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Post by Hawk on May 26, 2012 0:11:48 GMT -6
Three cigarettes. There were two cigarette butts in the ashtray in front of Pheia, and he was steadily wearing his way through another. Just a couple minutes away from burning it down to nothing. Which was fitting, since that's what the cigarettes had gained him: Nothing.
Not bothering to stifle a huff of annoyance, he threw the pencil in his hand at the keys of the piano in front of him, watched it ricochet off to his left and bounce against a speaker before rolling off under a sound board. Would've regretted the amount of work he'd now have to put in to get to it again, but he honestly preferred to pretend he didn't have any intention of using it. Ever. Screw his livelihood, and the band. He'd just walk out of the room, track them down, and tell them, 'Better brush up on your sandwich-making skills. I've decided minimum wage sounds infinitely preferable to banging my head against the impenetrable mental wall I've built up between myself and any musical inspiration I've ever had.' At least a fast food joint wouldn't expect him to be creative while shucking out burgers to the masses.
Sometimes, writing music was like walking. Easiest thing in the world. Other times, it was like- Well, it was like pulling teeth. Only if the teeth were his own. And he was only allowed to pull them with no Novocaine. Fucking ridiculous.
A minute later, the sheet music he'd been working on joined the pencil on the floor. Was basically useless, what with all the scribbling and erasing and re-scribbling he'd done on it. The hole he'd torn in it with his eraser had pretty much tolled its death knell. If only it'd been a more musical one, Pheia mused as he gave the piece of paper a pointed - if rather childish - glare. Drae'd been able to rattle off two potentials in as many nights. To say that it was embarrassing for him to not even be able to pull together a workable chorus was a decided understatement. Some songwriter he was.
With a huff, he stood up from the bench. Started to run a hand through his hair before remembering that it'd been sprayed into perfect-ponytail-place for the TV interview they'd filmed earlier in the day. Which now probably looked anything but perfect. Probably holding the goddamn mold of his fingers and everything now. With another huff, this one a bit more amused but no less exasperated, he took the last pull off his cigarette, and then made an impromptu game of tossing the still-smoldering butt into the ashtray.
Which, you know, was a great game up until the point that it hit the tray, bounced, and then fell back behind the piano. Yeah, it definitely wasn't his night, Pheia thought as he mumbled, "Fuck," and scrambled around the piano to try and get behind it.
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Post by ElliBleu on Jul 15, 2012 22:39:48 GMT -6
[sorry, short to start.]
For once it honestly had not been Nikua’s intent to drop in unexpectedly on his guitarist. It had been his intent to corner the petite multi-colored object of his mischievous affection, but not Pheia. This time.
And he’d almost just continued on his way. Almost let the other man continue to sit alone in the dim room and pour over music sheets. The singer knew Phe, most of his bandmates for that matter, appreciated any alone time they could steal. But the hazy, smoky air and the scattered and torn papers across the floor had the blond pausing halfway through his turn.
Flighty, annoying, sure, Niku could agree with those. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t a damn nice guy under all of that. His bandmates were exceedingly good at carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Niku was a firm believer you could not enjoy that world while it was weighing you down, and, like it or not, he was always going to be offering an annoyingly helpful hand.
So he stepped into the room with an easy grin, hands behind his head, silent for a moment before breaking into a grin as he watched Phe swear and try to squeeze behind the piano. “Sure, but only if you keep it on the DL,” the blonde chirped, doing his very best (read, ‘over the top’) I’m-sexy-and-I-know-it walk over to the other side of the piano. “No kissing and telling. Among other things.”
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Post by Hawk on Jul 24, 2012 12:10:58 GMT -6
[[Don't worry, I'll make mine long enough for the both of us, apparently. Whoops?]]
While writing music, Phe expected certain interruptions. Drae stopped in on a whim whenever he so chose, either to actually offer hints and help Pheia along, or to pretend to as he hides out from any one of the many people who made it their daily mission to torment him. Kir would duck in from time to time, generally just hover by the door and look on silently like some sort of music writer's hall monitor, and then drift off just as silently a few minutes later. It wasn't exactly unheard of for someone to crash his one-man-composing-often-turned-pity-party.
But, he'd be damned if Nikua wasn't the last person whose voice he expected to hear drifting across the room he'd've sworn was empty. For one, it was the middle of the night, and Nikua kept the most regular sleep schedule of all of them. Not exactly keeping with his normal hours.
For another, Pheia seemed to be one of his least favorite focuses of attention. Perhaps because of that time he'd locked Nikua in a dressing room for eighteen hours "by accident" after he decided holding Drae's phone above his head in an impromptu game of keep-away was a good idea. Or maybe because of the boot-shaped hole Phe'd put in Nikua's dressing room door when Niku'd decided it'd be cute to add bleach-based hair dye to everyone's shampoo so they'd be "pleasantly surprised" when all the band's hair matched. The two of them didn't exactly have the best track record, what with the other man's love of tormenting his best friend and all.
So to say he was surprised to find himself alone in a room with the band's lead singer would be grossly understating it. Which at least half-justified the instinctive raise of his head, which turned quickly into a cringe of pain and a muttered, "Goddammit," when his head and the rim of the piano lid connected rather painfully.
Great. No ability to string together a tune, and now he also looked like an idiot. Perfect.
Ensuring the band piano didn't go up in flames took precedence over all else though, so instead of trying to compensate for the fool he'd just made of himself, he simply ducked back down in search of the illusive cigarette butt. Said as he did so in a rather sarcastic way, "Oh, thank god. I was beginning to think my night couldn't possibly become any more frustrating."
Not that there was any real malice behind the words. Which was why he added with just the barest hint of a grin that he half-hoped was evident in his voice, "And I'm pretty sure extensive experience's taught me there isn't anything you do without telling. But nice try."
Much as they'd had their share of childish battles, Phe had a detached kind of respect for their front man's inherent, self-perpetuated cheer. No way in hell he could manage that kind of positivity on a day-to-day basis. Especially in the face of all the bullshit baggage some of the others in the band - himself included - dragged around with them. Kicked and locked doors aside, he was an alright guy. If not one that required a heavy hand from time to time when he got overzealous in his pestering.
That, and he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes or anything. Had this look to him that was all sunshine and light and everything's-fine. Disarmed you before you even knew it. And made honestly disliking him all kinds of fucking difficult. Not that Phe'd be caught dead admitting it, but the fact remained.
Not that good looks meant nothing to the price of tea in China right now. Pretty faces didn't make new tunes, and, more importantly, this one in particular didn't seem to be all that helpful in the preventing-a-fire mission. Phe was on his hands and knees, reaching futilely for the smoldering butt that was just out of his reach and surely at least burning a hole through the carpet by now, and all the while the platinum blond was leaning against the other side of it as if he, as per usual, didn't have a care in the world.
"Y'know, while I'm sure there's some clause in your contract that requires you to pose attractively for a certain percentage of the day, d'you think you could maybe spare a minute and help me make sure we still have a studio tomorrow morning?"
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Post by ElliBleu on Oct 22, 2012 17:41:31 GMT -6
Niku grinned broadly at Phe, resting an elbow on the piano lid and settling his chin onto his knuckles. He shrugged one shoulder, lifting his hand to wave dismissively. “Yeah, but I’m running ahead today. Besides, I’ll look pretty sexy moving furniture.” Moving around the piano, taking a moment to hook his foot around one of the bench legs and tug it clear in case they needed to move the thing, Niku dropped to his knees beside his guitarist. “Wanna let me have a go?” he asked and raised his hands, wriggling his fingers. “Alternatively, I could go get Addie and he could just walk under there.”
Smiling again, Niku leaned forward and gently pulled Phe back by the shoulder, sliding over to where the other male had been after he moved. He might have been obnoxious, sure, Niku knew that. It was an odd source of pride, really, his impenetrable veneer of annoying cheerfulness. But he was dependable, and, contrary to what he liked people to believe, he did know when to stop talking or teasing. And, most of the time, he did.
Right now, he didn’t think Phe was upset enough that Niku needed to shut up or beat a hasty retreat. Hopefully. He was pretty sure, at least. Phe was harder to read than Addie (and then there was Lae who never seemed to leave pleasantly laid-back), but quicker to address any slight. The customary barbs weren’t as venomous as they could have been. That, and Phe had acknowledged his presence in a not entirely negative manner, and without any throw objects. All good signs, really, so the blonde was more than happy to provide a distraction for the guitarist.
The crumpled papers and smoke hanging in the air was sign enough- you couldn’t force songwriting. But Niku was quite sure Phe was, and would continue unsuccessfully if he didn’t get his mind off it for a bit.
Shoulder pressed between the back of the piano and the wall, Niku set his cheek against the wall to try and see exactly what it was they were fishing for. The dull orange glow made him grin, twisting to raise an eyebrow at Phe as he reached for the cigarette butt. He sucked his lip in between his teeth and pushed himself forward, foot sliding across the floor until his shoes found enough purchase. His forehead collided with the corner of the piano but his fingertips slid enough over the cigarette to get a grip, tumbling backwards.
He landed flat on his back with a triumphant grin up at Phe, the cigarette held aloft between two fingers as his other hand rubbed his forehead beneath his bangs. “Success! What do I win?”
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Post by Hawk on Feb 2, 2013 23:30:02 GMT -6
[[Really long, whoops. And I-don't-even-know-what. Bandverse is weird. And Phe is tired. And things. Not my fault. >w>;;]]
Definitely disarming, Phe affirmed to himself as he silently watched Nikua's attempts to reach behind the piano. A corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly at the word. To say that implied that Phe was 'armed' in the first place, which he guessed was a fitting description, too. Between the biting sarcasm, short and to-the-point speech, and generous amount of glares, most people were more than eager to give him his due personal space.
Raising a hand, he absently brushed his own shoulder where Niku had touched it to shift him out of the way. People didn't do the whole physical-contact thing with Pheia. Not with the exception of Drae - or maybe Kir or Sierra on a day when he was being particularly difficult. And with the whole recently-sober thing, especially when paired with the closely-tied, also-recently-abandoned, and widely-spread (thanks so much, gossip magazines) promiscuous habits, people close to him were currently all about "respecting his personal space," which translated into giving him a two-foot berth at all times. Almost as much as they were about acting like placing alcohol within his line of sight was a blasphemous act.
Not that the consideration wasn't nice and all, but the constant walking-on-eggshells feeling that accompanied it got to be fairly exhausting. And he wasn't exactly begging to hug it out, or hold hands and sing Kumbayah. That was exactly the kind of shit that had him jumping ship from the rehab institution through a Kir-mandated escape plan within a couple weeks of his confinement there. But, it was to the point where being treated normally by someone was something he couldn't really take for granted. Especially when that 'someone' wasn't just a fan, shielded by perma-rose-tinted glasses and self-created assurances that everything written in the media about their beloved band's beloved guitarist was nothing but heinous slander. Or worse, one that figured if they were just alluring or persuasive enough, they'd convince him to regress back to his old tendencies.
And honestly, Phe wasn't sure what he seriously thought of the man in front of him. After over a year, he still seemed like the same incomprehensible anomaly he'd been when they'd signed on to the band with him. He was almost like a child most times, full of unrelenting cheer and obliviousness. But then there were times when he'd step onto the stage, take the emotions that Drae and Phe wove into their songs, and wear them on his sleeve just like they were his own...
And now here he was, sitting in this room alone with Phe at god knows what hour of the morning, and instead of giving him the typical, 'Hey, doing okay?' line or pussyfooting around him, he'd just snapped-to with the same zippy one-liners they'd always exchanged on their better days. No two-foot invisible barrier, either. Didn't even seem to exist as a suggestion to Nikua, if his willingness to get all up in Pheia's personal space was any sign. Whether that stemmed from an honest obliviousness, or a more willful choice to ignore discretion, Phe wasn't sure. Regardless of the reasons, though, it was...
Well, it was nice.
Belatedly, Phe realized that the front man in question had posed a question of his own. Always good to get caught spacing out while openly staring at the object of said musings. Especially when said object was staring right back at you. Just perfect. "A headache to match mine, for one," he replied, in what he hoped was a calm and not-too-rushed fashion, fully aware that his response had been more than a bit delayed. He wasted no time in immediately following the comment by reaching down to snatch the still-smoldering cig and walk past Niku to deposit it in the ashtray. By hand this time, so as not to make a further idiot of himself.
If that were even possible, that is.
With a cringe - in part at his own inability to apparently succeed at anything tonight, and in part at his aforementioned headache - Phe reached down to grab the nearest piece of sheet music that had formerly been sacrificed to the floor. The songs weren't going to write themselves, after all. Tossed out as he did so, "And, just in case there was any doubt in your mind, struggling-to-get-behind-a-piano isn't your best look. Definitely not sexy." He meant for the line to come off as biting, but could tell even as they left his mouth that the sting just wasn't there. Just his desperation to move back into more familiar bantering territory, and his frustration at his own idiocy, and bit of forced pleasantness that would've otherwise made the sting hit home.
But which now made it sound more like an unsure statement just itching to be a compliment, instead of a sarcastic barb. Just peachy.
Ignoring the urge to bang his head against the piano repeatedly, Phe pointedly resisted glancing over to see Niku's reaction to the fool he'd been so successfully making of himself. Instead, he pulled the piano bench back into place, sat down, and carefully unfolded the crumpled ball of paper he'd retrieved before setting it on the music stand of the piano. Ran his hands against it to flatten it out into some semblance of readability. Had an almost perfect I'm-a-totally-legitimate-musician-getting-back-to-totally-legitimate-work-so-you-can-leave-now charade going up until the point that he reached for his pencil, only to realize that it - unsurprisingly - hadn't exactly worked itself out from under the soundboard, what with it being an inanimate object and all.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Phe murmured to himself, fully aware that the other man could probably hear him. Could see him too, but that didn't stop him from pulling the fall shut, crossing his arms against it, and then burying his head in them. It was too early in the morning, or too late at night, for this kind of shit.
Realizing that by this point he probably seemed borderline insane - which was great, really, it wasn't like he needed to see the man who was witnessing this utter failure every waking moment of his life for the foreseeable future or anything - Phe turned just enough to peek over his arms at Niku as he said, "I don't suppose you have a pencil on you?" And before he thought better of it, the abysmal song outline in front of him had him tagging on, "Or, for that matter, the musical aptitude I seem to have misplaced?"
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