milliways_bar | (no subject)

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At a table in the middle of the bar is a man with a guitar. Staff paper and regular paper are piled around him, as he scribbles madly at them. He's wearing a suit, somewhat badly fitting, and humming to himself.

Perhaps you should ask him what's up. Especially if you know him. Mark Cohen doesn't have his camera.

[ooc: Do I have to keep saying it? Mark has Rocks In. Let me know if you want the music bug, otherwise, tag away.]

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And wouldn't ya know it, here's a carl

Unlike his compatriot he has a HAT. It is a very NICE hat, the kind of hat one would see on a BROADWAY PRODUCER.

"Top o' the evenin' laddybuck." he doffs it in a very silly manner. Then, of course seeing what Mark is doing, he pauses "

Mark, unfortunately, is not yet a Producer, alas, so he cannot yet wear a HAT. He is, however, sporting a grin. "" He holds up two or three songs, and a bunch of plot scribbles.

It is a setting of Twelfth Night, in the 1920's, around New York City. The place where the title should be has been scribbled out many times, still as yet untitled.

Carl, in a fit of Grabs for them.

"...This is BRILLIANT." He's grinning,

And there's a bit of genuine carl as he slaps Mark on the back, "This really is good stuff kid. You've got Talent."

He reads over it again.

Mark flails a bit, perhaps a bit of genuine Mark. But only a bit.

He chews on the end of the pencil. "" He rummages around in the papers, and finally comes up with one, with Christine's name and not much else. Oops.

"There are stories kid." Carl grins, "I could tell you one about Jack, a buddy of mine and a few pages of script. We sailed out to an island that-"

Carl shudders, suddenly faced with true terror again and skull island and-

"Story for another time." he shrugs, then grabbing the card outta Mark's hands,

Soemthing kicks at the back of Mark's mind... somthing that he should remember.

He pauses, then nods. ""

A brisk nod from Carl,

There's a monkey somewhere.

Carl blinked, then shook his head,

"" It's obvious that someone's on Mark's mind.

Carl's thinking.

Deep. Deep thoughts.

Carl said, putting a fatherly hand on Mark's shoulder,

"" Mark blinks.

He grins, "You would play sebastian then. You're just the right size for the costumes I've procured."

"" He's grinning, though.

Carl scribbles something down on a list,

"" At -everything- she does. If Mark's a bit blushy at the mention of Maureen, well, it's just the temperature in the room, really.

Just leave it to Me Preston, I'll find us a girl

There's a big of a shaky look on Carl's face but it's gone like that, with a snap of the fingers, "

"" Or she will, when Mark gets done with her. "" He rummages in a pocket and pulls out about six inches of 16mm film, showing Maureen on stage singing. It's from The Protest, if you really want to know. ""

"Put that away! You don't want it to get overexposed or-"

There's a bit of Carl back in there as he examines the film, almost...lovingly?

He taps his finger on the film for a moment.

"Oh, it's already developed. It's alright. Hell, I've had this bit of film for years. She does really have lovely eyes, doesn't she?"

He grins at the film, a bit lovingly, then shrugs. ""

Carl's thinking, "I've got a Duke Orisino, some fella who says he's a hundred years old or more-and a great stately woman to play Maria..and you found our oliva. Now all we need is a motley crew of comedians."

"" Mark grins. ""

Carl waves a hand,

"" Mark grins. It's not as if she doesn't live in the Loft now. Well, mostly live there.

He shrugs,

Carl salutes and walks back to his table, awaiting more...

The music swirling.

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