fandomtownies | The Boards, Thursday Evening

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The Boards, Thursday Evening

Jono had had big plans for tonight at the Boards, but the events of the last few weeks had thrown something of a wrench in the gears when it came to organizing the showcase he'd wanted to hold.

... Or even finding people to perform in it. Which meant that he was going to have to adjust his plans somewhat.

A lot.

There was a new sign up where the old one had been.

Due to Unforeseen Circumstances, The Fandom Showcase Has Been Cancelled.
Come in for an Open Mic Instead!
There's Beer.

When all else failed, bribe people to participate. And if anybody needed Jono, he'd be on the stage playing his guitar for the duration of the evening or until somebody else showed up who wanted to perform. Whichever came first.

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"One of these days, I'm gonna have to get you to tell some of these stories, 'stead of just hintin' at 'em."

Eliot's idea of a funny story involved a Mossad agent murdering someone with a mop handle.

//One of these days, just say the word, and I'll be happy to share,// Jono replied, shrugging his shoulders. //Be nice to have somebody else to talk about some of them with who'll appreciate how insane they are.//

Without being outright horrified, like some.

"Sounds good." Eliot tilted his head. "There an equivalent for you of buyin' ya a beer?"

What with the not having a mouth and all.

//Not unless you feel comfortable letting a telepath tap into your sense of taste,// Jono explained, shaking his head. //I've heard a lot of mixed opinions on that one, so I like to make sure people are alright with it, first.//

Everything from people who didn't care to people who insisted, to people who thought it was gross, to the ones who didn't want a telepath doing anything remotely resembling looking in their head. Even if that wasn't at all what he was doing.

Eliot frowned as he thought that prospect over. ". . . How exactly does somethin' like that work?"

He wasn't going to say "no" outright. But he was kinda thinking something more along the lines of getting Jono hard to come by concert tickets or something.

Hey, Jono wouldn't turn down concert tickets, either!

//It's... hard to put to words,// he admitted, after a pause. //Somebody drinks something, and I just kind of pay attention to the part of their mind that processes the sensations. I don't peer at their thoughts or anything. I don't want to. Anyway, it's a cheap substitute for actually getting to drink anything myself.//

"So kinda . . . skimmin' the surface," Eliot said. He'd be on the hard no side of this if he hadn't taken that class on psionics from Emma awhile back. "Could be worth a shot. Ain't much fun drinkin' alone."

//Skimming the surface,// Jono agreed. //I only go really poking around deeper if I have permission.// Or if he was very, very angry. //But you can taste without really putting thought into it, so it isn't as though I have to go digging.//

Thank goodness for Emma, right?

//And of course you're welcome to change your mind at any point. I won't even sit there and give you miserable looks while you drink, if you do.//

He'd come to terms with not having a mouth a while ago. High school had involved a lot of sulking, though.

"Alright. We'll do that sometime. Trade some stories and share a beer."

//I look forward to it,// Jono replied, nodding. //It's been entirely too long since I just sat around shooting the shit with anybody I'm not married to. And I think Hannibal would take exception to the phrase 'shooting the shit' on principle, at that.//

"I tell ya, man, I don't know how you do it. I'd probably wanna strangle him just over the drink choices alone."

Which, you know, was why Eliot never even pretended to hit on Hannibal at all.

//It helps that I can't drink,// Jono pointed out. //And for as much as I wonder, sometimes...//

He shrugged.

//I know, we're a bloody unlikely couple. A sophisticated gourmet with a bloody doctorate and - how did you put it? Brit-punk meets Seattle? Wrong coast, but close enough. Either way, sometimes I wonder, myself.//

And then he remembered it was because they were both monsters. Monsters that had been startlingly good for one another in ways that made them both marginally less monstrous.

Very marginally.

"Was talkin' about where the music came from, not where you lived," Eliot said. "And hell, man, I ain't inno position to judge." There were those who'd call Eliot's own choices strange. Or 'greedy', which -- no. "He's just so damn . . . fussy."

Seriously, anybody who considered polyamory greedy needed such a kick.

Such a kick.

//... You know, I'm absolutely not going to disagree with that,// Jono confided. //He really, really is.//

Whereas Jonothon was quite happy wearing threadbare socks and cheap underwear, sitting in a sofa with a few bad springs in it, watching crappy horror films and, were he able, drinking cheap beer.

... At least it would be cheap import beer. Even he had his fussy moments.

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The Boards, Thursday Evening

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