killingsoftly (
killingsoftly) wrote2006-09-16 05:01 pm
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Heading out...
It was Saturday. He'd spent all day Friday packing, just to be ready. Of course, he'd been ready Wednesday night, but for Warren and Alma's sake, he'd curbed his impatience. But the principal's accusations still rang in his ears. The idea that he'd done something to Warren hurt, not entirely because he'd been unable to, even to prove a point. But he wouldn't ever have put them into this situation, even if he could and the fact that she thought he was strong enough to still hadn't registered under the hurt that she thought he could. That he would. It was likely that even if the thought did register, he'd dismiss it as putting on a good show. All show, no substance.
But they were going on tour and so, really, that didn't matter. He could play the game well enough, and had enough natural musical talent, that tour would give him what he needed. What he loved and craved and maybe the hurts would be soothed and insecurities at what he couldn't do be eased. He hoped so, at least. It...felt broken somehow that he didn't know how to fix. Didn't know how to fix himself and...
He pushed the thought away as he started carrying things downstairs to the van. If he got his in and done, they'd have less to do together with Warren's.
He bounced at that thought. They were going on tour. Just him and Warren and the people who thought they were wonderful. The show and the music and the lights and the make up. The groupies and the fans and the energy. And then just the road, and them. Hotel rooms and wide open spaces and something new to see every day. Something new to show Warren, to experience with him for the first time.
He was ready.
But they were going on tour and so, really, that didn't matter. He could play the game well enough, and had enough natural musical talent, that tour would give him what he needed. What he loved and craved and maybe the hurts would be soothed and insecurities at what he couldn't do be eased. He hoped so, at least. It...felt broken somehow that he didn't know how to fix. Didn't know how to fix himself and...
He pushed the thought away as he started carrying things downstairs to the van. If he got his in and done, they'd have less to do together with Warren's.
He bounced at that thought. They were going on tour. Just him and Warren and the people who thought they were wonderful. The show and the music and the lights and the make up. The groupies and the fans and the energy. And then just the road, and them. Hotel rooms and wide open spaces and something new to see every day. Something new to show Warren, to experience with him for the first time.
He was ready.
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ooc: I have a fucking useless boyfriend. But the post is up on the comm.
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ooc: what happened?
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ooc: I just had to move an armchair, a loveseat, and a fucking big table so I could cut fabric. After I asked him three times to help me move it, last night. And told him I wanted to cut fabric today, this morning. Five goddamn minutes, that's all it would have taken us together.
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ooc: Urgh. Men.
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ooc: Yeah, pretty much. Now I'm all sweaty and getting over the feeling of needing to cry. But at least the goddamn table's up.
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The cookies went on top.
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"Sugar monster."
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He wondered where his mother was. She'd said she had an errand to run but she'd be back before they left...
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"Got everything?"
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And then the door started to open, slowly, the way it does if someone's got an armful of something.
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"What's this?"
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"Warren's new laptop."
"My what?!"
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"This way you have no excuse for not keeping in contact. You can e-mail, send pictures, tell me everything about what's going on with you two on tour." She grinned back at Devin, casting a look of fond amusement at her son.
Who still was sort of fish-mouthing.
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Well, if he wasn't going to high school this year. But. Still.
"... thanks.." he added finally, belatedly, blushing a little. "I mean, you didn't have to... Thanks."
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