Speak With Conviction


quinn_icon.gif sable_icon.gif

Scene Title Speak With Conviction
Synopsis Sable approaches Quinn for her thoughts on a budding idea with surprising vehemence.
Date July 13, 2010

Gun Hill - Quinn's Apartment

Her arrival was foretold in text! So it was typed in a cellphone, so it will be done!

'coming over band bussiness' (sic)

So, unless she's quickly informed to change course, Sable is on a collision course with Quinn's door. Despite being on band business, she lacks any instrument. Instead she's decked out in her hippie-gear, the sign of the new way, with purple specs set low on her nose as she walks with a 'keep on truckin'' roll to her step. Lookin' for fun and feelin' groovy. Well, okay, no. She's on business, and since Elaine's trouble reared its hideous head, she's had a hard time feeling straight up groovy. But business may help her feel somewhat less ungroovy. Plus Quinn makes her just feel better. She knocks, three times.

Three knocks, followed by the sound of three footsteps from within, and quickly the door is drawn open, revealing Quinn waiting on the other side, dressed in a bright green t-shirt and bright yellow skirt. "You're up a right bit earlier than I expected," the Irishwoman says teasingly as she steps back from the door. Her bass is laid out on the couch, an amp sitting next to it - come to think of it, she'd had the instrument handy a lot lately. "Is Magnes comin' too?" she asks as she plops back down on the couch, an eyebrow raised. "Seein' as it's band business and all that."

"I'm a workin' person, now," Sable says, tapping her chest, "Makin' some dime, makin' an honest woman outta m'self." She peeks into Quinn's demesne, "Not interruptin', nor gotta keep it down, do I? Don't have a, like, lady caller still sleepin' off th' evenin'?" Sable's eyes slide up to Quinn. She's not joking. She doesn't want to mess with Quinn's game. She steps inside with soft footfalls, keeping it down until told she doesn't have to worry. "Uh… wanted t' swing it by you first seein' as yer the brains 'f the operation 'n' all. I got vision, but that means havin' yer eyes on the horizon, often meanin' y' sorta f'rget to check yer roadmap so t' speak."

"What? No. What?" Quinn sounds somewhat confused at Sable's question, shaking her head as she draws the bass back into her lap - a quick pluck reveals that the amp, is indeed on, so there's no pressing need to keep quiet. "Trust me, Sable, I'd a' let you know if that was the case when you texted me. Besides, Elaine's… I think with Magnes, an' I haven't talked t' Ygraine since the other day." She slinks down into the couch a bit, continuing to pluck. "A vision? What a' you got in mind?" The comment about her being the brains warrants a arched brow from Quinn at Sable.

Yeah, and Magnes is the heart! Remember? Oh, whatever. Sable plops down next to Quinn and tips her head back, eyes on the ceiling. "Been thinkin'," she begins, "'bout how we can't even figure a band name f'r ourselves. Reckon it's 'cause we don't even know what kinda band we are. Reckon that's 'cause we don't have just one clear way t' bring all 'f us together, influence wise. So… we gotta fuckin' handle that problem, y'know?" she turns her head towards Quinn, "We gotta find a way t' do everythin' we all wanna do, 'n' still stick it out t'gether."

Quinn wrinkles her nose at that, plucking a few more times at her EB-0. "I was thinkin' about the same thing, before… you know, the whole thing with Elaine happened." She sits back up a little bit, attempting to look a little less lazy. "T' be honest, I'm not entirely sure how t' go about that. I'm used t' playing either solo, or with one person who was… you know, pretty much in charge a' the song writing and all that. But the three of us seem t' have some really different things in mind."

"It's my natural inclination t', like, keep total creative control," Sable admits, up front, "But I don't wanna be no Roger Waters, dig? But I figure if any, like, one vision rules, each 'f us will feel some kinda discontent. So… like… I think mebbe we gotta think 'f things in a new way. This ain't the 20th fuckin' century any more. People listen t' all sorts 'f shit, and there ain't no reason t' choose, like, between Zeppelin 'n' Stones as a fan or as an artist. And the big industries ain't our friends no more, t' either artist 'r fan. So… mebbe we need t' think a little smaller 'n' a little bigger 't once," she gives Quinn a very, very frank look, "I think we should try 'n' start our own label," she lets this sink in just long enough to, she hopes, excite and interest, without allowing for skepticism to take over, "Just with us in yer space here, mebbe with some backing. Think mebbe we can get some cash from that gal at the Rock Cellar, Cat, if we can cut a few demo tapes showin' we c'n operate in a few different styles. Then we got a few different like personas f'r th' band, one f'r each 'f us. Like… three solo projects, with all three collaborating."

Quinn chuckles at Sable's admittance of wanting to be in control. "Well, that was kinda what I expected, t' be honest. Magnes makes a bit deal 'bout it being your dream an' band, and that was the impression I had t' begin with." She nods in conformation of this, a few more plucks at her bass. She looks at bit surprised at Sable's suggestiong of starting a label. "You realise there's a shitton that goes into all that. I mean… I'm not sure it's somethin' we can just do. We can definitely look into it, though." And with that, she glances back at her spare room. "It's not quite ready for real recording, particularly if we get a drummer. But truth be told, I never planned on stoppin' being solo, you know? But havin' us all put somethin' together to record sounds like a good enough idea."

"Well, like, 'label'," Sable actually lifts her fingers into scare quotes, "Is fuckin' overstatin' it mostly. I mean it like we c'n do it. Recordin' our own stuff, distributin' it ourselves mostly, at gigs. Payin' for it all with our jobs, 'n' mebbe gettin' some friendly investment if we prove we've got th' chops. We c'n all work on our own stuff, but with th' rest 'f us playin' what th' rest can't play, 'n' then we can come together f'r a group effort once we got 'nuff songs in a certain way, dig? See… I ain't so much hung up on a style as I am on a way, y'know? There's somethin' in the air, Quinn. Every real turn's got somethin' in the air durin' it. Was that way at Woodstock, y'know? 'n' now, shit gettin' t' be the way it is…"

There's a rising vehemence in her voice. The y'knows drop out of her expression as she sits up straight, speaking with what more and more sounds like conviction.

"I mean Jesus look where we live! Whole tenement of mutants 'n' freaks, tryin' to keep ourselves out from under th' nose 'f the law? This is our time, Quinngirl. Who th' fuck cares if we say what we gotta say in punk 'r' acid 'r' alternative 'r' fuckin', like, comic book nerd rock? Time's come t' agitate, girl. Time's come t' speak love 'n' rebellion through music, 'cause otherwise it'll be only be gun's singin' 'n' the drumroll 'f boots marchin' in time. 'n' the only ones that c'n do it, start it, is us. Here 'n' now."

Quinn watches Sable with a bit of surprise as she gives her impassioned speech, looking rather surprised most of the entire time. She nods occasionally, gives an "Un… huh" every now and then. When she finishes, Quinn sits up again, looking at Sable with a smirk. "I'm all for it. Magnes said this was your dream, but like… wow, I had no idea you were that passionate." Quinn smirks, hoppin up with her bass in hand. "Excellent!" It's infections, it seems. "So, how do we want t' go about all this, then?"

Sable gets to her feet as well, the ferocity of her speech remaining, a hard gleam in her eyes, "We can't let the squares set th' tune," she says, with finality, "We gotta get th' band together f'r a proper meetin', 'n' start work on each 'f our projects, with help from each one 'f us. If we c'n produce a demo tape f'r each 'f us, together, we c'n brand that shit, 'n' present it t' Cat, see if she can't front us some equipment 'r somethin'. Then we work on gettin' gigs 'n' doing distribution."

"The most I have is a CD I recorded a few years back," Quinn notes, furrowing her brow as she thinks of just how old that thing is now. "If we get a drummer and a few more mics, I can probably get a mixer an' run something into my computer. That's kinda what I wanted t' do anyway, you know?"

"Then we'll get a drummer," Sable says, like it's that easy, "Don't have t' have one that'll stay with us. Just someone t' hold our beats. We c'n pay 'im for his time, for as many session as we need t' get it right. We just gotta get this ball rollin' dig?" she smiles, "Fuckin' bless you, Quinn. Yer a godsend. I want this, but no way I could do it m'self. We need you hon, like you don't even know."
Ling has partially disconnected.

"A session drummer?" Quinn repeats, nodding slowly. "That could work. We really should find someone as soon as possible. I told Elaine, if she ends up goin' t' school like she wants, t' put some notes up on the community board. That'll probably get a call or two, at least." And then Quinn wrinkles her nose, chuckling self consciously. "I don't know about that. So far I'm repeatin' stuff you an' Magnes could so, 'cept for the violin. I'm happy t' be a part, though."

Sable rolls her eyes. "You 'n' yer fuckin' modesty," she says, "Either yer just bein' modest t' be modest, 'n' that makes y' a liar, or y' really think y' ain't deservin' of my praise, 'n' that makes y' a fool? So what is it?" she grins, "I'm bankin' on th' latter. Y' make a mighty cute fool, I figure," her head tilts, "'n' you got a CD, Quinngirl? Why th' fuck haven't y' cracked that out b'fore? That's somethin' I wanna hear!"

Quinn looks at Sable incredulously, and then just shrugs. "I dunno. I just think it's that big a deal, you know?" So, mostly option 2. Not always, though, even Quinn knew that. "I haven't brought it out because it's, like… Christ, seven years old? It sounds pretty terrible these days. A few covers, some acoustic stuff I wrote, an' one song I did as an actual band piece with a friend. I can burn you a copy, if you really want."

Sable nods, unyielding on the matter of her desire. "Hell yeah I really want," she says, "I wanna know where y' come from, Quinn. 'n' I'm glad yer here, 'n' I plan t' be there each step 'f where yer goin'."

Quinn sighs, shaking ehr head. "I'll have t' burn for you a bit later. I'm out of CDs at the moment, but I guess if we're gonna be demoing stuff, I should get a new set of 'em anyway." Quinn nods. "It's mostly acoustic an' really… emotional stuff. Me an' my piano and guitar. One of them's a real pop rock style song. Let me know what y' think of it after you give it a listen."

Sable gives Quinn a big thumbs up. "It's a fuckin' deal," she says, "Now… when the hell 'r' we gonna get stoned t'gether, watch a fuckin' film? 'cause after sayin' all th' heavy shit I just said, half 'f which I can't fuckin' recall, that's my interest."

"I, um…" She wrinkles her nose, and shrugs. "I dunno. Whenever. It's been a while since i smoked, so eh." She still doesn't sound too particularly enthused by the idea. "Just… let me know, and I guess I'll see?"

"See, that's yer problem," Sable says, "Y' know how harsh I got up here," she taps her head, "Goin' without green f'r as long as I did. Need t' mellow y' out some. Take things easy, take 'em as they come."

Quinn laughs, shaking her head as she slinks back down on the couch. "I already take things as they come pretty well, Sable. I don't really smoke up much anymore outta choice, you know? She shrugs, but smiles back Sable. "Not that I'm opposed t; it every once in a blue moon."

Sable plops back down next to Quinn, her smile wide and fond. "When that moon's risin', hon, you let me know," she says, "Mebbe y' just need th' right company, 'n' the right tunes. 'cause I dunno 'bout you, but neither've been so right f'r me as they are right now," she tips forward and bumps her nose lightly against Quinn's, "Y' dig?"

"What, like… right this moment?" Quinn says with a look of disbelief. "I'll have t' take a rain check, I'm afraid. I gotta walk down to the drug store in a short bit, you know?" She reaches over and playfully punches Sable in the arm. "But I'll keep you in the loop, I promise."

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