Who: Petit Lapan LeBeau, Artan Stillman and various extras When: Monday morning after Sunday the night before. Where: Out on the town Why: because. Same as before. Warnings: more swearing, they get chatty and it gets long, nothin' else, surprisingly
and then because the site went blippy, we continued by IM Artan spent the time in the shower contemplating how he managed to become that which he hated. A talentless musician with no ear for key changes or things that even resembled true music. He idly wondered if the lady on the board was right - that he should turn the music happier. Because as much as he raged and ranted, he wasn't a depressed, angry guy about shit, and he wasn't about to record things that were droll, useless blather about futility and desolation. What good did it do for the world? He got out of the shower and tied a towel around his hips before padding back out to the bedroom. At the sight of the ensemble, he cracked a smile, and looked over at Petit. "Squirt, you're a genius. Insane, but a genius."
"What can I say?" She said with a shrug, digging through a bottom drawer that was apparently completely full of scarves, "I've got an eye for it." She finally found something in teal and brown that didn't at all match the new shirt she'd pulled on, tying it over her hair, ending up looking rather like a tiny Rosie the Riveter, just with oversized sunglasses and a shirt that said: 'save a cow, eat a beaver'
Artan nearly burst out laughing once he finally read her shirt, and shook his head. "That's fucking perfect." He said, tugging on his own shirt which was luckily nondescript and grey. It may have been a size too small, but then again, who was he to argue? He never got complaints about showing off a little muscle before. He pulled on the pants he'd been wearing the night before under the towel and looked over his shoulder at Petit with a smirk. "You know, all you need is a pursedog and you'd actually look the part of disowned heiress. That's really freaky."
She snickered, tugging off the sunglasses so she could actually see, sliding them onto the top of her head, "Could work, I was kind of going for a less cracked-out Amy Winehouse sort of look." She tugged a jacket out of the closet as well, holding it out for him. It was too big for her, by a whole lot, "If that doesn't attract cameras I don't know what will."
"Dear god, it's hideous. Gimme." He said, grabbing the jacket and tugging it on. "Bit snug in the arms, but I think I'll manage." He said, flexing and bending his arms to work the leather into a semi-relaxed state. "I look like I'm in touch with my inner interior decorator." He chuckled, putting his arm around Petit's shoulder. "So, here's the age old question. How badly do we want to fuck with them?"
She shrugged, "Depends, what'd you have in mind, and good god I'm going to need a pair of heels, you're like, freakishly tall, how did I never notice that before?" And back to the closet she went, rummaging away.
Artan looked down at his feet, brows furrowed, before looking at her, "Five nine and a half, Squirt. That's not exactly tall." He snickered and shook his head. "Unless the vortex decided to make me taller. I don't feel much taller, you're still as short as ever." Though it did make him realize he'd never seen her in flats or just plain tennis shoes. "You need stilts."
"That's nine and a half inches taller than me at the very least." She did finally emerge again with a pair of heeled boots, plopping down in the computer chair to zip them up, deciding that skinny-leg jeans weren't so bad, "But yeah, what'd you have in mind?"
"Well, our usual popping in and out would be fun, but how badly do you want your face in the papers as Mystery Girl Spotted? Because really, that wouldn't help the disappearing matters if we actually decide to go with that plan." He lit up a cigarette and dropped down onto the bed, flopping back and looking up at the ceiling.
She thought about that for a long moment, finally shaking her head, "Let's stick with conventional fuck-with-the-press for now, we've got two weeks, we'll always have time to go totally over the top later." She unfolded then, grinning, "Ready?"
"After my smoke. I've got to remember that I'm a celebrity now, not a touring tattooist. I can actually buy what I want, and yet, I have to maintain some sort of image. Dear god, this is too much work."
She snickered at that, "Alright, that'll give me time to come up with an itinerary of some sort. At least a list." And she plopped down in the chair again, spinning it back around to face the computer, in all her trips and visits and sight-seeing, she'd never really stuck around London long enough to know where things were.
Artan had never been to England, so really, she had a better chance of knowing her way around the place. He watched through half-lidded eyes as she worked, taking one slow, deliberately savoring drag from his cigarette after the other. It was after a few minutes of silence that he finally spoke up. "I should really hate you, you know. You broke my heart, but I... just can't hate you." With that off his chest, he felt a hell of a lot better.
"You could try, you know, if it'll make you feel better." She shrugged then, snagging the pasted-together itinerary off the printer, "And I know being drunk isn't a reason so much as an excuse, but we were all really drunk that night."
"I tried, and couldn't." He said with a shrug, snubbing out the cigarette between his index finger and thumb, tossing the butt in the trash when the cherry was good and dead. "Yeah, but it still hurts. I mean, it's been a decade and I still feel like I'm walking on fuckin' eggshells around you."
She tilted her head, eying him for a long moment, finally shrugging, brow creased slightly, "Why? There's no reason to."
Artan just rolled his eyes and shook his head, sighing. "Yeah, there is. Let's just get out of here before I get all mopey about it." He stood then, and stretched the arms of the jacket out again.
She smirked, "We walking or driving? Or taking the subway? Sightseeing tourbus? We've got options." Snagging a purse that also didn't match her outfit, she made sure she had the essentials before clunking her way down the stairs, "Got a bit of everything on the list, typical tourist traps, shopping, dining, all the good stuff."
"Best way to be noticed is to drive a car you're known to be in." Artan suggested, before adding with a cocky grin, "And c'mon, look at that fuckin' car. I'd marry it if it weren't illegal." He patted his pockets to make sure he had everything, before nodding and starting towards the door. "What's first on the list, my little half-Cajun compadre?"
She laughed, "Big Ben first, just to say we've been there, then the wax museum and we'll see what happens after that, right?" A grin as she slid into the passenger seat, "And it is a nice car."
"A wax museum? You promise we won't have any freaky un-conjoined twins after my nards, right?" He started up the car after getting in, and rolled his shoulders. "I think I've got GPS in this thing, but it'd be easier and a whole lot less annoying if you just gave me directions." With that, he started off. For what it was worth, he was a safe driver.
"Can't promise anything of the sort." She said, shrugging. She was a good navigator, especially when she had the directions all spelled out, made things easier all around.
Big Ben finally got within viewing distance and He raised one brow, looking out the window over the steering wheel. "Oh hey. It's a big fucking clock. Whoopie." His thrill was just unmitigated for sure. Totally. Except he never really understood the appeal. "Somehow I'm just not that impressed by a big, old clock."
"Yeah, me either. Be cooler if it was on fire." A headshake then, "And no, we can't do that. There is such a thing as bad publicity." A shrug, "So, wax museum or open-air market?"
"Everything's cooler on fire, though." He said with a shrug, sliding back in his seat as he continued to drive. "Which one sounds less like I'd be willing to kill the owner after we got out of there?"
She snickered, shaking her head, "We'll start with the market then, move on to the museum." It was late enough in the day that the place was bustling, clothes vendors, arts and crafts vendors, electronics vendors, anything and everything that could be sold out of a tent or the back of a truck was there, really it was like a shopping mall made out of tents, "There's a parking garage up the block."
He nodded and started that direction, parking in a spot close enough where they wouldn't have to walk half a mile to get to the market. "Saw a couple people already spotted us. This is gunna be fucking funny." With that, he slung his arm around Petit's shoulder, and smirked. "Now let's see, two weeks, I'll need clothes that don't make me look like a complete schmuck."
"awww, where's the fun in that?" She said, making sure her sunglasses were secure, arm looping around his waist, "This way then, clothes first, then whatever else looks shiny."
His own sunglasses were down and his collar was popped. "Shiny things, I like shiny things." He deadpanned. He kept a bit closer than strictly necessary, simply due to the fact that this many people kind of made him nervous, just out of habit. Even moreso now that he suddenly realized that so many people were watching him, muttering to each other. But he reminded himself that was sort of the point, and he relaxed, starting to look through shirts. "Y'know, Squirt, I'd never think about actually going anywhere like this. Too crowded, too few walls."
"That's half the fun right there though." Granted, she usually had Shadows watching her back, but she was far from helpless, and most people seemed more curious than anything, which was just fine by her, it was the point after all.
"I actually worked a gig like this in Tulsa, last summer. But I had my booth, I didn't have to go out into the crowd." He mentioned in an offhand, hushed way. "Actually, some of the best money comes from trade shows done at parks or open stadiums. People just like the natural light to see their hideous tweety-bird tats." He slid his fingers over a shirt made of silk and shrugged one shoulder. "I always get heat stroke" This may have been because he was wearing leather pants and a black tank top at the time, without sunscreen.
Petit's nose wrinkled, "Heatstroke sucks." She'd only had it a couple of times herself, but it wasn't an experience she was keen on repeating if it could at all be helped. And then, under her breath, "Cameras. Just tourists. I'm shutting up now."
"Awesome." He replied with a slight smirk, taking his pile of clothes up to the guy to pay for them. He returned with a bag full of jeans and shirts. "Y'know, would be kinda nice to know if they had a place that sells belt buckles. I've been wanting to get a new one for a while now." The set of flaming dice was getting old and sadly, it'd been left in the other reality.
Petit shrugged, voice little more than a murmur, though enough that he'd hear it anyway, "Probably do, over with the jewelry and stuff." She re-adjusted both scarf and glases, careful, calculated movements, looking nervous but still beaming.
Artan apparently had experience in pretending not to give two shits about being famous. Or at least being watched like a hawk. "Alright, shiny things it is. S'go." He set off, his arm back over Petit's shoulder, careful not to disturb her scarf. "You know," He near-whispered, "That wasn't just tourists back there. Unless one of those tourists sprung for a nice, photojournalist-grade camera."
"hm, they're getting sneaky. Fuckers." Her tone was entirely amused however, and she kept her arm looped around his waist once more. Sure enough, alongside sunglasses and toe rings there were belts and buckles, Petit pursed her lips, sorting through a basket of single earrings.
He went through the belt buckles and finally found one that he really liked, a dragon coiled around a martini glass. Hell if he knew what that was all about, but he liked the style of the thing, so he bought it, along with a new belt. "Sneaky? We know sneaky. Shit, babe, we fucking reinvented sneaky." that said, he tossed his bags over his shoulder and turned around, just as someone else was snapping a photo, to give a big grin and the finger. "Good afternoon, London. Fuck off."
Petit hadn't found anything even remotely interesting, let alone anything she'd actually wear, even as a disguise. She managed not to grin at the outburst, but it was close, giving his arm a tug to weave back into the crowd, taking full advantage of the moment of surprise.
"Thank you for catching my cue." Said Artan. "You are damn good at that." He chuckled and nodded towards the parking lot. "S'get goin', I'm done with open spaces."
She shrugged, "Just practice, that's all. Reading people. So, we've got the wax museum, or tour of Buckingham Palace, and if that doesn't take more than a few hours we can still get seats for the medieval dinner banquet and show."
"A whole afternoon filled with cheesy tourist shit?" He shook his head, "I have a better plan. How you like the sound of seeing exactly how far my status gets us? I'd like to test it out, myself." His hand brushed away a bit of hair that was stuck on a ring on his index finger that wasn't there when he'd paid for the belt buckle.
Her brow arched once more, head tilting, looking entirely birdlike just for a moment, "What'd you have in mind?" Because this sounded interesting
He also managed another two rings on his other hand. It was entirely possible he didn't even realize he'd done it. "I don't know. Five star restaurants, VIP sections at nightclubs. Getting into certain parts of certain historical buildings without being all backstage about it? You know. The usual." His smile went entirely devious as he unset the alarm and unlocked the car doors with the push of a button, and slipped in once again.
She laughed, sliding into her seat once more, "Works for me, we'll want to head uptown for that, right at the heart of the city." She apparently had no problems with this. She also had a spangly chandelier earring on the side of the scarf where it wrapped around over her shoulder.
He smiled and flicked the earring. "Dork." He murmured, before taking off, "S'go get the shit back at the hotel, I might as well not have to have my shit one place and my friend in another. Figure you wouldn't mind me crashing there for a couple weeks, anyway." He wasn't sure what his budget was, but it'd be a hell of a lot better off if he didn't have to pay for a penthouse suite at the fanciest damn hotel in town.
She rolled her eyes, "Wouldn't have said anything in the first place if it was going to be a problem. But sure, sounds like a good place to start, you go get your stuff, check out, I'll loiter mysteriously in the lobby."
"Come up after about fifteen minutes, you know, to check up on me." He said with a wink. "This is fucking froot loops. I'm never going to take this life seriously." Shortly after, he pulled up to the parking attendant at the hotel and sighed, "Valet parking. Fuckin' ridiculous." He took his ticket and left his keys. "The room's 1702, fifteen minutes." He whispered to Petit, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before slipping into the elevator.
She grinned at the first, though the smile faded to one of almost wry amusement as she wandered the enormous lobby, trailing her fingers across the backs of chairs, tabletops, whatever surfaces were there, really, petting the ficus trees and checking the view out the front windows. She smiled at the front desk as she padded over to the elevator, fifteen minutes on the dot.
And sure enough, the door was unlocked and even open just a tad, and Artan, who'd already gotten his bags packed, was lounging on the bed, and held up a baggie once Petit stepped in. "You have no idea how fucking awesome it is to be me, all of a sudden." Said baggie had several rolled up joints in amongst one of the biggest buds of weed he'd ever seen. And this was even AFTER living on the island where the shit grew practically wild.
She snickered, shaking her head, "What's it they say? Don't buy drugs, just become a rockstar and they give them to you for free?" She shrugged then, "Concierge thinks I'm insane, or not all there. Maybe both. She's kind of jumpy, did you notice that?"
"She's probably right." He said with a smirk, shaking his head and setting the baggie down again. "Somewhere along the lines, I think we both snapped and this is just one of our delusions. Actually, that sounds more logical than what really happened." He sighed and tugged out of the leather jacket, tossing it aside. "So I've been thinking. As much as I love the money and the fucking around with the people, I might wind up just giving it all to charity. I always said that if I ever managed to make a name for myself, I'd set up a charity in my sister's name." He rolled his shoulders, glad to be free of the jacket that was a lot heavier than he'd thought at first.
She shrugged, flopping herself down on the bed, sunglasses pushed up to the top of her head once more, "Don't see why not. Lots of rockstars do that kind of thing, right?" Honestly she had no idea, little out of the loop when it came to pop culture.
"Fuck if I know, it's more an actor and football stars thing, I think. Unless you're counting Bono. Oh god, I probably know the guy. Jesus." He sighed and sprawled more comfortably on the bed. "Give 'em time to catch up, maybe freak out a little?" He asked in relation to the posse they'd ditched at the market.
She nodded, "Yeah. No sign of them so far." She'd been keeping an eye on the parking lot from the window, "Probably still too confused by the brazen display of rudeness." She was snickering, however.
"Yeah, right, rude." He rolled his eyes. "That was tame, you know that was tame." He raised both brows to her, "I could have mooned 'em."
She snickered, shaking her head, "Save it for later. We've got all night." And two weeks after that even, because this sort of awesome couldn't be contained in one night.
"You're right, we'll save the tattoos for later." He paused, then smirked. "How badly do you think I could tank myself in a month? I mean, get such weird publicity that all the rag mags would think I went psycho. I could do a photo spread for playgirl, all Peter Steele style, only sexier and less hung like an elephant." Not that he saw these photos personally or anything, nono.
She stretched, popping her back, "Downhill's easy." Always was. Gravity and momentum and all, "You sure you'd want to though?"
"I never wanted to be famous!" Artan sighed, "Seriously, if you think about it, I could have been without dropping into it like I have. I don't want this. Not to mention, my fans are teenage mallrats with too much eyeliner and not enough looks. You've seen the type." He sneered, "I swear, if there's one thing I wish I could do, it'd be make all those fucking gothy bitches cry at the same time."
She shrugged, "Well, the only way to do that would be to kill you." She paused, thinking this over, "Which would be pretty awesome if you get right down to it."
"Yeah, but... I can't die." He pointed out. "Seriously, I've actually tested that theory. Literal can NOT." He sighed, "I can, however, go into traction for six weeks and miss all the good action in the mod circuit."
She rolled her eyes, "And you honestly think between the two of us with now nearly unlimited resources we can't figure out how to fake it believably?"
"I hadn't thought of that." He said with a furrow of his brow. "That'd be one way to vanish." He looked up at Petit, "See, and this is why you're the brains of the group, and I'm the looks. Can I just say that if we manage to pull it off, I will have no reason not to make you sole benefactor?"
She snorted, more amused than ever at that, "Sure, because I'd know what to do with that kind of money." A shrug, "Give it a while though, see if we don't come up with anything else." This was followed by: "We've got company. And they brought friends."
"Oh goodie, let's make out." Said Artan, sitting back up and scratching through his hair. "Or just get the hell out of dodge before they figure out what room I'm in. Can you backstage it back to your pad?"
She shrugged, "Sure, got everything you need? Coming back for the car later?" Two very important questions, really.
He grabbed the baggie and stuffed it in his back pocket, and then grabbed his suitcase. "Yes and maybe, probably not though." He patted himself down with his free hand again, making sure he had his wallet and phone, before he nodded, "Ready."
She nodded, arm sliding around his waist, brow furrowing as she blipped them both out. The backstage was freakishly empty. Sure, sometimes there were patches of it with none of the Herd around, but you could usually still tell they were there. This was completely different, completely still, no sign of them. It was only two steps forward and a halfstep sideways before Petit pulled them out again, right back in the kitchen, she wobbled slightly before shaking her head, "Haven't done that in a while."
He was prepared to catch her, setting down the suitcase and looking only the slightest bit worried. "Yeah, it shows. Damn, what have you been doing with yourself lately? You can't have possibly gone that long without being back there. And oh yeah? The no Shadows thing? Officially is creeping me out. Officially."
She shook her head, "I've been, just haven't taken anyone else is all. Takes more effort." Another, almost canine shake all the way down her spine, "Need a glass of water."
"Take a seat, I'll get it." He ushered her to a chair and went in search of glasses. "C'mon though, I thought that was your 'thing', to play creepy tiny taxicab." He finally found a glass and filled it with tap water, handing it off to her. "You could moonlight as a transport service in your off hours from your other two jobs."
She would have protested, if she hadn't still been feeling a bit wobbly. She shrugged, accepting the glass of water, "Just out of practice, that's all. It's only been me needing to go anywhere for... well, since the island I guess."
CLIFFHANGER ENDING! no, really we just both fell asleep.