|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon Nov 07, 2016 4:35 pm
 |
|
|
 |
Flashback
They walked through the door and into a world that was more parts unfamiliar than it was anything else. This wasn't Ashdown, whatever it was; but Shiloh couldn't really tell. All he could do was stare blindly at the crowds, try not to get overwhelmed with the rush of people.
More so, he felt numb, naked, stripped, alone. He sensed the lack of his flora almost immediately, and what once felt intrusive now left a gaping hole in his body.
“Guys," Oliver's voice is there and it brings Shiloh back down to reality. He had been drawn away by the cat initially, but he returned with a newspaper in tow. The man selling the documents was eyeing them wearily, though Oliver had no intention to steal. He only had one thing to prove.
His thumb was flush against the date on the header.
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Nov 07, 2016 5:19 pm
|
|
|
|
I know you are, but what am I?
“So how much do you remember?"
It's a brief moment of respite as they traverse this new outlandishly bizarre world. Jamie was preoccupied with something or other (and Shiloh had for a while too, because he was delighted that his iPod still seemed to work with his expansive collection of music-that-shouldn't-exist). Oliver's words were cold though; they cut through him like a knife, threw out any calm placation Shiloh had.
Which, surprisingly, was quite a bit. Jamie seemed jittery, but that was normal (actually, it wasn't as bad as he thought), which only left Oliver with his momentous anxiety. Shiloh seemed to remember this fact about him quite well, aside from the obvious similarities.
“Oliver." Shiloh murmured his twins name, eyes shutting to think, “We're twins. You're the younger one." he flashed a cocksure grin.
It actually was enough to bring a small, subtle smile to Oliver's face. “Well, it's good to know you're not completely different, you a**." he moved quickly, ruffling Shiloh's beanie right off his head. Shiloh wasn't the most touchy person in the world, but for Jamie it was okay, and he didn't feel... weird when it came from Ollie either. Instead he just tched as he picked the hat up, returning the crown to its rightful place. Despite that, he laughed.
“We're both artsy," he went on, arms outstretched to hold his balance as he meandered down the street curb. Cars zoomed by. Shiloh didn't seem to care much. There was a strange familiarity on the tip of his tongue, but the recollection couldn't come to him. Melany did well to beat it out. Hell, Shiloh didn't remember Jamie until he'd spent some time with him either. “But, different artsy. You don't draw."
“Music, Shiloh." Ollie looked hopeful, “Does that...?"
“Piano! You're a... percussionist, right? Keyboards? The doodley-doo thing." he was ghosting keys with his fingers, preforming the most outrageous air-keyboard solo known to man. They both erupted into small, somewhat hesitant giggles. It felt sort of right. Shiloh felt nostalgic for memories he couldn't remember. Oliver felt peace in something that once was.
“Anyway, we better catch up with Jamie before we lose him." there was an unspoken we can catch up more later, and Shiloh seemed to catch the gist of it. He smiled.
“'Course, course, sure. Anything for my little bro." he laughed, the sound all snark, before Oliver grabbed his hat again. Cue the chase montage down the sidewalk. |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Nov 07, 2016 5:21 pm
|
|
|
|
Flashback
It wasn't just the unfamiliar location that had Jamie wondering what exactly was going on, it was the people, it was the sights, the sounds, the signage, the everything. At first he couldn't place how strange it was. Overwhelmed with their task and the sudden realization they'd walked from someone's home—fake or not—and straight into a bustling city, it never dawned on him what had actually happened.
Then Ollie showed them the paper. Jamie's heart was pounding in his throat.
"W-What?" he stammered, reeling back like he'd been struck. "1989?!" it was a harsh whisper and he looked around, frantic, "This isn't Ashdown and it's not 2016 either, w-what the heck are we supposed to do?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Nov 07, 2016 5:33 pm
|
|
|
|
Flashback
“But where are the others..." Was Shiloh's first concern, but all his glancing around gave him no insight. There was no Zac, no Kaleb, no Juniper or anyone else he could vaguely recognize. Then again, the streets were absolutely humming with life, and it seemed almost impossible to tell one person from the next.
His hand made a fist and then unfurled and then furled again, but no flowers bloomed and his blood felt thin. The world only smelled like transportation and smoke and nothing like rain. He wasn't a noble here. He was only Shiloh.
“Beats me." Oliver was trying to act cool, but his hand was obviously shaking as he returned the paper back to the stack. “1989. We're in the ******** eighties." his stare at the other two said very poignantly this is your fault.
Then again, he had also decided to come with them.
“U-Um, so," Oliver cleared his throat, “Necessities. Necessities. How the hell are we even getting back? What are we supposed to be doing? How the hell are we supposed to fix anything? I don't even know what's happening—"
Shiloh had a hand clasped over Oliver's mouth, but the twin didn't seem to protest much; at least until he got his bearings and slapped Shiloh's hand away, which led him to slap Oliver's shoulder in return. Soon the two were just aimlessly whacking each other, whap, whap whap....
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Nov 07, 2016 6:17 pm
|
|
|
|
Flashback
Where were the others? It was a valid question, one that prompted Jamie to dig his phone from his pocket. They'd been separated, but that was okay, he could give Lily a call or Eve or anyone really. He could see where they landed, see if they wanted to meet up, see-
Oh.
As he stared down at the screen, Jamie realized all over again that this was 1989. No bars, no 4G, that one should've been obvious. Without saying a word on it, he shut the phone down and shoved it back into his pocket. Probably good to save the charge, right?
"Necessities..." he repeated, thinking, worrying, "There's really... no way of knowing how long we'll be here. I have n-no idea how to get back."
The atmosphere felt heavy then, oppressive, and it might've stayed that way if the twins hadn't started a slap fight in the middle of the bodega. "H-Hey you guys! Try not to make a scene..." he pleaded.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 08, 2016 4:09 pm
|
|
|
|
Flashback
HE STARTED IT was shouted both in unison, but it at least got the rambunctious pair to settle down. Both crossed their arms, turned away from one another, and huffed. Shiloh even crossed his arms like a petulant child.
“W-Well," Oliver said (voice still huffy), “I think the most pressing thing is what the hell happened to the others." Ah yes, explaining things, good tactics Beaumont. “Other than that... we stick out, and I have no idea if our currency works now..." 1989 wasn't that far in the past, right? It was possible; but he doubted any of them had large surpluses of cash on them.
“I could always do the thing." Shiloh volunteered, voice quiet. Oliver threw his brother a sharp glare.
“Shiloh you are not doing the thing. What if you get arrested again?"
“Look I never got arrested—" “—Because you were underage! But you still got caught!"
Shiloh sighed, “t was just a suggestion. Anyway, I'd like to see you earn something honestly then. Our ID's probably don't work either. We have nothing.."
“...Fine, fine, do whatever the hell you want, but—" he threw an inconspicuous glance around, “We should probably talk about this outside of the bodega."
“The what?"
“Bodega Shiloh it's—Whatever, don't worry about it."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 08, 2016 6:27 pm
|
|
|
|
Flashback
Shiloh charged off first (naturally), though his visage of recklessness did seem... somewhat off. Like a walking bluff. Not that he couldn't talk the talk; but just that—something was missing, off, absent. He felt powerless without his plants; funny how before he felt like he was on top of the world. Then again, that was before he knew magic.
It left Oliver alone with Jamie for the briefest of seconds.
“We grew up poor." Oliver told this to Jamie fully expecting him to know that detail, if anything. Their clothes were all far from new and their treasured objects and motifs were all battered and broken like they were. “And our dad didn't support us much, except it's sort of hard to support yourself when you're not sixteen."
Did Jamie see where he was going with this?
“We stole. We didn't like it, but we still did it." he paused his speech to chew his lip, “Art supplies and music supplies are expensive, y'know." at least if you wanted quality, which both of them undoubtedly did.
The name Beaumont was not usually associated with settling.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 08, 2016 6:55 pm
|
|
|
|
Can you put a price on passion?
Shiloh was fine with stealing. Honestly, Oliver was too, but that didn't mean he had to dive headfirst back into it.
They've been here a few nights now (thank god Delacroix was smart enough to get them a room somewhere), and it's not the best room because there's only one bed (have you tried to cram three people into a queen before?), but it's still something. It's a roof over their heads and free continental breakfast in the mornings, and he's tired of Shiloh picking up all the slack to afford it.
So what can Oliver Beaumont do?
His clothes stick out, but not terribly. They're on the beginning of grunge culture in America and he looks like an outsider in the normal sense of the world, because it obviously hasn't hit New York yet, but he can console himself with the thought that jackets and hoodies and ratty jeans exist. He passes by a gorgeous cafe—half of it is outdoors and there's flora hanging from the awnings and it looks like a slice of paradise in grimy New York—but it's more the smell, the masking scent of coffee layered over the grease of cars, and the quiet bickering inside as a women leaves, shouting a storm at an apologetic man.
"You can't just leave!"
"Watch me!"
And that's that.
The man groans, rubs his temple and mutters something about second time this week, so unreliable. Oliver assumes it's the owner of the establishment (or at least the manager, or something vaguely important), and he returns inside with a frown.
Against his better judgement, Oliver follows.
He could see the inside from the out, but it's still just as homey and calming and warm. There's a row of machines on the backside of the counter, but they're both dated and not in their appearances. To the left is a small stage with a small spotlight and the most beautiful, banged up piano he's ever seen in his life. The man is staring at it, shaking his head, scratching his scalp. There's a small amount of people meandering about the establishment, but they're being quiet, talking among themselves, sometimes laughing, other times not. One of them has a gameboy—the gameboy—and they're talking so unabashedly to their friend about it. "It's gonna start a revolution!" and their partner only nods, leafing disinterestedly through a magazine.
"You there, boy," it's a similar voice—the man from before—and Oliver starts, "You gonna keep standing here eyein' up that piano or order something?"
For some reason, boy seems strange, but Oliver doesn't linger on it. "Sorry, sir," He's all formalities, always is in the face of authority, “It's just pretty. Makes me nostalgic—I used to play."
The aggression seems to melt out of the man immediately, and Oliver starts to piece together the story.
"We had someone scheduled to play today, but the bimbette walked out on us," The man scoffs impatiently, waving his hand in vague gesticulation, "If you want to play the damn thing, go ahead, but you're only keeping tips."
And so he sat in the chair, clothing still strangely out of place, a few eyes on the strange young boy who decided to take up residence at the gorgeous machine in front of him. His hands touch the keys, and he realizes with a start that something's wrong. His fingertips are still wrapped tightly with finger tape, and his hands are all stiff, and he knows underneath them is that weird sensitivity waiting to strike again. He swallows. He can't leave now.
He takes off the tape.
And presses them to the keys again.
He gently presses down and a gentle sounding chord rings out. He hums every note that makes it, letting them ring in harmony with the sound. Oliver is no vocalist, but the piano is tuned, and he knows what he hears. In his hands is a strange rumble of feeling, the tiniest vibration traveling from the piano string to his nerves. He can feel the mallet through the key. It's bizarre, but not whole unpleasant, not like the sensation he feels when he touches fabric. Actually—is it all in his head? It's so minute in comparison now...
He plays. He stops thinking and plays out gentle songs—songs from a time that isn't this one—songs from the future, but piano music is piano music, and it's still sweet and gentle and perhaps a little sad sounding. It's ambient. He puts his heart into it and the talking stops, people watch, and for a second he wants to say <******** the tips, this is all I want before he realizes he needs the money. Still, it's more rewarding than anything—this is what he loves. This is what he wants to do for the rest of his life.
"Say kid, you can come back tomorrow." The man says as he loiters behind the counter, hours later. "Same deal, but I'll throw a free lunch in it." Even he seemed impressed by the sound, the voice, the message. Or maybe Oliver was being pretentious and he just... found it pretty.
The tips are meager, but it is the eighties and he has no actual idea what the inflation rate is off the top of his head. Still, despite that—
It's still something, and he got something a little more meaningful than currency out of it. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 08, 2016 6:56 pm
|
|
|
|
Flashback
Yeah, Jamie did know that detail. It didn't take a rocket scientist to notice, all it really took was a close friend, one who cared, and that sort of thing stood out like a sore thumb. Hearing that they stole, well, it didn't surprise Jamie that much when he thought about it. What bothered him wasn't that they did it, it was that they'd been left without other options. Again, as he'd done so often before, he wondered how a parent could be so thoughtless towards their child.
"I see," was his response, a small something or other to let Oliver know he was listening. "I guess I'm... not really surprised," he admitted then, looking forward to where Shiloh was, feeling something deeply affectionate in his chest as he watched him charge ahead.
"But I mean... that doesn't really change anything." With a small huff, he realized he wasn't quite sure what he was trying to say.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Nov 10, 2016 2:38 pm
|
|
|
|
An Honest Living
“Sure, sure." Shiloh was nodding. “Even if you're being like, suspicious, I think it's okay. Like, you're cute enough to where a ******** up would look normal I think." he was tapping his chin now, “Like, you wear your nervousness well I guess."
He shrugged.
“Anyway, you'll do fine, I promise." Shiloh grinned, his smile lopsided and genuine. There was a lot of trust there, a lot of don't worry about it! being unsaid. He flashed him a thumbs up before going to scan the crowd.
“...that guy, check out that guy, he's got a fancy suit on." Shiloh pointed him out eagerly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Nov 10, 2016 2:51 pm
|
|
|
|
An Honest Living
When Shiloh believed in him, it helped Jamie believe in himself. Since Shiloh always believed in him, well, he had no excuse not to straighten up with his reassurances. The truth of it was, and he felt this in his gut even beyond the nervousness, that it wouldn't be as hard as it seemed. After all, he wasn't the one doing the dirty work.
"Okay," he agreed with a small nod, double checking he had the right guy before slipping away from Shiloh's side. He had an idea in mind, one that might work if the guy in the suit wasn't as stuffy and unkind as he looked at first glance.
"O-Oh-!" Jamie gasped, a reaction he'd been rehearsing, "I-I'm so sorry!" The stumble he'd pulled off as he crossed paths with the suit was convincingly awkward. "I j-just lost my footing." And in the process of getting in his way, he'd dropped his hat—he'd had it clutched in his hands—on the ground.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
