Participants:
| Scene Title | Collide |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | This is what happens when the musical tastes of a traditionalist and a true cutting edge mod impact, head to head. |
| Date | June 6, 2010 |
Sable's apartment.
Usually, when someone shows up at your door with a stack full of mix CDs, it sent a rather specific image - at least, in this day and age. It's been that way ever since recordable tapes first came on the market. In this particular instance, however, that was not the case. At least, not the one at the forefront of motivation. In all of her talk with Sable since they'd met, they'd mused about a lot of different things, and music was the most prominent - and yet, with the exception of the songs Quinn had played at her audition, neither of them had really actually sat down and compared their most poignant of interests - who really liked what bands, playing songs for each other, and general merriment with their favourite songs as the soundtrack.
And so, with the aim to fix that very thing, Quinn had made her way to Sable's somewhat unannounced, outside of a text message sent moments before she actually got there asking if she was busy. There hadn't been time for a response, but she was about to find out anyway. Knocking on the door, she waits for a response, smile on her face as she holds the CDs behind her back and rocks back and forth on her heels.
Having a cellphone at all is still sort of new for Sable, and she has the true nostalgiac's difficulty adapting to new technology - silly, really, considering her age, and maybe put on. So the text message goes unread and unanswered, a call into the dark, and Quinn's arrival is a true, last second surprise. There is the sound of squeaking feet and a grumble about how she's a'comin', and then the door opens, and a dark head, further darkened by moisture, peeks out. Yellow eyes widen as they find Quinn, and Sable sticks out her hand, motioning for Quinn to come on it, before she disappears back into the apartment.
Quinn offers a wider smile as the door opens, pulling one hand from behind her and giving a small wave. "Heya, Sable!" She sounds cheery as all get out, for whatever reason. "Sorry for showin' up all a'sudden, but I thought of somethin' earlier and though I'd come by after work." As she steps in, Quinn gives a quizzical look, a mock frown on her face. "Didn't show up at a bad time, did I? Not meaning to inconvenience you or anythin'…" She looks for a place to sit, and spotting one, plops down with the CDs held in front of her.
Sable can be seen, beating a fairly hasty, betoweled retreat into her bedroom, one arm keeping her draping in place as she uses the other to swing the door shut. There is the sound of drawers opening and closing for a bit, but Sable, voice trained over years of singing and hell raising, is able to call through the door. Plus, the walls in this tenement aren't exactly soundproofed. Something they may have to do themselves when they claim a practice space. "Hon, it's a real pleasure, trust me!" she says, muffled just a bit by the barrier as she quickly dons her usual ensemble, "See you've got a real pile of records there, huh? Well, CD's, whatever." Her bedroom door swings open again and she's there, leaning in the doorframe, one of her favorite places to lean insolently, arms crossed, "Didja make all those f'r me?" she asks, her smile typically wicked.
"Records? I wish." Her gaze settles on Sable's position, Quinn setting the stack of CDs down beside. "If it were that easy to make vinyl, I'd fancy usin' that for everything, nothin' like handling a big, classic record." That was probably the DJ in her talking, she hated the fact that for a lot of songs she'd had to resort to digital playlist queuing over traditional vinyl turntables. "But yeah, they're for you. Occurred t' me at work that we've never really sat down 'n actually shared each other's music." She scoots forward in her seat so that she's sitting on the edge. "You look busy, ya' got time for a bit? Or no?"
Sable sniffs, "Naw, not the slightest goddamn bit. But I'm gonna get a job soon!" she sounds… sort of pleased about it? Which is weird, "So you'd better get me while I'm still readily available, hon." She sidles over to Quinn and plops down on the floor in front of her, crossing her legs and reaching out for the CDs, starting to peruse them. "Whatcha got here?"
Quinn snickers. "The thought of you workin' is a right bit ridiculous, no offense." In fact, she couldn't help but chuckle. As Sable sits down in front of her, her gaze moves downward, Quinn shifting in her seat a bit "Um, well… I know you said you're not the biggest fan a' modern music, but I thought I'd give you somethings t' chew on you're not likely to hear on the radio or anythin', you know?" She begins to sift through the CDs, gently tossing them down one by one. "This one's a buncha music from back home. Some of it's been on the radio here and all, but…" On to the next one, and so forth. "This one's quiter music. Emo, some people might call it, stupid as they are." There's an uncharacteristically venomous tone to that statement. "Some rock, some electronic and 'darker' rock, some mixes. Lots'a stuff."
"Well, y'know, I may not have nine kids 'n' a wife," Sable says, turning the the cases over in her hands, examining the words marked upon the CDs, starting to set them out around her, fanning them about, so she can look at them all at once, "But there's somethin' honest 'bout the working man's blues, eh?" She squints at Quinn, "I've worked on 'n' off most of my life. Just never held a job down f'r too long. Always tryin' to move on." She taps her fingers against the assembled cases, "Just talkin' ain't gonna convince me of nothin'. Start me off with somethin'. My player's over there," she lifts her chin in the direction of the window sill, whereupon sits a silver CD player, dotted with splashed white paint but still fully operational.
Quinn picks up one of teh CD cases at random, grinning as she flips it over and looks at the cover image she printed out - a picture of a waving Union Jack with another Green/White/Orange flag under it, the flag of Ireland. She examines it for a second before popping the case open and making her way to the player. "Movin' on? Fair 'nough. Though eventually you gotta settle down, right?" She plops the CD in the player, and hits play even as she flips over the case. "I might'a lied a bit. There's a few songs that were big in the States on hear, and some I just know you've heard. Every good mix has some familiar with the new, though." She pulls out the little fold of paper and opens it, unable to remember exactly what bands she put on it, even as "Golden Slumbers by the Beatles begins to play. "Start off with a good ol' classic, I figure," she muses as she reads, and then quirks a lip. "Beatles, Delgados, Oasis, The Who, Manic Street Preachers…"
Oh yes, this Sable knows. And it's a good way to lure her in - her love of the Beatles doesn't border on reverence, it's straight up worship. She beams and closes her eyes as the the piano starts up, and tips back a little, as the strings softly swell. Her head bobs as the drums kick in, and she looks close to tranced out. She's not listening investigatively, which is good - her defenses are down. Soon she's mouthing the words, her breath just barely giving them a ghost of a voice.
"Lisa Miskovsky? Well, I guess a little Swedish is fine, too." It wasn't something she meant to put on the CD, but it worked well enough. Dropping the case gently down where she'd been sitting, Quinn instead plops down on the floor a bit away from Sable. The last part of the Abby Road Medley was always a good way to start a mix, this one in particular. She watches, amused as Sable gets her groove into the music, a smile on her face. After a few moments, she begins to quietly hum along, leaning back on her hands. "Guess it'd be silly to ask what 'ya think of this one."
One of Sable's eyes peeks open and she smirks, "Y'think?" she quips. When the next song comes on… it's one she's not familiar with. Her affect changes at once. She's suddenly a student, and a critic, her lips pursing as she listens to the simple guitar riff and the bare bones vocals. As the song grows, gaining layers, she begins to nod in time. She casts a quick glance at Quinn as the drums and bass join in earnest - what Quinn thinks and feels about this song is information Sable wants. Learning about an artist's favorite works is deeply telling of that artist.
Quinn has managed to coot herself over so that she's leaning back against the wall, eyes closed as the second song begins, mimicking the opening guitar part and mouthing the words with a smile on her face. She seems utterly wrapped up in the matter, almost as if Sable wasn't there -if she actually had an instrument in hand a microphone, it'd be no different than the motions she makes now. As the song ends, she lets out a sigh, and slides across the floor, a bit closer to Sable. Her legs are crossed and eyes open, even this time as she begins to mimic the piano of the following song. "I'd be a bit surprised if you've not heard this one," she notes, grinning. "Considerin' how many queues Oasis takes from classic British Rock, I figure you might like 'em, if you've never listened before."
A mirror of Sable's own first reaction. Very telling indeed. Sable smiles, half a smirk, half simple fondness. Yeah, she's been there before. She just got back. She extends her leg and prods Quinn's calf with her bare foot. "Jus' cuz I was a goddamn hobo don't make me a total cretin," she says, with a laugh, "Yeah, yeah. Arrogant sons of bitches, but with talent like they got, who c'n blame 'em." Sable herself is hardly one to talk about conceit. See her views on herself vis a vis incredible musical genius. "See, this is somethin' I like, the central fuckin' band structure. Need that b'fore you go branchin' off into all the other stuff. You need yer firm foundation!"
Clearly Quinn was underestimating Sable, and that was something that warmed her heart a bit. "Never though 'ya were." After a few moments, she stops mimicking the piano part, feeling a bit more silly playing air piano than she did air guitar. "Just promise me we'll never have issues like th' Gallaghers, they're idiotic ponces, talented as they are. There's reasons Oasis is broken up now." She lends a mirthful smile to Sable, laughing. "Never even got to release their best songs!"
Sable points at Quinn, momentarily very serious. "'s long as the three of us keep each other's heads from gettin' rammed too far up our own asses, I trust we'll be in this for good and all. I ain't sayin' I won't be a huge pain in yer ass from time t' time. But Lord take me if I ever once show you disrespect."
Quinn's grin widens a bit. "Sounds like a deal t' me, right? Impossible not to be a pain in the ass sometimes." She playfully shoves Sable, as if to indicate that she's referring to her instead of herself. She leans back again, smiling as she reaches over and picks up one of the other mix CD, examining the case for a moment before tossing it over to Sable. "Feel free t' switch up any time you want. I don't care what you listen to, just happy that you are."
Sable's lifts her bow, "Well, one question hon… yer leavin' these with me, right?"
"'Course. Why wouldn't I?" Her expression is genuinely confused, as if she can't fathom why she'd do otherwise. "That a problem or… somethin'?" There's that small hint of nervousness in her voice. Did she say something wrong?
Sable leans forward and gently flicks the tip of Quinn's nose, "Naw, just wanted t' make sure I c'n listen t' all this whenever. I wanna do all this proper honor. But yeah, spin me up somethin' else. This is easy f'r me t' get behind, mostly. Push my limits, hon," she grins, "I know yer capable of it." Flirting a little has to be okay, right? That is still firmly on the right side of the line, she's sure.
Quinn wiggles her fingers, smiling at Sable as she climbs back to her feet. "Not sure if these are the right buttons, dear." She dips and ruffles the other girl's hair as she passes by. Popping the UK mix out and slipping it back in its case, she thought about what Sable had said - in retrospect, it really was the "safe bet" of the mixes. The next one, however, was much more likely to get some much more mixed reactions. "This one's a lot more uptempo music. Not necessarily, you know… upbeat. Lots more rock and heavier guitars an' beats, though." Slipping it in, she practically slaps the play button and pivots back around, plopping back in her previous spot as an odd, dark sounding orchestral tone begins to swell from the player, eventually giving away to guitars and high, operatic vocals.
Sable bats at Quinn's hand as she receives the ruffle, wrinkling her nose in ostensible objection. As Quinn passes back to her seat, Sable leans up and swings a light backhand at Quinn's rear, her smile glinting wickedly as she quickly draws back, hands disappearing beneath her own backside, hiding the offending implements - who, me?
But tomfoolery ceases as the song begins to play and Sable releases her hands so she can grip her ankles, leaning forward and frowning as she listens with an intentness the previous mix did not stir in her. This is something else, this song, and it's difficult to tell what Sable thinks. She's almost scowling, but it's a scowl of concentration, not disapproval.
When Sable swats at her, Quinn turns back and quirks an eyebrow at Sable, a bemused expression on her face. "Daft woman." She laughs teasingly at her, plopping back down in her seat. "Thinkin' about it, this is probably an off choice. Normally sings opera, but she did this one more… gothic album." She motions to the CD player, grinning as she scoots a bit closer to Sable, eyeing her closely, attempting to get a gauge on her reaction. "This one's a right good mix a' music."
The song plays out, and Sable leans over to pause it for a second, looking up at Quinn. Her expression is pensive. "I'd never be able t' play somethin' quite like that, y'know," she says, then gives a 'heh', "Couldn't sing that good, f'r one. I dunno… yeah… see, this is good f'r me. Mebbe the 'opera' needs t' be put back into the rock opera, but I don't have the edge. This is why I needja around. Okay…" she bites her lip, "This does gimme sorta an idea." She shakes her head, "Gah. Jesus. You know, it's like… I'd love to try out every damn style every damn way. I figure every one of these has somethin' to it that I could dive into, but I'd need t' really make it my own."
Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "I've never met anyone that could sing that well. I mean, I fancy myself a right good singer, but that? She laughs again. "You need me around t' give you ideas? I thought you had plenty'a those." She glances up at the CD player as it transitions between tracks, scratching the back of her head. "I'm curious to this idea though. As for making it you own, that's the grand problem these days, isn't it?”
Sable makes an ugly face. "Fuckin' Magnes," she says, "Livin' for weeks surrounded by all his goddamn comic dweebery. Had an adverse fuckin' effect on me. I keep thinkin' of this one, like, thing I read cuz I was bored. 'bout the people with superpowers rulin' the world, all aristocratic. Somethin' about it appealed t' me. I thought 'that'd make a great stage show', 'n' I thought, 'you could have all sorts of strings 'n' maybe a harpsichord, go f'r a real Baroquey kinda rock opera…" she rubs her brow, "But I can't do that t' myself. I need t' finish my first fuckin' project first." She looks up at Quinn, tuning into the next track, "Who's this?"
"Jersey band, The Gaslight Anthem." A smirk crosses her face as she leans over with a half whisper. "Looks like somethin' good can come outta Jersey." Truthfully, she's never been to Jersey, but she's heard all the jokes and stereotypes. "Kinda gotta a Springsteen influence in there, if you listen." She sits up a bit, leaning forward. "That sounds like a really neat idea, I'd fancy bein' a part of that. Interestin' concept, if nothin' else." Her smirk widens into a grin, pointing a finger at Sable. "Plus it'd let me flex that classical muscle I'm so great at. It'd be a good time."
Sable nods. She's not grinning, but that only means she's being serious with herself about something. "I've always wanted there t' be that element. George Martin, y'know? I don't have a head for that kinda thinkin'… musical theory, 'n' stuff. Never had the chance to learn, either. One of the reasons I was keen t' have you on, that classical trainin'," her smile returns, replacing the seriousness, "Which must tell y' how much I respect that trainin', closin' doors as I've closed." She rocks back and forth a bit, suddenly impatient. She presses the 'next track' button, "Sorry," she explains, even as she settles in for the next song, "Got the sense of that one. Wanna keep pushin' boundaries."
Quinn only offers a weak laugh in return. "Music theory's a bitch, you know." Glancing up to the CD player, a small smile returns to her face as she waves a hand dismissively. "No worries, I know what you mean." She pauses, listening as a beat slowly builds - it's amazing how quickly she forgets the songs she put on her own CD mix, but as familiarity grows so does her smile. "New Order!" The exclamation is made with Quinn playfully punching Sable's leg. "There's a classic. Joy Division and New Order. Love 'em."
Now this is something else. Sable is listening too hard to remember to block or dodge the punch, so she growls at Quinn and snaps her jaws in warning. "Tryin' t' listen t' something here, Jesus," she whinges, before grinning at Quinn. But then it's back to work. She tilts her head, and soon her fingers are keeping seperate lines of percussion on her legs as he head bobs in the main time. "Got a dance music influence, eh?" she says, "That's a cash cow, 'n' there are some fine fuckin' artists workin' in electronica 'n' house nowadays. Even a fuckin' Woodstock holdover like me has t' admit it."
Quinn jerks back when Sable snaps her jaws, not quite used to such actions. The grin makes her ease, but for a moment she looks noticeably tense. "Ah, well, electronica's fun, and as simple to get into as it is complex and layered." It's stated very matter of factly, Quinn even wagging a pointed finger as she talks as if she were a teacher lecturing a student. "I maen, even I 'ave a keyboards and syth, and…" A pause, a grimace, and a nervous chuckle. "Well, there was one thing I didn' bring to my audition cause it's kinda embarrassin', really. But it's somethin' that sees lots of use in electronic, darkwave, new wave, and bands with general synth backin'."
Oh, see, now Sable's noticed the cat's tail sticking out the proverbial bag. "Fess up," the yellow eyed girl says, scooting closer to Quinn and grinning up at her. "Y've said too much not to say it all, hon. Them's the rules."
She couldn't help but grimace. Sable was right, she'd walked right into that one, but at this point there was no real harm in it - they were going to find out anyway. "It's a fancy new… well, I don't know what else t' call it besides a keytar. You know, one of those keyboard guitars. Got it for Christmas, used to hate the things but…" She shrugs and chuckles. "Kinda like a guilty pleasure now, I guess." She leans back with her hands behind her again, a bit more level with Sable. "Makes programin' a lot easier, though." The CD player, meanwhile, has changed tracks, drawing Quinn's attention at a pretty good moment. She thinks for a moment. "Speakin' a keytars, I know this band uses one."
Sable brightens as Quinn mentions the keytar. Far from dismissive or scornful, she seems pleased at the idea. "Nothin' wrong with bringin' in the uncommon 'n' unfamiliar," she says, "Or the fuckin' inventive. Y' ever listen t' the Flecktones? Future Man's got a thing he calls a synthaxe drumitar, plays it just fuckin' fine, 'n' if it's good enough f'r Bela Fleck, it sure as hell is good enough f'r me." Sable tunes into this next track, and quirks her lips, "Who's this?"
It's Quinn's turn to quirk an eyebrow at the other. For all of her musical knowledge, she'd never actually heard the Flecktones before. "I'll have to give that a listen, it sounds quite interestin'." She sits up a bit, running a hand back through her red hair as she lets out a sigh. "Not really that unfamiliar. Been around in popular music for years, even if people don't know it." She offers a smile to Sable, glancing up at the CD player again. "Kinda dark synthrock band called The Birthday Massacre. Big at a lotta the DJin' gigs I do."
Sable waves a hand, "Sure, sure, wrong fuckin' word. I mean, just… y'know… things that ain't part of the fundamentals I was speakin' so highly of," she says. She glances at the CD player. "I dunno. This may just be one of those things I can't quite fuckin' get," she says, "You 'n' your DJ fuckin' sensibility. Like all this mashup shit I hear about. Not that, like, I mean shit in a bad way. Just… I'm such a goddamn traditionalist. I'm all about writin' songs, 'n' maybe reinterpretin' them, but beyond that I just dunno what I'm doin' anymore."
Quinn looks down at Sable and smiles, shrugging as best as she can. "Nothin' wrong with traditionalist, you know. Could use more of that these days, even." She lets her hands slide out from under her, flopping flat on her back on the floor, staring up. "And no worries, not like I expected ya' to like everything I brought. I'd be kinda weirded out if you did. She looks over at the CD player as the track changes, but this time doesn't offer any introduction, instead watching for Sable's reaction.
Sable considers the next song with a similarly pensive air. It doesn't take long for her to shake her head, though. "I'm just gonna have t' lock m'self in a room with all this 'n' listen t' it properly," she says, "I dunno what I think cuz y'r here 'n' I think well enough of you that I automatic-like want t' think well of yer music." She tips forward, supporting herself on her hands as she looms up over Quinn, "Yer a troublin' fuckin' distraction, is what you are."
At first Quinn's smile beams a bit, looking over at Sable. "Glad t' know you think so well'a me, not that it's undeserved." There's a cocky tone to her voice as she chuckles. As Sable moves over her though, the smile fades just the slightest bit and becomes a bit more nervous. "Not th' first time you've said that , you know…" she points up with one of the hands folded over her stomach, wrinkling her nose as she tries to ignore something in her mind.
Sable's smile also changes, tinged with a rueful sadness. "Aw, hon, I'm sorry," she says, and eases back onto her hauches, still looking down at Quinn but not looming, "I'm tryin'… I dunno, t' manage without bein' a fuckin' liar, y'know? Tryin' t' own up t' things without goin' too far. If that's a bullshit way of doin' things, tell me."
Quinn quirks a bit of eyebrow, gaze centring squarely on Sable. "Wait, what?" She doesn't move from her laying position, truth be told she's kinda comfortable, at least physically. "I was just sayin' that you said that to me the other day. The hell did you think I meant?" Okay, that's a bit of a lie of vagueness, but whatever. She suddenly didn't feel like pressing buttons anymore. "I mean… Christ." She finally sifts her weight and props herself back up, looking intently at Sable. "I wasn't trying to offend or anything, you know."
Sable thwacks herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand. Bad Sable! Bad! "Daw, I'm just a fuckin' idiot," she self-chastises, "Obviously it's me the goddamn problem here, and just tryin' t' enshrine it or somethin'. And of courses you weren't tryin' t' offend me. If you'd've done that, I'd've let y' know pretty damn quick!" She tries to segue into good natured boistrousness with this last comment, trying to smooth over the dust kicked up by crossed wires.
Quinn's face upturns into a bit stronger smile, though not as big as previous. As Sable's hand withdraws from smacking herself, Quinn reaches up and takes it, smiling. "'Ey, 'ey! No need for that, now." A bit of the mirth seems to be returning now, even though Quinn sits up, baring a more serious expression than before. "You worry too much sometimes." She slides a bit closer to Sable, attempting to sling one arm around her while she points with the other. "It's hard."
Sable sticks out her lower lip, slouching a bit as Quinn's arm goes around her. "My brain needs a good fuckin' scrubbin'. But th' only thing I've had available lately's been booze, which only gets yer head more fuckin' twisted." She looks up at Quinn, edgewise, "I ain't usually so fuckin' confused 'n' preoccupied, promise. Been an odd goddamn couple months."
"Irish as I may be, I pick m' drinkin nights right carefully for a reason." She's still pointing at Sable, while her other hand runs up and down the girl's shoulder - though in a strictly comforting manner. She does laugh, however, smile finally widening back to what it was. "If you were this confused all th' time, I'd be scared." From a point to a playful light punch to Sable's arm. "I think I gotta better grip on you than that, though. These last few months, you know, if they're so odd…" She looks around the room, and spots a piece of paper at her feet. Pulling it closer, she offers it over to Sable. "A song might be th' best kinda catharsis there is, you know." It always had been for her, at least.
Sable takes the paper, draws it up to her eyes. The problem of the blank page, versus the problem of the unwritten tale. An ancient rivalry. "Arright," she says, "Fair 'nuff. But you gotta gimme a hand," she flashes Quinn a smile, "Gimme a push into new territory."
Quinn glances at the blank page of paper, and then at Sable, smiling as she nods in response. A few things come to mind to say, ranging the gamut of appropriateness. Better sense prevails, though, and she curls up her legs towards her chest, smirking. "Like, new musical territory? I think I c'n manage that, maybe." She pats Sable shoulder, eyes scanning the floor for a pen or pencil before she remembers that she has one in her pocket. Withdrawing it, she offers it over to Sable. "These lyrics are all yours, though."
"Now what the hell else would I mean, huh?" Sable says, with a snicker. She takes the pen, pulls the cap off with her teeth and then slips it back onto the end of the implement. "'course they are," Sable snorts, seeming more herself, "Ain't gonna shake my creative goddamn control."
Quinn doesn't make an audible response. Instead, she sits quiet and smiling, arm still draped around Sable as she watches intently. Being a lyricist was no easy task, and she was eager to see how Sable tackled the task at hand, and what exactly it produced. She hadn't, at least not knowingly, heard anything Sable had really written herself, and she was incredibly curious.
Sable sets upon the paper like a long-fought and well respected foe. She scratches out a series of words - 'rain or snow' - 'letter too late' - 'seaside light' - 'that makes three' - and each spawns a column of other words, beneath it, some linked in concept, some simply rhyming. It looks more like tabulation than poetry at this moment. She draws links between some of the words, across columns, again, either by rhyme or by association.
Quinn scoots as close as she can get without being too close or distracting, watching across Sable's shoulder, regarding the whole affair with a sense of intrigue. It was a very different way from how she formulated lyrics - she usually had a tune in mind to begin with, and wrote in a very linear style, line by line starting with the chorus and working around it. The nonlinear, jilted and interconnected style Sable presented earned an audible "Huh" from her, but little more so far.
Sable pulls a single line of linked words out of the mess, writing a new column of just those words, grouping the ones that rhyme together and then squinting at the result. She sniffs once, twice, then looks around for another sheet of paper. "Dunno. This may not go anywhere. Might be bitin' off more than I c'n chew…" she glances at Quinn, "Wha'? Just say it, hon. Yer thinkin' something, it's written all over yer face."
Quinn blinks, drawn back from her focus as she looks over at Sable and half shrugs. "Just interested is all. Your style's really different from mine." She reaches out with one hand and traces lines across the paper from rhyme to rhyme and line to line. "It's kinda neat to see." She looks back up at Sable and smiles. "And hey, even if it is, at least 'ya tried. It helps to try, you know?" She could think of a lot of songs she'd written to get something out of her system that hadn't gone anywhere.
"It all depends, y'know?" Sable says, starting to write out lines of lyrics in a much more traditional way, trying out verses and choruses assembled out of and with the elements she plotted on the last sheet. Her spelling is bad, and reflects more how she's pronounce things. 'Fly, postman, fly, this letters too late/Even now times atickin, and it just cant fuckin wait/You promised to make it, through rain sleet and snow/And if you dont deliver, I just dont fuckin know'.' Her handwriting is a bit labored, and extremely messy, but isn't exactly unpracticed. She squints at her handiwork for a moment. "Gah, I always write a goddamn blues song when I'm writing 'bout myself."
Peering at the words and what she can read as Sable writes, she smirks at the other girl's comment. "I guess that's a sign'a the differences in what we listen to," she says as she reaches over and taps the paper twice - it's a long reach, and she's probably a little in Sable's way. "I saw somethin' like, I dunno… The Promise Ring. Or The Get Up Kids. Modern slower indie rock kinda deal." She's not trying to infringe on Sable's creativity, just saying what the words brought to her mind.
Sable tilts her head, peering at Quinn. "Got some 'f that I could listen to?" she asks. Welcoming a little infringement, in the name of breaking tradition.
With a smile, Quinn jumps up, scanning the floor for where she'd left the CDs. Spotting the stack, she sifts through them until she pulls up one with a drawn cover case predominantly covered in brows, greens, and dark reads in design. Popping the CD in, she hits play and scurries back to her spot, plopping back down next to Sable. Tentatively, she proceeds to redrape her arm behind Sable, catious in case she ultimately takes exception to it. "You're right lucky I burned that f'r you. It's On A Wire by The Get Up Kids. Added as many little demos and unreleased tracks to it as I could, too."
No exceptions apply. Sable doesn't in the least bit object to the redraping of the arm, as long as its on Quinn's terms. The song starts up and Sable listens - yes, this is quite different from what she had in mind at first. And that's not a bad thing. Her lips quirk into a small smile, and she nods, "Arright. Y'know, mebbe we can have it both ways. I think th' styles c'n talk to each other. We c'n use a classic blues structure, y'know? Turnaround and all that. But we can breaks the rules of th' sorta chords and whatnot you usually find in blues. But either way, I figure this should acoustic on guitar. Only fuckin' right."
Quinn nods with more than a bit of enthusiasm. "I wouldn't imagine anythin' else, 'cept maybe a quiet electric over the chorus?" She pauses. "You know, just as a thought." Quinn's as equally wrapped up in the music coming from the CD player as she looks at the paper Sable has. "Yeah, I think this'll blend well. You're on t' something here, Sable."
Sable gives a snort, "'course I am!" she exclaims, "I'm a goddamn genius!" The smile that follows this declaration is run through with triumph - her self praise doesn't appear to be ironic. For better or for worse, Sable seems be quite back to herself. "Work on a riff, hon, I trust you on it. I'll keep on with these lyrics, arright?"
Quinn gives a mock frown, looking around the room. "Makes me kinda wish I hadn't forgotten my guitar." Well, not really forgotten. More like been too preoccupied to think about it. Pointing a finger at the work in progress, she resumes her smile. "Keep 'em comin'. We'll make into somethin' great, and everyone'll love it. If we get something we like, I c'n probably find us a place to record it, even."
Sable points over to the corner of the room, where her own battered acoustic rests. "Grab Adelaide," the yellow eyed girl says, using the guitar's given name with a distracted, offhanded way that indicates she really does use the name without thought, "I trust you with 'er." She is hard at work, scratching out a chorus, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in a comic but totally unconscious display of concentration.
Quinn follows Sable's finger to its destination, and then smiles as she stares at Sable for a moment, watching her busy at work. Eyes linger for a moment, and then she shakes her head, withdrawing her arm and standing up with just the most subtle reluctance. She stretches, cracks her fingers, and makes her way to the guitar, taking it and cradling it over her knee. She looks thoughtful for a moment, before taking a few careful strums. "Hmm. I think I got something…"
Sable lifts her paper high and shakes it, "Same here, gal!" she exclaims, turning to face Quinn, "Let's get t' work."