Entry tags:

!complete, mike lane, thalia grace

Who: Mike Lane mikelane & Thalia Grace wasatree
What: Open House at Mike's Gallery
When: Monday, September 26, evening
Where: Mike Lane Custom Furnishing Art Gallery
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Mike dances to the beat of his own drummer & Thalia is much too posh to be at his gallery but, luckily for him, she came by to check out his work regardless.
Status: Complete Upon Posting

~*~

"Just like fire, burning out the way. If I can light the world up for just one day. Watch this madness, colorful charade. No one can be---"

P!nk played out of the wireless speakers Mike had stationed throughout the gallery while he danced as if a whole crowd was watching. It didn't matter he was alone among his furnishing art pieces. Mike carried his own crowd in his head while he worked at putting in a new installation to replace the one which had sold only two hours before. It was getting closer to the end of the day which meant he likely wouldn't see anyone else; he was free to groove to his music any way he wanted to his heart's content.

Mike rolled his hips, his shoulders, sank down low to pop back up right when he noticed a shadow being cast over him which didn't come from his bar set.

"Oh hey! Hi! I'm sorry. Let me get the music."

He pulled his pants back up from where they'd fallen down slightly as he was dancing, moving quickly to the desk at the front of the gallery to kill the music playing from his iPhone. Mike was flushed as he turned to greet Thalia. It was a surprise to him she'd even bothered to come see his work. He hoped she didn't feel as if she owed it to him for the save from the perv with the camera. Mike wasn't the kind of guy who required payback for favors. Sometimes he thought that was why he was also not the kind of guy who lived in a million-dollar beach house.

"Good to see you could come in for my open house. Technically, since it's a gallery, every day is an open house. I just like the way it sounds. Too many years in The Scene. You interested in anything in particular or just want to browse? In spite of the mass demands on my attention, I could give you a personal tour if you were interested."

Humor was the best way to cover up looking like a jackass as far as Mike was concerned.

~*~

“Hey, no need to stop on my account,” Thalia said, lifting an eyebrow. “I was enjoying the show.”

She looked tired despite the glib words - but being a tree for two weeks would do that to a person, she supposed. She wasn’t sure how her dream self had managed it for seven whole years. There were a lot of things her dream self was going through right now she had to sort out - but that was why she was here: she needed a break from being a demigod who’d been torn apart by hellhounds and then gotten turned into a tree by her father. She’d found Mike’s card in her purse and decided to take a walk. She needed to get out of the apartment, out of the way of Annabeth’s worried fussing.

“I needed to get out of the apartment and figured I’d come see what you got,” she explained as she moved further in. Her hair was much shorter than before - so short they spiked up from her head - and her clothing was edgier than at the club: ripped jeans, black t-shirt with a picture of a skeletal Hello Kitty.

***

People changed their looks often in Orange County---sometimes in very radical ways Mike could only assume were the result of their Dreams. He thought Thalia rocked the punk look better than most. His brow furrowed in concern as he realized she sounded tired. They'd only met the once; Mike knew her life had to be stressful given the paparazzi following her around, hounding her, and having limited privacy as a result. He wondered how she was coping lately or if that was why she looked rundown.

It was too personal a question for him to ask without prying so he chose to focus on what he did best: flirting and flashing a smile.

"I got plenty, but unfortunately you're only allowed to look and not touch. I'm taken. I thought we talked about that before."

He scanned the gallery with a critical eye. There were mostly pieces on display for quick sale which meant not too much more than Mike's own customization preferences had gone into them. It struck him he could show her the bar set he'd been installing. She might enjoy seeing it given it wasn't every day someone got to see a piece of furnishing art made entirely out of wrecked car parts. Mike was proud of the set even if it was the most expensive piece in the studio at present due to the materials.

Nodding his head to motion for her to follow him, he ambled back to the bar set, "A guy I know runs a scrapyard. I got all the pieces for this bar set from wrecked cars. It's all steel, chrome, plexiglass, and even the countertop glass comes from a totaled vehicle. The top is actually my favorite part since it's bulletproof glass. Guaranteed not to scratch, break, or get damaged from guests when entertaining. The stools are car seats I put on axles mounted inside rims from the same wreck as the glass top. It's eclectic, but it's one-of-a-kind and it's my idea of the perfect punk theme. Gangsta, right?"

~*~

“No intention of touching,” Thalia assured him. “I've got a It’s Complicated thing going on.”

Or not at all, considering she'd stood him up the night they were supposed to have run away together and then again on the night they were supposed have given it another shot. Of course, there had been extenuating circumstances both times, but when you got turned into a tree the day you were supposed to reconcile with your ex, you had to wonder if the universe was trying to tell you something.

Regardless of whatever was going on with Luke, Thalia wasn't interested in Mike, so he and his significant other could rest easy.

She followed him over to the piece and peered at it as he described it. “Cool,” she remarked as she rapped on the top. Bulletproof glass indeed. “You have anyone in mind for this?”

***

"I understand 'It's Complicated.' As for the bar set? Nope. I made it purely because I wanted to do something with car parts and the idea came to do this. I liked it when I sketched it out and then I liked it better when I started working on it so I just kept working on it."

Mike shrugged. He made a lot of things which took time to sell because they'd been made with no particular buyer in mind. His tastes were considered stylish among some circles and Mike knew how The Scene operated. There were some perks to knowing where he stood the best chance to get his work out into the world and where he'd strike out. Word of mouth was the best way to become a popular place to buy. Mike knew he would get the success he wanted if he got the right customers and made them the right kind of happy.


He wanted to succeed in business.

Furnishing art was a passion for Mike and he'd lost a lot as a result of his devotion to it.

Admitting to Thalia he made some items purely to make them was close to career suicide. There was an arrogance in the admission which implied Mike thought he could sell any vision he had in his head. He ran a hand over his head, ruffling his hair slightly, as he tried to come up with a way to make his explanation sound less arrogant or crazy. He wasn't the crazy artist type in spite of how many hours he spent alone in his workshop. Thalia had seen him dancing to let off steam. That didn't mean she knew him. He'd helped her get away from paparazzis. That didn't mean he knew her.

"Don't get me wrong. I make things with the intention of selling them. I don't think I can sell absolutely any idea I get. I do make for the masses in some cases like with my driftwood shelving units. Those are commercial enough to attract a lot of people yet each one is wholly unique since the material itself is unique. I get caught up in things. I love what I do."

~*~

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Thalia said with a shrug. She knew the The Scene and she hated it, but she also knew a lot of creative people through it. They, like Mike, did what they did because they loved it, not because of the money. Those were the ones she liked, more than the multimillion dollar producers who only cared about how to please the movie execs.

“I know a bunch of artists who make terrible, creatively bankrupt things just to keep food on the table, and put all their heart and soul into things that weren’t meant to be sold. If they did, all the better, but they did it just because they had an idea.” Mike struck her as one of those types.

“What else do you have?” The gangsta punk didn’t quite catch her attention, but she wanted to buy something to support him. “What’s this?”

She pointed to an intriguing arrangement of metal and glass.

***

Some things happened because Mike had the materials with no clear view in mind. He had made a lot of small items using pipes, gauges, and metal fixtures due to having a surplus of them on hand. Thalia had gotten interested in a piece which wouldn't appear to be what it actually was until plugged in. Mike gave an apologetic grin as he moved to it, crouching to find the cord to plug it into the electric outlet which lit it up to show off old-fashioned bulbs set in pipes with gauges for decoration.

"You've fallen into my trap of Using Materials Taking Up Space. I made a lot of lamps like this one and wine racks because I had the gauges and the pipes and no other ideas for them for larger pieces. The bottles can be changed out if you're not a Jack fan and you like that lamp design. I can also make something larger for you if you want a taller piece or need a larger rack. They're on my modest price scale since honestly? They're the result of clearing out my materials stockpile."

He'd done floor lamps which looked completely steampunk to utterly new age. Mike didn't do much with electrical wiring, but anyone could wire a lamp with basic training. Some of them sold quickly while others lingered. They were small items, filled up empty spaces, made for attractive eye candy to entice someone who wasn't ready to buy a larger piece. It helped they didn't require him to deliver them usually as well as making them striking in the homes they went into while, hopefully, getting his name out there when the buyer entertained.

"I do a few small pieces here and there. I've got tables to match in storage. I've got materials to make benches for a front entry if you're interested in an eye-catching entryway. Like I said: most of this stuff I made to sell or attract people to make a custom order. I like using what I have---well, when I run out of space for it."

~*~

“I kinda like it,” Thalia said, taking a few steps back to look at it with a critical eye. “Very steampunk.”

Which was totally not her apartment, but she could make it work. Hell, she really didn’t care about what did work and what didn’t work anymore. Near-death experiences - even in dreams - and turning into a tree in real life really helped you get a perspective on things.

She studied it for a moment more, trying to figure out where she might put it, then finally nodded, deciding. She really hated the Tiffany lamp that had somehow ended up in the living room anyway; she wasn’t even sure how she’d ended up with it. This would be much cooler.

“How much is it, and do you deliver?” She may have grown up in Hollywood, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have to worry about money.

***

Steampunk was something Mike wouldn't have known anything about if it hadn't been for his history as a hype man. There was never such a thing as 'too much' for a Scene party. He'd played Peter Pan leading the Lost Boys to Neverland in every possible kind of fantasy from full steampunk wear to nude events. The most memorable party Mike could think of had featured the guests wearing nothing other than underwear and body paint which mimicked clothing or scales or pretty much anything to keep them supposedly decent.

He thought he'd been around Thalia's age when he'd led the way to that venue.

"It's $150 and I do deliver."

Mike smiled at her as he shook his head, "I would like for you to kinda love it though so don't think you have to buy something just because you came into my place. If you have something you'd love to have and I don't have it on display? I'd love to make it for you. True story."

~*~

“Hey, I’m not buying out of guilt or anything,” Thalia protested. “I do like it, and I think it’ll be great in my apartment. I’m just not in the headspace to love anything right now.”

She gestured at her head in a vague movement meant to accent her words. She’d come here to get away from Annabeth’s concern and the stifling confines of her apartment, but she definitely wasn’t in any shape to make any big decisions. A $150 steampunk lamp was a nice, cheap investment to show that she was getting back into the swing of things. Because nothing said normalcy like domesticity.

“If I think of anything I absolutely have to have and couldn’t find anywhere, though, I’ll come to you. Promise.”

***

"I'll hold you to that promise," Mike answered, reaching over to pick up the lamp, wrapping its cord around the base carefully. He'd have to wrap it well if it was going in his truck. Thalia had been in his truck before. The day was over except for finishing touches on the bar set's installation in the gallery. He had no reason to stay on site when he could offer to take her home with her purchase. That she'd voluntarily offered to say she hadn't asked for the piece out of guilt or pity meant a lot to him.

The least he could do was offer her a ride home. Again.


"Come on, I'll take your money, wrap your lamp, and, if you're willing, I'll even drive you home. It'll be a double delivery to say thanks to my new best customer since I have no doubt one day? You'll be able to love something again and me? I want to be the guy who supplies all your furnishing art needs. Mike Lane Custom Guarantee."

Orange County led to some strange interactions between the class lines. Mike was glad he'd met Thalia. She was a whole world away from how he'd pictured a real celebrity's kid from being.

~*~