MCA #4, Sunday Afternoon

[myownface]

You know, Sparkle was impulsive, but he was not that special sort of impulsive that would have involved him going outside today. Much as he loved his job. Much as he worried about his business. Even Sparkle sometimes had the good sense to listen to the radio and hear about people being kidnapped by goblins, and then look out the window to see the sprawling maze that had sprouted up outside, and then shake his head and go, "Nope. Not today, Fandom."

And so he was in the apartment, laying on his back on the living room floor, staring up at the ceiling and singing 'Baby Shark' to himself in a fit of boredom.

Loudly.

Give him ten minutes and he'd go find his tin whistle and try to figure out how to play it on that, next.

[OOC: Open for texts, phone calls, other people in the building who just want to stop hearing 'doo doo doo doo' through the walls, whatever!]

Comments

[suitably_heroic]

"Why not a metal cover?" Atton asked, predictably. "Nobody needs more big band. There's too much big band."

[myownface]

"Because I can't play guitar," Sparkle replied, shrugging.

Lewis played guitar. Sparkle had less than zero interest in going anywhere near the things.

"I guess I could go Vaudeville..."

[suitably_heroic]

"Now you're just making words up."

[myownface]

"Am not," Sparkle protested. "It's theatre stuff! You know, like, Ta-ra-ra BOOM-de-ay," he absolutely had to singsong that, "and the old Gene Austin and Roy Bergere stuff? Irving Berlin? Gallagher and Shean! I can't make this stuff up."

Well. He could. He had a very active imagination and a talent for bullshit.

But still!

[suitably_heroic]

"Sparkle," Atton said, slowly and deliberately, "You know I ignore all music made before 1980."

[myownface]

"So much for Led Zeppelin and Judas Priest, I guess," Sparkle said, shaking his head slowly. Sadly.

And... most of the best metal bands, really.

"RIP," he pronounced that, 'rip,' yes, "Black Sabbath..."

[suitably_heroic]

"1970, space!" Atton groaned, flopping backwards dramatically. "I can't keep up with your Earth years, anyway. How do you only have 2019 of them?"

[myownface]

"There were a bunch of ones that happened before those," Sparkle replied easily, finally digging one of those burgers from the bag, "but people didn't realize they were supposed to be counting backwards yet."

Looking at you, BBY.

[suitably_heroic]

Atton rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he said, "1980 is still extremely important, because that's when Lars Ulrich put that ad in the paper that James Hetfield responded to, which is infinitely more vital to all of your history than vaudewhatever."

Vaudeville. He remembered the name. That didn't mean he wanted to use it.

[myownface]

"I bet you ten bucks I could trace back metal's roots to Vaudeville somehow," Sparkle declared. "Just see if I can't."

Because art fed into art. Even if he was totally basing his claim on nothing more than his own need to be contrary.

[suitably_heroic]

"You definitely can't," Atton retorted. "I'll see that ten bucks and raise you twenty."

... look, it was looking to be a really boring Sunday.

[myownface]

"Thirty," Sparkle countered. And spent two seconds googling. And then glanced up and smirked. "Alice Cooper."

That was... painfully easy, actually.

[suitably_heroic]

"Yes, well, Alice Cooper is stupid," Atton said, after a long beat.

[myownface]

"But," Sparkle replied, "undeniably one of the earliest metal acts there was."

And distinctly Vaudevillian!

[suitably_heroic]

"I hate you," Atton muttered, but obligingly pulled a twenty and a ten dollar bill out of his pocket and threw them at Sparkle.

[myownface]

Sparkle just held his burger in his teeth for a moment while he made heart-hands at Atton.

And then, after re-claiming his burger and swallowing a bite, he added, "Yeah, but you're stuck with me."

[suitably_heroic]

"Ugh, don't remind me," said Atton, which was Atton for 'please do remind me', as was the, "You're like a terrier when you sniff an opening, you know that?" that followed.

[myownface]

"Well, yeah," Sparkle agreed easily. "Gotta take the openings while you've got 'em, or else somebody else is gonna. And then what?"

No openings? Tragedy.

[suitably_heroic]

"Well--" Atton started.

Then realized the innuendo he'd set up.

"... Did I mention that I hate you?"

[myownface]

"Alllll the time," Sparkle confirmed.

Smugly.

[suitably_heroic]

"Why are you smug about that?" Atton grumped.

[myownface]

"Because I spent years making sure you care enough to tell me on the regular that you hate me," Sparkle declared. "You don't waste the effort on people you actually hate."

[suitably_heroic]

"That's not true," Atton muttered, sinking further down on the sofa. "I tell Mical I hate him all the time. Mical and his stupid face."

[myownface]

Sparkle paused to consider that over a mouthful of fries.

"Okay, but Mical's face is stupid."

Which had little to do with anything, really. But Sparkle had to terrier away at this with his circular logic.

[suitably_heroic]

"I know, I hate it," Atton said, nodding. "And I tell him so all the time. So there goes that theory."

This was a ridiculous argument. A we've-been-stuck-in-a-maze-or-an-apartment-level ridiculous argument.

"Maybe I just hate you, have you thought of that?"

Atton, you lived with him. If you actually hated him, that'd be a stunning display of self-hat-- well, okay, you were you.