So, yeah, it's a real fic now
Mar. 18th, 2006 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
luciazephyrSo, I'm doing the full thing. Anyone wanna be my beta?
Title: R3NT
Author: Lucia Zephyr
Rating: PG
Genre: Musical crackfic, romance, drama.
Warnings: It's a fusion of RENT and Numb3rs. Hello! Also a WIP.
Summary: It's time now to sing out, though the story never ends. Let's celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends. (The Ultimate Crack: Musical Fusion)
-----
"Should I really say 'Cyberland'? Is that too blatant?" Megan Reeves asked, looking in the mirror, then tilting it a bit to show her roommate. "I know it's a protest, but you want to be taken seriously, right? And just saying it right off- it might kill the effect. Right?" She stared at him. "Larry!"
On the couch, Laurence Fleinhardt looked up. "What's happening?" He'd spread his notes out around him, character sketches, side-plots, story outlines. He seemed to be always surrounded by clutter.
"I'm panicking here and all you can do is shuffle around paper!" Megan exclaimed with a broad gesture towards the notes. "You're supposed to be helping me here."
"And how am I to help you, Megan?" Larry smiled, clasping his hands in front of him. "What is the problem?"
"Don't pull the sweet, deep-thinking man act on me right now. I can't deal with it." Megan snapped. "In your oh-so expert philosophical opinion, should I just say 'Cyberland'?"
"As opposed to...?"
"To not saying it. You said you'd help." Megan tapped her foot impatiently.
Larry rubbed his face. "It's not Madison Square, Megan. It's 11th Street. It doesn't make a huge difference."
"Gee, thanks for wrecking my wonderful delusions of grandeur." Megan mumbled, turning back to the mirror and straightening it. "How's the book going?"
"Dismal. I need my muse back." Larry waved a hand, as if beckoning his muse back to him. "Such a fickle thing, inspiration."
"I'm appalled that my glowing presence in your life isn't enough for you to write poetry like The Odyssey." Megan dead-panned.
"Odysseus was an arrogant bastard who got his men killed and cheated on his ever-faithful wife twice." Larry replied venomously. "If I'd written the story, he'd have been killed by a sea monster."
"Writer's prerogative?"
He nodded. "Yep."
---
The phone rang in apartment 2A, interrupting the sound of guitar strings and soft singing. The singer looked over at the phone. When it continued ringing, he set his guitar down on the table and walked over, hovering above the phone. The message machine clicked on.
"We're out or the moment-"
"Or screening our calls."
"But if you leave a message, we'll get back ASAP."
"Or just delete it and go about our lives."
"Shut up, Charlie."
There was a long beep after that lovely bit of professionalism, then a deep voice, "Donny, Charlie, you guys have to change that message." Their father, a man who refused to give up it seemed. "Boys, it's just a few days until Hanukkah starts. I know you two are living pretty sparsely..." A cough. "I hate talking to this thing. So, um, you two should come home for the holiday. We all didn't leave on best terms, but that shouldn't mean, mean excommunication. So... call me sometime. You have the number." A pause. "Bye." The machine clicked off.
Don deleted the message, wanting to avoid the rant Charlie would have if he heard it, and sat back down on the table, picking up his guitar. He set a good melody, strumming the strings rhythmically.
"I'm writing one song... my one glory..." He sang gravelly, then shook his head sadly. Still not right.
---
They were tourists. You could tell from their overly-heavy coats and the way their faces were tipped back. A New York resident didn't look up- only visitors did.
He perched on the high railing, watching them walked closer. As they came in clearer view, the distraught expressions on their faces became more clear. A married couple and their child, to tell from the way they clung together, the parents looking scared, the little girl curious.
"It'd be prudent and in your best interest to have a weapon on you, good sir." He hailed, sending them his most beatific, charming smile. "The Lower East Side isn't fit for people like you and your fine family."
The man swept his wife and child slightly behind him, as if that'd be protection. "Excuse me?"
"You're on 12th and B. Not smart, folks." He smiled again and held a finger. "Avenue A, you're alright." He put up another finger. "Avenue B, you're brave." Another. "Avenue C, you’re crazy." He put up four fingers and winked. "Avenue D, you're dead." He pointed behind him, the way the tourists were wandering. "And D is that way, folks."
"We got caught in the crowd, so we turned down a street to get away." The woman said.
"Where are you headed?"
"We were supposed to meet my uncle at Union Square."
"Good thing you met me then. I'll get you on your way." He hopped down from his perch and walked over to the three.
"Who are you, then?"
"Charlie." He offered his hand to the husband, who shook it. "Now," Charlie said, walking backwards to an intersection, "I'll get you to 1st and 14th. From there, it's as simple as not turning until you hit the trees."
"That's nice of you." the woman said with a nervous smile.
"Il mio piacere, signora. Just helping out where others would take advantage. Usually, I wouldn't bother but," Charlie grinned down at the little girl holding her mother's hand, "I'm not one for schadenfreude." He pivoted, turning the right way, letting them trail behind him. "Except when I am."
-----
On Christmas Eve, just after the sunset, the power went out.
"The hell?" Megan looked up, blinking. "You've got to be kidding me!"
Larry sighed and clicked his pen. "Short or disconnection?"
Megan growled and charged across the room, sweeping up her coat and shoving herself into it. "I'm heading downstairs to see what's happening."
"Megan, it could be a short." Larry tried calmly.
"Please, right after dark on Christmas Eve? Not a chance." She moved to the door and slid it open and left in a fury.
"Don't kill anybody!" Larry called after her. He tossed his work on the table, got up, and went to the power box in the corner. Maybe it was purposeful, but someone had to fix it in case it wasn't.
---
Don blinked up at the lights about the same time, then at the coffee pot. The burner under it was dulling. Don sighed and went over to it, pouring the half-brewed drink into his mug and downing it. No sense to waste it.
The door slammed open then, signaling his brother's arrival. "Power out?"
"Ten seconds ago, yep. What're the odds of it being a technical failure?" Don asked.
"A really big damn number, I'd guess." Charlie walked over to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a few candles and a zippo lighter. He tossed Don the lighter and stood the candles up on the table for Don to light.
"Why do you say that?"
"This." Charlie reached into his jean jacket and pulled out a rolled up blue sheet of paper. Don took and unrolled it.
It was an official notice of eviction. The lot, once unowned and too run-down for purchase, had been bought by Benjamin Coffin III, a former resident. When that happened a year and a half ago, the residents thought it meant they were safe. Now Benny broke his promise of 'sanctuary' often, but never like this.
---
Larry had just given up on finding a technical problem when Megan stormed back in. She stormed over to him and held a blue sheet of paper in his face. He jumped away, then leaned in to read it.
"Eviction?"
"Or pay. Don't suppose you have a few thousand dollars lying around?"
Larry took the notice from her, shaking his head. "Oh yeah, I won the lottery ten minutes ago." He joked feebly. "What do we do?"
"Besides killing Benny?" Megan asked.
"Besides, yes."
"Light up a fire for warmth and hope he doesn't call the cops." Megan snatched the notice away from him and walked to the trash can. She dragged it away from the kitchen to the center of the flat. From inside her coat, she pulled out a cigarette lighter and flicked it on, holding it to the paper. Larry fetched the spare and started lighting candles for light.
"Any old drafts of your book around?" Megan called. Larry looked over at her in his room, shuffling through his things.
"Under the bed. Anything with a red 'x' on it can go."
"Thanks." She hefted a stack of stapled sheets and carried them to the trash. A soft flame glowed from the bottom of the tin and she lit the new papers on fire as well, dropping them in. The fire shot higher, starting to breach the rim of the trash.
"Megan..." Larry watched the flame with slight worry.
"Shut up and bring me more." He didn't dare argue when she had that maddened gleam in her eyes. He took their mail and brought it over.
"You have a plan."
"Always do." Megan confirmed. "Light up a mean blaze with rough drafts."
"And screenplays?" He held up a few of Megan's shooting scripts. She nodded and he tossed them in.
Suddenly, the sound of yelling drifted in from outside. Larry went to the window and opened it. A familiar Range Rover drove up Avenue A. The tenants of Alphabet City were surrounding it, yelling and waving their notices at the driver. Megan joined him and glared down.
"Benny." She said darkly before dragging Larry back in. "Help me with this." She grabbed one handle of the tin and starting pulling it to the window.
"Are you insane?" Larry replied, voice jumping an octave, finally losing his cool exterior.
"Help me with this." Megan repeated. Larry rolled his eyes and helped her heft the flame up and to the window, out onto the fire escape. All around them, other residents were hollering down at Benny's car. Megan lifted the trash higher, setting it on the railing.
Realizing exactly what she planned, Larry yelled down to the street, "Heads up!" just as she tipped the flaming paper into Benny's path. It landed perfectly and the vehicle screeched to a halt. The fire licked high as more drifted down. The two looked around to see all the balconies full of people holding up their ignited eviction notices and throwing them down.
Downstairs, a young man leaned over the street, anchoring himself with his foot hooked around the railing and hand on the above grating. He brushed curly hair out of his eyes and called out, "We're not gonna pay!"
Megan saw and grinned. "I don't know who that is, but I like him."
---
"Tempo di cucinare, Benny!"
"God, Amita was right- you're insane. Get down from there!" Don grabbed the back of Charlie's jacket and pulled him down. Despite it, Charlie grinned manically.
"Only the best for our dear landlord, Don. Got any more notices?"
"No, and I wouldn't give you any if I did."
Charlie shrugged. "Just as well. The people have spoken. It's dying down now." He tossed the last of the ammunition over, a few sheets of Don's songwriting. "The music ignites the night with passionate fire." He complimented.
"Yeah, 'cause you lit it on fire."
"Better waste of paper than the crap you keep jotting down." Charlie retorted, sitting on the railing.
"That one was a year old, of course it was bad." Don said in defense. "Don't start any more trouble." He retreated into the flat.
Charlie leaned back into the open air, laughing, elated at the reaction to Benny's message. He looked up at the people in 3A, admiring their spectacular show, wishing he'd thought of it first. The woman was gone now and her roommate was leaning on the railing, looking contemplative. The man's eyes shifted down to Charlie, and Charlie smiled and waved. The man seemed surprised, looking around as if for someone else Charlie might have smiled at. Charlie laughed, bringing the man's sight back to him. He had very green eyes, Charlie noticed. Charlie slid off the railing and went inside, smile still in place.
-----
Benny called for them after things settled down. Larry discreetly checked Megan over for anything that could be used to harm their former friend before allowing her to go down, following faithfully.
Benny was leaning on his car when they reached the ground, looking at a flyer in his hands. Larry recognized it as the posters all over the Lower East Side for Megan's performance and figured he could guess the content of this discussion.
"Megan Reeves, nice to see you again." Benny said sarcastically. "And Laurence- how's the novel coming?"
"I must admit, it'd be coming along faster if I could turn on a lamp." Larry answered, crossing his arms.
Benny laughed. "Sorry about that."
"'Sorry about that'? You shut off our power on Christmas Eve!" Megan shouted.
"Got your attention, didn't it?" Benny responded without a trace of remorse.
"What do you want?" Larry asked quietly.
"Ah, the rent." Benny said, raising his eyebrows. "This last year's worth I let slide."
"'You let side'?" Megan laughed.
"Is there an echo out here?" Benny frowned.
"You said we were set, back when you lived here, if you remember." Megan replied, poking Benny in the chest. The landlord just shrugged.
"What happened to the old Benny's virtuous heart, I'm wondering." Larry said.
"See, this is why your book isn't nearly as good as it could be." Benny pushed Megan's hand away. "No one likes a golden boy hero. Any owner of this lot has the right to do with it as he pleases. You're lucky it's me and I was willing to help out a bit. Now," he held out a hand, "the rent."
"You're wasting your time; we don't have it." Megan answered, glaring at their old friend, arms akimbo.
"Not to mention the fact that you broke your word." Larry added.
"Well," Benny sat on his Rover, "there is one way you won't have to pay."
"Oh, really?"
"I've got the block re-zoned. I'm set to build CyberArts. Only thing stopping me is a certain drama queen's protest." Benny said, nodding to Megan.
"You're going to wipe out an entire tent city! You can't expect us to just let you!" Megan exclaimed.
"You agree to stand down, I'll forego your rent on paper guarantee. You can stay here for free."
"Why not just get the cops in?" Larry asked, frowning.
"I did, and they're on stand-by, but the investors would rather I handled this quietly."
"You can't quietly wipe out a homeless area and- and go home and watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' on TV!" Larry gaped. "That's over a hundred people!"
"You want to act and write books? You gotta have a place to do it." Benny reasoned, hopping off his car. "Cancel the protest, or you'll pack." He walked around his car and slid in. He saluted the two cheerfully before driving off.
"Great." Megan eventually grumbled. "Just great." She shucked her hands into her pockets and turned back to the building. Larry sighed and followed.
"Any ideas?"
"Not a one. I'm gonna go out, see if I can talk to Amita about legality stuff." Megan tossed Larry the flat's key, turning down the street. "Don't stay up all night."
"I'll do some work on the roof. Should I wait up for you?"
"Yeah, I'll yell when I get back." Megan waved, then jogged down the street.
-----
"So, any musical epiphanies today?" Charlie asked, making a grab for Don's notebook. Don listened to him flip through the pages, sometimes pausing when something caught his eye. "You should write the tempo and notes down or something."
"Not worth it." Don plucked a few guitar strings. "Not until I find something good."
"Still no muse, huh?" Charlie actually looked at Don with some compassion, reminding Don that he wasn't completely lost, not matter how he acted nowadays.
"Nada."
"I still like the ones you wrote before she died." Charlie said softly, turning to the front of the notebook. "Maybe you should try for less emo."
"Yeah, maybe." Don murmured. Charlie wanted to sigh, Don knew, but didn't. "I'm stealing a candle. I want to read a bit."
"Sure thing." Don didn't look up as his brother walked to his bedroom, separated from the rest of the flat by a thick, amber bead curtain. It was impossible to see though, but the candle light flickered on the brown glassy spheres, making interesting shadows on the wall.
Don sighed and strummed softly. "Time flew..." he whispered to the chilled air, "Summer faded out of view..." He stopped. No matter what he sang, it always fell back to one idea. He walked out onto the fire escape, closing the window behind him.
"I'm writing one song before I go... One song that I know..." Don was on the fire escape stairs, one leg up on the railing. As much as he tried to write about something else, it all circled back to her.
He'd moved to NYC three years before after Charlie had snapped and run off. He'd watched over him and expected to drag him back to North Carolina before New Years. Then Charlie had brought Don to a club that had an indie band playing and Don'd met her.
Terry Lake was the lead guitarist and singer in her little band, Mute. They were the average band: well-loved by the neighborhood, but not much more. But Terry came and sat by him at the bar after the show and Don had asked her, "Who are you really?"
She had grinned and replied, "Just your average anarchistic, alt-rock, bi-identified chica."
Don was from Carolina. They didn't have women like Terry in the South.
Don got a good beat going, a hummed a tune before singing, "One song with the world at your feet, through the eyes of a young girl... Find glory, in a song that rings true, truth like a blazing fire, an eternal flame."
As much as Charlie sniped joyfully at him for hooking up with his polar opposite, and as much as life sometimes grew harsh, Terry made Don glad he came to NYC. She introduced him to the way of life his brother had embraced so completely. Before, Don didn't quite understand the appeal of living in a run-down neighborhood filled with drugs and danger.
Terry dragged Don to the Cafe Life for a peasant feast after they'd dated for a month and Don met everyone. Artists who wore their paint as casually as make-up, musicians who played with top-notch drumsticks on plastic buckets, dancers like his brother who'd do anything for some applause and a dollar, and poets who churned out words better than Dickenson could have dreamt of. Then he understood. The next day, Terry began teaching him guitar.
"Find one song, a song about love, glory, from the soul of a young man." Don played louder, pulled into the music as if Terry was still sitting next to him, cradling a mug of tea in her hands and nodding encouragingly. "Find the one song before the virus takes hold, glory. Like a sunset, one song to redeem this empty life."
Then Terry had gone out to buy him new guitar picks and took a shortcut down an alley near 2nd. Two rival gangs had gathered for a little fight for turf. One ringing ricochet and Terry was gone, and with her Don's light.
"Time flies, and there's no need to endure anymore. Time dies." Don struck a loud, long chord and closed his eyes, letting the vibration move through him.
-----
Larry took the stairs slowly, trying to keep hold of both his notes and especially his laptop, the most expensive thing in Alphabet City, no doubt. Megan had broached the subject of selling it several times for money, but Larry would rather go without food than lose his beloved laptop. It was the only place his work was halfway safe, what with how often they had to burn all the paper in the flat when Benny decided to shut off the heat to get their attention.
He idly looked down the stairwell and spotted someone sitting on the stairs, halfway to the second floor. It was the man from earlier that night, the one who'd smiled at him when the tenants rebelled. He was fiddling with a lighter in his hands, clicking it, only to get sparks, no fire. Larry shook his head and unlocked the door to the flat and leaving it open for Megan. Larry looked back once at the man and his lighter and saw him staring back. Larry tore his eyes away, sighed, and slid open the huge steel door to the room and walking in, letting it shut automatically behind him.
The room was dark except for the light from the wall of windows. Larry searched around and found some matches and re-lit some candles before a knock came at the door. Larry rolled his eyes and walked over, pulling it open. As he expected, the man was there, looking a bit surprised despite having knocked.
"What'd you need?"
The man smiled brightly and held up a candle. "Got a light?"
"Yeah, hold on." Larry walked to the table, where he set the matches down. He glanced up at the visitor. "You're shivering."
The man seemed to take that as an invite and walked out of the doorway, pulling his sweater tighter around his arms. "You know how it is. It gets close to Christmas and our loving landlord shuts off the heat." He twirled on his heel as he reached the table and leaned on the cold metal. "What're you staring at?"
Larry blinked and looked down at the matches, suddenly having trouble detaching one and wondering if it'd look odd if he just lit them all and used that. "Nothing," his mouth said as his mind said, 'your hair in the moonlight'. "You look familiar."
"Candle," the man prompted with a sly grin.
"Right, sorry." Larry finally got one match separated, lit, and to the candle's wick, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the smile that had more warmth than anything in the room. Candle lit, Larry waved the match out. "Easily distracted."
"I'll take that as a compliment, if you don't mind." He spun away, walking backwards to the windows, moving to some silent beat. "Mind if I use the fire escape? If I get caught sneaking in this late, my brother will read me the riot act. Window door is a lot quieter than the huge monstrosity of a door." He arched an eyebrow. "What?"
Larry realized he'd been staring again. "Nothing, just... I know I've seen you before, but I can't place you, mister...?"
"It's out again." He walked over to Larry. "Must've been a draft. Would you mind?"
"Oh, sure." Larry cupped one hand around the candle, shielding it before lighting it again. "Well."
"Yeah?" his visitor practically purred and Larry realized how close they were standing. He took a breath and leaned back.
"Ah, goodnight." Larry muttered, looking at his feet.
There was a pause, an exasperated sigh, and footsteps away. Then the rattle of the door and a soft thumping sound. "You're kidding me..."
Larry looked over. "It blew out again?" he asked, telling himself he did not sound at all hopeful.
The visitor was bent over, looking down. "No, I dropped the damn thing. This just isn't my day, is it?"
"I haven't known you long enough to answer that question, though I guess it's rhetorical, so it doesn't need an answer in the first place and why am I still talking?" Larry snapped his mouth shut, grateful it was dark to hide his embarrassed flush. "Why don't I help you look?"
"That'd be nice, yeah." There was more amusement than annoyance there, thank goodness. "I think it rolled away." He dropped to the floor and looked under the table as Larry picked up his own candle and raised it up to give the stranger light. The man looked back once through his curly hair up at him, then again twice more, before saying very casually, brown eyes mischievous. "They say I have the best ass below 14th street. Is it true?"
"Wh-what?" Larry stuttered, caught completely off-guard.
He straightened, off his hands and sat back on his legs. "You're staring again." He explained with a laugh.
Larry nearly dropped his candle, now certain there was enough light on his face to make his mortification very plain. "No, I- I'm not- I'm sure you have- I mean, you look familiar."
"Uh huh. Of course. Just help me look. We can discuss your terrible aptitude for lying later, okay?"
"I wasn't lying, I just can't figure out where I've seen you before." Larry murmured, still a bit scared to speak in case he screwed up even more.
"I'm a street performer, if it helps. Ah ha!" One hand holding a candle popped up. Larry took it from him and set it on the table, lighting it quickly with his own. Then the hand tapped him in the leg. "Hey."
"Oh, sorry." Larry clasped his hand in the performer's, pulling him up. He bounced to his feet and dusted off his jeans. "What kind of performance?"
"Whatever gets the people happy. Humor, song, dance, sometimes get together with a few guys I know and sing for their street band." He looked guilty, adding, "Not so much now. Too cold to go out for too long, hence the need for a lit candle."
"I think I've seen you- speaking of 14th street."
"Yep. Those folks prefer solo acts to ensembles. Works for me. No need to split the earnings." And there was the warm, unsafe smile again.
"I'm Laurence Fleinhardt." Larry offered his hand, needing the wall of formality between him and this man.
The performer took his hand, but instead of shaking it, raised it above his head and spun under it, as if dancing. He leaned back comfortably, using Larry for support. "Charles Eppes." He swung close, keeping Larry's hand so it ended like any dance; Charlie had his back to Larry's chest, and Larry's arm around him, hands clasped. "Nice to meet you." Charlie said, looking over his shoulder at him. He reached past Larry, picked up his candle and moved away, finally letting go. "I'm on the second floor, right below you. You should come by sometime."
Larry opened his mouth a few times to speak, but nothing came out except a strangled, surprised sound before, "Watch that it doesn't go out again."
Charlie looked back, grinned wickedly. "If it does, I'll let you know, occhi verdi." He replied before exiting through the fire escape.
Larry walked over to the couch and slumped down. He turned the book of matches over in his hands, contemplative. "I should have stayed on Long Island."
Title: R3NT
Author: Lucia Zephyr
Rating: PG
Genre: Musical crackfic, romance, drama.
Warnings: It's a fusion of RENT and Numb3rs. Hello! Also a WIP.
Summary: It's time now to sing out, though the story never ends. Let's celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends. (The Ultimate Crack: Musical Fusion)
-----
Seasons of Love
"How do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee; In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife; In 525,600 minutes, how do you measure a year in the life?"
"How do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee; In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife; In 525,600 minutes, how do you measure a year in the life?"
"Should I really say 'Cyberland'? Is that too blatant?" Megan Reeves asked, looking in the mirror, then tilting it a bit to show her roommate. "I know it's a protest, but you want to be taken seriously, right? And just saying it right off- it might kill the effect. Right?" She stared at him. "Larry!"
On the couch, Laurence Fleinhardt looked up. "What's happening?" He'd spread his notes out around him, character sketches, side-plots, story outlines. He seemed to be always surrounded by clutter.
"I'm panicking here and all you can do is shuffle around paper!" Megan exclaimed with a broad gesture towards the notes. "You're supposed to be helping me here."
"And how am I to help you, Megan?" Larry smiled, clasping his hands in front of him. "What is the problem?"
"Don't pull the sweet, deep-thinking man act on me right now. I can't deal with it." Megan snapped. "In your oh-so expert philosophical opinion, should I just say 'Cyberland'?"
"As opposed to...?"
"To not saying it. You said you'd help." Megan tapped her foot impatiently.
Larry rubbed his face. "It's not Madison Square, Megan. It's 11th Street. It doesn't make a huge difference."
"Gee, thanks for wrecking my wonderful delusions of grandeur." Megan mumbled, turning back to the mirror and straightening it. "How's the book going?"
"Dismal. I need my muse back." Larry waved a hand, as if beckoning his muse back to him. "Such a fickle thing, inspiration."
"I'm appalled that my glowing presence in your life isn't enough for you to write poetry like The Odyssey." Megan dead-panned.
"Odysseus was an arrogant bastard who got his men killed and cheated on his ever-faithful wife twice." Larry replied venomously. "If I'd written the story, he'd have been killed by a sea monster."
"Writer's prerogative?"
He nodded. "Yep."
---
The phone rang in apartment 2A, interrupting the sound of guitar strings and soft singing. The singer looked over at the phone. When it continued ringing, he set his guitar down on the table and walked over, hovering above the phone. The message machine clicked on.
"We're out or the moment-"
"Or screening our calls."
"But if you leave a message, we'll get back ASAP."
"Or just delete it and go about our lives."
"Shut up, Charlie."
There was a long beep after that lovely bit of professionalism, then a deep voice, "Donny, Charlie, you guys have to change that message." Their father, a man who refused to give up it seemed. "Boys, it's just a few days until Hanukkah starts. I know you two are living pretty sparsely..." A cough. "I hate talking to this thing. So, um, you two should come home for the holiday. We all didn't leave on best terms, but that shouldn't mean, mean excommunication. So... call me sometime. You have the number." A pause. "Bye." The machine clicked off.
Don deleted the message, wanting to avoid the rant Charlie would have if he heard it, and sat back down on the table, picking up his guitar. He set a good melody, strumming the strings rhythmically.
"I'm writing one song... my one glory..." He sang gravelly, then shook his head sadly. Still not right.
---
They were tourists. You could tell from their overly-heavy coats and the way their faces were tipped back. A New York resident didn't look up- only visitors did.
He perched on the high railing, watching them walked closer. As they came in clearer view, the distraught expressions on their faces became more clear. A married couple and their child, to tell from the way they clung together, the parents looking scared, the little girl curious.
"It'd be prudent and in your best interest to have a weapon on you, good sir." He hailed, sending them his most beatific, charming smile. "The Lower East Side isn't fit for people like you and your fine family."
The man swept his wife and child slightly behind him, as if that'd be protection. "Excuse me?"
"You're on 12th and B. Not smart, folks." He smiled again and held a finger. "Avenue A, you're alright." He put up another finger. "Avenue B, you're brave." Another. "Avenue C, you’re crazy." He put up four fingers and winked. "Avenue D, you're dead." He pointed behind him, the way the tourists were wandering. "And D is that way, folks."
"We got caught in the crowd, so we turned down a street to get away." The woman said.
"Where are you headed?"
"We were supposed to meet my uncle at Union Square."
"Good thing you met me then. I'll get you on your way." He hopped down from his perch and walked over to the three.
"Who are you, then?"
"Charlie." He offered his hand to the husband, who shook it. "Now," Charlie said, walking backwards to an intersection, "I'll get you to 1st and 14th. From there, it's as simple as not turning until you hit the trees."
"That's nice of you." the woman said with a nervous smile.
"Il mio piacere, signora. Just helping out where others would take advantage. Usually, I wouldn't bother but," Charlie grinned down at the little girl holding her mother's hand, "I'm not one for schadenfreude." He pivoted, turning the right way, letting them trail behind him. "Except when I am."
-----
Rent
"How do you leave the past behind when it keeps finding ways to get to your heart? It reaches way down deep and tears you inside out 'til you're torn apart. We're not gonna pay last year's rent!"
"How do you leave the past behind when it keeps finding ways to get to your heart? It reaches way down deep and tears you inside out 'til you're torn apart. We're not gonna pay last year's rent!"
On Christmas Eve, just after the sunset, the power went out.
"The hell?" Megan looked up, blinking. "You've got to be kidding me!"
Larry sighed and clicked his pen. "Short or disconnection?"
Megan growled and charged across the room, sweeping up her coat and shoving herself into it. "I'm heading downstairs to see what's happening."
"Megan, it could be a short." Larry tried calmly.
"Please, right after dark on Christmas Eve? Not a chance." She moved to the door and slid it open and left in a fury.
"Don't kill anybody!" Larry called after her. He tossed his work on the table, got up, and went to the power box in the corner. Maybe it was purposeful, but someone had to fix it in case it wasn't.
---
Don blinked up at the lights about the same time, then at the coffee pot. The burner under it was dulling. Don sighed and went over to it, pouring the half-brewed drink into his mug and downing it. No sense to waste it.
The door slammed open then, signaling his brother's arrival. "Power out?"
"Ten seconds ago, yep. What're the odds of it being a technical failure?" Don asked.
"A really big damn number, I'd guess." Charlie walked over to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a few candles and a zippo lighter. He tossed Don the lighter and stood the candles up on the table for Don to light.
"Why do you say that?"
"This." Charlie reached into his jean jacket and pulled out a rolled up blue sheet of paper. Don took and unrolled it.
It was an official notice of eviction. The lot, once unowned and too run-down for purchase, had been bought by Benjamin Coffin III, a former resident. When that happened a year and a half ago, the residents thought it meant they were safe. Now Benny broke his promise of 'sanctuary' often, but never like this.
---
Larry had just given up on finding a technical problem when Megan stormed back in. She stormed over to him and held a blue sheet of paper in his face. He jumped away, then leaned in to read it.
"Eviction?"
"Or pay. Don't suppose you have a few thousand dollars lying around?"
Larry took the notice from her, shaking his head. "Oh yeah, I won the lottery ten minutes ago." He joked feebly. "What do we do?"
"Besides killing Benny?" Megan asked.
"Besides, yes."
"Light up a fire for warmth and hope he doesn't call the cops." Megan snatched the notice away from him and walked to the trash can. She dragged it away from the kitchen to the center of the flat. From inside her coat, she pulled out a cigarette lighter and flicked it on, holding it to the paper. Larry fetched the spare and started lighting candles for light.
"Any old drafts of your book around?" Megan called. Larry looked over at her in his room, shuffling through his things.
"Under the bed. Anything with a red 'x' on it can go."
"Thanks." She hefted a stack of stapled sheets and carried them to the trash. A soft flame glowed from the bottom of the tin and she lit the new papers on fire as well, dropping them in. The fire shot higher, starting to breach the rim of the trash.
"Megan..." Larry watched the flame with slight worry.
"Shut up and bring me more." He didn't dare argue when she had that maddened gleam in her eyes. He took their mail and brought it over.
"You have a plan."
"Always do." Megan confirmed. "Light up a mean blaze with rough drafts."
"And screenplays?" He held up a few of Megan's shooting scripts. She nodded and he tossed them in.
Suddenly, the sound of yelling drifted in from outside. Larry went to the window and opened it. A familiar Range Rover drove up Avenue A. The tenants of Alphabet City were surrounding it, yelling and waving their notices at the driver. Megan joined him and glared down.
"Benny." She said darkly before dragging Larry back in. "Help me with this." She grabbed one handle of the tin and starting pulling it to the window.
"Are you insane?" Larry replied, voice jumping an octave, finally losing his cool exterior.
"Help me with this." Megan repeated. Larry rolled his eyes and helped her heft the flame up and to the window, out onto the fire escape. All around them, other residents were hollering down at Benny's car. Megan lifted the trash higher, setting it on the railing.
Realizing exactly what she planned, Larry yelled down to the street, "Heads up!" just as she tipped the flaming paper into Benny's path. It landed perfectly and the vehicle screeched to a halt. The fire licked high as more drifted down. The two looked around to see all the balconies full of people holding up their ignited eviction notices and throwing them down.
Downstairs, a young man leaned over the street, anchoring himself with his foot hooked around the railing and hand on the above grating. He brushed curly hair out of his eyes and called out, "We're not gonna pay!"
Megan saw and grinned. "I don't know who that is, but I like him."
---
"Tempo di cucinare, Benny!"
"God, Amita was right- you're insane. Get down from there!" Don grabbed the back of Charlie's jacket and pulled him down. Despite it, Charlie grinned manically.
"Only the best for our dear landlord, Don. Got any more notices?"
"No, and I wouldn't give you any if I did."
Charlie shrugged. "Just as well. The people have spoken. It's dying down now." He tossed the last of the ammunition over, a few sheets of Don's songwriting. "The music ignites the night with passionate fire." He complimented.
"Yeah, 'cause you lit it on fire."
"Better waste of paper than the crap you keep jotting down." Charlie retorted, sitting on the railing.
"That one was a year old, of course it was bad." Don said in defense. "Don't start any more trouble." He retreated into the flat.
Charlie leaned back into the open air, laughing, elated at the reaction to Benny's message. He looked up at the people in 3A, admiring their spectacular show, wishing he'd thought of it first. The woman was gone now and her roommate was leaning on the railing, looking contemplative. The man's eyes shifted down to Charlie, and Charlie smiled and waved. The man seemed surprised, looking around as if for someone else Charlie might have smiled at. Charlie laughed, bringing the man's sight back to him. He had very green eyes, Charlie noticed. Charlie slid off the railing and went inside, smile still in place.
-----
You'll See
"The rent."
"You're wasting your time. We're broke and you broke you're word- this is absurd!"
"There is one way you won't have to pay."
"The rent."
"You're wasting your time. We're broke and you broke you're word- this is absurd!"
"There is one way you won't have to pay."
Benny called for them after things settled down. Larry discreetly checked Megan over for anything that could be used to harm their former friend before allowing her to go down, following faithfully.
Benny was leaning on his car when they reached the ground, looking at a flyer in his hands. Larry recognized it as the posters all over the Lower East Side for Megan's performance and figured he could guess the content of this discussion.
"Megan Reeves, nice to see you again." Benny said sarcastically. "And Laurence- how's the novel coming?"
"I must admit, it'd be coming along faster if I could turn on a lamp." Larry answered, crossing his arms.
Benny laughed. "Sorry about that."
"'Sorry about that'? You shut off our power on Christmas Eve!" Megan shouted.
"Got your attention, didn't it?" Benny responded without a trace of remorse.
"What do you want?" Larry asked quietly.
"Ah, the rent." Benny said, raising his eyebrows. "This last year's worth I let slide."
"'You let side'?" Megan laughed.
"Is there an echo out here?" Benny frowned.
"You said we were set, back when you lived here, if you remember." Megan replied, poking Benny in the chest. The landlord just shrugged.
"What happened to the old Benny's virtuous heart, I'm wondering." Larry said.
"See, this is why your book isn't nearly as good as it could be." Benny pushed Megan's hand away. "No one likes a golden boy hero. Any owner of this lot has the right to do with it as he pleases. You're lucky it's me and I was willing to help out a bit. Now," he held out a hand, "the rent."
"You're wasting your time; we don't have it." Megan answered, glaring at their old friend, arms akimbo.
"Not to mention the fact that you broke your word." Larry added.
"Well," Benny sat on his Rover, "there is one way you won't have to pay."
"Oh, really?"
"I've got the block re-zoned. I'm set to build CyberArts. Only thing stopping me is a certain drama queen's protest." Benny said, nodding to Megan.
"You're going to wipe out an entire tent city! You can't expect us to just let you!" Megan exclaimed.
"You agree to stand down, I'll forego your rent on paper guarantee. You can stay here for free."
"Why not just get the cops in?" Larry asked, frowning.
"I did, and they're on stand-by, but the investors would rather I handled this quietly."
"You can't quietly wipe out a homeless area and- and go home and watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' on TV!" Larry gaped. "That's over a hundred people!"
"You want to act and write books? You gotta have a place to do it." Benny reasoned, hopping off his car. "Cancel the protest, or you'll pack." He walked around his car and slid in. He saluted the two cheerfully before driving off.
"Great." Megan eventually grumbled. "Just great." She shucked her hands into her pockets and turned back to the building. Larry sighed and followed.
"Any ideas?"
"Not a one. I'm gonna go out, see if I can talk to Amita about legality stuff." Megan tossed Larry the flat's key, turning down the street. "Don't stay up all night."
"I'll do some work on the roof. Should I wait up for you?"
"Yeah, I'll yell when I get back." Megan waved, then jogged down the street.
-----
One Song Glory
"Find the one song before the virus takes hold/Glory/Like a sunset/One song to redeem this empty life/Time flies/And there's no need to endure anymore/Time dies"
"Find the one song before the virus takes hold/Glory/Like a sunset/One song to redeem this empty life/Time flies/And there's no need to endure anymore/Time dies"
"So, any musical epiphanies today?" Charlie asked, making a grab for Don's notebook. Don listened to him flip through the pages, sometimes pausing when something caught his eye. "You should write the tempo and notes down or something."
"Not worth it." Don plucked a few guitar strings. "Not until I find something good."
"Still no muse, huh?" Charlie actually looked at Don with some compassion, reminding Don that he wasn't completely lost, not matter how he acted nowadays.
"Nada."
"I still like the ones you wrote before she died." Charlie said softly, turning to the front of the notebook. "Maybe you should try for less emo."
"Yeah, maybe." Don murmured. Charlie wanted to sigh, Don knew, but didn't. "I'm stealing a candle. I want to read a bit."
"Sure thing." Don didn't look up as his brother walked to his bedroom, separated from the rest of the flat by a thick, amber bead curtain. It was impossible to see though, but the candle light flickered on the brown glassy spheres, making interesting shadows on the wall.
Don sighed and strummed softly. "Time flew..." he whispered to the chilled air, "Summer faded out of view..." He stopped. No matter what he sang, it always fell back to one idea. He walked out onto the fire escape, closing the window behind him.
"I'm writing one song before I go... One song that I know..." Don was on the fire escape stairs, one leg up on the railing. As much as he tried to write about something else, it all circled back to her.
He'd moved to NYC three years before after Charlie had snapped and run off. He'd watched over him and expected to drag him back to North Carolina before New Years. Then Charlie had brought Don to a club that had an indie band playing and Don'd met her.
Terry Lake was the lead guitarist and singer in her little band, Mute. They were the average band: well-loved by the neighborhood, but not much more. But Terry came and sat by him at the bar after the show and Don had asked her, "Who are you really?"
She had grinned and replied, "Just your average anarchistic, alt-rock, bi-identified chica."
Don was from Carolina. They didn't have women like Terry in the South.
Don got a good beat going, a hummed a tune before singing, "One song with the world at your feet, through the eyes of a young girl... Find glory, in a song that rings true, truth like a blazing fire, an eternal flame."
As much as Charlie sniped joyfully at him for hooking up with his polar opposite, and as much as life sometimes grew harsh, Terry made Don glad he came to NYC. She introduced him to the way of life his brother had embraced so completely. Before, Don didn't quite understand the appeal of living in a run-down neighborhood filled with drugs and danger.
Terry dragged Don to the Cafe Life for a peasant feast after they'd dated for a month and Don met everyone. Artists who wore their paint as casually as make-up, musicians who played with top-notch drumsticks on plastic buckets, dancers like his brother who'd do anything for some applause and a dollar, and poets who churned out words better than Dickenson could have dreamt of. Then he understood. The next day, Terry began teaching him guitar.
"Find one song, a song about love, glory, from the soul of a young man." Don played louder, pulled into the music as if Terry was still sitting next to him, cradling a mug of tea in her hands and nodding encouragingly. "Find the one song before the virus takes hold, glory. Like a sunset, one song to redeem this empty life."
Then Terry had gone out to buy him new guitar picks and took a shortcut down an alley near 2nd. Two rival gangs had gathered for a little fight for turf. One ringing ricochet and Terry was gone, and with her Don's light.
"Time flies, and there's no need to endure anymore. Time dies." Don struck a loud, long chord and closed his eyes, letting the vibration move through him.
-----
Light My Candle
"I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else."
"Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work- I dance."
"Yes! They used to tie you up."
"It's a living."
"I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs."
"I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else."
"Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work- I dance."
"Yes! They used to tie you up."
"It's a living."
"I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs."
Larry took the stairs slowly, trying to keep hold of both his notes and especially his laptop, the most expensive thing in Alphabet City, no doubt. Megan had broached the subject of selling it several times for money, but Larry would rather go without food than lose his beloved laptop. It was the only place his work was halfway safe, what with how often they had to burn all the paper in the flat when Benny decided to shut off the heat to get their attention.
He idly looked down the stairwell and spotted someone sitting on the stairs, halfway to the second floor. It was the man from earlier that night, the one who'd smiled at him when the tenants rebelled. He was fiddling with a lighter in his hands, clicking it, only to get sparks, no fire. Larry shook his head and unlocked the door to the flat and leaving it open for Megan. Larry looked back once at the man and his lighter and saw him staring back. Larry tore his eyes away, sighed, and slid open the huge steel door to the room and walking in, letting it shut automatically behind him.
The room was dark except for the light from the wall of windows. Larry searched around and found some matches and re-lit some candles before a knock came at the door. Larry rolled his eyes and walked over, pulling it open. As he expected, the man was there, looking a bit surprised despite having knocked.
"What'd you need?"
The man smiled brightly and held up a candle. "Got a light?"
"Yeah, hold on." Larry walked to the table, where he set the matches down. He glanced up at the visitor. "You're shivering."
The man seemed to take that as an invite and walked out of the doorway, pulling his sweater tighter around his arms. "You know how it is. It gets close to Christmas and our loving landlord shuts off the heat." He twirled on his heel as he reached the table and leaned on the cold metal. "What're you staring at?"
Larry blinked and looked down at the matches, suddenly having trouble detaching one and wondering if it'd look odd if he just lit them all and used that. "Nothing," his mouth said as his mind said, 'your hair in the moonlight'. "You look familiar."
"Candle," the man prompted with a sly grin.
"Right, sorry." Larry finally got one match separated, lit, and to the candle's wick, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the smile that had more warmth than anything in the room. Candle lit, Larry waved the match out. "Easily distracted."
"I'll take that as a compliment, if you don't mind." He spun away, walking backwards to the windows, moving to some silent beat. "Mind if I use the fire escape? If I get caught sneaking in this late, my brother will read me the riot act. Window door is a lot quieter than the huge monstrosity of a door." He arched an eyebrow. "What?"
Larry realized he'd been staring again. "Nothing, just... I know I've seen you before, but I can't place you, mister...?"
"It's out again." He walked over to Larry. "Must've been a draft. Would you mind?"
"Oh, sure." Larry cupped one hand around the candle, shielding it before lighting it again. "Well."
"Yeah?" his visitor practically purred and Larry realized how close they were standing. He took a breath and leaned back.
"Ah, goodnight." Larry muttered, looking at his feet.
There was a pause, an exasperated sigh, and footsteps away. Then the rattle of the door and a soft thumping sound. "You're kidding me..."
Larry looked over. "It blew out again?" he asked, telling himself he did not sound at all hopeful.
The visitor was bent over, looking down. "No, I dropped the damn thing. This just isn't my day, is it?"
"I haven't known you long enough to answer that question, though I guess it's rhetorical, so it doesn't need an answer in the first place and why am I still talking?" Larry snapped his mouth shut, grateful it was dark to hide his embarrassed flush. "Why don't I help you look?"
"That'd be nice, yeah." There was more amusement than annoyance there, thank goodness. "I think it rolled away." He dropped to the floor and looked under the table as Larry picked up his own candle and raised it up to give the stranger light. The man looked back once through his curly hair up at him, then again twice more, before saying very casually, brown eyes mischievous. "They say I have the best ass below 14th street. Is it true?"
"Wh-what?" Larry stuttered, caught completely off-guard.
He straightened, off his hands and sat back on his legs. "You're staring again." He explained with a laugh.
Larry nearly dropped his candle, now certain there was enough light on his face to make his mortification very plain. "No, I- I'm not- I'm sure you have- I mean, you look familiar."
"Uh huh. Of course. Just help me look. We can discuss your terrible aptitude for lying later, okay?"
"I wasn't lying, I just can't figure out where I've seen you before." Larry murmured, still a bit scared to speak in case he screwed up even more.
"I'm a street performer, if it helps. Ah ha!" One hand holding a candle popped up. Larry took it from him and set it on the table, lighting it quickly with his own. Then the hand tapped him in the leg. "Hey."
"Oh, sorry." Larry clasped his hand in the performer's, pulling him up. He bounced to his feet and dusted off his jeans. "What kind of performance?"
"Whatever gets the people happy. Humor, song, dance, sometimes get together with a few guys I know and sing for their street band." He looked guilty, adding, "Not so much now. Too cold to go out for too long, hence the need for a lit candle."
"I think I've seen you- speaking of 14th street."
"Yep. Those folks prefer solo acts to ensembles. Works for me. No need to split the earnings." And there was the warm, unsafe smile again.
"I'm Laurence Fleinhardt." Larry offered his hand, needing the wall of formality between him and this man.
The performer took his hand, but instead of shaking it, raised it above his head and spun under it, as if dancing. He leaned back comfortably, using Larry for support. "Charles Eppes." He swung close, keeping Larry's hand so it ended like any dance; Charlie had his back to Larry's chest, and Larry's arm around him, hands clasped. "Nice to meet you." Charlie said, looking over his shoulder at him. He reached past Larry, picked up his candle and moved away, finally letting go. "I'm on the second floor, right below you. You should come by sometime."
Larry opened his mouth a few times to speak, but nothing came out except a strangled, surprised sound before, "Watch that it doesn't go out again."
Charlie looked back, grinned wickedly. "If it does, I'll let you know, occhi verdi." He replied before exiting through the fire escape.
Larry walked over to the couch and slumped down. He turned the book of matches over in his hands, contemplative. "I should have stayed on Long Island."
More to come. I'll keep the fic itself here and post new LJ entries, annoucing new additions and link to them.
-Luce
-Luce
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-19 08:12 am (UTC)What is Amita's deal exactly? I think one of your posts explained it but I can't remember.
This entry was much cleaner and well put together than your previous. The only thing I can think of is perhaps putting more lyrics/movie quotes into the mix somehow. I can't wait to see the rest ^^
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-19 08:34 am (UTC)*grins* Just wait. She'll show up soon. Probably in a few hours, really.
I wanted to make the fic more story-based, but, yeah, I'll definately try to slip a few more lines in now.
Next section should be up in five minutes. *grin*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-19 05:31 pm (UTC)She's like Joanne? That's so Amita. She's like Joanne with a smidge of Mimi in her.
The way you intertwined the lyrics with your own writing in You'll See worked well. I was so surprised when I came on and there was more. Good work ^^