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The Perk, Monday Evening

The semester was almost over, and Dean found himself wanting a place to just sit back and relax while he contemplated his plans for the summer. Well. Idly contemplated, anyhow. And for a certain measure of 'relax,' really. He should have been contemplating, except he was all too easily distracted by a mainland newspaper he'd picked up, followed by the twitchy urge to doodle on a napkin, some scattershot conversation with the baristas, and those fleeting thoughts that came best when accompanied by one's fifth shot of espresso.

"You know what this place needs? Poetry readings. I'm just sayin', guys."

No, Dean. No, it didn't.

[Open Perk is open!]

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"Poetry readings?" Hayley said, skeptically. She'd been sitting at a nearby table minding her own business, mainly. But that statement had gotten a reaction.

"Really?"

She wasn't big on poetry.

"Not a fan, I take it?" Dean glanced her way, lifting his espresso halfway to his mouth and then pausing before actually getting a chance to taste it, this time. "Occasional ones, anyhow. The way I see it, if they can have a bunch of rotting dead guys making music at the bar, the occasional bit of culture around here isn't going to hurt anybody."

Just think of the culture, Hayley!

"It's always so, I don't know," Hayley said, making a bit of a face. "It's kind of like, if you're not good enough to write a melody to it, what's the use of writing a song?"

Her assessment of poetry was brilliant. Really.

"Ah, you're one of those, huh?" Dean quirked a wry smile her way, before leaning back against the counter and contemplating his reply around another mouthful of espresso. "You know, not all poetry is even lyrical. It's all words, you know. Words don't need a funky beat in order to say something."

"They do if they want to be interestin'," Hayley said. "I ain't never heard a song and went 'That'd be better if there was no music'. But with poems, well..."

She smirked a bit. "Well, you can guess."

"So, what's stopping you from making up your own music?" Dean offered her a smirk right on back. "Someone's handing you the lyrics already, so sing along. Half the ingredients are sitting there, full of potential. Most poets I know would be flattered to see their art set to music."

Even if poems weren't music. But hey, who was Dean to tell someone how to appreciate art? There was no accounting for taste.

"I'm curious, though. If they were just reading from a book, a story or whatever, would you have any problem with that?"

"Oh, if you're trying to sell me on this, you got a hard time comin'," Hayley said. "Unless they're funny, I don't think poetry is for me. And if I wanted a book read at me, well, the reader better be pretty dreamy, that's what I'm saying."

"Hey, hey, that's fine," Dean replied, waving a dismissive hand before sipping thoughtfully at his espresso again. "So, literature isn't for everyone. You like music, we've established that. Are there any other arts you find completely pointless?"

It was a masochistic sort of question for a sculptor to ask, really, but sometimes Dean just couldn't resist.

"I dunno," Hayley said with a shrug. "I ain't exactly a big art girl. Usually that stuff is for the rich and boring, you know? Not sayin' art is boring, just... I ain't normally the art kind of person."

She had very particular tastes, really. And particular ways of thinking.

"I wouldn't really think of myself as rich," Dean mused, "and I hope I don't strike anyone as particularly boring. But I am an artist, so maybe I'm a bit biased."

It was the classic argument, really. Being an artist, it was hardly as though this was the first time he'd had a talk with someone with this sort of mindset.

"Well... I dunno about boring," Hayley said, thinking it over. "But what sort of art do you do, any way?"

She smirked. "Here's hopin' you're not a poet."

Dean gave Hayley a crooked smile at that, shrugging his shoulders.

"This and that. I won't lie and say I don't do poetry, but mostly I stick to sculpture, painting... the more visual arts."

Anything that he could get his hands messy with, really.

"Visual. So the fun kind of art, at least," Hayley said. "So what's the last thing you painted?"

She was just trying to shift the conversation away from her not-so-deep thoughts on art.

"I don't suppose a handful of Easter eggs count?"

He'd had a quiet weekend, mostly spent working on sculpture. If she was asking about painting, she was going to have to settle for... eggs. So exciting.

Egg-citing, even.

"Depends. Were they really good painted eggs?" Hayley teased, smirking.

"If I say that I would like to think they were, would you think I was bragging?"

He was only bragging a little! And it wasn't like he had the eggs with him so that he could prove it.

"Well I'd have to take your word on it. Unless you got an egg in your pocket," Hayley pointed out.

"And I try to keep out of the habit of walking around with eggs in my pants," Dean quipped, knocking back the rest of his espresso. "So I suppose you'll just have to trust me when I say I'm not a terrible artist, at least."

Not that you'd ever know it by how difficult it was for him to sell any of his work, really.

That got a laugh out of Hayley. "Not terrible, huh? That's not exactly inspirin', you know."

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The Perk, Monday Evening

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