daemon: Wildd | text

[tangleofgarlands]

I wasn't sure if this was an appropriate time, but I thought that maybe people would like a distraction from everything, so here goes.

I'm looking for new music to listen to. I had a large collection back home, but have since lost most of it, and I thought I'd take the chance to expand my horizons a little.

If you're curious about my tastes, my collection included The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Curt Wild and the Ratz*, Janis Joplin, The Rolling Stones, Black Sabbath, The Flaming Creatures**, Fleetwood Mac, Queen, and Patti Smith.



*Iggy Pop + The Stooges
**New York Dolls+Roxy Music

Comments

[tangleofgarlands]

I'm British. So no. But I'm alright, really, I just make use of a fair amount of self-deprecating humor.

[servomotor]

YEAH THAT ISN'T OUR FAVORITE, OVER THE POND.
I'LL RIG SOMETHING TOGETHER.
DO YOU WORK? BEST TIME TO DROP BY?

[tangleofgarlands]

I know. I admire that about you. General you, I mean. Americans. There's a self-confidence, or at least a lack of apology, I find inspiring.

You haven't made it out to the masquerade yet, have you? I work there behind the bar, but not until the evening. Mandy and I have a flat ten minutes away or so.

If you show up before noon, you'll probably have to wake me.

[servomotor]

I HAVE NOT. PREOCCUPIED WITH MY OWN LITTLE SHOP OF TERRORS.

I'M NOT MUCH ONE FOR PARTYING BEFORE NOON. A MAN HAS TO SET SOME KIND OF RULES. BUT I'LL COME AND FIND YOU BEFORE YOU HEAD OUT FOR BUSINESS.

[tangleofgarlands]

I suppose being busy with a shop is better than the alternative. It means you're doing well, doesn't it?

At any rate, it seems we're of a kind. I usually leave for the masquerade at about half five, which is earlier than I strictly need to be there,
but I like having the time in case something goes wrong.

I'll be the bloke in magenta.

→ action;

[servomotor]

[It's not long after that-- perhaps a week at most, before Tony Stark shows up at around five with a crate in tow. A crate in hang, rather, big and wooden, carried on a crosswise sling of ropes. And by 'Tony Stark,' of course, I mean Iron Man, a man in a red suit with blazing white repulsors that carry him through the air.

He lands, sending leaves and tiny fairy-shaped folk flying off in every direction. Not a lot of street garbage in the small, idyllic violence-warded fantasy town of Xistentia to worry about, otherwise there would be cans and bottles wreaking havoc as well. In another moment, he's stepped up to the front door, and is knocking one gauntleted fist gently against the surface. Thok thok.]

[tangleofgarlands]

[Arthur had been doing some washing up--not that there's much; it tends to bother him when he leaves it for the next day, but sometimes he's just too tired from a long night of social interaction to finish it--when he's pulled from his focus by a strangely metallic knocking sound.

He sets down the glass he'd been working on and makes his way to the door. He'd never actually spoken to the man in person, but anyone who can appreciate a record of good rock music is automatically lifted in Arthur's estimation, and he's excited about having an opportunity to actually play them again. There's a smile playing at his mouth when he unlocks the door--

But then he opens it, and takes in who's actually outside the door. Closes his eyes, opens them, and by the time he realizes he's staring his mouth is already open.

Flushing deeply, he steps back--but can his guest make it through the door? He can't even tell if the red and gold metal is some kind of space-age suit of armor or if it's an actual body.

Behind the man--robot? Man in armor?--is a large crate, and if that's how big his stereo is going to be...his heart is already picking up speed.]

Did you find the place alright?

[servomotor]

Apparently, [Tony answers, never one to be especially polite even around the tiniest Englishman that could. Behind his grim, slit-mouthed robot face, though, Tony's in a pretty decent mood. Smiling a little. Arthur may have come from Mars, or some other equally bizarre parallel universe where the most famous musicians of his world have the wrong names (and backstories that involve actual UFOs), but he seems like a decent kid.] I'd hand this to you, but I think it'd break your hands first and your feet second.

So I'm coming in, [he says, moving to do exactly that. Swizz swizz, the tiny rotors in his boots buzz audibly as he walks in, glancing around the entryway briefly. He shifts the box so it enters the door without accidentally clipping the edges of the frame.]

Cozy. You said you have beer in here, right? Liquor. Or maybe you said tea. [His tone suggests that he is hoping that Arthur, despite his ancestry, is not just about the tea.]

[tangleofgarlands]

[Arthur mutely steps back to let the giant figure pass--it's not like he has much choice; he might survive having his limbs crushed, but probably wouldn't make it through the ear-blistering he'd get from Mandy for being so reckless.

He can feel the person's thunderous footsteps as they pass him, like standing right next to a speaker and feeling the music in your chest. And, oh, he's about to have one of his own; for a second the excitement makes him dizzy enough he has to grab onto the wall to keep his knees from giving out.

Or maybe, speaking of tea, he just needs to eat something.]

Er, yes. I mean, I don't remember what I said, exactly, but we have all of those.

[Arthur can't help but wonder how one would even hold a glass in such a suit, much less drink from one, although he has no intention of asking such a brazen question without having a drink of his own. Instead, he just ducks behind the bar and starts setting out a few different things to narrow down the request--light beer and dark, spirits and grain alcohol, a bottle of red wine.

Because he has an inexplicable hunch--it's hard to read any emotion through a solid sheet of metal--that the comment about tea was a hopefully-friendly jab, he tosses a single packet onto the bar after them.]

I'm actually more of a coffee person--I only use them if someone wants a hot toddy or something. But we do have tea, and if I couldn't boil water I'd not have taken a job in food service.

[servomotor]

[The secrets of Tony Stark's ability to ingest things will soon become clear. For now, he makes no move to leave or adjust his suit, choosing instead of walk around. Swizz swizz again, the tiny motors in his armored legs and arms make minute, almost kittenish sounds as he navigates about the small space, examining Arthur's style as it translates to his living quarters.

The crate goes up onto the nearest table.] So, [he says.] I've been wondering about some of the other differences between our worlds. I'm gonna assume it's not just a couple of celebrity names. [ACTUALLY. But sue him okay, how is he supposed to know?] Let me guess. You also have vampires. Witches. Aliens took over one or two nations a couple of years back and you fended them off with the help of a spiritual figure wielding a giant magnetic hammer.

[He digs his gloved fingertips in under the edge of the crate lid. There's a splintering crack.]