Atton Rand & miscellaneous names (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
suitably_heroic) wrote2024-09-09 08:21 pm
suitably_heroic) wrote2024-09-09 08:21 pm
Entry tags:
A Shitty Metal Club in a Basement in Manhattan, New York, Monday Evening
They'd sat there and listened to Trent for a solid ten minutes. He'd mentioned getting a few more gigs set up. He hadn't mentioned before how many, or where. And-- look, it wasn't like they'd turned into overnight rockstars, with tens of thousands of adoring fans demanding their presence anywhere.
But it was more than anyone had expected. Certainly Atton.
Atton, who now found himself saying, "Are we seriously considering Get In The Vaning it in our middle age?"
There was a silence. Albeit a brief one.
"I don't have anything keeping me here," Trent said. His shrug was easy, quick, and you could only tell there was a weird melancholy of the post-break-up kind lurking underneath if you really squinted at him-- or had a weird connection to a big energy field that plugged you into the mood of the universe.
But Atton didn't want to linger, so he pulled his gaze off of the bassist. Scanned the groddy little table they were at (the loud Megadeth playing over the speakers), glanced past the beer, and looked at Jill.
"I work remote," she said slowly. "I could-- technically-- do my job from anywhere. And it's... well, it's just a couple of months, right?" He could see her mind doing the work. Putting together a math formula. Coming to an answer that, to her own surprise, actually checked out.
She met Atton's eyes. "How's that electrician apprenticeship coming along?"
Right.
"I just put my name on the waitlist," Atton said slowly. "Might be a while. So. I guess I'm free." He hesitated. "Which just leaves you," he said.
Dane, who didn't really like leaving the city for too long. Who was chewing on his bottom lip right now, his face struggling to maintain something easy-going, his fingers restless on the table. "We still have two years of rent in the bank," he said idly. "I guess I could-- I mean, shit, there's never enough waitstaff in New York, if I take unpaid leave and they drop me, I guess..."
Without even thinking about it, Atton reached out, resting an easy hand on his shoulder. Dane shrugged underneath, the I'm-totally-not-freaking-out-about-it on his face giving way to something more wry. When he looked up at Atton, the fear in his eyes shifted into resolve.
Jill looked between them curiously, but she didn't speak.
"Maybe it's time I took a big swing again," Dane said finally. "No sense in rusting all the way into the grave, right, guys?"
Atton nodded. Slowly. He raised his soda glass and took a sip. "Guess that's it," he said. "Guess we're doing something someone could, if they turned their head and squinted right, call a tour." Beat. "Maybe a mini-tour. A tiny tour?"
"Yeah," Dane said. "Something like that."
And so it was decided.
It was strange; Atton would've thought he'd have a harder time with it. That he'd have one of his patented freak-outs, or something. Instead the decision made him quieter, like it had dialed down the noise on something that had been screaming for too long. He'd chosen this a while ago, unsteady and stumbling. Now it was starting to feel like purpose.
And as the night wore on, and everyone made their usual rounds and drank their usual drinks, he found himself retreating to a chair in the corner of the bar, earbuds blaring Like a long stream I'll bear all this echoing; oh, what is it worth? All that's left is hurt in his ears, the Force in his head and the city in his heart.
Letting himself feel it, this potent atmosphere, the sense that something was shifting further and further forward, the warm lights that cast their yellow burn across the dark shadows of friends and strangers alike. There was something that had drawn him to New York City. He was pretty sure it would keep drawing him back.
He got lost in his connection to it all for a moment. The fear, and the future.
"Are you okay?"
Atton looked up, and pulled an earbud out of his ear, offering a wry look to his approaching whatever-you'd-call-it. "I wish people would stop asking me that," he said. He stretched his legs out fully, feeling the plastic of the chair beneath his ass crack and groan with the movement.
Dane shrugged, his mouth wry. "You make it hard to tell sometimes, man," he said quietly.
"No, I'm good," Atton said, just as quiet. "I'm just taking it all in."
"Well, Jill and Trent seem happy right now, but I wanted to head home," Dane said, a softness in his eyes. "You coming? I mean. You don't have to."
Atton breathed a sigh, and let his fingers crawl up through the shaggy parts of his own hair. It was getting longer again, a dark shroud in front of his eyes. He gave it a tug, and caught a hint of silver, even under the warm light.
Huh. Go figure.
He looked up at Dane. Took in the way his eyes were slightly wide, open, fond. The small curl of a smile underneath, part hope, part affection.
As he pushed up to his feet, knees bending beneath him, he returned that smile. Dusted off his pants, and stretched.
“Yeah.”
In a few days, maybe, he’d see this morning for what it was: how for the first time in a long time, there was a day, a stretch of time unburdened by thoughts of Fandom, of his old galaxy, of battles and tension, of people long gone, Sparkle and Meetra, Sia and guilt and responsibility and helpless anger. Even of Summer, and Lana, and everything they stood for.
Now, though, as he rose to his feet, all Jack Rand thought was exit take-a-breath summer, enter the rest-of-your-life-fall.
And, just maybe, a stray that was terrible, before he took Dane's hand and left the great bright bar to the late-night crowd, and everyone and everything that, unlike him, still called the grime and the dim light home.
[[ nfb, nfi. ]]
But it was more than anyone had expected. Certainly Atton.
Atton, who now found himself saying, "Are we seriously considering Get In The Vaning it in our middle age?"
There was a silence. Albeit a brief one.
"I don't have anything keeping me here," Trent said. His shrug was easy, quick, and you could only tell there was a weird melancholy of the post-break-up kind lurking underneath if you really squinted at him-- or had a weird connection to a big energy field that plugged you into the mood of the universe.
But Atton didn't want to linger, so he pulled his gaze off of the bassist. Scanned the groddy little table they were at (the loud Megadeth playing over the speakers), glanced past the beer, and looked at Jill.
"I work remote," she said slowly. "I could-- technically-- do my job from anywhere. And it's... well, it's just a couple of months, right?" He could see her mind doing the work. Putting together a math formula. Coming to an answer that, to her own surprise, actually checked out.
She met Atton's eyes. "How's that electrician apprenticeship coming along?"
Right.
"I just put my name on the waitlist," Atton said slowly. "Might be a while. So. I guess I'm free." He hesitated. "Which just leaves you," he said.
Dane, who didn't really like leaving the city for too long. Who was chewing on his bottom lip right now, his face struggling to maintain something easy-going, his fingers restless on the table. "We still have two years of rent in the bank," he said idly. "I guess I could-- I mean, shit, there's never enough waitstaff in New York, if I take unpaid leave and they drop me, I guess..."
Without even thinking about it, Atton reached out, resting an easy hand on his shoulder. Dane shrugged underneath, the I'm-totally-not-freaking-out-about-it on his face giving way to something more wry. When he looked up at Atton, the fear in his eyes shifted into resolve.
Jill looked between them curiously, but she didn't speak.
"Maybe it's time I took a big swing again," Dane said finally. "No sense in rusting all the way into the grave, right, guys?"
Atton nodded. Slowly. He raised his soda glass and took a sip. "Guess that's it," he said. "Guess we're doing something someone could, if they turned their head and squinted right, call a tour." Beat. "Maybe a mini-tour. A tiny tour?"
"Yeah," Dane said. "Something like that."
And so it was decided.
It was strange; Atton would've thought he'd have a harder time with it. That he'd have one of his patented freak-outs, or something. Instead the decision made him quieter, like it had dialed down the noise on something that had been screaming for too long. He'd chosen this a while ago, unsteady and stumbling. Now it was starting to feel like purpose.
And as the night wore on, and everyone made their usual rounds and drank their usual drinks, he found himself retreating to a chair in the corner of the bar, earbuds blaring Like a long stream I'll bear all this echoing; oh, what is it worth? All that's left is hurt in his ears, the Force in his head and the city in his heart.
Letting himself feel it, this potent atmosphere, the sense that something was shifting further and further forward, the warm lights that cast their yellow burn across the dark shadows of friends and strangers alike. There was something that had drawn him to New York City. He was pretty sure it would keep drawing him back.
He got lost in his connection to it all for a moment. The fear, and the future.
"Are you okay?"
Atton looked up, and pulled an earbud out of his ear, offering a wry look to his approaching whatever-you'd-call-it. "I wish people would stop asking me that," he said. He stretched his legs out fully, feeling the plastic of the chair beneath his ass crack and groan with the movement.
Dane shrugged, his mouth wry. "You make it hard to tell sometimes, man," he said quietly.
"No, I'm good," Atton said, just as quiet. "I'm just taking it all in."
"Well, Jill and Trent seem happy right now, but I wanted to head home," Dane said, a softness in his eyes. "You coming? I mean. You don't have to."
Atton breathed a sigh, and let his fingers crawl up through the shaggy parts of his own hair. It was getting longer again, a dark shroud in front of his eyes. He gave it a tug, and caught a hint of silver, even under the warm light.
Huh. Go figure.
He looked up at Dane. Took in the way his eyes were slightly wide, open, fond. The small curl of a smile underneath, part hope, part affection.
As he pushed up to his feet, knees bending beneath him, he returned that smile. Dusted off his pants, and stretched.
“Yeah.”
In a few days, maybe, he’d see this morning for what it was: how for the first time in a long time, there was a day, a stretch of time unburdened by thoughts of Fandom, of his old galaxy, of battles and tension, of people long gone, Sparkle and Meetra, Sia and guilt and responsibility and helpless anger. Even of Summer, and Lana, and everything they stood for.
Now, though, as he rose to his feet, all Jack Rand thought was exit take-a-breath summer, enter the rest-of-your-life-fall.
And, just maybe, a stray that was terrible, before he took Dane's hand and left the great bright bar to the late-night crowd, and everyone and everything that, unlike him, still called the grime and the dim light home.
[[ nfb, nfi. ]]