Open Post 002

[2020mod]

• Step one: start a thread in this post!
• Step two: specify who the thread is for (or open) in this post!
• Step three: make people reply to this post!
• AND THAT'S THE WAY YOU DO IT.


And don't forget, there's still the ooc discussion post! And nothing needs to be contained to this post! Create new logs to your heart's content! This AU is yours, so have at it!


musebox • rules • character list

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[viced]

It was when his own signing was over that he left. He didn't even stop at the coffee machine, despite hearing the sweet siren's song of her processes calling to him. He'd cut down, because an author didn't need to drink enough coffee to keep someone running on 3 hours of sleep a night like most people.

He loaded up in private. Drinking the black sludge so think it was practically all grounds when he could. He smoked more. Different vices for a different man. The artist type in the children's area had to be her. He didn't pay attention to the signage, he hovered, waiting for her to finish her reading for the kids, hovering behind, letting her attendant know Adrian Maskin was here, when she had a chance.

Hell, she didn't really look like a normal person, so she must have been an artist type. He went to college once, he remembered what they were like. Enough art classes for his degree had taught him that. The civil engineering students had been the ones out of place, for once. It had been an humbling experience.

When she was free, he opened with a hand extended, a neutral smile, and a pleasant introduction on his lips.

[dragony]

The ends were staggered; though their audiences were, of course, nothing alike, the parents among Adrian's audience would have had a hard time keeping young children behaved in a queue so long, so a good number had been left in Haruka's audience. Unfortunately, it meant he'd have to wait through the final half-hour of story time with the monsters of the illuminated places, and the final staggering minutes of farewells—a small number of the children had, with varying levels of nervous trepidation, had forced their way to the strange-looking artist type to hand her small trinkets and gifts.

There's a strange sense of ritual to it, the way her hands move over paper and plaster and cloth, and the way she'll stop, scribble out a drawing or a message on a scrap of paper and hand it to this child, or that, or the rare hug for the one quiet girl.

For as "famous" she's supposed to be, she doesn't really act like it.

Eventually, though, with gifts tucked gently into one of her bags and attendants tearing down the stage, she finally swoops in to where he's waiting, handshake a little jittery on the grip.

"I didn't realize you were going to be here as well, until I saw the banners around town." It's strange how bright her smile manages to be, when only half of it is visible under the full half-face mask; a strange press of dried flower petals, leaves under sealant, some strange collage mimicking the sun. Her hand pulls away from his. "I'm something of a fan of your works."

[viced]

He waited, patiently. Adrian Maskin was a busy man, but he wasn't Mitchell Hundred. He didn't run his entire life on a schedule, so he waited, occasionally checking his watch, occasionally tapping a foot in time with a beat nobody but he can hear. A side-effect of being a fucking import in hiding, but he was silent as the grave as he watched.

She didn't really look like she belonged out of a concert, if he were honest. The mask, the tattoos, everything about her looked like she could be a tattoo artist, or someone living some other sort of ostentatious, exotic lifestyle. He supposed children's book author would fit that? Kind of?

Or maybe changing mentalities were a part of it. People were more willing to accept the freaks and outcasts when they'd had imports to unite against.

It still made him sick to his stomach. It had taken that to unite people further than he'd ever been able to do. Regardless, he waited patiently, drinking in details, until she finally approached, and they shook hands.

"I thought the publisher would've filled you in. It's a pleasure to finally meet up with you. I'd say I'm a fan, but I'm afraid I don't have much experience with kids, or kids books. Feel free to back out anytime, by the way. I'm pretty sure this project may flop, since I'm terrible with kids."

[dragony]

"Expecting my publisher to tell me anything before I need to know it is something I gave up on a long time ago," she bantered back with a long-suffering roll of her visible eye. Her hand still trembled when the handshake broke, and she was forced to cross her arms to settle her nerves. "He probably won't send me the email until this time next week."

It was a pretty sad state of affairs; she had to follow her own "official" Twaddle account to know when she was supposed to be doing events somewhere. But from what she knew about Maskin's works, and her own portfolio, it was a superficially strange combination. You didn't really get much more far apart than contemporary politics and children's horror.

Then again, she thought, contemporary politics was something of a horror story, but she somewhat doubted that such was the angle being aimed for here.

"But if I had to guess, you're being encouraged to branch out to a younger audience, and they're matching you with me because I'm... 'hip,' I suppose?"

[viced]

"That would probably be it, yeah. Go figure, apparently I stopped being hip when I started writing dry policy tomes," the biting sarcasm was there, but the words were clean. He'd worked so hard to make it work, to clear everything from his vernacular that had to do with swears. He actually gave interviews that didn't need to be scrubbed, for once.

Amazing, really. "When I was in college, I thought I'd never become like those guys who sat all day discussing policy on TV, but apparently it had to happen eventually."

Banter was easy, and safe. He didn't trust anyone, so he fell back on what was comfortable, and impersonal. Banter was terribly impersonal. It gave the illusion of being open and honest, but it never was. Now, to be fair, he really had never thought he'd be some lame-ass dick who went on TV to talk about politics, but then again, he'd spent a good portion of his college days stoned out of his mind with Ray, with pizza and a bootleg copy of Star Wars in the tape player.

"How do you feel about a cup of coffee, we can talk this over, see what we have?"