make out the designs on Adam's arms.

The question surprised him a little and he looked up, scanning Adam's face. Shave off a few years and the beard and... no, still nobody he knew. But something made him stop before he said so and he looked again, doubting himself. He felt like he should know, should recognize the younger man. There had to be a reason he felt (Was that fondness?) for someone he had barely met. Maybe it was just a resemblance?

"I did just move in," he agreed, letting a small mocking smile form as he repeated himself, trying to mask his hesitation. "So I don't see how we could have met before. Unless you've lived in Chicago in the past few years? Got any family up there?" He hoped that was it, anything to explain this niggling feeling in the back of his head.

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[info]jormungandr
2011-10-06 12:16 pm UTC (link)
Adam shook his head, annoyingly distracted at the sense of déjà vu he could not seem to shake. He wanted to blame it on exhaustion from a long and trying night, but that too seemed to neat an explanation. "I think a couple of our neighbors are from Chicago," he said, "but other than that..." He laughed, suddenly self conscious, and raised one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Oh, well. They say everybody's got a doppelgänger, right? Maybe that's it."

He leaned against the doorframe, pushing the sleeves of his jumpsuit farther up his arms. "I think I remember your post on the forum," he mused, latching upon this as perhaps another cause of this strange sense of knowing. "If memory serves, you had some pretty outstanding bottles of wine up here. I bet that got you plenty of help moving in." He chuckled, quirking a soft and hesitant smile.

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-06 07:10 pm UTC (link)
"Maybe" Richard allowed, still doubtful. Even if he was mistaking Adam for someone else, he should still have been able to pinpoint who that "someone else" was. Instead, he just kept getting that insistent feeling of familiarity without a memory to connect it to.

But that was no excuse for being distracted. At Adam's comment, Richard shrugged expressively. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? It turns out that people around here actually like sleeping, no matter what you offer them. But I think the few of us who were there got things unloaded pretty well." He gestured around the apartment, then stood up. "The only downside is that I overstocked on bribery. My refrigerator is stuffed with alcohol, and absolutely nothing else. I feel about twenty." He grinned and cocked his head. "Want some? I can't manage all of it myself, and it is seriously cramping my grocery shopping style."

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[info]jormungandr
2011-10-08 11:16 pm UTC (link)
Adam had seen enough of his fellow tenants to be surprised that the offer of intoxicating bribery had not been enough to encourage them to turn out; he was not judging, by any means, having himself jumped at the one opportunity he'd been given to get thoroughly inebriated, but it did strike him as odd. Perhaps the timing simply had not been right for more to come. Regardless, it left him with a rare chance to taste vintages he would never ordinarily spend such money on, and he intended to take it.

"I'd love to take that off your hands," he admitted, at last stepping into the apartment. He allowed himself another look around the place, nodding as he did. "I'll even help you unpack a few boxes if it'd make you feel better about just giving it away." He smiled softly, one dark eyebrow arching. "So what brings you to Newport Beach from Chicago, if you don't mind my asking? I've loved it the few times I've been."

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-09 05:16 am UTC (link)
Richard chuckled. "I'll take you up on that. You can help me with the enthralling task of sorting out the kitchen." He stepped over to the biggest remaining box, the one labeled 'Dishes and shit' and pulled out a pocket knife, cutting through the tape as he talked. "I moved here because it's where the work is. I'm in PR, just got a job with Pacific Life here in town. In house, which," he added as an afterthought, "is good. Kind of limiting, but good work."

He looked up and caught Adam looking around the apartment again. Richard caught the other man's eyes and grinned. "Don't judge it too harshly," he said, gesturing at the rest of the room, "I did only move in yesterday. It'll look better once the posters are up."

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[info]jormungandr
2011-10-11 02:49 am UTC (link)
"Oh, not judging," he said, sincerely. He followed close after Richard, quickly closing the distance between them. A quick glance down brought the box's label into view; Adam smiled, nodding as he did. Reaching up, he toyed with the zipper of his jumpsuit, tugging it down past the collar of his white undershirt. "Only looking. It's always interesting to see how other people live. I like... observing, I guess."

He peered around Richard's shoulder, looking down into the empty box, more curious as to its contents than he likely had any right to be. The mention of posters had him curious, but as they seemed unlikely to be located in this particular box, and he had already exhausted his prospective allotment of questions regarding Richard's chosen aesthetic, Adam opted for a different tack.

"PR sounds like an interesting line of work," he said. "Are you the kind that builds goodwill or the kind that cleans up after messes?"

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-11 04:54 am UTC (link)
Even though he was looking down into the top layer of newspaper and crockery as Adam talked, Richard couldn't help nodding at the other man's admission. "I know exactly what you mean," he said, unwrapping a glass loaf pan and looking up with a conspiratorial grin. "It's the only reason to go jogging through the nice part of Chicago at night. That, and the added bonus of not getting mugged." He put aside the pan, not much caring where it went. If he remembered how he had packed, the next piece was going to be the real doozy.

"As for PR," he added, digging down and tossing several pages of the Tribune onto the floor, "I've done both. They haven't said as much, but I'm guessing this job is going to be a lot of damage control. Because, you know. Life insurance." He unwrapped the next bulky object and found a coffee pot. Not what he was looking for.

"What about you, Adam? EMT, I got that from the uniform. Do you box too, or do people just not like having their lives saved?" Both hands still in the box, he nodded at Adam's bruise.

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[info]jormungandr
2011-10-15 03:59 am UTC (link)
Adam chuckled, all too easily envisioning this potential mugging of which Richard spoke. Eager to help, unwilling to appear a simple freeloading or off-puttingly nosy neighbor, he reached into the box, pulling away the excess newsprint. He smiled at its hissing sort of crackle as he balled it up, then searched for an available receptacle for it. As he tossed the slowly unraveling ball into the garbage bin he considered Richard's chosen profession, the ins and outs of which Adam had very little understanding of; it seemed a difficult career, and one which Adam's personality would have almost certainly never have allowed him to pursue. He could not imagine, for instance, going to bat for a company whose aim was to deny a claim; his was a nurturing personality, a caregiver, one who strove to provide whatever aid he could, and then to simply fade into the background again. Disputing claims seemed antithetical to the very fabric of his being.

His mind thus occupied by such rabbit trails, it took Adam a moment to realize the thrust of Richard's question. Once he had, however, the difficult part became formulating an answer that at once addressed the query and did not wholly embarrass its target. An off kilter twitch of a smile crossed his lips, his eyes darting down from Richard's, deep into the box before them. "Ah," he said. Carelessly he reached up, pressing at the paling bruise. "Sometimes I get hit, yeah." He pulled a fist full of cooking utensils, all neatly wrapped, from within the box. "People come to, you know, and they don't know where they are... sometimes they just flail more than we'd like. But this..." He gave a mirthless little laugh. "This was from an old friend. We had a misunderstanding." That word again - James' word, and Adam had gone along with it like any compliant, abused partner. It should have been shameful, and yet Adam felt no shame in it. At last he looked back up to Richard, forcing his shaky smile to grow a bit broader. "I'm sure that makes the best first impression, huh."

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-16 07:12 am UTC (link)
That comment provoked an unintentional snort from Richard, which came out before he noticed how uncomfortable Adam looked. Awkward. He gave it a moment's thought, recapping his most memorable fistfights, and then shook his head. "Nah. I think it makes sense," he shrugged expressively, "though that might say more about me than about the question. Must have been quite the 'misunderstanding'." He didn't quite buy Adam's story, but the whole answer seemed way too touchy for Richard to pursue the conversation. Instead, he leaned in to the box, pulling away one last layer from a bulbous object and revealing some brown lacquer. Yes, just the thing to lighten the mood.

The standard line about conversation pieces seemed to be that they were supposed to be classy and understated, and to a certain point Richard agreed with that. The object he pulled out of the box was his one big exception to that rule. "Could you find a place for this in on the kitchen counter?" he asked, holding out the cookie jar with a smirk.

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[info]jormungandr
2011-10-18 01:47 am UTC (link)
"You could say that," he said, grateful for Richard's hasty departure from that still raw topic.

Adam laughed aloud as the cookie jar came into view. He had wandered around his share of flea markets and yard sales to know there was a market for this sort of thing, and he found himself, true to his typical practicality, wondering if it might be worth something. But his host hardly seemed the McCoy collecting type, and in context this seemed more an item procured for its kitsch value - and for humor's sake, perhaps - than for its actual monetary worth. It had done its job in that, Adam thought. Delicately he put Mr. T's scalped mohawk atop his kiln-fired head, casting a needlessly dramatic look of appraisal around the kitchen. After a moment he decided on just the place for it: A position of prominence atop the counter, placed where guests entering the kitchen would immediately be greeted - or pitied, however the case may be - by the hollow bust.

"Any other surprises like that lying around?" he asked.

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-18 11:43 pm UTC (link)
Richard had been 11 years old when The A-Team premiered, and it had hit him like a ton of bricks. He had talked his mother's ear off about the show, explaining in great detail exactly why Face was the best and coolest person ever, and how Mr. T's radical chains weren't 'garish', and why couldn't they have a van like that? Every Wednesday over dinner he had recounted that week's episode, complete with sound effects and impressions, in an attempt to cheer his mother up. It had never been completely effective, but as far as he knew she had never watched a full episode. "I'd rather hear about them from you," she had said with a smile, tousling his hair. They had meant a lot to him and, he thought, to her. The cookie jar had come from the store she had worked at, an authentic bit of nostalgia and kitsch that she had given him on the birthday right before he left for college. Since then, Mr. T had been pitying fools from his vantage point in every kitchen Richard had ever owned.

Watching Adam find it a place of honor, Richard grinned. "Nothing just like that," he admitted. "Most of the really weird stuff is already unpacked and in the record cabinet over by the media center. Posters are over in that stack of frames by the front door. You could hang those, if you wanted. This stuff is mostly just boring kitchen wares." He picked up the loaf pan and the coffee pot and carried them over to their respective places in a cabinet and inside the coffee maker.

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[info]jormungandr
2011-10-19 12:51 am UTC (link)
"Record cabinet?" Adam paused in his procurement of further items from the box, willing himself to continue in this task before becoming truly fixated on this tempting new topic. He was supposed to be helping, after all, and if he planned to earn his rather expensive reward, he felt certain he had to provide tangible and thorough assistance. Still, he saw no harm in asking, particularly if he managed to continue his work while doing so. "Do you just collect, or do you really listen to them?"

Carefully he broke the emptied box down, setting it neatly aside before moving on to the next. "I'll leave the posters to you," he said, cutting in before Richard could answer his first question, hoping he did not seem rude. "I'd be kind of particular about that kind of thing, so I'd rather you put them wherever you'd like."

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-20 07:02 am UTC (link)
Richard snorted, trashing another handful of newspaper. "Well, I was going to move them around after you left, obviously," he joked, "but then I would have nails in the walls already, and everything would be easier." It occurred to him that normally he would have hesitated before teasing someone this way. Maybe it was part of that weird sense of familiarity, but he felt pretty sure that Adam could take it. So far, he had still to see any signs that he was wrong.

Leaning over, he saw the contents of the next box. "Hmmm. More books? I thought I was done with those. Just toss them on that shelf, I'll arrange things later." He continued tidying some of the trash left behind by the last box and then threw Adam a look filled with mock-disapproval. "And of course I listen to them. I mean, CDs are fine and all, but for older stuff the original is usually just better. None of this remixed crap." He had heard of people who just collected records, but he still couldn't quite wrap his head around them. "What's the point of having music if you don't listen to it?"

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[info]jormungandr
2011-10-26 12:18 am UTC (link)
Adam gave a quiet laugh at the little jibe, a clear mental image dancing through his head of his new neighbor scurrying through the flat after he had gone, repairing the aesthetic damage Adam might have made. It was best, he knew, to leave such objective decoration to the particular eyes which would have to look at it for a prolonged amount of time. He did not dare consider what his own space might look like were he to give the creative reins over to someone else; the thought of attempting to do the same to someone else was to him equally untenable.

Instead of dwelling on such things Adam turned himself again to the task at hand, dutifully reaching down into the box, coming up with a stack of assorted books. He unabashedly read over their covers and spines as he set them aside.

"No point at all," he agreed. The first stack of books met the counter with a careful but solid thump. "But there are some good remixes and mashups out there, you know. Sometimes reworking something makes it that much... more. You can't count them all out." He thought for a moment. "I mean, look at Cash's cover of 'Hurt.' You can't really say the original was better. Can you?" He quirked a black brow, looking up, as if the answer might color more than his assessment of Richard's taste in music.

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-26 05:00 am UTC (link)
As a general rule, Richard stayed away from newer music. If Adam had mentioned a remix by any other artist, the odds of Richard hearing it would have plummeted. But, well, it was Cash. "That's different," he said, helping himself to a handful of books. "I mean, that's Johnny Cash versus Trent Reznor. I don't have anything against NIN." He smirked, shrugging and taking an armful of books over to the shelf. "Not usually, anyway. But on their best day, they didn't have anything on Cash." Firestarter went next to a beat-up copy of The Maltese Falcon and he thought about it, trying to rephrase his point.

"I'm not saying that there isn't any room for improvement. What I'm saying is that the process of turning a record into a CD is a real problem sometimes. And they're just..." he waved a copy of Skin and Other Stories, at a loss for words. "Not as satisfying. If it's a choice between the original vinyl and a reprint, I'll go with the original any day."

He glanced over at Adam, amused. "But, you've got me on one of my music rants. I'll stop. What do you listen to?" He threw the question out with a grin, giving Adam a way out of the conversation, if he wanted it.

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[info]jormungandr
2011-10-27 12:07 pm UTC (link)
Adam's grin broadened considerably upon this assessment of the Man in Black. Richard's stock raised quite sharply in light of this. Truth be told, he liked the leaning of all the man's comments, though on some level it amused him to envision Richard's response were he to compare the fidelity and artfulness of vinyl against the modern, degraded MP3. Adam himself had railed against it many a time - in his own subdued way - and he felt certain they would be of like minds in this, too.

When it came to genre, however, there was some slight deviation. Odd as it was, Adam found himself considering his response longer than was necessary. On some level he felt disinclined to say the wrong thing, as if the idea of lowering himself in this relative stranger's estimation was truly a disconcerting concept, to be avoided as best he could. He would not lie - that was certainly not his way, even if it might have benefited him significantly - but perhaps they could find more common ground, for all their differences.

"I like music rants," Adam said. He gave a languid shrug, withdrawing a fresh stack of books from the box. "Good one," he added, interrupting himself, looking up to the book in Richard's hand. For an instant he seemed transfixed by the serpent on its cover, their eyes meeting with something too similar, too real to be comfortable. "Really good choice."

And then he blinked, clearing his vision, shaking his head with a self conscious little laugh. "Sorry, what was that?" He nipped at his tongue, thinking back. "Oh, music. No, I like rants. I like finding out what other people listen to, especially if they'll tell me why." He turned to the dwindling stack, now scraping the bottom of the box. "I like almost everything but rap, and even a few artists loosely lumped in there - N.A.S.A., Danger Mouse, stuff like that - are okay by me. To me there's no beating Nick Cave, though."

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-10-30 11:57 pm UTC (link)
Well, that had been kind of strange. Richard wasn't sure if he had seen anyone have that kind of reaction to Roald Dahl before. Still, the fact that Adam had recognized the book, and approved, made up for any strangeness. He would have commented on it, but Adam went on to the next topic and Richard followed willingly, putting the book onto its shelf and going for another handful as he listened.

Talking music had gotten complicated for Richard over the past few years, and he considered what stance he should take as Adam talked. His own collection cut off rather abruptly at 1990, not because he hadn't listened to things past that point, but because there was enough that he loved before then to keep him busy collecting for the rest of his life. As a consequence his musical knowledge after a certain point was incredibly patchy, limited in a large part to what showed up on the radio and who won which Grammys. So, while he recognized the first two names that Adam mentioned, he couldn't have named anything they had recorded.

Cave, on the other hand, was well inside his realm of knowledge. Richard remembered hearing about the edgy musician early on, and he had tried to keep up on the odd career. "Cave and I have an on again off again thing," he said, honesty winning out as it always did in music conversations. "I'm not a big fan of The Birthday Party. They were just trying to do too much at once. But his later stuff, especially the stuff when he's pulling on traditional folk music? Some of that is legitimately great. 'Murder Ballads' and 'The Boatman's Call' especially." He didn't own either of the albums, but the songs he had happened across had made enough of an impression for him to hunt down the tracklists and listen to them on youtube.

He wondered where else Adam's tastes went. Towards the dark end of the musical spectrum, that was clear from Cash and Cave. It was a little early to mention or recommend anybody else, though, however much Richard wanted to. And he found he did want to, for some reason. Talking music was fun in and of itself, but getting someone to discover an artist that they really liked, that was always more exciting. Souxsie and the Banshees might work here, he thought, but he would wait to bring them up until he was sure. Adam had probably already heard of them, anyway.

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[info]jormungandr
2011-11-01 02:49 am UTC (link)
Adam's heart fair swelled at the mention of Murder Ballads, an album long close to his heart. Whatever last, dwindling reservations he might have had about his new floor mate were rapidly dissipating. To anyone else it might have seemed ludicrous that so much of Adam's first impressions hinged upon music, but to him there was no better window into someone's soul. That was a lesson he had learned long ago, when music was at once his savior and outlet, further solidified by his experiences with Alexandria: Only in music did she truly let herself go, and express what was within her she otherwise never dared show. That Richard seemed a man who understood such things, or at least allowed himself the breadth of musical experience to begin to understand, spoke volumes to his nature - or so Adam thought.

"There's a B-side to that," he said, getting more excited than he had any cause. "'The Willow Garden.' Just... beautiful." He shook his head, words clearly failing him. "I do like his more folksy stuff, but honestly I've never met a Nick Cave song I didn't like." He straightened up, another small stack of books in his hand. Neatly he set the second on top of the first, squaring off the edges. His eyes were soon drawn back to the cover showing the coiled serpent; it seemed he could not look away overlong, a fact he found as distressing as it was unavoidable. He cleared his throat, the tip of his tongue worrying at his labret.

"So this rant of yours," Adam began. "It wasn't much of a rant." He chuckled, looking up to Richard. "I'm curious to hear the rest of it."

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-11-03 03:17 am UTC (link)
"Really?" It was impossible to hide the surprise he felt, so Richard didn't even try. The last time someone had prodded him for more of his opinions on music had been a dinner date, after all of the usual topics had been exhausted and he had stopped trying to pretend that the blond across the table from him was interesting. Even then it had been the polite dessert-isn't-here-yet kind of questioning, rather than any rapport. The scenario obviously didn't apply here. (Adam was attractive enough, he supposed, but for some reason... ew.) That left him with the unlikely explanation that Adam actually wanted to hear his tirades about sound quality and obscure bands from the seventies.

Maybe California wouldn't be so bad after all.

The book was going to have to go, though. The looks Adam kept giving it were disconcerting. Richard put the next pile of books down on top of the Dahl cover too forcefully to seem completely casual, and 'straightened' the shelf with a few businesslike motions, pushing the book's spine towards the wood of the bookcase. Only after he was sure that the distinguishing marks were obscured did he look back to Adam, offering a grin.

"Usually I mention sound quality and people remember a pressing engagement somewhere else. I won't try to talk you out of it, though." Most of the boxes were unpacked now, and he knew he could finish the rest later. "I tell you what. This side of the album's going to end in a couple of minutes." He nodded towards his record player, which was playing the last song of Slippery When Wet's b-side. "Why don't we break out another album and talk shop, before you change your mind?"

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[info]jormungandr
2011-11-04 01:13 am UTC (link)
Adam chuckled at the other man's careful caveats, dismissing them each in their turn. It was a rare joy to find someone who felt as he did about music, whose very heart beat for the passion it incited. The thought of carrying on the conversation - without the needless, manufactured goal of unpacking to hold them back - was one he could not pass up. He felt a kind of certainty about this conversation, about this man, that he had not felt since time out of mind. Unfazed by the idea of further prolonging sleep in favor of idle chatter, Adam latched greedily upon the idea, already shaking his head.

"Lead the way," he said, one black-lacquered hand gesturing out into the living room. Though his expression of it was as characteristically subdued as so much else about him, his enthusiasm was complete and entirely unfeigned. An earnest smile twitched across his lips as he regarded his host, all thought of his embarrassing obsession with the serpentine book cover forgotten now. "I can promise you I won't back out now. This is just getting interesting."

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[info]atrickstertype
2011-11-05 04:21 am UTC (link)
"Well, then." Richard couldn't help but match the other man's enthusiasm as he gestured towards his music cabinet. "It's all sorted, but I sort things strangely. Feel free to look through." He slotted in the last handful of books from this box and broke it down, tossing it onto his trash pile. The only thing that kept him from walking over to the fridge and breaking out the alcohol was the fact that it wasn't even noon yet. Instead he settled for walking over to the record player and taking the current album off its spindle, sliding it smoothly back into its dust jacket without ever touching the grooves. "They're uh, by mood, actually. Party on the left. You can probably find your way from there."

So, maybe he wasn't going to get to the beach as soon as he had thought. Something told him that this was going to be plenty of fun.

And it was. The two of them spent longer than either had expected, chatting about different bands and laughing at some of the real gems of Richard's collection. Richard thought it was quite the way to start out a life in California.

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