Lowell Tracey is a Rock Star (brainjam) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-10-18 13:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, killian jones (captain hook), lowell tracey |
Who: Lowell and Killian
What: Killian gives Lowell the rundown on the OC
When: Sometime after this exchange.
Where: A hidden club
Rating/Warning: Pretty low/none. Some talk about dream amputations.
Status: Complete
You best believe that Killian wore his leather trousers tonight.
The vest that could be glimpsed beneath his matching leather jacket was also very piratical in nature - red and black, hand-stitched, and something that the dream fairy brought him awhile ago. He left that certain grotesque appendage at home but on his good hand wore the usual plunder that Hook tended to adorn himself with, the biggest one the ring that would leave a fleur-de-lis shaped mark on skin were he to punch anyone’s lights out. It had happened before. There was also a silver chain with a skull and crossbones, and a dagger, hanging from around his neck.
He’d fit right in at a speakeasy, let’s just say. Giving his new mate Lowell the rockstar with the ass in the leather trousers directions to get in the place was likely to be an exercise in futility - best to just meet him outside, and show him the way. There were a few gems like these in Orange County, former secret rendezvous points with gin and tonics and straight up whiskey, like in the olden days when prohibition was unfortunately a thing.
This one happened to be strategically located in the back of a pizza parlour, and Killian waited outside, leaning against the brick. He really wanted a cigarette for some reason, good god. Especially if he was going to take Lowell’s ‘this place is mad, you’re going to dream and probably turn into something weird or die’ virginity.
Well, then again, he was just so warm and fuzzy, like a hot cup of tea on a cold day. He’d be gentle. Maybe.
Meeting strangers from the internet had never really been Lowell’s thing. Seemed sketchy as hell, and Lowell did enjoy staying safe. But what was the point of joining a website for the express purpose of meeting people outside of his band if he wasn’t actually going to meet people from the internet?
Killian was certainly easy to spot though. For a man who claimed he was a pirate on the internet, he sure looked the part. Right down to the missing hand. Lowell himself didn’t stand out much. He wore a baseball cap that could easily be used to cover his face and a pair of stylish sunglasses. Black jeans, black tee-shirt, leather jacket. The less he stood out, the less likely he was to be accosted by fans as he walked down the street.
“Killian, I presume?” Lowell asked, holding his hand out for a handshake. “Lowell.”
Rather than be a cheeky shit and return the handshake with the prosthetic, in all of its robotic-looking glory, Killian reached with his flesh and blood hand to clasp the other man’s. “Aye, that’d be me,” he confirmed, with a crooked smile - never trust a pirate, but with a grin like that didn’t you just want to? “Come on, I’ll show you in. It’s a quaint little place.”
Through the back door of the pizza parlour they went, entering a small space that was dimly lit and cosy; there were sunken leather couches, antique surfboard tables, board games. Music played at a low volume, not blasting to the point where you couldn’t have a conversation. A few seats at the bar, some for standing room only - since you had to be early enough to snag a table which Killian did. Their pub grub wasn’t bad either, the few things here and there that he’d managed to test out. A lot of places seemed to just reheat plastic-wrapped junk but not this one.
“What are you into, classic cocktails?” he asked. “Or something more modern and with ‘fresh garnish’?”
Lowell glanced around as he walked into the place. It really was quaint, and surprisingly not creepy. As he sat down, Lowell decided that it was actually the kind of place he could see himself visiting on his own once in awhile. It was far less likely that he’d be set upon by well-meaning, if not annoying fans.
“I’ve always been partial to whiskey sours,” Lowell said, turning his attention from the ambiance and back to the self-proclaimed pirate in front of him. “Though if you have any recommendations, I am always up for trying something new.”
“Hmmm,” Killian leaned over to point out a particular drink on the menu, “This one’s got dark whiskey - or rye whiskey, if you prefer to call it. But the aftertaste is sort of like chocolate. Rather delicious, if you ask me.” There were lovely beers bottled and on tap available as well - but Killian went with a sour beer on tap, something from Belgium. He felt like something tart and a little bitter tonight, especially if he was going to explain network goings-on and all that came with it.
Then he settled back in his seat, vivid blue eyes watching the newest rockstar to the dreamer ‘family.’ Or if Lowell wasn’t dreaming yet, he would be. “At any rate, what would you like to know about this county? No one’s said anything to you yet about what tends to happen here, since you moved in?” Mostly he just wanted to know where to start - like if he needed to ease in or basically rip the plaster off quickly.
“That sounds perfect,” Lowell said, before he turned to order the rye whiskey drink that Killian had pointed out.
“You mean about all the publicity stunts?” Lowell asked, raising an eyebrow. He'd been in California for nearly a year now, and while he generally didn't spend much time watching the news, it was generally hard to miss all the strange publicity stunts the county was prone to. It must have had something to do with their proximity to LA. “No, no one’s said much about them. You’ll have to fill me in, mate.” Maybe his piracy and enchanted wood boat had something to do with a movie as well.
Publicity stunts? Oh, this poor pretty rockstar. Killian snorted a laugh, fingers sheepishly scratching through the prickly black scruff that was ever-present on that ruggedly handsome face of his. Well, perhaps thinking you lived right smack dab in the middle of a Hollywood film was better than worrying about a county-wide drug problem. Hallucinogens could only get into the water so many times before people began banging down the doors of their Congressional representatives.
“Well, I hate to spoil you - “ No, that was a lie, he didn’t mind spoiling the fellow at all. His crooked, infectious grin said as much, “...but they’re not really publicity stunts. How open are you to the idea of things like alternate realities or other universes, first of all?”
He wished he’d paid better attention to when Henry was babbling about the concept, in regards to his comic books, but alas. Killian would make do.
“Uh,” Lowell said. Maybe meeting this guy was a mistake. He didn’t seem like he was about to rob Lowell of all his earthly belongings, but he clearly had some kind of screw loose. “You mean like in some kind of sci fi movie?”
“Sure, like in some sci-fi movie,” Killian replied, and what was the fixation on films? Easy to relate to? It would make for a rude awakening later when it started becoming personal but nevermind that. Maybe he should couch it in terms of everything being like something from the Hollywood screen - gods, he could charm the knickers off a nun, but explaining Orange County to a skeptic was a wee bit difficult.
Thank fuck, a drink. He slid his beer toward him and took a long pull from the glass. “Let’s just say in that movie - people move to a new place because they sort of feel compelled to, you know? Like everything will work out once they do, because it’s a fresh start and all that rubbish. Well, after a bit they begin dreaming - not just your standard ‘I woke up and went out without trousers’ dream, but something else entirely. Dreams that feel like you’re remembering something that happened in another life somewhere. These dreams come gradually, and sometimes other things do too - so you’ve got to sort of figure out how you’re going to deal with all that.”
Another sip of beer, “In the movie, mind you. The main character, he’s some handsome rockstar with tight leather pants - this all happens to him. In the film.” Right, eyeroll, winkwink, nudgenudge. If that helped you sleep at night, mate.
“Sounds like one hell of a movie,” Lowell said, raising his eyebrows in amusement. Though the first part of said ‘movie’ certainly sounded uncomfortably familiar. He had been compelled to move here, sure that everything would work out once he was here. Of course, then she’d broken up with him a year later, and here he was. Having drinks with a man who sounded vaguely like a lunatic.
Let no one say America wasn’t interesting. “Right,” he said slowly. “And in this movie, does this handsome rockstar happen to be taken in by some dashing pirate. Perhaps swindled out of cash to keep the nasty dreams away?”
Swindled out of cash, he says. Killian was almost vaguely offended. “If I was going to swindle you out of anything, mate, it’d be whatever you’ve got on beneath your trousers,” he pointed out, with a deliberate leer over the edge of the glass as he did so. “Were I not already involved, mind you.”
So no, Lowell could keep his cash. Though if he was so worried about it, how much did he even have on him out here anyway? Whole wads? A few Ben Franklin’s? Best keep that wallet close.
“Nothing will keep the nasty dreams away.” He grinned then, a touch of something dark and sinister to it - because that was what he’d always be, a dark and sinister man. Who knitted baby blankets for his godson and made grilled cheese sandwiches for his sister, ahem. “But that’s the story - you wanted to know, so I told you. Anything else you’d like to know? Or we can move on to discussing how dashing I am.”
Killian had warned him beforehand that Lowell was likely to not believe him, so Lowell supposed it wasn’t like he’d walked in here blind. He’d been expecting some sort of strange tale, and that was exactly what he’d received. He really shouldn’t have been so ungracious about all of it now, even if his smile was somewhat unnerving.
“Has this just been an elaborate attempt to seduce me?” Lowell asked, raising an eyebrow. “You certainly get points for originality. And you are quite dashing. Unfortunately, not exactly my type.”
“So we move from me dragging you out to steal your cash when I could just as easily mug you in an alleyway somewhere, to seducing you - I ought to give you points for originality,” Killian winked, tipping the edge of his glass in Lowell’s direction, in a mock salute. He’d need another beer, and rather soon. But wouldn’t overdo it - the last thing he wanted to do was get sloppy drunk around an OC skeptic (or sloppy drunk at all - he hadn’t been that bad in awhile, and was doing well).
But alright, may as well come clean about why he really was here. “I doubt my girlfriend would want me seducing you, but the whole reason for this - “ He waved his hand, indicating their surroundings, “...was just to try to give you a warning. Ease you in. All out of the kindness of my heart. Regina - that’s my lady - did something similar. Only she warned me I was going to lose my hand.”
The prosthetic fingers flipped over, hand palm-up on the table. “Sure enough, I did. Helps to have warning, is all I mean. Make of it what you will. Besides, even if you dismiss it, there’s nothing to say we can’t be mates.” Ones who kept their trousers on, mind you.
Lowell’s eyes flashed involuntarily toward where Killian’s hand probably should have been, before flashing back to Killian’s face. It was rude to stare, he knew, but that was something he hadn’t heard before. “So you’re trying to tell me that these dreams you’re telling me about made you lose your hand?” he asked, paling a little. He was the kind of guy who avoided playing catch for fear of hurting his fingers. He was he supposed to be a guitar player if he was missing a hand?
He was so focused on the prospect of losing one of his precious, precious hands that he almost didn’t hear the rest of what Killian was saying. “You seem an amiable enough fellow, and you do know some great places to drink. I could do worse as far as mates go.”
“Well, let’s just say I had two hands when I moved here last October,” the dashing rapscallion smiled, in his devil-may-care sort of way. A lazy grin, fueled by a pint of good ale. And the lad wasn’t wrong - Killian did know the best places to drink in the area. Call it the perks of being an alcoholic. “The version of me I dreamed of, he lost his hand - same one, mind you - and then I woke up and...”
Lowell could just fill in the blanks there. It was a particularly gruesome sight, no need to describe it in detail. “Not saying that’ll happen to you, of course,” he added quickly. “But the effects of what we dream - they’re very real sometimes. Here, have another drink.”
Next round was on him. Being that he was quite the amiable fellow and all.
Lowell was still trying to process all of this, looking at Killian with a look that was a strange mixture of complete and utter horror and of confusion. Because what Killian was saying couldn’t be real - people didn’t just lose their hands because they had a nightmare. But what if they did. Lowell would have to find a new career. What the hell could he even do, anyway? He hadn’t paid much attention in school, and while he’d managed to finish his fifth form, just scraping by mostly, but there wasn’t anything else he wanted to do.
But at the mention of another drink, Lowell nodded. He did need another drink, which was obvious with how quickly he polished off the rest of his nearly full glass. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you, mate?” he asked.
To be frank, it was highly unlikely that Lowell would dream of losing a hand - but then again, Killian couldn’t say for sure. There did seem to be a few amputees around here, so he supposed he wouldn’t rule it out. He wouldn’t go on about that now, though - no point in speculating about the content of the fellow’s dreams before he even had one. Before he’d even eased into the wonders of this complete and utter madness.
“Not at all,” he chuckled grimly as their second round of drinks were dropped off, and Killian saluted before he took a pull from the glass. “And not like you’ve asked for my advice, necessarily, but even still - all you can do is wait for your story to unfold. You’ll have a few allies to turn to when it does.”
Now, drink up. It wasn’t going to get any easier, he hated to say. So he didn’t say it out loud however - it was surely implied.
There was nothing he could do now, he supposed. Now that he thought about it, he supposed he’d seen some people mention these dreams on the Network, but he really hadn’t paid much attention to those things. It had seemed like a strange thing to put on a public forum.
“Well, thanks for the heads up.” He thought, at least. Maybe not, since it meant he’d probably be worrying about it for at least a couple of days. In the meantime, at least he had alcohol to help him through.