milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Clive was still in the same booth, he'd finished with one notebook and had had to get another from the bar, writing more quickly than before, brow creased, still intently focused on his work, though he hadn't slept even yet since his meeting with Buddy the day before.

There were the remnants, now petrified, of a french toast stick breakfast, gluey maple syrup and a handful of french toast sticks roughly the texture of plywood. In his defence, he'd eaten a few of them, y'know, three. It was just that there were other things that needed his attention

He was also just a little contagious to some people. To everyone else, he'd probably just look crazy.

(yup, he's got a bad case of Music Pox if you want him to give it to you, great, if not, that's good too. I can be ping-ed on AIM either way: JediGorse )

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There's another gentleman nearby, also writing. This one, however, has paper work, and is rapidly jotting down and working figures. Dates, costs, and the like. Mostly basic math.

He's also watching those nearby, somewhat furtively, and listening. He has not acknowledged Clive yet, in any way, but he's surely noticed.

It should probably be noted that at that point, Clive was muttering to himself as he scribbled, writing, crossing out and re-writing, reading, crossing out again and re-rewriting.

Considering how wrapped up he was in what he was doing, it took a moment to realize that anyone was even around. Blinking up from his work, looking like a deer in the headlights for a moment.

The man is amused by the whole situation, but would never let it show.
Instead he nods once, simply and offers a greeting. "Good evening."

Clive nodded as well, blinking once more before tucking his bangs behind his ear, though they slid back down over his eye a moment later.

"Is it evening already?"

The man checks his watch. "It is, and almost morning again to boot."

"Been hard at work all day, I gather?"

He glanced down at the notebook, nodding vaguely as he flipped back through it, re-reading, though looking rather as if he hadn't seen most of it before, "Guess so."

The man is not bothered by the apparent confusion. He understands. Can get that way himself sometimes, when he's hard at work planning a job.

"What are you writing?"

He smiled slightly, flipping back further, still reading, but also still listening,

There was a pause, almost as if he was listening to the candance of it in his head,

"I see. Is that what you do then? Certain struck me as an artist, but- " He trails off and shrugs. "What sort of music?"

His brow furrowed slightly at that first part, he was, wasn't he? Or ... something.

He shook his head, smiling, Little bit of everything I think."

"Got anything recorded yet? Published?" Something's off about this kid. He's sure of it now. The important question is whether he cared enough to stick around and try to work it out.

He laughed at that, but clapped a hand over his mouth a moment later, smile spreading further, nodding,

He shook his head a moment later, "not here though, not really."

Nothing of Clive's anyway.

He nods. Of course.

"Is it anything anyone has ever heard of, I suppose, is the real question."

He laughed again, and laughed, and laughed, and

Finally he shook his head,

It's really not worth this. There are enough crazies as it is. He's more than happy to put them off, for meeting, 'til last.

"Right. Good to hear." Oh, look. That paperwork is mighty pressing. *Scribble scribble*

Clive smiled, shook his head and went back to his own

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