ohnoitsjools (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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milliways_bar2010-10-12 01:46 pm
ohnoitsjools) wrote in milliways_bar2010-10-12 01:46 pm
Entry tags:
Multi-Pup Post: Less Frequent Pups Edition
Jools is under a table, over by the Observation Window. He's not quite sure what he's looking at, but he's determined to figure it out.
Harold has his banjo today. He's been practising with it a lot lately, and is starting to get quite skilled with it. He's not sure if he can really call himself talented, though, as he doesn't feel too terribly creative with it. Maybe that will come later.
Gus is over by the bar with a deck of cards. He could be sulking, or that might just be how he looks all the time. Someone may want to take his cards away before he does something stupid. Or uses them to try to take all your money.
Tim's over by the fire place with his sketchbook, working on roughs and concepts for a comic adaptation of Werewolf Women of the SS.
Harold has his banjo today. He's been practising with it a lot lately, and is starting to get quite skilled with it. He's not sure if he can really call himself talented, though, as he doesn't feel too terribly creative with it. Maybe that will come later.
Gus is over by the bar with a deck of cards. He could be sulking, or that might just be how he looks all the time. Someone may want to take his cards away before he does something stupid. Or uses them to try to take all your money.
Tim's over by the fire place with his sketchbook, working on roughs and concepts for a comic adaptation of Werewolf Women of the SS.
[ooc: Last link NSFW, as it is a Rob Zombie Grindhouse trailer.]
[dealer's choice]
She's being very nosy right now -- and has a penchant for staring, completely unapologetic.
Not in the universe's best mood, but people-watching helps.
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"Oh, hello," he says softly. "Do you like Cat Stevens?"
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Word choices, Alba.
"--jaunty?"
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She shrugs it off, and nods a little. "Probably work with a fiddle accompaniment too."
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Also, since she forgot:
"I'm Alba. It's potentially nice to meet you."
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"Do you play? The fiddle, that is. Since you mentioned it, and all."
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. . .The difference is in strings and style. I can't really do folksy."
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"If you're patient enough to devote time to practice -- then, more time to put emotion into the piece -- it's easy."
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Harold thinks about this.
"The first part is easy. I haven't been home for a few months, so I have plenty of time to practise. The second part, I'm not sure if I can do that."
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She shrugs her shoulders, rolling her shoulders back with a sigh. This conversation may be doing a little to improve her mood. A little calmer than before, a little quieter.
"--generally a good way to go about living."
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So far, this has not happened around Milliways, which is why he's so reluctant to leave.
"Yes, I think so," he says. "If you do something you don't like, that makes you unhappy. And if you're unhappy, you tend to pass that off on those around you, I think. I wouldn't want to be someone to make those around me unhappy."
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She sinks into a quiet moment of thought, nods slowly.
"That's the real reason I left."
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He can't be any older than 19 or 20.
"Left where?"
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He's not much older (even looks a little younger - and from an earlier time, judging by the clothes) than Alba, and so she doesn't feel awkward in sharing some information.
Not the entire story, mind. But enough of it.
"For that reason, because of what you just said. I didn't want to make him unhappy, so I left."
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"I never got to say goodbye, either," he offers. "Well, not properly anyway. But I think he'll come to understand."
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He does deserve so much better than that. I couldn't write it all down.
And I didn't want to."
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I've heard about that too." She throws a glance around the room, studying at passerby, "I might have met people who were dead -- and they're just fine here."
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Mildly,
"You don't look like a zombie to me."
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"No, nothing like that. I... sort of got upset and drove my car off a cliff, just before coming here. I wasn't in it, though. I promise."
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She tilts her head to the side, eyebrows pinched together.
". . .oh. You drove your car off a cliff. That's an interesting way to express yourself. Did you feel better after doing that?"
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"That's, I don't know, funny in a way."
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Well, technically, he watched from the way-out-there sidelines, but still.
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I don't know if I can do that. My journal stops at twenty-five. I still haven't figured out why."
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"I'm getting tired and rambling a bit. I'll probably need to try and sleep before trying to get back home--"
An idea occurs to her and she gestures, "One thing before I do go. Wait here."
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He's not really sure what to expect, but he goes back to working on his song, watching to see what Alba is planning.
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"That's the second to only song I know for the fiddle. . . .This is the part for the banjo."
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"I'm afraid I don't know how to read music," he admits. "But I don't suppose it's too difficult to learn?"
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It was nice meeting you, and, thank you for talking to me."
She flickers her fingers a little bit, waving, before she goes away.
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Now he's going to have to get a book on how to read it from the Bar, he decides.