I'm Screwed, Oh Well - Open

[milo]

I'd rather go to Hell,

[/color]
Then be in Purgatory.[/color]

Cut my hair, gag and bore me.[/color]
Pull this pin, let this world explode.[/color]

Milo wandered aimlessly, though this was slightly unusual for him. Being out in public usually made him feel weird. He didn't like being looked at, he didn't like being touched. But, there really wasn't anyone out here today. He'd seen some homeless people, but he just sort of stepped over them. he didn't really wanna do much today. He didn't have a show tonight, so what did he care. He kept his head low, his eyes on the sidewalk he walked on. He wasn't in a good mood, but not in a bad one. He gets like this from time to time, especially around this time of year. He always thought about his brother when it got close to Christmas, but he always thought about him, and his last memories of him were watching him fall, and the closer he got to the bottom, the less movement he had.

There were days he couldn't stand the fact he made it and his brother didn't. The thoughts of his brother led him to learn his first song when he started to study music seriously. Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton. Beyond depressing song, though it was very pretty and fitting for an untimely death like Eric Clapton's son, or his brother. He closed his eyes as the sound of his brother's head hitting the bottom stair, and he wanted to cry, and curl up in a corner and look like a homeless man, so people would just walk past him. He could deal with playing hobo for a day.

This was getting ridiculous. He needed to snap out of it, so he made himself brace up, nearly walking into a parking meter as he did. He smiled lightly, tripping on his shoe laces as well. He was having a moment, but he was able to pull himself back together. He pulled himself up, after he tied his shoe, and he needed to figure out something to do, so he began to window shop. He looked up in a window to see they had some vintage vinyls. He never really collected these, but he had friends back home who did. He pushed the door of the shop, and he smiled, the warmth of the store and the homeyness of being around music was very welcoming.

He began looking through the racks, and he got so immersed in the music and all the store had, he bumped into someone's shoulder. "I'm sorry." He said, not looking away from the racks for very long. He looked up for a moment, and he smiled lightly, slightly apologetically. "Hope I didn't disturb you."

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[/blockquote][/blockquote]
Tags: Open
Words: Some!
Outfit: Here
Muse: K. Perry
Lyrics: Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na...) - My Chem
Credits: Me[/font][/size]

[destry]

MAYBE I'M TOO OLD TO BE SO HOPEFUL .

MAYBE I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE SO BITTER !

Two hours to go. Could he make it? That was a ridiculous question, of course he could. If given the time, Des could probably spend an entire day in the record shop, assuming they had plenty of things in stock to entertain him. He was, however, rather easily sidetracked, so he could probably last quite awhile if he was left alone in the place. Currently, he had his eye on a Gibson Les Paul, and good god, was it the prettiest guitar he'd ever seen or what? Sadly, it was about seven hundred dollars over his budget and staring at it like this was doing nothing except for making him drip drool onto the carpet and torture himself. That guitar was going to show up in his dreams, he knew it. Des grumbled under his breath, knowing that once, in a completely different life, he could have snapped his fingers and he'd have owned this beautiful guitar like that. But this was not that life, and aside from the slight -- okay, not slight -- lack of money, that was for the best. The other life was one that Des wasn't cut out for, one that he would never be cut out for, no matter how much he changed. Maybe he could stick up for himself a little better now, but the music industry was a cutthroat thing, one that he could admit that he couldn't handle with no lost pride. He applauded anyone who could deal with... all of that.

Somewhat reluctantly, the strawberry blond boy left the splendid guitar behind, navigating over to the section with the records. Back home, he'd had a record player. He used it sometimes, but not a lot of the music he liked had records for it, so it was more of an occasional thing. That didn't mean that he didn't like having the thing present. Personally, he'd have used it all the time if he'd had the chance. There was something about that old record player (even though it was old and dusty and the needle only functioned when it wanted to) that Des just loved. It was probably the fact that it had belonged to his father before him, but he'd never admit that. In all honesty, he was rather surprised that his mother hadn't thrown it out with everything else that reminded her even remotely of his father, but there was that one time when he'd caught her brushing the dust away from the side of the worn old thing, her caresses loving, as if the old record player were her own child. The whole instance made him think that maybe, just maybe, while Rhea had never forgiven her husband, she might still miss him. Des didn't, but then, how could you miss someone that you'd never even known?

Yanking his thoughts away from all things back home, out of his reach, Des looked at the various records on the shelves before him. A majority of them were older, seeing as most artists didn't bother to have their masterpieces recorded on vinyl anymore -- CDs and digital downloading, that was where it was "at" these days. Des could barely log into a computer, so that sort of nixed digital downloading for him. He still bought CDs, though, and a lot of them. Last he'd counted, he had about one hundred and fifty three of them. They were all currently sitting in the back of his Chevrolet Vega, collecting dust until he no longer had live music to listen to. Considering the fact that he was on what was probably one of the best tours of the decade, he probably wouldn't even need them anytime soon, but it was better to be safe than sorry, right? Wouldn't want to run out of music somewhere down the road. Besides, who knew? Maybe he'd get bored of watching and listening to the live bands playing. Des smiled a little to himself at the thought; yeah. Right. Des tiring of listening to live music was about as likely as life on the sun. Besides, he was so starstruck, he couldn't seem to ever take his eyes off the stage -- and not just when Alpha Bravo Charlie was playing, though they were great -- when any of the bands were playing. They were all spectacular, and each had rightfully earned a spot on this tour. He was honored to be working with or near them all. This tour was also making him realize that not all famous people were like the ones he'd met during his career. Some of them had been unbearably snobby, but Des was nice to them, nonetheless. But wasn't he always? He had no spine. Or at least, he used to have no spine. Now, things were different.

While he was browsing through the vinyls, something caught his eye. Not too far from the Ramones was a very familiar Romano. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised -- after all, he'd demanded with as much power as he possessed, that his record company make actual records of his albums and EP. He'd also let them retain the rights to keep selling his things in stores for as long as they wanted, but he got forty percent of the profits. He didn't know if that was good or bad in most standards, but it was good enough for him. It was some money, but not too much. It was a little like a painful reminder of what he'd once had, that he could still have it and all he had to do was ask... but then he'd remembered what he had to go through just to get that small cut, which would remind him that it wasn't worth it. Losing his artistic creativity wasn't worth it. Selling his voice to sing lyrics that were never his, would never be his wasn't worth it. So that led Des to stick behind-the-scenes. So far, it was working for it. Almost no one had recognized him, despite it only being a year since he'd dropped his label and decided it was better to lay around his house and do nothing except for play his own music by himself. But his two studio albums were both in this record shop, side-by-side as if they deserved to exist, deserved to be there. They were nothing but his voice singing exactly what was already on the radio too much. But that didn't matter; he still couldn't seem to remove his eyes from them, no matter how much he wanted to run out of that place like someone was chasing him with a torch.

While Des was standing there, it was fair to say that he was unaware of anything happening around him, so he was only slightly startled when someone bumped into him. "Oh, it's fine!" he exclaimed, a full smile immediately taking over his features as he tore his eyes away from the ghost of his past in front of him. But wait... this guy looked familiar. Des' mind failed to place a name to the face at first, but he knew that he knew him. He was probably with the tour. Faces on the tour were becoming increasingly familiar, whether he'd listened to them prior to the tour or not. "Hey, you're..." Des snapped his fingers a couple times, as if that would help the guy's name come to him more quickly. It didn't, so he just ended up staring. It was rather impolite of him, but it didn't last long, and, in the end, his hair was the one thing that came through and made Des remember the name of the person he was currently faced with. "Milo, right? Milo Derrall?" Mostly, he'd remembered because he'd seen the pinkish-red hair around and thought about how awesome it was that the guy had hair like that. He thought the same thing about Charlie Adams just about every time he saw her... which was a lot, now that he worked for the band she was in.

MUSIC. light up the sky - yellowcard.
WORDS. 1,336.
LYRICS. coast (it's gonna get better) - patrick stump.
TAG. milo/rory. <3
NOTES. it's a good thing that des can remember hair, if nothing else. xD

[milo]

I'd rather go to Hell,

[/color]
Then be in Purgatory.[/color]

Cut my hair, gag and bore me.[/color]
Pull this pin, let this world explode.[/color]

Funny how things worked out sometimes, he didn't know what was worse, the fact he was rather content alone to avoid getting attached to people, or the fact he could remember how life was with his brother around, and things of that nature, and wouldn't go back there, even if he could. He would know if he did go back, something was just going to happen to his brother, and he couldn't live with that. Going back in time would give him more time to make his time with Danny count, but no time could make up for the fact he would still die. Going home would just remind him of him, and he would have to be around his mother, and his sister. He couldn't stand either of them, and Danny had been the only reason to ever worry about at home, and he was gone. There was nothing for him there, his friends weren't a strong enough to pull to give up anything else he'd earned for himself since he had left.

Living in the past was all Milo had when it came to days like this. But, the bad part is, no one knew why his moods were like this. No one could say he was sad because he'd lost his brother in a gay bashing incident. He kept himself out of the spotlight for the most part, and he knew most people didn't care about his personal life, he didn't have too many crazy fans; thankfully for him. One would think touring all the time would give him a name, a face, and rumors, but as it stood right now? Nothing. He was glad fro it. He didn't want to have a name, or a face. He just wanted to have a career, and he just wanted to please his fans on stage, then one day retire and live in a hill with a ton of cats. Nothing wrong there, right?

He could have walked for ages through the store, he really didn't know how long he had been gone. He knew it was at least an hour, but he hadn't been in this store that long, but he was in long enough to see a CD of himself. He wrinkled his nose, not wanting to look at the art on the front. He hated his own picture, and he had to look at a version of himself looking back up at him. He hated that picture, he looked like a girl. He normally looked some what like a girl, but his hair had been so long, and his face looked so think. It was just one of those things, he was rather camera shy, but he didn't let most people know that, he was someone people wanted pictures of and with, so it's sort of hard being in that position.

Milo smiled lightly as the other smiled. He was started to see the other actually smile at him. He raised his shoulders, his stance tense. He wasn't used to being smiled at. ”I didn't mean to bother you.” He said with a glance towards the floor. No, no no no no. He wasn't anyone. He wanted to keep moving but the other kept talking. He wasn't right for situations like this. Run, run, run! He kept himself in the same spot, and he smiled lightly, ”I might be.” He wasn't sure if he was who the other thought he was, but within a few minutes, it turned out, he was. ”Yeah, that's me.” He said with a nervous laugh, ”No need to use the full name though, Milo's good.” He said, extending his hand, the other knew who he was, couldn't be rude, or run now.

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[/blockquote][/blockquote]
Tags: Des! <3
Words: Some!
Outfit: Here
Muse: K. Perry // Rather low on muse, I'm sorry this is so terrible Dx
Lyrics: Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na...) - My Chem
Credits: Me[/font][/size]

[destry]

MAYBE I'M TOO OLD TO BE SO HOPEFUL .

MAYBE I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE SO BITTER !

Turning both CDs around so that they weren't seen would probably be very childish of him. It was the kind of thing silly teenagers did when there was an artist they'd hated. Des knew because he'd walked that road, had a special penchant for doing exactly that with Lil' Wayne CDs. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy, as far as Des was concerned, he deserved some props for being able to rap -- if the roadie had tried, himself, he'd just get all tongue-tied and make no sense -- it was just that it wasn't his kind of music, so he wasn't interested. Des respected most types of music. Even the ones that seemed talentless required some talent from someone at some point to make it sound good, whether it be artist or producer, lyricist or composer. Someone made those songs good enough to be broadcast on the radio. Des had had a song on the radio once. Just once. That was enough for him. His agent had called him and made him turn it on, listen to the song that he'd sung and never planned to hear again. He hadn't penned those lyrics, they weren't his words, but they were still coming out of his mouth, and post-production, he hadn't ever planned on hearing them again.

Listening to it was every bit as horrifying as he'd guessed it would be.

At the end of the song, he was still on the phone, and she'd gushed about how fantastic it was that he'd been on the radio, the radio, Des, and he'd enthused along with her, not wanting to argue about anything. Besides, he wasn't stupid enough to think that it would get him anywhere. He'd stupidly signed a contract, stupidly trusted someone he barely knew when she told him that she'd found a good contract. His mother had said she was a good agent, though, so that was plenty of reason to trust her, was it not? Trust in his mother? You had to trust someone in life. You couldn't just go about not trusting anyone, not caring, not feeling. That was one of the things that set humans apart from other animals, wasn't it? Emotions? Whatever. Maybe all of that was Des's problem, though; maybe he needed to trust less. Maybe he just needed to trust not at all. If he doubted everything, he couldn't get taken advantage of. He knew he couldn't do that, though. He was just too friendly, too naïve... and he didn't want to push people away, keep them out.

The techie looked up from his shoes and to the other boy, once again noticing his hair. Pinkish-red, it was... sort of. Des's was a very specific "strawberry blond", according to Sage, who refused to believe even for a second that she might be wrong. Actually, she didn't care. There wasn't much his best friend did care about, now that he thought of it. It was just how she was. People were confusing creatures: some cared too much, some cared not enough, and then you had a whole variety of people, with no two ever as alike as you might think. Not even twins were alike. And then there was Des, getting lost in his thoughts again when he'd initiated the conversation to begin with. He could've just told the guy that it was okay and moved on with his life, but... he couldn't. He decided to blame the hair. The hair was unusual. Maybe Des would ask why that color. Maybe he wouldn't ask about the boy's hair at all. Maybe he should get a life and stop asking himself questions. "It's fine, I'm not bothered!" Des exclaimed, rather loudly. Probably a bit too loudly, but people made him happy, the prospect of new friends did so. "Oh, I wasn't going to use your full name; that would be a little odd, if I just went around saying, 'Oh, Milo Derrall, check out this CD!'" He pointed to one at random, one that wasn't his own and wasn't Milo's. Des took Milo's hand and shook it, still smiling just a little. "Well, I'm Des," he said, never one to introduce himself using his actual first name. He preferred his nickname in the first place.

MUSIC. this city - patrick stump.
WORDS. 710.
LYRICS. coast (it's gonna get better) - patrick stump.
TAG. milo/rory. <3
NOTES. bleh, my muse is doing some sort of fuckery lately, too. sorry this took so long. ;-;