mindsplinters (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mindsplinters) wrote2010-12-26 07:23 pm
mindsplinters) wrote2010-12-26 07:23 pm
BINGO!
Final square of that long-forgotten Bingo card. Bet you thought I didn't remember! Anyway, it's kinda a sideways view on things but that's how I roll... A Kingdom Bandom AU nightmare.
Now I think I might bake more.
"I had a Fisher Price marching band set." Nate tilted his head back further and blew a lazy smoke ring towards the ceiling, his uncanny eyes half-shut in pleasure and meditation. "Drove my mom nuts but I loved that thing." The cigarette in his hand idly pointed at his best friend, the motion an automatic indication, "you, next."
Marcus slumped over his guitar, fingers fiddling over the neck and tuning pegs. He considered the original question and then shrugged. "Mom had me in piano lessons when I was six," he admitted and a crooked grin lit his face at Nate's instant, dramatic groan. "She wanted me to be a prodigy."
Nate did laugh at that but the sound was warm and welcoming; it was one of his better reactions. "How's she feel about how that turned out?" he asked, lifting his head to better grin at the other man.
Marcus gave another shrug and Nate shook his head. "You really are a prodigy, man," he answered, solemn now, laughter gone with the honest assessment. "I haven't met anyone else who can work a chord like you. Cecil's good but..." He shrugged. "You've got a connection with the music. The piano was just, like, your first steps to getting there. It usually is."
"And Fisher-Price was yours?" Catching the logic, Marcus himself laughed. "Man, that really explains a lot."
"Aw, shut up, man." Nate was laughing again, though, even as he snapped back and he leaned forward to grind out his cigarette in the ashtray sitting empty on the coffee table in front of them. "Not all of us can be Mozart before they're walking," he retorted. "I got around to it eventually. I just had to go the Fisher-Price and fiddle, sorry, violin route first. Piano had to wait until I was about twelve." He groaned and threw himself back against the couch again, forearm draping across his eyes melodramatically. "Mom insisted on the violin," he added in his usual dry tones but laughter still lurked beneath the words. "So my first steps were kinda mincing, huh?"
Marcus stifled his automatic laughter and stood. Returning his guitar to its stand, he straightened to stretch his arms over his head until he felt the pop. Then he dropped them and gave his shoulders a roll. "So, what?" he asked. "Do you want to wait and count piano? You'd just be a really slow walker."
Laughing, Nate pulled his arm from his face and grinned at Marcus. "Was that you trying to zing me?" he asked cheerfully. "'Cause, if so, try to aim for something shorter. It gets lost in translation." He stood himself and duplicated the stretch Marcus had just performed, grin crooked and roguish. "Just call me a baby already and move on." He clapped his hand on Marcus' shoulder as he passed. "Baby's first steps were Fisher-Price, man," he continued, unabashed. "It's where I get my killer sense of rhythm."
Marcus joined his best friend's laughter and turned to catch up to him, giving him a swat to the back of the head. "And your taste in lousy, cheap instruments," he snickered. "Come on, Nate. I need more strings. Maybe we'll hit up Toys R Us."
"Only if I'm a really good boy." Nate laughed harder at the cross-eyed look Marcus shot back at him. "A really, really good boy. Hey, Mom, can I get the new Transformer, too?"
"Jerk."
"You know you love it."
And the funny thing was... It was mutual. Instruments, music, lifestyle - any differences or similarities faded in the face of their long-running friendship. Who else could you talk toddler-style nonsense with, after all? Marcus grinned and jogged ahead to get his coat for the ride.
Now I think I might bake more.
"I had a Fisher Price marching band set." Nate tilted his head back further and blew a lazy smoke ring towards the ceiling, his uncanny eyes half-shut in pleasure and meditation. "Drove my mom nuts but I loved that thing." The cigarette in his hand idly pointed at his best friend, the motion an automatic indication, "you, next."
Marcus slumped over his guitar, fingers fiddling over the neck and tuning pegs. He considered the original question and then shrugged. "Mom had me in piano lessons when I was six," he admitted and a crooked grin lit his face at Nate's instant, dramatic groan. "She wanted me to be a prodigy."
Nate did laugh at that but the sound was warm and welcoming; it was one of his better reactions. "How's she feel about how that turned out?" he asked, lifting his head to better grin at the other man.
Marcus gave another shrug and Nate shook his head. "You really are a prodigy, man," he answered, solemn now, laughter gone with the honest assessment. "I haven't met anyone else who can work a chord like you. Cecil's good but..." He shrugged. "You've got a connection with the music. The piano was just, like, your first steps to getting there. It usually is."
"And Fisher-Price was yours?" Catching the logic, Marcus himself laughed. "Man, that really explains a lot."
"Aw, shut up, man." Nate was laughing again, though, even as he snapped back and he leaned forward to grind out his cigarette in the ashtray sitting empty on the coffee table in front of them. "Not all of us can be Mozart before they're walking," he retorted. "I got around to it eventually. I just had to go the Fisher-Price and fiddle, sorry, violin route first. Piano had to wait until I was about twelve." He groaned and threw himself back against the couch again, forearm draping across his eyes melodramatically. "Mom insisted on the violin," he added in his usual dry tones but laughter still lurked beneath the words. "So my first steps were kinda mincing, huh?"
Marcus stifled his automatic laughter and stood. Returning his guitar to its stand, he straightened to stretch his arms over his head until he felt the pop. Then he dropped them and gave his shoulders a roll. "So, what?" he asked. "Do you want to wait and count piano? You'd just be a really slow walker."
Laughing, Nate pulled his arm from his face and grinned at Marcus. "Was that you trying to zing me?" he asked cheerfully. "'Cause, if so, try to aim for something shorter. It gets lost in translation." He stood himself and duplicated the stretch Marcus had just performed, grin crooked and roguish. "Just call me a baby already and move on." He clapped his hand on Marcus' shoulder as he passed. "Baby's first steps were Fisher-Price, man," he continued, unabashed. "It's where I get my killer sense of rhythm."
Marcus joined his best friend's laughter and turned to catch up to him, giving him a swat to the back of the head. "And your taste in lousy, cheap instruments," he snickered. "Come on, Nate. I need more strings. Maybe we'll hit up Toys R Us."
"Only if I'm a really good boy." Nate laughed harder at the cross-eyed look Marcus shot back at him. "A really, really good boy. Hey, Mom, can I get the new Transformer, too?"
"Jerk."
"You know you love it."
And the funny thing was... It was mutual. Instruments, music, lifestyle - any differences or similarities faded in the face of their long-running friendship. Who else could you talk toddler-style nonsense with, after all? Marcus grinned and jogged ahead to get his coat for the ride.