WiP update
Sep. 27th, 2009 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sailorstkwrningokay, so, finishing any of these before the end of September: so not going to happen. Sometime this fall, though, now that's a possibility! Meanwhile, this is sort of a notes-to-self/milemarker post for these stories.
1. Tentacles!Ryan -- word count: 5,378, including the comment-fic that started it all and a couple of paragraphs of bracket-y chatficcing-with-self. I actually had a major breakthrough on this one recently, which was exciting. I think at this point I have shared all of it, but here's the last part I wrote, in case anyone missed it. NOTE: Cuts off suddenly, but I left in the bracket-y parts, for now.
Jon is holed up in his bunk with his laptop and Ryan is napping. Brendon is reading, but he's willing enough when Spencer commandeers him to go and look at the stage set-up. Spencer is still not quite used to the idea that he can't go anywhere by himself anymore. He also doesn't think Brendon will be much use even if they do run into anyone. All the kids have to do is turn the big eyes on him and he caves. But it keeps the peace, and Spencer is all about keeping the peace.
He takes the show plan with him. There are roadies moving around, rigging lights and speakers, and Spencer is careful to keep himself and Brendon out of their way. He stands in the middle of the stage, a little forward of where his kit will be in a few hours, and holds the now slightly-grubby drawings he and Brendon and Ryan had argued over in Vegas out in front of him.
Brendon bounces around the stage, jumping up on risers and pulling exaggerated rock-star poses, doing the occasional back-flip. Spencer takes advantage of all that energy and has Brendon run through a skeleton version of their part of the stage show. He figures Dusty will take care of whatever practice Lucent Dossier might need.
"Drumline," Spencer says, and Brendon obediently jogs over to stage left and marches out playing an invisible bass drum. He's making big eyes at the stagehands, but Spencer can tell he's counting the steps, noting his marks.
Spencer is suddenly aware someone is watching him. As he turns to investigate, Brendon trips over an invisible obstacle and rolls mock-gracelessly into a starfish position. The techs laugh, and that's when Spencer sees Amanda Palmer lurking in the wings. He waves at her, his stomach knotting up a little. He'd heard of the Dresden Dolls, of course, and Pete had declared them good people, but Spencer still isn't quite sure what to expect. The only thing he does know for sure is he probably won't have to give anyone on their crew a lecture about watching out for Ryan, because Amanda has tentacles, too.
She also has jet black hair and bright red lips and is dressed like Wednesday Addams. Her skirt falls to about where her knees would be, if she had any, and the bucket underneath is covered in black and white stripes. She rolls towards them slowly, giving Brendon time to scramble to his feet and come over to stand next to Spencer.
"Hey," she says, when she gets closer, and they conduct a round of pointless introductions.
"Brian is going to stop by later, he's busy terrorizing catering into making him vegetarian chili," she says, "I figured I'd come see what ways the techs were going to try and kill me tonight."
Spencer grins at her a little uncertainly. Brendon turns a nervous giggle into a cough, but Spencer can feel the way he's bouncing gently on his toes. Spencer knows Zack has already talked to the local guys and gone over the stage twice already, looking for Ryan-hazards. Despite Brendon's theatrics, the stage is pretty clear.
Amanda pushes herself up on the arms of her bucket and squints around at the stage. Brendon is still bouncing and it's making Spencer dizzy. He elbows Brendon in the ribs and Brendon stumbles a little, then does a couple of backflips. The noise is enough to make Amanda turn and look at him, but she's smiling, and Spencer is relieved.
"Looks good," she says, flipping her pigtails with one hand. "So, where's your monster?"
Spencer just stares at her. Brendon straightens up suddenly, his expression darkening. There is a very long silence. Spencer can feel his heart rate speeding up.
"Our guitarist's name is Ryan," Brendon says, in an icy tone that Spencer has never heard before. "In addition to rocking out, he enjoys Indian food and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle arcade games, and he's currently resting in his pod."
Amanda blinks, and eases back so she's perched on the edge of her bucket. Brendon takes a couple of steps forward, and Spencer wonders if he should grab Brendon's shirt.
[Amanda grew up in the woods hole colony. Had been suspicious of these boys from the desert with a squid. Stunned that Ryan grew up among humans. "He didn't talk about his mom much," Brendon offers. She looks at Spencer, who nods. They talk some more. She apologizes, its much better after that]
2. West Texas: word count - 3886, again including some bracket-y bits and chat-ficcing with self. Some extraordinarily gracious ladies have been helping me think through aspects of this one, so it's rolling faster than the word-count might suggest. I think the last thing I shared was from the Brendon/Spencer storyline; this is a scene from the Ryan/Greta, which is total, total porn. And yet still possibly ridiculous. Notes: orgasm denial/edging, and (I think) subtle (but SSC!) d/S themes. Also, have I mentioned, PORN. Right. Hiding now.
Ryan undresses her slowly, taking his time with zippers and buttons. He lets his hands linger as he slides her shirt off, kisses her while he undoes her bra. Greta exhales in relief when he eases it loose, and he smoothes his fingers over her shoulder blades before moving on to her breasts. He leans down to kiss her and she tilts up to meet him, swaying close, skin already prickling with anticipation. Ryan pushes her skirt down over her hips and onto the floor, then helps her out of her underwear. He slides the tips of his fingers between her lips, just barely touching her clit, and she edges forward, trying to get more friction.
He leans down and kisses her, sweetly at first, then harder. She rolls her hips and his fingers sink in a little further, but it isn't enough. He spreads his fingers and slides his hand down, then back up again. Greta rolls forward again, squeezing his shoulders. She can feel his cock against her belly, solid and hard.
He slides two fingers inside her, and uses his thumb to keep a steady pressure on her clit while he deepens the kiss. Greta nips at his mouth and rocks back and forth, grinding into his hand. Ryan starts moving his thumb in slow circles and she grinds down harder.
Just as she's about to come he pulls his hand back. Greta bites his neck, her hips still jerking. He pulls her close and kisses her some more, licking and sucking his way down over her neck, her breasts, her belly. It would be sweet, almost soothing, if her clit wasn't swollen and throbbing with the need to come. She digs her nails into his back and tries to straddle one of his legs. Ryan shifts backwards, then kneels down between her legs and kisses his way up her inner thighs. Greta exhales and smooths a hand over his curls, careful not to tug. He starts licking her, mouthing her clit and fucking her with his tongue. Greta sways forward, bending her knees just a little, leaning into it and giving him more room at the same time. He stops again. She yanks on his hair, and he wipes his face on her thighs and stands up.
Ryan kisses her again, rubbing his cock against her belly, then turns her around, his hands light on her hips, and guides her up on to the bed, kneeling, hands on the headboard. He settles down behind her and kisses the side of her neck, running his hands over her breasts and belly, tugging gently at her nipples. She reaches down to touch herself and he catches her hand and puts it back, then slides his fingers back between her labia, moving up and down in slow, gentle strokes, cupping her breast with his other hand. She shifts back, trying to get him to put his fingers inside, but instead he slides them out, spreading her wide open. She has a moment of feeling totally exposed before he moves again, and then she feels the tip of his cock against her opening. She leans forward, widening her knees and tilting her hips back, and he pushes in.
It burns a little, it always does, but then he starts to move. Shallow thrusts at first, until she catches her breath, then deeper, a slow rocking rhythm. She drops her head and he cups one hand around her breast and slides the other down so she's nearly fucking his fingers with her clit. She moans and arches back into him and picks up the pace, squirming and grinding until he shifts his fingers a fraction of an inch and she comes. He goes rigid when she bears down, and she turns her head enough to kiss him through the aftershocks.
He pulls out and lays her down on the bed, then ducks down and starts licking her clean. She comes again with her legs draped over his shoulders and his tongue inside her. Afterwards they nap. When they wake up he kisses her all over then pushes her knees up and pushes in slow and deep. Greta hooks her feet across the small of his back and slides a hand between their bodies to rub against her clit. He balances himself on his elbows and mouths at her neck, working his way slowly up to the soft skin beneath her ears. She arches her back and comes.
3. Puppies - word count: 2937, a significant chunk of which is bracket-y notes. This will probably end up being split into two stories. (Because apparently I can't write anything without creating a massive universe. Damn it.) This scene may or may not end up in the final product; I like it, but I'm not sure it takes the story (either of them) where I want it to go.
Spencer unrolls the fruit roll-up and peels the plastic off, then rolls the fruit back up again carefully. Brendon kneels up, resting his hands on Spencer's thighs.
"Sit," Spencer says, and Brendon drops back down. "Lie down."
Brendon rolls down so he's on his side, propped up on one elbow.
"Good boy," Spencer murmurs, and crouches down to give Brendon the roll-up.
Brendon takes it in his teeth and sits up again, shifting around until he's cross-legged rather than on his knees. The roll-up is stiff between his teeth, somehow tougher than he remembered. He brings a hand up to hold the end that isn't in his mouth while he tugs chunks loose with his teeth.
Spencer stands up and walks away and Brendon loses track of him for a little while. Sometime later Brendon hears muffled thuds coming from the living room and goes to investigate.
It turns out to be Ryan and Alex jumping on and off the furniture and bumping into each other. Brendon settles down by one of the chairs and chews on he roll-up for a while. When they notice him they come over, almost knocking Brendon over as they crawl half into his lap, sniffing and nudging each other at the same time. Brendon ducks away, shuffling out of reach and growling.
Ryan chases him, but gives up when Brendon wedges himself under one of Spencer's end-tables. Eventually he goes and lays down on one of the dog beds Spencer brought in from the laundry room. Alex follows him, flopping down with a huge affronted sigh. A few minutes later they seem to be asleep, but Brendon stays where he is until he finishes the roll-up, listening to the rain and the house-noises. He can hear creaking over his head that suggests Spencer is walking around on the second floor.
He wiggles out from under the table and heads for the stairs. He stays on his hands and knees until he gets out of sight of the others, then stands up slowly, leaning on the wall. He feels a little dizzy and off-balance. He drops down again when he gets to the base of the stairs and goes up on his hands and knees; it feels safer that way.
Brendon pauses on the landing, listening, then crawls towards Spencer's room. The door is ajar, and opens easily when Brendon pushes at it.
"Hey, puppy," Spencer says, when he catches sight of Brendon.
The room looks like all of Spencer's closets exploded. There are clothes and shoes everywhere. Brendon sits down and stares.
"Did you come to help me get ready for tour?" Spencer asks, clearing a space on the bed.
Brendon frowns, because tour is months away, and climbs up onto the bed.
4. Random (terribly neglected) Brendon/Greta -- word count: 464; this poor little story is so neglected I don't even have bracket-y bits for it. So far it's just the two of them hanging out in Ryan's backyard, talking.
Brendon tucked the cold bottle of beer under his arm and tugged at the edge of the hammock. When it didn't come loose he sat down on it, settling back slowly and taking a couple of thoughtful mouthfuls of beer. It was a warm night, and both the alcohol and the multi-colored bulbs in the garden lanterns were taking the edge off the nameless irritation that had propelled him outside.
Inside, someone let out a gleeful shriek. The music changed, and Brendon leaned forward, listening carefully to see what they had put on and if he wanted to go back in and hear it better.
It was the Rolling Stones, and he did, a little, but he wanted a cigarette more. He pulled his pack out of his coat pocket and lit up, closing his eyes as the first burst of smoke hit the back of his throat.
The door creaked open and an unfamiliar shape leaned out the door. Brendon pushed himself back, further into shadow, curling his hand around the hot end of the cigarette and pinching it out. The shape went back in the house.
Brendon shook his fingers out and lit another cigarette.
The next time the door opened it was Greta.
"That's a terrible habit," she said, when she got closer.
Brendon made an agreeable noise and held out the pack. She took one, and then his lighter. She grinned at him around her first drag, and the knot in his stomach loosened a little more. They smoked in silence for a while. Greta wandered the edges of Ryan and Spencer's make-shift wall while Brendon lay back on the hammock and listened to Jagger wail. She started to sing along, and Brendon sat up and took the harmony, laughing happily when she wiggled her hips, mocking Mick's stage strut.
"Did they ever live up here?" Greta asked when the song finished, stubbing her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. It was jewel-encrusted and Brendon suspected it had been someone's arts-and-crafts project. Or else Ryan had paid truly obscene sums for it.
"No," he said. "Don't think so." He started to reach for his phone to check, and Greta stopped him by holding out a package of Djarums.
"Those will ruin your voice, young lady," he told her in a solemn tone.
"Mhm," she said, waving it at him again. He tugged one loose and lit it, settling back into the hammock.
He took another couple of mouthfuls of beer, but he didn't really need it anymore. He felt better, looser from the smoke and the lantern light on Greta's curls.
"So," Greta said, turning towards him. "How was tour?"
Brendon looked down at the cigarette in his hand. He'd been asked the same question several times already that evening. He still didn't quite know how to answer.
1. Tentacles!Ryan -- word count: 5,378, including the comment-fic that started it all and a couple of paragraphs of bracket-y chatficcing-with-self. I actually had a major breakthrough on this one recently, which was exciting. I think at this point I have shared all of it, but here's the last part I wrote, in case anyone missed it. NOTE: Cuts off suddenly, but I left in the bracket-y parts, for now.
Jon is holed up in his bunk with his laptop and Ryan is napping. Brendon is reading, but he's willing enough when Spencer commandeers him to go and look at the stage set-up. Spencer is still not quite used to the idea that he can't go anywhere by himself anymore. He also doesn't think Brendon will be much use even if they do run into anyone. All the kids have to do is turn the big eyes on him and he caves. But it keeps the peace, and Spencer is all about keeping the peace.
He takes the show plan with him. There are roadies moving around, rigging lights and speakers, and Spencer is careful to keep himself and Brendon out of their way. He stands in the middle of the stage, a little forward of where his kit will be in a few hours, and holds the now slightly-grubby drawings he and Brendon and Ryan had argued over in Vegas out in front of him.
Brendon bounces around the stage, jumping up on risers and pulling exaggerated rock-star poses, doing the occasional back-flip. Spencer takes advantage of all that energy and has Brendon run through a skeleton version of their part of the stage show. He figures Dusty will take care of whatever practice Lucent Dossier might need.
"Drumline," Spencer says, and Brendon obediently jogs over to stage left and marches out playing an invisible bass drum. He's making big eyes at the stagehands, but Spencer can tell he's counting the steps, noting his marks.
Spencer is suddenly aware someone is watching him. As he turns to investigate, Brendon trips over an invisible obstacle and rolls mock-gracelessly into a starfish position. The techs laugh, and that's when Spencer sees Amanda Palmer lurking in the wings. He waves at her, his stomach knotting up a little. He'd heard of the Dresden Dolls, of course, and Pete had declared them good people, but Spencer still isn't quite sure what to expect. The only thing he does know for sure is he probably won't have to give anyone on their crew a lecture about watching out for Ryan, because Amanda has tentacles, too.
She also has jet black hair and bright red lips and is dressed like Wednesday Addams. Her skirt falls to about where her knees would be, if she had any, and the bucket underneath is covered in black and white stripes. She rolls towards them slowly, giving Brendon time to scramble to his feet and come over to stand next to Spencer.
"Hey," she says, when she gets closer, and they conduct a round of pointless introductions.
"Brian is going to stop by later, he's busy terrorizing catering into making him vegetarian chili," she says, "I figured I'd come see what ways the techs were going to try and kill me tonight."
Spencer grins at her a little uncertainly. Brendon turns a nervous giggle into a cough, but Spencer can feel the way he's bouncing gently on his toes. Spencer knows Zack has already talked to the local guys and gone over the stage twice already, looking for Ryan-hazards. Despite Brendon's theatrics, the stage is pretty clear.
Amanda pushes herself up on the arms of her bucket and squints around at the stage. Brendon is still bouncing and it's making Spencer dizzy. He elbows Brendon in the ribs and Brendon stumbles a little, then does a couple of backflips. The noise is enough to make Amanda turn and look at him, but she's smiling, and Spencer is relieved.
"Looks good," she says, flipping her pigtails with one hand. "So, where's your monster?"
Spencer just stares at her. Brendon straightens up suddenly, his expression darkening. There is a very long silence. Spencer can feel his heart rate speeding up.
"Our guitarist's name is Ryan," Brendon says, in an icy tone that Spencer has never heard before. "In addition to rocking out, he enjoys Indian food and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle arcade games, and he's currently resting in his pod."
Amanda blinks, and eases back so she's perched on the edge of her bucket. Brendon takes a couple of steps forward, and Spencer wonders if he should grab Brendon's shirt.
[Amanda grew up in the woods hole colony. Had been suspicious of these boys from the desert with a squid. Stunned that Ryan grew up among humans. "He didn't talk about his mom much," Brendon offers. She looks at Spencer, who nods. They talk some more. She apologizes, its much better after that]
2. West Texas: word count - 3886, again including some bracket-y bits and chat-ficcing with self. Some extraordinarily gracious ladies have been helping me think through aspects of this one, so it's rolling faster than the word-count might suggest. I think the last thing I shared was from the Brendon/Spencer storyline; this is a scene from the Ryan/Greta, which is total, total porn. And yet still possibly ridiculous. Notes: orgasm denial/edging, and (I think) subtle (but SSC!) d/S themes. Also, have I mentioned, PORN. Right. Hiding now.
Ryan undresses her slowly, taking his time with zippers and buttons. He lets his hands linger as he slides her shirt off, kisses her while he undoes her bra. Greta exhales in relief when he eases it loose, and he smoothes his fingers over her shoulder blades before moving on to her breasts. He leans down to kiss her and she tilts up to meet him, swaying close, skin already prickling with anticipation. Ryan pushes her skirt down over her hips and onto the floor, then helps her out of her underwear. He slides the tips of his fingers between her lips, just barely touching her clit, and she edges forward, trying to get more friction.
He leans down and kisses her, sweetly at first, then harder. She rolls her hips and his fingers sink in a little further, but it isn't enough. He spreads his fingers and slides his hand down, then back up again. Greta rolls forward again, squeezing his shoulders. She can feel his cock against her belly, solid and hard.
He slides two fingers inside her, and uses his thumb to keep a steady pressure on her clit while he deepens the kiss. Greta nips at his mouth and rocks back and forth, grinding into his hand. Ryan starts moving his thumb in slow circles and she grinds down harder.
Just as she's about to come he pulls his hand back. Greta bites his neck, her hips still jerking. He pulls her close and kisses her some more, licking and sucking his way down over her neck, her breasts, her belly. It would be sweet, almost soothing, if her clit wasn't swollen and throbbing with the need to come. She digs her nails into his back and tries to straddle one of his legs. Ryan shifts backwards, then kneels down between her legs and kisses his way up her inner thighs. Greta exhales and smooths a hand over his curls, careful not to tug. He starts licking her, mouthing her clit and fucking her with his tongue. Greta sways forward, bending her knees just a little, leaning into it and giving him more room at the same time. He stops again. She yanks on his hair, and he wipes his face on her thighs and stands up.
Ryan kisses her again, rubbing his cock against her belly, then turns her around, his hands light on her hips, and guides her up on to the bed, kneeling, hands on the headboard. He settles down behind her and kisses the side of her neck, running his hands over her breasts and belly, tugging gently at her nipples. She reaches down to touch herself and he catches her hand and puts it back, then slides his fingers back between her labia, moving up and down in slow, gentle strokes, cupping her breast with his other hand. She shifts back, trying to get him to put his fingers inside, but instead he slides them out, spreading her wide open. She has a moment of feeling totally exposed before he moves again, and then she feels the tip of his cock against her opening. She leans forward, widening her knees and tilting her hips back, and he pushes in.
It burns a little, it always does, but then he starts to move. Shallow thrusts at first, until she catches her breath, then deeper, a slow rocking rhythm. She drops her head and he cups one hand around her breast and slides the other down so she's nearly fucking his fingers with her clit. She moans and arches back into him and picks up the pace, squirming and grinding until he shifts his fingers a fraction of an inch and she comes. He goes rigid when she bears down, and she turns her head enough to kiss him through the aftershocks.
He pulls out and lays her down on the bed, then ducks down and starts licking her clean. She comes again with her legs draped over his shoulders and his tongue inside her. Afterwards they nap. When they wake up he kisses her all over then pushes her knees up and pushes in slow and deep. Greta hooks her feet across the small of his back and slides a hand between their bodies to rub against her clit. He balances himself on his elbows and mouths at her neck, working his way slowly up to the soft skin beneath her ears. She arches her back and comes.
3. Puppies - word count: 2937, a significant chunk of which is bracket-y notes. This will probably end up being split into two stories. (Because apparently I can't write anything without creating a massive universe. Damn it.) This scene may or may not end up in the final product; I like it, but I'm not sure it takes the story (either of them) where I want it to go.
Spencer unrolls the fruit roll-up and peels the plastic off, then rolls the fruit back up again carefully. Brendon kneels up, resting his hands on Spencer's thighs.
"Sit," Spencer says, and Brendon drops back down. "Lie down."
Brendon rolls down so he's on his side, propped up on one elbow.
"Good boy," Spencer murmurs, and crouches down to give Brendon the roll-up.
Brendon takes it in his teeth and sits up again, shifting around until he's cross-legged rather than on his knees. The roll-up is stiff between his teeth, somehow tougher than he remembered. He brings a hand up to hold the end that isn't in his mouth while he tugs chunks loose with his teeth.
Spencer stands up and walks away and Brendon loses track of him for a little while. Sometime later Brendon hears muffled thuds coming from the living room and goes to investigate.
It turns out to be Ryan and Alex jumping on and off the furniture and bumping into each other. Brendon settles down by one of the chairs and chews on he roll-up for a while. When they notice him they come over, almost knocking Brendon over as they crawl half into his lap, sniffing and nudging each other at the same time. Brendon ducks away, shuffling out of reach and growling.
Ryan chases him, but gives up when Brendon wedges himself under one of Spencer's end-tables. Eventually he goes and lays down on one of the dog beds Spencer brought in from the laundry room. Alex follows him, flopping down with a huge affronted sigh. A few minutes later they seem to be asleep, but Brendon stays where he is until he finishes the roll-up, listening to the rain and the house-noises. He can hear creaking over his head that suggests Spencer is walking around on the second floor.
He wiggles out from under the table and heads for the stairs. He stays on his hands and knees until he gets out of sight of the others, then stands up slowly, leaning on the wall. He feels a little dizzy and off-balance. He drops down again when he gets to the base of the stairs and goes up on his hands and knees; it feels safer that way.
Brendon pauses on the landing, listening, then crawls towards Spencer's room. The door is ajar, and opens easily when Brendon pushes at it.
"Hey, puppy," Spencer says, when he catches sight of Brendon.
The room looks like all of Spencer's closets exploded. There are clothes and shoes everywhere. Brendon sits down and stares.
"Did you come to help me get ready for tour?" Spencer asks, clearing a space on the bed.
Brendon frowns, because tour is months away, and climbs up onto the bed.
4. Random (terribly neglected) Brendon/Greta -- word count: 464; this poor little story is so neglected I don't even have bracket-y bits for it. So far it's just the two of them hanging out in Ryan's backyard, talking.
Brendon tucked the cold bottle of beer under his arm and tugged at the edge of the hammock. When it didn't come loose he sat down on it, settling back slowly and taking a couple of thoughtful mouthfuls of beer. It was a warm night, and both the alcohol and the multi-colored bulbs in the garden lanterns were taking the edge off the nameless irritation that had propelled him outside.
Inside, someone let out a gleeful shriek. The music changed, and Brendon leaned forward, listening carefully to see what they had put on and if he wanted to go back in and hear it better.
It was the Rolling Stones, and he did, a little, but he wanted a cigarette more. He pulled his pack out of his coat pocket and lit up, closing his eyes as the first burst of smoke hit the back of his throat.
The door creaked open and an unfamiliar shape leaned out the door. Brendon pushed himself back, further into shadow, curling his hand around the hot end of the cigarette and pinching it out. The shape went back in the house.
Brendon shook his fingers out and lit another cigarette.
The next time the door opened it was Greta.
"That's a terrible habit," she said, when she got closer.
Brendon made an agreeable noise and held out the pack. She took one, and then his lighter. She grinned at him around her first drag, and the knot in his stomach loosened a little more. They smoked in silence for a while. Greta wandered the edges of Ryan and Spencer's make-shift wall while Brendon lay back on the hammock and listened to Jagger wail. She started to sing along, and Brendon sat up and took the harmony, laughing happily when she wiggled her hips, mocking Mick's stage strut.
"Did they ever live up here?" Greta asked when the song finished, stubbing her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. It was jewel-encrusted and Brendon suspected it had been someone's arts-and-crafts project. Or else Ryan had paid truly obscene sums for it.
"No," he said. "Don't think so." He started to reach for his phone to check, and Greta stopped him by holding out a package of Djarums.
"Those will ruin your voice, young lady," he told her in a solemn tone.
"Mhm," she said, waving it at him again. He tugged one loose and lit it, settling back into the hammock.
He took another couple of mouthfuls of beer, but he didn't really need it anymore. He felt better, looser from the smoke and the lantern light on Greta's curls.
"So," Greta said, turning towards him. "How was tour?"
Brendon looked down at the cigarette in his hand. He'd been asked the same question several times already that evening. He still didn't quite know how to answer.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-04 01:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-05 04:12 am (UTC)