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Aug. 6th, 2017 08:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaixoAN: this is a missing scene from loose ends. I kept playing with it to see if it ‘fit’ and after some to and fro, I thought it was too indulgent so it never got there. Posting it here because well, it’s probably worth a conversation?
The heat wilted the Barcelona mornings too soon.
No matter how early in the morning, the blush of light streaking across the sky, the clouds sparse bits of fluff at the edges of the eye, the winds from the sea already warmed by the ambient temperature.
Never mind that they were staying in the Gothic quarter, not too far from Las Ramblas.
Its narrow roads and old buildings clustered together as if whispering secrets amongst themselves, the balconies their own hidden alcoves making it easy for one to look down and observe the world bustling below. Native dwellers turning into the bars for a croissant and a coffee, tourists stumbling home in the clothes they were still wearing either a night, or a weekend before. Even in this place of shadows, where the heat took its relative time in coming, it came early.
Legs crossed under his body like a buddha, his thighs protected from the heat of his laptop with the cooling cushion, Dele tugged his snapback down over his face, its bill protecting his eyes from the light. With his headphones on over the snapback, it created a cushion away from the world, noodling through some mix tweaks.
Dele liked all aspects of building beats, especially doing bespoke beats for others, and this was an enjoyable side project to the big one he was a part of now, European Soundscapes for Somerset House. The brief for the beat scribbled on a post it note sticked to the far left of his laptop. Ibiza, early noughties throwback, but not too throwback. Bikinis, frosted drinks, FUN. Singer Aggy, producer Hicken Funky
So something simple with a layer and a loop? Something vaguely salsa, with four beat measures over a multiple of eight beats? Or…
From the corner of his eye, a bottle of Orangina appeared on the table beside him, condensation beads pearling on the sides of the bottle, looking like little pearls. Eric stepped away, a beer in his hand. Corona with the wedge of lemon.
Dele looked at the time in the upper right corner of his screen.
Looked at Eric, head already tilted back, eyes closed and throat moving as he enjoyed his first beer of the day. His hair longer now, the strands catching the sunlight.
The time in the upper right corner of his screen now reading a minute later, but still early.
Their shared balcony the area and dimensions of a bar tray, the railing a little below chest height, and Eric turned around, already dressed for the day in a t- shirt and light linen trousers. All this with a bottle of beer in hand.
“Morning,” Eric greeted, rubbing at his eyes, his voice thick with sleep. “Have you been up long?”
Dele narrowed his eyes at the time in the corner of the computer screen. Thought about his answer, because with making beats, the concept of time just melted away. Answered, “Probably.”
Eric raised an eyebrow. “We can eat later if you wish? It’s too hot to cook, already.”
Dele looked at the beer in Eric’s hand, the bottle already half done.
**
Eric, Dele had to admit, was good company. Normally, Dele was one to sit down and pound through beats until they got done, but Eric had brought up the idea of a trip to Barcelona, just them.
“It’ll be good fun,” Eric said a couple days after Dele had stopped at Eric’s house for the night. “A weekend in one of the best cities in Europe. That is, if you’re free?”
Dele drummed his fingers against his thigh, peering at Eric’s face via Skype. Eric on his mobile phone, walking somewhere through a park, his eyes blue as the sky around him. Dele at home on his laptop, attending to the parts of his life that he hated, like invoicing his hours of work done with notations, deciding on which commitments to honour vs which ones to pass on before emailing it off to Flea to take care of.
“Probably,” Dele answered.
“I am incapable of understanding words that aren’t an affirmative or a negative,” Eric boomed, before brushing against a young woman walking her dog. “Pardon me,” Eric turned his head and apologised, the picture freezing into pixelated bits for a few seconds before settling into rights.
“Really,” Dele frowned, because he had some inkling of the type of stock Eric came from, and pinning that lot down to a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ at times might have been a feat in itself.
“Really.”
“So if I say no?”
Eric shrugged, the movement of his shoulders bobbing the phone screen around so Dele saw bits of sky and quiet road in Eric’s part of the world. “It’s a no then, no hard feelings on my end. There’s always a next time.”
There were things to do on his end. Things he couldn’t put off, no matter how studiously and stonily ignored. But -
“Sure.”
**
Eric still good company, from flight to hotel and now Catamaran. Their feet dangling off the the edge, trailing just over the surface of the water, as he pointed out landmarks from the Barcelona skyline, fingers wrapped around another bottle of beer.
“Over there,” Eric said, one arm around Dele’s shoulder, their heads pressed together. His voice a steady drawl over the static of the sea and the whine of the boat’s engines.
“In the distance, the Gran Marina, I think? It’s lovely. I tried to get reservations for there, but I couldn’t get a booking. It’s absolutely heaving.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t have the clout like I used to,” Eric’s smile wry and flinty. “It’s gone all a bit shit.”
**
“Have you thought,” Dele asked finally, “that you drink a bit too much?”
Eric’s eyes closed against the ambient lights of the room. Both of them in bed, Dele seated cross legged on top of the covers, laptop on thighs, Eric’s hands behind his head, feet crossed at the ankles as if he were dozing in a hammock.
“Yeah.”
At Eric’s stark answer, Dele raised an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say… it’s come up in passing.”
“So why do you -?”
Eric opened his eyes, turned his head towards Dele, his cheek resting on the pillow. Their room small, with balcony doors closed to the world outside, their surroundings quiet, save the hum of the a/c because people were still at work and had yet to come out and socialise.
“Habit, I guess. I -” Eric waved it off, “but noted,” he finished, his voice even.
Dele shut down his laptop, watching it going through its routines before the screen blinked black with a click. Closing it and putting it on the bedside table, he lay himself on the bed, his position mirroring Eric’s, his eyes trained on the ceiling above them, done to mirror the roof designs outside.
“That’s none of my business,” Dele said, because Eric had his own secrets too, everybody did.
“Dele.”
Dele’s eyes shifted from ceiling detail to Eric’s. Eric’s eyes a clear blue, the expression on his face earnest, as he turned on his side, his body facing Dele’s. “We’re mates, yeah? If you didn’t ask, it’d be strange, right? Or at least,” Eric smiled, his warmth and self mockery evident. “I’d hope so. Now,” he reached over, his arm outstretched, their bodies brushing against each other as Eric reached for the light, but at this time of the year, even at eight pm, it was still twilight.
Their faces close enough to smell the lemons and liquorice on Eric’s breath, to see the flutter of his lashes against the tops of his cheeks, the fleeting question in Eric’s eyes when their gazes briefly held before he clicked off the light, throwing the room and their features in shadow.
“Night,” Eric yawned, drifting off to sleep in unfair haste.
“Night,” Dele repeated, recalling the piece of music he’d been working on in his head, rejecting the salsa lean it might have been tripping towards, probably weighing on the first and fourth beat? Something a bit Santos?
The puzzle of the beats at the edges of his mind, still a question. Eric’s face drifted to his mind, front and centre. Dele breathed, because he already knew the answer to that one.
The heat wilted the Barcelona mornings too soon.
No matter how early in the morning, the blush of light streaking across the sky, the clouds sparse bits of fluff at the edges of the eye, the winds from the sea already warmed by the ambient temperature.
Never mind that they were staying in the Gothic quarter, not too far from Las Ramblas.
Its narrow roads and old buildings clustered together as if whispering secrets amongst themselves, the balconies their own hidden alcoves making it easy for one to look down and observe the world bustling below. Native dwellers turning into the bars for a croissant and a coffee, tourists stumbling home in the clothes they were still wearing either a night, or a weekend before. Even in this place of shadows, where the heat took its relative time in coming, it came early.
Legs crossed under his body like a buddha, his thighs protected from the heat of his laptop with the cooling cushion, Dele tugged his snapback down over his face, its bill protecting his eyes from the light. With his headphones on over the snapback, it created a cushion away from the world, noodling through some mix tweaks.
Dele liked all aspects of building beats, especially doing bespoke beats for others, and this was an enjoyable side project to the big one he was a part of now, European Soundscapes for Somerset House. The brief for the beat scribbled on a post it note sticked to the far left of his laptop. Ibiza, early noughties throwback, but not too throwback. Bikinis, frosted drinks, FUN. Singer Aggy, producer Hicken Funky
So something simple with a layer and a loop? Something vaguely salsa, with four beat measures over a multiple of eight beats? Or…
From the corner of his eye, a bottle of Orangina appeared on the table beside him, condensation beads pearling on the sides of the bottle, looking like little pearls. Eric stepped away, a beer in his hand. Corona with the wedge of lemon.
Dele looked at the time in the upper right corner of his screen.
Looked at Eric, head already tilted back, eyes closed and throat moving as he enjoyed his first beer of the day. His hair longer now, the strands catching the sunlight.
The time in the upper right corner of his screen now reading a minute later, but still early.
Their shared balcony the area and dimensions of a bar tray, the railing a little below chest height, and Eric turned around, already dressed for the day in a t- shirt and light linen trousers. All this with a bottle of beer in hand.
“Morning,” Eric greeted, rubbing at his eyes, his voice thick with sleep. “Have you been up long?”
Dele narrowed his eyes at the time in the corner of the computer screen. Thought about his answer, because with making beats, the concept of time just melted away. Answered, “Probably.”
Eric raised an eyebrow. “We can eat later if you wish? It’s too hot to cook, already.”
Dele looked at the beer in Eric’s hand, the bottle already half done.
**
Eric, Dele had to admit, was good company. Normally, Dele was one to sit down and pound through beats until they got done, but Eric had brought up the idea of a trip to Barcelona, just them.
“It’ll be good fun,” Eric said a couple days after Dele had stopped at Eric’s house for the night. “A weekend in one of the best cities in Europe. That is, if you’re free?”
Dele drummed his fingers against his thigh, peering at Eric’s face via Skype. Eric on his mobile phone, walking somewhere through a park, his eyes blue as the sky around him. Dele at home on his laptop, attending to the parts of his life that he hated, like invoicing his hours of work done with notations, deciding on which commitments to honour vs which ones to pass on before emailing it off to Flea to take care of.
“Probably,” Dele answered.
“I am incapable of understanding words that aren’t an affirmative or a negative,” Eric boomed, before brushing against a young woman walking her dog. “Pardon me,” Eric turned his head and apologised, the picture freezing into pixelated bits for a few seconds before settling into rights.
“Really,” Dele frowned, because he had some inkling of the type of stock Eric came from, and pinning that lot down to a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ at times might have been a feat in itself.
“Really.”
“So if I say no?”
Eric shrugged, the movement of his shoulders bobbing the phone screen around so Dele saw bits of sky and quiet road in Eric’s part of the world. “It’s a no then, no hard feelings on my end. There’s always a next time.”
There were things to do on his end. Things he couldn’t put off, no matter how studiously and stonily ignored. But -
“Sure.”
**
Eric still good company, from flight to hotel and now Catamaran. Their feet dangling off the the edge, trailing just over the surface of the water, as he pointed out landmarks from the Barcelona skyline, fingers wrapped around another bottle of beer.
“Over there,” Eric said, one arm around Dele’s shoulder, their heads pressed together. His voice a steady drawl over the static of the sea and the whine of the boat’s engines.
“In the distance, the Gran Marina, I think? It’s lovely. I tried to get reservations for there, but I couldn’t get a booking. It’s absolutely heaving.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t have the clout like I used to,” Eric’s smile wry and flinty. “It’s gone all a bit shit.”
**
“Have you thought,” Dele asked finally, “that you drink a bit too much?”
Eric’s eyes closed against the ambient lights of the room. Both of them in bed, Dele seated cross legged on top of the covers, laptop on thighs, Eric’s hands behind his head, feet crossed at the ankles as if he were dozing in a hammock.
“Yeah.”
At Eric’s stark answer, Dele raised an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say… it’s come up in passing.”
“So why do you -?”
Eric opened his eyes, turned his head towards Dele, his cheek resting on the pillow. Their room small, with balcony doors closed to the world outside, their surroundings quiet, save the hum of the a/c because people were still at work and had yet to come out and socialise.
“Habit, I guess. I -” Eric waved it off, “but noted,” he finished, his voice even.
Dele shut down his laptop, watching it going through its routines before the screen blinked black with a click. Closing it and putting it on the bedside table, he lay himself on the bed, his position mirroring Eric’s, his eyes trained on the ceiling above them, done to mirror the roof designs outside.
“That’s none of my business,” Dele said, because Eric had his own secrets too, everybody did.
“Dele.”
Dele’s eyes shifted from ceiling detail to Eric’s. Eric’s eyes a clear blue, the expression on his face earnest, as he turned on his side, his body facing Dele’s. “We’re mates, yeah? If you didn’t ask, it’d be strange, right? Or at least,” Eric smiled, his warmth and self mockery evident. “I’d hope so. Now,” he reached over, his arm outstretched, their bodies brushing against each other as Eric reached for the light, but at this time of the year, even at eight pm, it was still twilight.
Their faces close enough to smell the lemons and liquorice on Eric’s breath, to see the flutter of his lashes against the tops of his cheeks, the fleeting question in Eric’s eyes when their gazes briefly held before he clicked off the light, throwing the room and their features in shadow.
“Night,” Eric yawned, drifting off to sleep in unfair haste.
“Night,” Dele repeated, recalling the piece of music he’d been working on in his head, rejecting the salsa lean it might have been tripping towards, probably weighing on the first and fourth beat? Something a bit Santos?
The puzzle of the beats at the edges of his mind, still a question. Eric’s face drifted to his mind, front and centre. Dele breathed, because he already knew the answer to that one.
