"Have you seen the other end of that cord?"
Fiona is on her hands and knees, peering with a frown under the lip of the stage where one end of a connector cord dangles. She feels around blindly for the other end, then plants both palms firmly on the stage's edge and propels herself upwards. She's in faded jeans and a black t-shirt pinched from the waitresses' supply at Davy's, with the winking one-eyed Jack on the back stretched across her frame. Her hair's been dyed brilliant blues and greens - peacock-like, silky in its iridescence. "I can't find it," she complains. "We going to do this acoustic or what?"
Both hands on her hips, she casts an accusing look across the stage, then moves to check on the amps to the left of the stage. "Testing. Can you hear this? Well, at least noone's here to be scared off..."
High heeled Italian leather boots click along the pavement of the sidewalk, bringing Ophelia finally to a pause outside the appropriate door. After checking the name against the circled advert in the newspaper which she carries, folded into quarters to show just the section of the page that she needs, the young woman pushes open the door, spilling in a shaft of sunlight as she steps through.
There's another pause as she waits for her eyes to adjust, hurried along a little when she pushes dark sunglasses up on top of her head. The paper is jammed away into a messenger bag she wears before she makes her way further along inside, heading obviously for the stage, led by the familiar sound of a soundcheck. For the moment, she stays off to the side, watching; perhaps waiting to be noticed, perhaps just waiting for a fitting cue.
He was listening, honest...
But it's a rather bland, mentally-interrupted look that Fiona receives when Rhodri, with the electric being tuned without need of the cord, frankly, and then amusement begins to ease over his face like sunlight over the edge of the world.
"We can plug in, either way. No one to scare other than Reggie, and he works for me. So to hell with what he thinks." The door opens -- the Thistle and Thorn isn't that large -- and Rhodri looks over. "Hey..."
He's twenty-something, probably mid-twenties. Quite tall with a shock of red-gold hair that could very well be his own color and not from a bottle. It's cut to be longer up front than in back, though the back's been let to grow out a bit -- he's been busy. Along with the height, there is a certain amount of breadth, he's no post-modern male waif, this one. High cheekbones lend a kind of high mountain delicacy to his features. His eyes are emerald green, gemmy.
And he's dressed like he ought to be holding a white electric guitar with gold strings -- in a t-shirt that shows off red Celtic tattoos on both arms and a pair of jeans that have seen a year or five.
"Pfft. Scared. Reggie wouldn't be scared of anything short of frenzied women in cut-offs, and even then he'd be too busy staring at their legs to get out of their way," Fiona scoffs. "Which you know or you wouldn't keep him on, I'm sure."
True or not, the much-maligned Reggie is given no further thought; she makes her way over to Rhodri, bumping his hip with her own. "You're standing on it. Move." She bends and yanks on the cord, then straightens, peering in the direction of the opening doorway. "Hm? One already? - Oh!"
That was an 'oh' of recognition, one which rounds her lips and then is dismissed in laughter as Fiona promptly drops the cord again, in favour of hopping off the miniscule stage and towards Ophelia. Granted, the last time they met, she was a bit ... angrier, and her hair was fuchsia and cut in a pageboy; but surely she hasn't changed so much as all that, right? "When did you get back in the country?", she demands. "I thought you'd every intention of staying in America until the secession!"
Ophelia has been listening in, shameful habit really, with an air of bemusement as she follows along with the bickering. Upon being spotted and recognized however, she straightens up, removing her sunglasses from their perch a moment to push a hand back through her mess of curls before returning the specs to almost serve as a headband.
"Decided the whole college experience just wasn't for me," she replies with an indifferent shrug. "Enough that putting an ocean between me and it seemed a good idea." She isn't entirely serious, but then, she isn't entirely not either. "You're looking well." It's directed towards Fiona, though it could be said to apply to Rhodri too, from how her appreciative gaze drifts over that way a moment later.
Laughter is the only argument Fiona gets. Rhodri's happy to let the girls go at it for a moment. He takes the cord and jacks himself in. Something Spanish, something his father taught him, suddenly fills the room. Such sounds that are not usually pulled from the more thunderous throat of the electric guitar, but with his touch it has all of the delicacy and the power of a soprano's aria.
Backing up, Rhodri turns the sound down a bit. But the song continues, and emerald eyes flashing to the two women, their reunion, and the appreciation. That bids the lazy lift of a corner of his mouth.
He'll wait for the introductions...
"Yeah, well, I decided to stop starving in a garret for my principles and put them to work for me instead." Fiona grins, a sudden lift of eyebrows hearkening back to the ferocious thrust which was so Drancy, so typical of her punk self. She's much more relaxed these days. "Decided too to stop being on the other side of the music scene - why not, right?"
Grey-blue eyes lift, turn inquisitively at that Spanish flow, then back to Ophelia. "Come meet my guitarist. He's a bastard," she says casually, "but great fun. i'll give you the full run-down when he isn't in earshot, his ego's quite big enough as it is."
She beckons to Ophelia, turning to head back to the stage. "Rhodri, drop whatever you're doing and attend to my slightest whims. How can I be a properly prima donna-esque lead singer otherwise? And meet a friend of mine and Dot's from back in the day. One you haven't met, unlike what's her name, Lils - this one isn't wounded."
"Seems to agree with you, anyway," Ophelia comments with an easy grin, fingers curling loosely around the strap of her bag. For her part, she doesn't seem too horribly changed, things still rolling off as easily as water off a duck's back, whatever the problem that chased her back across the pond.
There's another appreciative look shot at the stage, though this time it does seem more for the music riff than the player; not that the sentiments are mutually exclusive, mind. "Certainly. If it's that bad a case though, I'll refrain from complimenting the guitar stylings then," she notes as she follows along, not bothering to pitch the comment too quietly for the subject to hear.
The electric flamenco stops and Rhodri unjacks, slides the guitar around the back and comes over. "No one pays attention to the ramblings of the lead singer," the lilt and drag of the un-English displays itself. Not Irish. Not Scottish. Something Other.
Rhodri smiles and offers his hand. "Pleasure," he says with a grin and a wink.
"See? What did I tell you? Bastard." Fiona nonetheless moves over to Rhodri and affectionately runs her fingers through his hair, seizing then a handful and giving a light little tug. "Remember upon whose sufferance you live, ap Davydd. I can make you suffer plenty."
She unlatches, grinning at Ophelia from Rhodri's other side, now. "You can compliment him. Just remember to keep a pin handy for deflating him after the fact. He's a one that knows too well his own worth. So if not college, what's up? Come to pester your father? Mine's in a horrible swivet right now," she confides, leaning up against Rhodri as casually as if he were a brick wall, folding her arms. "And my mother's still a first class bitch."
Ophelia takes the offered hand with a crooked grin and a nod of her head. "Nice to meetcha," she replies, accent hopelessly American, and yet at the same time, touched ever so slightly by a childhood spent in part in England. At Fiona's 'permission' to compliment him, she repeats the comment actually to him this time: "Nice bit of guitar there."
The question posed to her draws her attention back to Fiona then, though her answer initially comes in the form of an exaggerated shrug. "No grand plan at the moment. Just a few ideas. But father offered to put me up and he's a little less likely to get in a twist that I don't have a ten year plan, so - London it is." The 'father', said so regally and formally, carries almost a tongue in cheek connotation, like any other little girl calling their business suit-clad, office-going father 'daddy'. "What's got yours worked up then?"
"Thanks," Rhodri says, "How about a round of drinks then? On the house." He grins at Fiona as he becomes her leaning post. He gives her a pat -- they seem rather together, don't they? Pity? -- and then he steps away to remove the guitar.
He'll let Fiona explain it. It's just better that way. Besides, it's a woman's prerogative, right?
Setting the guitar aside, Rhodri heads over to the bar. Nice arrangement they have where he can go behind bar and pull drinks. A Guinness for him. He'll wait for the ladies to chime in with their requests...
"If I'm to be singing," Fiona calls after Rhodri as she reclaims her feet, "I'd better steer clear of the hard stuff. Cider, then, darling, and thanks." She pulls a face at him all the same, a horrific sort of grimace that ends in a stuck-out tongue, and she laughs, turning to Ophelia.
"The wedding, and, well, the wedding," Fiona explains, matter of fact. She isn't wearing any rings right now; they don't go well with manual labour and all. "The bastard over there insists on making an honest woman of me. I think he's just in it for the fancy grub at the end. Welshmen're all alike, thinking with one appetite or another - you want to come to the wedding too, or would you rather skip the fancy clothing and all? I wouldn't blame you. Closer it gets, the more tempted I am to run away myself. How's your da doing, then? I heard he's released a new album?"
"Anything you've got on tap would be great, thanks," Ophelia replies to the offer with a grin. Fiona's bit of news gets her attention back, eyebrows lifting in perhaps slight surprise. "My, my. Well, congratulations," she offers in stride. "That's quite the bit of news. I feel so out of the loop." That's punctuated by a short bit of laughter as she leans casually against the edge of the stage.
"Never really minded the fancy dress, if you'd like me there, but no obligation, of course. Little less stress being a guest than a bride, I'd think." She casts a look over at Rhodri for a beat, before focussing on the girl talk again. "Either which way, you'll have to fill me in sometime. As for my dad, he's doing well enough. Still working on that solo career. But the newest is doing well in Japan. Just hope he doesn't decide to move there next."
He works the taps like a pro. Maybe he bartends on the side. Soon enough, a perfectly poured Guinness makes its appearance, followed by a cider in a pint glass and yet another Guinness. "Honesty. It'd take more than a ring and a dress to bring honesty into it," Rhodri drolls out with a slow grin.
"Here you go, girls," he announces, taking up his own pint of Guinness. Rhodri takes a seat at the bar, long legs relaxing. "You're more than welcome, Ophelia. It'll be in Wales... we're heading out there... next week, I think?" He looks to Fiona for confirmation. "Two? I can't keep up with it," he rattles out.
"Ten days until we leave," Fiona tells Rhodri with that exasperated roll of her eyes. Honestly. Men! How is it that they can't keep track of what's important? But there's a certain amount of adoration nonetheless in her gaze. It's hopeless; she's goopy for the bloke. "Almost three weeks til the wedding."
"My grandparents," Fiona turns back to Ophelia as she heads towards the bar, "are flying in from Belgium. So're a few cousins and so on, on my mother's side - both sides'll be pretty well filled, noone'll notice one more body in among all the rest. Plenty of cute guys, too, if you're looking. I promise not to throw the bouquet at you unless you want me to. Dot got married, did you hear? Icelandic rock god. Seems we both had enough of cold fish Englishmen while still at school..."
She hops onto a stool and gives Rhodri a vicious glower as she snatches for her cider, then grins at him impudently. "Are you impugning my morals, darling? How could you... So," she continues, turning to peer at Ophelia, "we're having the wedding then, and we're starting a band. Hence the," she waves her cider vaguely at the stage, "mess. We're still short a few roles, though. Rhodri, did anyone answer for keyboard-thingy yet?"
Ophelia gives a grin that's both amused and sympathetic to Fiona's plight of trying to keep a man on schedule, trailing along towards the bar as well. "My mom always said the day would come where I'd be left behind when all my friends were getting married; just didn't expect it to come so soon," she comments with a wry grin. "Cute boys, check, bouquet, not so much, but thanks."
A glance is cast towards the stage area as she joins them at the bar, hooking the heel of one of her books over the rung of a stool, but not opting to sit just yet. "Cheers," is tossed off quickly as she picks up her drink, lifting the glass and then taking a sip. "Yeah, I heard about that, at least." By way of explanation, she digs blindly in her bag, coming up with her meticulously folder newspaper and setting it on the bar, no further explanation forthcoming immediately. Instead: "Hard to find a good keyboard-thingy player these days," she can't help but add with a subdued smirk.
"I'm still not sold on it," Rhodri takes a good swallow then sets the Guinness aside. "But no... not yet. I'm thinking more of a sound expert, someone who can mix on stage, keyboarding goes along with that. We'll just have to see what we dig up. The important thing, to me, is the overall sound and... we'll know it when we hear it."
Eyebrows quirk upward and Rhodri smirks at the notion of offering up men in a line. "Just make sure Davydd's not going in for seconds, you know how get gets around banquets. He's going to cost us a fortune in catering." His voice takes on a droll roll, with his Rs trilling and quiet laughter edging his words.
"Dot's a piece of work," he notes in low tones. He's not sure what to think of that one. She's probably a good enough sort. Loud. Definitely loud. "You know, I shouldn't have dropped my kit that night," kit, trousers, natch, "...what was I thinking?" He grins. "I mean, drinking?"
"Pfft. You know daddy's going to insist on paying for the wedding. Davydd can go in for seconds if he wants to. On food, anyway." Fiona wrinkles her nose at Rhodri, then turns her head to Ophelia. "Davydd's my other lover," she says ever-so-casually. "It's not public yet, but I'm going to be breaking the news to daddy and my grandparents first. Basically, I can only marry one of them legally, and that'll be Rhodri, but I'm effectively going to be married to them both. Am married to them both."
Quite a change, from the determined virgin who, as Dot once said, wouldn't let air pass through her knickers...
"We were the ones drinking," Fiona then rounds on Rhodri with a ready retort. "Not you and Davydd so much. You had women begging you to take down your trousers and show off the goods - you can't resist a wager or a dare, can you? He's terrible," she then confides in Ophelia slyly. "Horrible. Awful. But wicked and wonderful in bed, which is why I keep him. He's made me into a brazen harlot, you know. Do you still play drums, Ophelia? I remember you used to."
Chaos in human form...
Wow.
That's the definition of the expression that crosses Rhodri's face at that... barrage of personal details. The more she says, the higher his eyebrows go...
Hazel eyes flicker back and forth, following along with the winding conversation as best the can, though she seems more amused by it than overwhelmed. "Sound's always a good focus," she agrees easily with Rhodri, nodding once. "Though something you can be forever tweaking if you get too caught up in, I think."
As explanations are offered as to the identity of this Davydd, Ophelia looks somewhat surprised again, a quick glance cast over at Rhodri. But if he's not bothered by it, and Fiona's not bothered by it... The girl with the corkscrew curls just gives a shrug. "Well, all the more to you then, I guess. So long as you think you can keep up with 'em both. But if anyone can..." She trails off, letting the two discuss the drunken antics of the previous night as she takes another slow sip of her drink, perhaps enjoying the chance to catch her proverbial breath in the conversation.
The confiding gets an amused sort of look, with perhaps another touch of surprise, but before she can really get to a response, the next question is already put to her. "Funny you should ask. Yeah, been keeping up with it. Just for fun, mind you, but with nothing else on my plate these days, thought I might turn my focus to it a bit more."
"Well, there you go, then." Fiona says it as if that settles that, in the fashion of the best British housewife. She gives Rhodri a look. "Always assuming you can pass by his majesty's discerning ear, of course," she adds affectionately. "And you're interested in kitting about with us. I intend for us to make it big, because why not? And he's just humoring me."
She seems pretty confident of her ability to keep up; no more's said about it, or not for now. Instead, she takes a long pull at her cider. "He's being quiet today. Don't know what's gotten into him..."
Well, now that all his business has been unpacked, Rhodri curiously has nothing else to add. He shakes his head with a chuckle and goes back to drinking his Guinness for a moment.
Of course, there was not a blush in sight, nor anything that might convey anything other than bland acceptance to the fact.
"You've got your lovers confused," he smirks. "I am the quiet one, remember?" Now he laughs. "So... a drummer, good... we should play, feel it out." Emerald green eyes cut a glance over to Fiona. "Platonically of course." He winks to Ophelia.
"She's right, I am humoring her. She's going for arena rock. I could get behind that. Is that something you're interested in? Touring, big venues... all that?"
"Well, figured I'd at least ask for my fair chance to try out," Ophelia replies breezily, flashing a quick grin before taking another drink. "Nothing wrong with quiet," she remarks simply, before turning a little pensive at the matter of fame.
"I'm not in it for fame. But somehow, I suspect I could cope if it happens along. But far as I'm concerned, it's a side-effect of making music that people like." It's said simply, but with an undercurrent of experience. "Me, I'm just wanting to have fun playing my drums; throw myself into something for awhile, and, well, this is what I know. Long story short, though perhaps a bit late for that, arena rock is fine by me. What I learned on, really."
There's a look on Fiona's face for a moment as if she might argue with him, but instead, she just cuts him a questioning glance, then looks back to Ophelia. "Pretty much. I'm all for giving it a try. If it works, beautiful. If it doesn't work - eh, we're no worse off than we were. I think we've got enough personality to fill an arena, so," she shrugs, "why not?"
"Why should my wedding be the only time I'm on a stage, after all..."
Rhodri nods, "Same here. And we'll see where it goes and what works, yeah?" A glance to Fiona: what? "And what doesn't. But it's all a bit early for that. First and foremost... there's the sound, the material... what we use to create it and then... we see what others have to say about it."
The Guinness is finished and he's rising from his seat at the bar. "Big sound... yeah? A bit of the return of the rock opera, maybe. Not to be derivative, but then... who isn't?" Rhodri grins at that, returning to the stage and to the guitar. "You do vocals at all? I tend toward the intricate. I like to weave voices in..."
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?" Ophelia replies with an approving nod. "Way I see it, you have a good time doing what you do, and the rest falls into place, however it's going to. But at the end of the day, at least you can always say you had fun. You take it too seriously, and ... it stops being fun."
Another swig as she considers the question of her voice. "I've been told I can carry a tune, yeah, though broke my daddy's heart that it seems to be better suited to singing jazz and folk than rock 'n roll. But, y'know, whatever you've got, I can give it a shot."
"I'm thinking more rock and roll, but you know, wherever it takes us, it takes us." Fiona perches on her stool, working on finishing off the cider unhurriedly as she watches Rhodri rise and move away. "Fun - yeah, I've missed fun on occasion, so now I'm intending to grab fun by its throat and throttle it into submission." She grins easily, nudging her glass away with a dramatic sigh. "Ah, well. Back to the salt mines. What do you want from us, Rhodri?"
"Well, I think first thing first... we need a kit..." He glances back and grins at them. "I think the best thing to do would be to arrange a time to meet when you're ready and we're ready. Maybe after the wedding, actually." He looks to Fiona.
"Then we can hook up wherever your kit is and jam a while. Sound acceptable? We have a few original pieces already, we can work on those... see what comes of it..."
"And as for jazz and folk, that's primarily what I've been doing of late myself, so no worries there. We can work with that. We're likely going to be multi-genred to fight off boredom. Neither one of us is the most patient of individuals." Rhodri casts a wink in Fiona's direction.
"Sure. Easier to bring the band to the kit, I suppose, especially since I'm lacking in appropriate transportation." Ophelia finishes off her drink, leaving the dregs and moving over to the edge of the stage to facilitate the conversation. "Right now they're at my dad's, but I'm looking to move them to my flat, soon as I finish unpacking and pay off the building manager."
"As for genre's, mixing it up sounds good. Most of my exposure's been to rock anyway, so no worries there, but I've been branching out a bit myself. Should fit right in, I hope." She flashes a grin, shifting her bag a little higher on her shoulder. "Schedule's pretty flexible right now, anyway. Haven't been back long enough to have to worry about my social calendar. Why don't I give you guys my new number, since I'm sure you'll have better things to worry about at the wedding, and we can hook up when that's taken care of." With that, she begins rummaging through her bag again, trying to find a scrap of paper and a pen.
"Sounds like a plan," Fiona agrees, stretching lazily and rather like a cat. She shakes one foot a bit, then straightens, meandering towards Ophelia. "Only thing on our schedule's the wedding, and of course the honeymoon." She grins at that; what would've been a private smile getting a little too big for her face. She casts a glance at Rhodri, blowing him a little bit of a kiss with two fingers.
"Say hi to your dad for me, will you?" Fiona then continues, taking the paper with the number on it and then turning to move back towards the Welshman. "He'll be pleased, I'd guess, that you're going into the family business, as it were." And Rhodri gets another glance - bedroom eyes, invitation, appeal of some sort. "We'll give you a call, and set it up - and I'll let you know when and where to be for the wedding."
"For now, I'm thinking of dragging this man off for a proper lunch, and then maybe a bit of a lie-down after. After all, food needs time to digest properly, doesn't it?" As if butter wouldn't melt. "Assuming he doesn't object..."
No objections here. Rhodri grins, shutting off the amps and winding arms around Fiona as she comes over. "I could eat," he murmurs. "Fortunately, every pub has its own flat. I'm sure Reggie won't mind."
Looking up, he smiles over to Ophelia. "Excellent. We'll give you a call, well... and you'll be in Wales I hope to watch the Great Shackling of 2016. So we'll chat then and make plans for rehearsal. Good meeting you, by the way."
"See," Rhodri says to Fiona, his smile slanting, "...I can play nice..."
"Excellent. Here, this should reach my cell, and here's my flat as well, though that one won't be hooked up until next week," Ophelia replies, jotting down the two numbers on a torn off corner of an envelope. It's not exactly a business card, but it should do the trick. "Guess I'd better get used to calling it my mobile again. Well, anyway." The scrap is folded in half once and then offered out.
"Enjoy your lunch then, and your ... rest and relaxation," she replies, closing her bag and shifting it back up onto her shoulder. "Nice meeting you too. And good to see you again, Fiona. Looking forward to hearing from you guys." She tosses off a jaunty wave, sunglasses dropped back down into place as she starts for the door.
"Oh, you'll hear from us." Though to judge by the way she's looking at her fiance as he winds his arms around her, probably not this afternoon. Fiona leans in up against Rhodri with a pink, self-satisfied little smile. "I won't forget, I promise. Have a good day, Ophelia."
And then she's pressing herself up against Rhodri, heedless of the barman or anyone else to give him a kiss, nuzzling in against his lips with her own. "The Great Shackling, is it," Fiona murmurs to him, grabbing the collar of his shirt. "You and your fondness for shackles..."
Posted by rowan at April 06, 2006 03:06 AM
