what else more do you need

Things haven't felt entirely normal since they all returned from the hotel, though it's difficult for Wes to put his finger on exactly why. He's glad, at least, that the town seems relatively unchanged. Perhaps it seems like it should be later on into spring by now, but that's hardly worth complaining about.

Fortunately, the barber shop and cabin both seem exactly as he left them. Wes has been making the rounds, checking to see if there are any signs of damage or nefarious activity at any of the places he frequents. Today is the record store. He's already checked downstairs and washed a tray of glasses just to be safe, but now he's making his way through the stacks. When Baby bumps into him, Wes grins and catches him at the shoulders.

Distracted?

Baby laughs when he sees who he's bumped into, knowing he's in for a world of teasing. But he doesn't mind it. Wes is somewhere between a brother and a father to him, and all teasing is meant good naturedly.

Stop it. But he's smiling as he nudges Wes's shoulder. Music is distracting.

Oh I know, Wes agrees, widening his eyes and waving his hand in a gesture of disbelieving overwhelm. So distracting. Any time music is playing, I can't do anything else. He holds the expression -- perfectly earnest and innocent -- until he's sure Baby's going to roll his eyes or nudge him again. Then Wes reaches out and wracks the younger man by the shoulder before he can get the chance, laughing openly.

What kind of music are you in the market for today?

Edited 2021-02-28 18:52 (UTC)

Anything, really. I'm never really looking for anything specific. Just looking.

He shrugs and bumps his shoulder against Wrench's shoulder playfully. I made my sweetheart a mixed tape for his truck. Thinking of maybe making another one.

"Awww," Wes actually coos at him. He hooks Baby by the neck and pulls him in close enough to ruffle his hair. Things are going well with you two then?
Does that mean you're ready for me to invite you two to lunch so I can intimidate him?

Edited 2021-02-28 19:04 (UTC)

It's hard not to smile as he's being teased, and he lets Wes pull him close, leaning against him a little. No one's ready for you to intimidate then. But yeah, things are going well. He's good. It's good.

What if I promise you to leave all guns and knives back at the cabin? he barters. Wes can look positively innocent when he wants to. It's not very often that he allows it of himself, but he widens his eyes and takes on a stance that makes him look a little leaner and almost hopeful. How could Baby refuse him?

Or would you rather I sent Jean-Paul to check you two out instead?

Jean-Paul is convinced we're having sex. We're not! he signs emphatically. We drive around and listen to music. Hang out.

We can do something if you promise to leave JP at home.

Jean-Paul just wants you two to be safe. When did this happen? Wes barely recognizes himself, but somehow the effort doesn't seem strained or out of place. He genuinely cares about Baby's wellbeing. If that means lecturing him and looking out for him, then so be it.

Good. He smacks his friend's shoulder like it's decided. See, I was starting to think maybe you're embarrassed by me. He wasn't, not really, but he's sure the playful guilt trip will be impactful.

Baby smiles sadly and swats at Wes's arm in return, but it's halfhearted. No, it's just...

He pauses for a long moment, trying to figure out how best to put it. You tease me like Joe would. Makes me miss my dad sometimes. Makes me wonder what he would say.

Just... Wes holds the sign, then waggles the rest of his fingers encouragingly. The scarred half of his mouth remains arced upward in an uneven smile, but when Baby finds the words to explain it's not long before it slides back into a neutral expression.

It's taken being brought to this place for him to finally start to understand the true meaning of family, and to believe that the concept wasn't completely lost when Grady died. Wes doesn't have to imagine how much it must hurt to miss someone like that, and to not know when or if they're ever coming back. He stares at Baby for a long, silent moment, then nods his head.

He'd be happy for you, don't you think? You'll get to tell him all about it one day soon.

I think so, Baby nods, leaning a little harder against Wes's shoulder. He doesn't talk about Joe a lot. He'll bring him up sometimes, with Wes while sharing stories of home, even less so with John, because it hurts to talk about him, sometimes.

He knows Joe is cared for, he picked a really good facility for him. He knows he's safe. But sometimes he misses him like it's a physical pain.

You're my brother, okay? Can't get rid of me, he promises Wes.

From everything he's been told by those who have left this place and returned, Wes knows that time moves differently here. What might seem like months or years is nothing back in the real world. Were either of them to suddenly find themselves back home, he has assurances that it would be as though they never left. He's not quite sure what to make of it all, really. It feels in some ways like a terrible waste.

Good, because I'm not looking to, he reassures, giving Baby a little shove and then pulling him back to him again. I'm sure Joe would be just as glad you're in such good hands, and that you have me here to give you the talk on the birds and the bees.

Orpheus spends a lot of time in the record store. On a waiter's salary he doesn't always have the money to spend on new albums, but by now he's figured out that the Townies that run the store are going to give him dirty looks whether he buys something or not.

(Or, they used to. These days they just stand at the counter and stare straight ahead, and it's more than a little creepy, so Orpheus just... tries to ignore it.)

Either way, it means he's free to browse the shelves as he pleases, and that's exactly what he's doing when Baby bumps into him. He stumbles a bit, blinking owlishly before he recognizes who it is and smiles.

"Oh, hello!" he says, brightly. "Baby, right? It's good to see you again."

"Oh hey. It's -- Orpheus?" His hand forms the shape of the letters almost unconsciously. Trying to cement them in his head. "Am I pronouncing that right?" Names are hard, which is why he was thankful to work with people who went by things like Doc, or Buddy, or Darling. Easy enough to remember.

"Good to see you, too. I should have figured we'd run into each other, here."

Orpheus watches the gesture Baby makes with his hand curiously, and thinks about asking about it until Baby's own question distracts him from the thought.

"Yes, that's right," he says, nodding. "And that does make sense, us both being here. Isn't it great? They don't really have stores like this back where I come from. Maybe in the big cities, but not around where I lived."

All the records he owned back home were either from traveling salesmen who happened to wander through town or gifts from friends, and while he'd managed to build a pretty respectable collection that way it's still wildly impressive to him, seeing this much music all in one place.

"New names are hard. If I haven't heard them before," he explains, pointing to his ear. "I lost a lot of my hearing, so if I see a new name, I want to make sure I get it right."

He smiles, shyly, and looks down at the records he's collected. "I probably won't get all of these, but they have those booths where you can listen? I'm trying to get ideas. For new music."

"Oh, okay," says Orpheus, frowning a little in concern. Would it be rude to ask him how he lost his hearing? Probably, so Orpheus manages to refrain and move on. "You got it right, though, yes. And that's what I'm doing here too!"

He beams, obviously excited to have that in common.

"I'd still love to hear some of your music some time. I'm really curious about the machines you use." He pauses, thinking of something, then adds, "If you're okay showing it to me, I mean. I know music can be really personal."

Baby smiles, because Orpheus just... gets it. Music is personal, and sometimes it's hard to show people. To share it with someone you've just met. But Wes has been trying to get him to open up, and he's been trying to open himself up to the idea as well.

"I -- yeah. That'd be okay. It's all set up at my apartment, if you want to come check it out."

He does! Even as someone who once literally proposed to a woman he'd never talked to before, there are some songs of his that he's never shared with anyone, for that reason. As such he takes it as a fairly significant gesture that Baby is willing to share what he's made with him.

"Sure! Any time that works for you," he says, grinning. "And I can play some of what I've written for you, too, if you're interested." He gestures to the ever-present guitar strapped to his back. By now he's learned that it's a good idea to just... never leave home without it.

"I mean -- " He looks around, but there's no one there he needs to meet up with or talk to. Wes doesn't seem to be in the store today to tackle him. And he definitely doesn't need this stack of records in his hands.

So he sets them aside and shrugs. "I'm free if you are."

"Oh? You mean right now?" Orpheus looks a little surprised by that, but definitely not displeased. "That works for me, yes. Let me just -"

He steps to the side and puts back the album he'd been holding - one called Dust Bowl Ballads, which he'd been eyeing for a while but could always come back for later - before turning back to Baby and nodding.

"Lead the way?"

"No time like the present." Baby gives him a small, shy smile and heads out, holding the door for him on the way out.

It's a nice day out, at least, despite the winter weather. "I live up at the David Apartments. Where are you?"

"That's where I live too," says Orpheus, following along after Baby. It is a nice day out, clear and crisp and not too bitingly cold despite the layer of snow on the ground.

"I'm surprised we haven't run into each other more often? I'm up on the seventh floor, so maybe that's why."

"Oh I'm kind of a hermit. I stay in a lot, unless I'm going to work. Or going to see my uh, my friend." He's not sure how ready John is to be out to the general population. Wes and his friends are one thing, but it's another to be out to just -- anyone. And he's just recently met Orpheus.

"How long have you been in Deerington?"

"That's fair," says Orpheus. "Sometimes it's good to just be on your own. But I've been here since, um."

He pauses, counting off what's happened since he arrived in his head - Trials, Music Festival, Roller Derby, October, Coma, Ice Bears, Hotel.

"Seven months," he says, once he's worked it out. It's actually sort of weird to think about. He knows he hasn't really been asleep that long back in the real world, but even so, he's still felt all that time passing. "What about you, though?"

"Oh wow, we really have missed each other. I've been here about a year." He'd thought Orpheus was brand new, but that just goes to show. Maybe he needs to get out more.

"It's weird, how time feels here. Like some days it feels like I've been here all my life, and some days it feels like I just got here."

"Oh, yes, definitely," says Orpheus, nodding in agreement. "Maybe it's because something really big happens almost every week here. So it feels like - a lot of time, packed into not very much."

Especially when so much of it seems to involve semi-publicly confronting personal problems that it normally might've taken years to be comfortable bringing up around others. That also kind of messes with the perception of time passing, in its way.

Either way, they're drawing pretty close to the apartment building by now, and something seems to occur to Orpheus. "Oh, I also have a lyre I play, if you want to hear that too, while we're sharing. I'd just have to get it from my apartment, but it wouldn't take long."

"I feel like I'm always running into a monster, or -- or an I don't know what." Mostly because his boyfriend is a very talented monster hunter, and Baby is a very good driver.

"A lyre? I don't think I've heard a lyre. I'd love to hear it, if you wanted to play it for me."

"Yeah, that happens a lot around here? Monsters and - more confusing things."

As they reach the building's stoop, Orpheus reaches out and holds the door open for Baby.

"You haven't?" he asks, sounding a little surprised. Lyres aren't exactly the most common instrument around, back where Orpheus comes from, but it's be a little bit like hearing someone admit to having never heard a trombone before. "It's one of my favorite instruments. I can go get it and meet you back at your apartment? What number is yours?"

Baby gives him the number as they step inside. "I'll leave it unlocked for you. It might me hard for me to hear you knock if I'm setting up my equipment." Besides, he usually has a record going at full volume, which doesn't really help him hear the outside world much.

"But I'll meet you up there, okay?"

Orpheus nods and smiles at Baby before taking off up the stairs to retrieve his lyre before heading over to the other man's apartment. He knocks on the door for politeness's sake before letting himself in, carrying the lyre in his arms and with his guitar still strapped to his back.

"Hey," he says, brightly, looking around with considerable curiosity as he walks in. "Do you need help with anything?" Orpheus may not be familiar with - well, any of this, but he can follow instructions well enough. ~~Most of the time~~.

He's got a record going with a Motown song playing just a little too loud, but he looks up when he hears Orpheus's voice over the music. "Oh hey." He turns the music down and smiles at Orpheus, waving him over to his table with all his equipment.

"I think I've got most of it together. This is uh, this is my setup. I think you said you've seen a keyboard before, but um. This is a drumset -- " he says, pointing to something that only vaguely resembles drums due to their circular shape. "The rest is computer stuff that I like to mess with."

"Those are drums?" he asks, looking at the little panel of what look like little rubbery circular discs. They don't really look like they'd produce much in the way of sound, but then again he still doesn't know how a keyboard does what it does with no strings, so clearly there's more to this than meets the eye. He sets down his lyre, propping it up against one of the nearby walls.

"What's a computer?" he asks, walking over to survey the equipment. He starts to reach out to touch the keyboard, but seems to think better of it. It's really not nice to touch another musician's instruments without asking.

"We must stop meeting this way, monsieur."

But it is not unkindly said, and Claudia tips her head back to look up into his face. She's dressed much more plainly this time around: a long grey woolen skirt, and a lavender knitted sweater. But her hair is braided up, pinned up in an intricate brown around her head.

He still has no idea what that last word means, if it's English and he's mishearing it or it's another language. But he smiles warmly down at Claudia. "Oh hey, hello. Claudia, right? It's good to see you again.

Are you uh, here to listen to music?"

"Is that what these are?" Claudia peers at a table. "I came to see what was here."

Records are wholly unfamiliar to her: they are not invented until some twenty years after she dies. The shop itself is odd, but the instruments have lured her in, and she's already perused some of the sheet music. The electronic keyboard is unfamiliar and strange to her, but the rest of the instruments are not, though she only plays piano. She could, if she so desired, learn to play others, and be far better than any mortal even in practise, but she's not that musically inclined. Books are her great love.

"It's all different kinds of music. These are music," he says, holding up one of the records he'd been considering. "All the instruments are obviously to play music. Even, uh."

He takes out a small rectangle, pink and covered with rhinestones. "Even this is for music."

Claudia leans closer to peer at the item in his hand, rising gracefully on tiptoe to better see. It looks like nothing to her, a strange sliver of metal and - no, that surface, that is like the Fluid. But what is it?

"How?" she wants to know.

in the 1860s, there are not yet any means of recording sounds at all.

"This is called an iPod. It can hold thousands of songs. I'm... not really sure how it works, just that it does." He unwraps the earbuds from around the iPod and holds one out to her.

"If you want, you can listen. You put that in your ear, and then I'll pick a song for you."

Claudia reaches out and takes the earbud delicately between little round fingers, and examines it closely. It resembles a tiny snail shell, or a strange seed, in her mind. "In my ear? Won't that be quite loud?"

She can already hear his heartbeat, the scratchings of mice in the walls. Vampire hearing is very keen, and very loud sounds are unpleasant to bear. The cars outside, for example, she does not like at all. She has gotten used to them, but she does not like them.

"Oh I'll turn the volume way down, and if you need it louder you can turn it up, okay?" He has it high, due to being hard of hearing. But he turns it down to the lowest possible setting before selecting a song and hitting play.

"I really like the violins in this one."

Claudia delicately inserts the earbud: the electric guitar is wholly new to her, and she stiffens a bit, baffled: but her expression soon turns wondering, curious, one little finger pressed to the earbud, her other hand rising to press her fingers against her lips. She stands very still, rapt, a little doll, only the glitter of her dark blue eyes betraying life.

It reminds her of the music in dockside taverns, of the strange music the slaves make in their cabins and in the fields - that rhythm, quick and fast. Like some of the faster country dances. And yet, and yet, it is more, like a mortal's heartbeat, like the smell of lifeblood - intense, like that, and she likes it.

The song ends abruptly, and she looks back up at him just as sharply, and behind her tiny fingers she smiles at him, the barest hint of fangs obscured.

"That is wonderful," she tells him.

"I like that song a lot," he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. "I'm hard of hearing, so I like all the bass in their music. The uh, the strong beats that you can hear in the background." He'd agree, like a heartbeat. It helps him keep time to the music, helps him follow along with it.

"It's why I'm in here all the time. I like finding new things to listen to."

Claudia delicately extracts the earbud and holds it back up to him, politely, dropping her hand from her mouth, though the smile lingers in the corners of her little curved lips. That he is hard of hearing surprises her: she had not noticed any of the signs she had previously associated with such a condition, and he speaks of music with such love.

"Very energetic, like the new music of Beethoven."

Claudia had not imagined - though now, of course, she sees - that music would change along with all the other things she has found so very different in Deerington. It is almost as good as the books.

Edited 2021-03-01 06:14 (UTC)

what else more do you need

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