For j00, krystaaaaaaal.

Thu, 03 Feb 2005 22:19:16 GMT

Rokujou tried to dress as neatly as possible for his outing. His slender body placed in clothing that his labcoat just didn't accentuate. He doubted he'd be noticed or speaking to anyone that night. He walked in, caught a table and sat without more than ten words. Eyes lay steady on the table in front of him and at the small air designs his fingers made as they coasted across the top of the sleek tabletop.

It would be a nice night, he promised himself. He wouldn't have too much fun, but enough. Just enough to watch some people and feel a bit at ease before he fell asleep.

To be honest, Tasukete was definately the people watching sort of place. If you liked to see what sort of feathers could be preened in so many different positions, that was.

Doremi found himself much in the manner of the rainforest quetzel-- a rare breed in bright colors amongst the drab monotone singsong of clove smoke and night. A Gibson Chet Atkins Country Gentleman slung over one shoulder, furry strap digging into a bony shoulder, the boy was dressed in red. It was a lucky colour, after all. Like blood. Diluted with just the least bit of water and electrolytes. Tinged with the pink from the lights bearing down on the minute stage front and center of the coffee shop, occupying one corner to the immediate left of the entrance.

One quick shove, one quick plugin and the clean switch flicked, a hard g-harmonic minor chord was struck.

"Do! Re! Mi! Checking in!" Salute! There were cheers, and lewd comments, and the occasional snipe of a whistle-- really. Coffee shop crowds had no manners. "I'm playing Sounan cause I want to-- and if y'fuckers got a problem with it, get the hell outta my coffee shop!" Goofy grin, crooked by way of lip ring alone.

But that was the way Doremi was. Crooked. And everyone seemed to love it, because no one walked out and everyone was laughing.

Crooked? Crooked seemed like an apt word, the same one could be used for the way that Rokujou lazily lifted his head to watch the commotion that was taking place. A drink might have been placed before him but he didn't care to notice or even sip.

People watcher - tried and true. Head still canted towards the right side his fingers paused in their table-dance to remain still and placed in lap, completing the perfectly interested look. He could never get over the daringness of other people.

It was vicarious living time.

There really was nothing here tonight. Nothing of interest. Besides the eyes that were on him, of course. But that was to be expected. He was Doremi. And when Doremi wanted attention, that was exactly what he got. But everyone else...? Faker. Everyone was so... out there. Trying to be outspoken in their clothing, outspoken in the way their eyes twitched to and fro and to again. So F A K E to be sure. Trying to be everything that no one wanted to be, and failing miserably at escaping the mundane.

Except for one boy...

A quick little movement on the upper frets. Concentrating on the guitar eye level to his crotch, posture slumped back just the least bit, jaw tilted down to examine just exactly what he was doing. And then a move into lush chords with the finest bit of differentiating ornamentation on top. The chords gave way to vocals, and the vocals gave way to a voice was definitely no RingoHime, but wasn't anything short of stellar, even in his fun loving mischief, strumming away at that guitar.

Eyes flitted back to one booth with one feigned interested look as his lips parted to sing.

"kono hana ga saite kareru made kitto
futari ni ha noru mono mo miataranai
sekisai no gendo wo ayamaranai you ni
nozomu mama hanasu kyori
kobamu no wo yuruse yo
tsui ni kowashite chakujiten ninshikikonnan
'ochiteiku.'
kou yatte ima koko de
kaika suru kizutsukeai no kaiwa ga
yokunai tane wo fuyashite mata sodatteiku
aa mou dou ni demo narisou na jitai
kotae ni kizuite mo mada otagai
itoshii to kanjiteiru hijyousen
enjyo shite."

this flower blooms,
no doubt, we won't find a ride
until it wilts
forgive me for refusing to stay as
far apart as you ask
so we don't go over the weight limit
at last destroy, a landing point,
difficulty recognizing
'We're falling.'
like this,
here and now the mutally
damaging conversation opens
makes more bad seeds,
and brings them up
ah, the matter is getting out of control
even if you realize the answer, still
we both are feeling attatched
to the police cordon.
'help me.'

Strum. Light and undetected.
Up. Down. D o w n.
--ONE TWO.
Pluck pluck pluck.
Up. Down.
Arpeggiated thrum-- strike
out.
Strike. Strike. Strike.
S T R I K E.
Strum with that off kilter rhythm--
click click.
~~~~~~~One. Two. Three.
Strum out with that progression--
click click
And take it again--
click click
Round it out,
and sound it
down.

Naturally dark eyes and their unaturally coloured mismatched plastic gaze finally broke their concentration on one normal look, lips pressed to the microphone like a lover before he pulled back and parted, focusing back on his guitar before he'd sing again, running through the progression as was requested by RingoHime herself.

It was that microphone kiss that Rokujou thought was the sexiest out of any bit of the boy's routine. He had to pause, readjust himself and then finally go back to sitting still. Forcibly, he removed his hand from his lap as he closed his eyes, trying hard not to look. Inside, he know it would be too much for him, way too much for him.

Rokujou damned his easily excitable hormones. Damned them all to hell, then exasperated them with a stiff gulp from his glass.

Fortunately for Rokujou and his easily excitable hormones, the boy was still singing in the direction of his guitar when social ineptitude reared its ugly head-- but hey. He probably would've thought it was cute. At least it was real unlike all the other trash in this joint.

Lips met microphone again in a brusque brush when eyes fell on that table once more, flitting through lyrics like kisses to a pulse, throbbing just under the skin.

"fuyu ga kirai to iu hieta te ha
tou ni erabarete todoku kyori
tsukamu no wo yuruse yo
issou kowashite minamo ga haruka zujyou he
'oboreru.'
kou yatte ima furimuki mo sezu
itsukushimiau koto jitai
abunai to ha wakatteite mo damatteiru
aa mou dou ni ka naru kamoshirenai
kotae ni kizuite mo mada otagai hohoemiau mahiru
akai neiru!
datte shinjitsu nado ni kyoumi ha nai...
gehin na shibai de teikoku
hakanai omoi wo masshiro ni kakushite oite
aa mou dou ni ka naru tochuu no jibun ga utomashii
sayounara
otagai nita kotae no hazu
'deatteshimattan da.'"

already chosen
freezing hands that hate the winter
within my reach
pardon me for grabbing them.
destroy one layer, the water's surface
far above my head
'I'll drown.'
like this, unable to look back
even though I know
the act of loving each other
is in and of itself dangerous,
I stay quiet
ah, maybe we can do something about that
even if you realize the answer,
we're still smiling at each other in the afternoon
red nails!
I mean, c'mon, I'm not interested in reality...
our vulgar play is flawless
I hid my fleeting feelings in snow white
ah, I hate the way I am,
when I'm in the midst of working something out
farewell
our answers should have looked the same
'we found each other.'

Pluck pluck pluck.
Down. Down. Arpeggio up.
Strike. Strike. Strike.
S T R I K E.
Riff out and that offbeat
Rhythm.
One. Two. Three.
Strum in--
click click.
Strum out--
click click.
Riff back to the chord
p r o g r e s s i o n,
lips pressed to the microphone
with the audible click click
clucked from tongue against teeth--
Silence...
...for two, three, beats--
Not even knowing.
Lost in rhythm, notes, and
a normal boy's coffee cup.
Up. Up. Up.
Strike back down and back into the
Riff that ran through the song before--
hitch pause. Start last vocal note, then
Move into guitar work.

And there was a shift back, weight moved to the back heel with another cluck of the tongue, a wink fired out to no one in particular on the last notes of an upnod, maybe even in Rokujou's general direction. Doremi wouldn't tell. It wasn't in his N A T U R E, naturally. <3 He just kept strumming across the wood over his crotch, straight to the end of the song and beyond, twanging out a little impromptu addition.

Rokujou fumbled for the remainder of his drink, trying to pry/remove/detour his eyes from the stage but finding it impossible. The liquid slid down into his throat but made its own wrong turn, causing him to violently cough. He set the cup down on the table and had to look away if he wanted to survive his moment of stupidity.

He was unsure if he was blushing, but he knew both his hands were turing pale from grasping onto the knees of his pants so harshly.

But all that baby boy Shinobu heard was the sounds of a violent racking cough as he was heading offstage, Country Gentleman cordially smacking him in the ass as he walked, post-unplugging, of course. He made his way to the coffee bar, ordered himself some greygoose and tea, and waited for his special, uncarded order to arrive fresh for him.

He couldn't stand the compliments and the claustrophobia. His knuckles were white on the bar, keeping from lashing out with more than words.

Embrassment didn't even begin to cover the feeling that covered the man. Getting up Rokujou knew he'd rather venture to the restroom and splash some water on his cheeks than sit there, stewing in his red expression. His head was down as he began to push through patches of people, chunks of chatter and various other obstacles in his way.

Greygoose and tea. Nice. Sip sip sip, soak in the steam. It calmed him down, a little. Enough to where he could deal with requests and questions and the like.

Peripherel vision saw coffee cup jitterbug heading to the loo, and Do!Re!Me! had half a mind to follow him.

Following... Hm.

Inside the washroom, with his two hands holding firmly to the sink, Rokujou tried to compose himself. Brown eyes were shut tight, lashes pressing against the thin undereye skin. He mumbled words to himself, silent syllables in hopes it would calm down his useless nerves.

There is no reason to get bent out of shape, he told himself as he walked to the door. No reason to even be all stupid over people watching, as he started to open it.

It was a similar timeframe when Doremi had managed to pry himself forcibly away from his entourage and followed his gut instinct and was headed to that bathroom door. Push open and--

-- running directly into the boy that was suddenly, suddenly heading out.

"...uh. Sorry, dude."

One centimeter of separation, then one inch, then one foot. Shinobu backed off, hand coming up to adjust the strap across his chest and shoulders.

"Oh..Oh no it was my fault." Rokujou replied in a nervous, quiet style of speech. He looked up at the boy and cursed his grand old luck for causing such a scene. "I shouldn't be rushing so quick when no one is waitin--"

Too much information, he knew it. Instead of finishing he shook his head but was too fearful to move past the other. Rokujou attempted his most sincere of smiles, looking childish and afraid though, even if there was no more liquid in his throat to cough on.

Queer. Quaint. And just the least bit socially inept. And well aware of it too. Unlike the other hacks here. Doremi didn't move, just giving the boy that appraising glance of his. Like an art piece. A painting. An exhibit. A rumpled piece of taxidermy sewn the wrong way for the purpose of higher art. Conclusion?

Cute in an awkward sort of way, and probably looked hot in a labcoat.

Shrug it off and stand in that doorway, Shinobu. Go on kid. Go get 'em.

"What's your name?"

"Rokujou..." Eyes were casted downwards for a moment, brain not understanding why the other wasn't moving so he could pass though. Surely he could very well push past the other, but part of him didn't for the sake of having a reason to speak with him and the other half thought it would just be really rude.

"Saw your performance..." He mumbled, voice sweet like a kid, "It was very nice..."

As if very nice was the phrase anyone would use to describe how it made him feel.

Doremi just smirked at that. Very nice was, loosely translated, a copout compliment, symbolic of either not knowing what to say or not wanting to say something mean. And judging by the posture of the individual and his soft voiced manner of speaking, the musician was going to assume that it was the first. Therefore-- compliment, no bitchitude needed. "Thanks, man. It was just a little thing for fun, you know?"

Rokujou just nodded. The hair atop his head hardly moving, his nostrils flaring slightly with his breath. "Fun is..."

Good? Good for you? Fun? The man wondered how he even got himself into these situations.

Finally though, he laughed it off, shaking his head again - this time at himself. "I sound like a total four year old idiot. I'm so sorry..." Looking up his smile seemed a bit more secure after laughing at himself. "I'm just shook up. I nearly murdered myself over a cup of coffee out there and now I bashed the door right into you. I'm just a walking disaster, I should get outta your way..."

"Hey, don't bring the house down so hard, buddy~" Shinobu clicked his tongue and shot the other man a wink, moving out of the way so he could vacate el banos. "You here with anyone? Mind if I join you in a sec...?"

"Alone..." Half of Rokujou's mouth twisted into a nicely formed smile. The other half stayed perfectly still, completing his innocent look. "You can sit with me if you want." Passing by the other and starting to head back to the table. "I'm not very exciting though." A shrug as he walked backwards for a moment, then changing bodily positions and turning his back on the other. He wanted to at least be honest with the guy...

Well, semi-honest.

"To be honest, I'm not either." The murmur was set and the boy moved into the bathroom. Quick examination of pretty features and a trip to the urinal. Singing Shiina Ringo made him piss like a racehorse on a water pill. God Damn Tokyo Jihen!

Sliding back into his chair, Rokujou blew an extensive amount of air from between his soft lips. They flapped for a moment then he tried to relax again. On the table his finger went back to its prior occupation of forming little shapes. Hearts and stars and squiggly lines were birthed, delineated and killed by the sweep of his hand. It was sad how easily entertained the man was.

It wasn't like Shinobu took his dear sweet time. Hot water coursing across fingers still burning from the fire of music and playing, flicked to the mirror, minute droplets running down the glass surface obscuring and distorting the image staring straight back. One eye hazel, one eye blue, both transfixed and then-- torn away. The boy made his way back out, guitar still on his back, swinging in to pick up tea and guitar case on his way to one Rokujou's table. "Hey," was the standard greeting, so Shinobu opted for something a little less than standard.

"You should put what you're drawing on paper. It might look pretty cool."

Seat? Taken. The guitarcase was carefully situated on the boy's deliciously underfed lap and the guitar itself was arranged carefully inside that.

"I doodle on the telephone sometimes..." Rokujou looked up to find the other happily situated already on his seat. "Or in the margins in books or something. Nothing major. I'm not a very artsy person."

But he wished he was. Oh, how Rokujou wished he could be an art standard, dignified by his paintings and pictures and abstractions of splatter on paper. "I wasn't born with that gene."

"Some people think it's nature, others think it's practice and form and nurture. The gene is the desire to create," Shinobu fired off with the lighting of a Nat Sherman menthol-- skinny and white, with the mint in the filter rather than the chemicals sprayed on the tobaccie. A slow plume of mint coloured smoke poured on the exhale, followed by a smirk and a giggle. "So if you wanted to, you could probably be an artist. Other things? Like, school stuff? I sucked at it. It was horrible. I can't do math problems to save my life. In Japan, that's kinda required for survival, and shit. I think I might be the unlucky one."

"I love math..." Rokujou confided, ending his fingertwirls to place the same hand as a perch for his head. "I had to work hard to get halfway decent at it, but it was something I think i really loved. Maybe more than art..."

"Worked hard" and "Halfway decent" were such an understatement of what the boy had been through.

His eyes stared at the curl of smoke twisting out of the ends of the cigarette, try to very hard to keep his gaze there and not on the occasional, subtle exhale of his table partner.

"I doubt you are unlucky though...Highly doubt it."

Eyes to cigarette to eyes to cigarette...

"Do you want one, man?" Since you seem to be, like, infatuated with it? Shinobu could barely conceal his smirk as he pulled out the pack and flipped it open again. Nineteen-almost-twenty-year-old badboy, what...?

Rokujou looked away quickly once he beheld that smirk "No, no...I really don't smoke ever. I...I have the habit of staring at nonimportant things..." He still looked away, refusing to let his gaze go back to either the boy or the cigarette or the whole horribly beautiful combination of the both of them.

He detested how easily he could become crushed by anyone, his flimsy little bones creaking under anyone's attention.

Two strands of blonde flitted into the boy's hazel eye, smirk widening enough to affect the narrowing of his eyes. "C'mon, man. One cig isn't gonna kill you. And they're all natural! So they make you die, like... not as quick." Reoffer? Reoffer? He was being nice, motherfuckit!

"Well...I guess if I shaved a few days off of my life it couldn't be bad, could it?" Rokujou accepted a cigarette from the boy, fumbling it in his fingers like the most unexperienced virgin. "Thanks..." He whispered, looking at the own front end of his cigarette.

The younger of the two just laughed, shaking his head, offering the boy his own two drag down, already lit cigarette, since it seemed the mathemetician had no fucking idea which end to smoke out of. "Try the not burning end, kay?" Cute, catty wink? Check. Just to let him know that it was all in good fun and good taste, of course. Lean across the table and... pilfer one unlit cigarette.

Check. Check. Check.

Rokujou blushed slightly and did as he was told, sucking in the cough-enducing smoke and trying hard not to give into that large whooping sound.

He wasn't going to be a child, he had to inahle.

Swallowing it in, letting it fill his insides before he let out some again, actually giggling at the sensation.

"Thats not bad..." He whispered.

"They're nice. Smooth. A little minty. Like smoking a toothbrush." Winning smile, shining bright. Wish on that, wish on that. He placed the cigarette between his lips and lit his lighter-- the second time in one night. Drag, breathe, exhale. One eyebrow quirked up, concentrating on the smoke trailing his breath. "How old are you anyways?"

Do! Re! Mi! -- SALUTE!!

For j00, krystaaaaaaal.