Atton Rand & miscellaneous names (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
suitably_heroic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2023-08-22 06:55 am
suitably_heroic) wrote in fandomtownies2023-08-22 06:55 am
Entry tags:
From the Arms Hotel to the Perk, Tuesday Morning
Another week, another bunch of passive-aggressive messages from the band. They weren't happy that Atton had chosen to stay here for another semester, to put it mildly. He was beginning to feel an odd sense of guilt about it.
But at the same time, they felt... distant, he mused, loitering in his bathroom as he cleaned up for the morning. Like that was another life, left behind. Was it because it was just so easy for him to shed his skin that he didn't even think about it? Or was Atton Rand just such a comfortable jacket, he couldn't help slip back in any chance he got?
You're at ease with tragedy, in the same way a carpenter is at ease building a table or a starship engineer is at ease welding a hull, his therapist had said at one point. It hadn't been a compliment.
He sighed, and grabbed the phone, and called Dane. "Look, I'm not going to say the S-word," he said, "But I'll give you a song."
Every band member pitched in a song that meant something to them and showed something personal for the set. That was the deal. Atton'd never done it. Too personal. Now, he knew it was probably the only way to make good. But what? Metallica was definitely too close. Something else? He stared into the mirror, and thought about-- someone, and said, "Spider, by Oingo Boingo. I don't care that you don't know who that is. Look them up."
It wasn't the song. But it was a song.
He needed a change of scenery.
-
Which was how he wound up at the Perk, clinging on to a heavy triple espresso as he watched the baristas bicker with a guy who'd brought his bees into the shop. He sipped his drink thoughtfully.
"Guess everyone has their own kind of problems, huh."
[[ open ]]
But at the same time, they felt... distant, he mused, loitering in his bathroom as he cleaned up for the morning. Like that was another life, left behind. Was it because it was just so easy for him to shed his skin that he didn't even think about it? Or was Atton Rand just such a comfortable jacket, he couldn't help slip back in any chance he got?
You're at ease with tragedy, in the same way a carpenter is at ease building a table or a starship engineer is at ease welding a hull, his therapist had said at one point. It hadn't been a compliment.
He sighed, and grabbed the phone, and called Dane. "Look, I'm not going to say the S-word," he said, "But I'll give you a song."
Every band member pitched in a song that meant something to them and showed something personal for the set. That was the deal. Atton'd never done it. Too personal. Now, he knew it was probably the only way to make good. But what? Metallica was definitely too close. Something else? He stared into the mirror, and thought about-- someone, and said, "Spider, by Oingo Boingo. I don't care that you don't know who that is. Look them up."
It wasn't the song. But it was a song.
He needed a change of scenery.
-
Which was how he wound up at the Perk, clinging on to a heavy triple espresso as he watched the baristas bicker with a guy who'd brought his bees into the shop. He sipped his drink thoughtfully.
"Guess everyone has their own kind of problems, huh."
[[ open ]]