heroeswork | I'm screaming from outside in, Tell me where I've been

I'm screaming from outside in, Tell me where I've been

Billy stepped out of his building hands shoved deep into his pockets. Even without anyone really knowing his face, he still wore sunglasses and kept his head down. If it weren't the middle of a hot summer day, he would have added a hat and a high-collared jacket as was demanded of him.

He wasn't happy. Far from it. They were in the heart of New York City. Just like he'd always dreamed. He was selling records like crazy. He had droves of fans. Always top of the charts. More than most people could ever achieve at the young age of 22. But it all seemed like it was happening to someone else. Because he only ever saw the studio or his home. Even after moving to New York a few months ago, he still didn't actually see anyone who liked his music. Because he was forbidden from performing. From even having his photo on his albums. Not even his real name appeared anywhere. He was billed as "CHAOS" and nothing more.

He wasn't supposed to even be outside. His manager forbid it unless he was present as well. But he was off dealing with some business for the day and Billy couldn't stand staying cooped up another moment. He bought a copy of Rolling Stone off the news vendor and ducked into a coffee shop. He found a dim corner away from everyone else as he sipped at his drink. He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head as he flipped opened the magazine. He was after a specific article, listed on the cover.

"True CHAOS" the headline yelled in bold, red letters. The subheading added "Fans and journalists alike demand 'Who is He?!'" The article went on to detail the mystery surrounding his own career. Statements from fans. Attempts to stalk the studio. Pleas for information. An analysis of his music trying to guess at what his accent when when he wasn't singing.

Billy scrubbed at the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand.

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He still feels like he sold out. Sure, it's a small indie music magazine, and it gives him time to work on his screenplays and films. It pays shit and he's still living in Alphabet City, but it's not working for some slave corporation.

Part of him still wants to do riots--to tell the world something that matters. He's got a job now and is actually helping Roger out with his 'unfortunate problems,' as Maureen put it. They're all chipping together after Mimi died. Roger's on his way, too. It's... difficult. It's a difficult time for all of them. They can't pay their heat sometimes, let alone proper medication and hospital bills. But still, all of them try and all of them chip in.

Roger had mentioned it once, listening to the radio. How cool it would be if CHAOS revealed himself. He was just talking shit, hopped up on pain medication, but Mark had been there chatting with him and that's when he got the idea.

Mark could do it. Mark could find out who CHAOS was. Why Mark Cohen, living failure of the arts, thought he could track down one of the most illusive men in music without any journalism training at all or instruction on where to begin was beyond him. But still.

Mark slips into one of his favourite cafes and haggles with one of the waitresses for a free drink. The words'I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today' were used, and the quote made he laugh so hard she offered to pay for it herself.

Finally, some good things happening. Between his job and looking for Chaos, it's a bit difficult. He slumps into the booth, all long limps and messenger bags, and sighs happily now that he doesn't have to keep biking around New York for information. Glancing over at the magazine cover the guy next to him has is the last straw to a very tiring day already, and it's barely time for rush hour.

"You buy that whole CHAOS thing?"

Billy tensed when Mark sat so close. Close for Billy was anything within ten feet without his manager present. He used to be so social. So charismatic. All through school. After, as he tried to shop around his demo. Once he signed that contract, though, it was like all the doors on his life slammed shut. He was forced to live as a recluse when before he'd been a social butterfly. He wasn't even allowed to attend his own release parties, his manager always going on his behalf.

Slowly, he turned to page of the magazine, to some innocuous article comparing a few models of guitars. He stared at it, not really reading it, trying to decide if he should leave. If he spoke to anyone, his career could be over. His manager could rip up his contract and dump him on the street. He'd have nothing...

The question made him tense further, his fingers crumpling the magazine so hard he almost tore the page he was open to. Why would he be asking? Did he know? Had someone figured it out?! No, it was the magazine. It was a huge topic, apparently. Maybe it was just standard gossip, a typical conversation opener. He gave Mark an uneasy smile.

"What thing?" he asked, playing dumb.

"CHAOS," Mark replied smoothly. He notices how the other tenses and consciously makes an effort to lean back. How someone could think he's threatening is beyond him. Mark is a lot of things, but scary? No. Or maybe the guys just shy? Doesn't look like that, either. Too careful with his gaze for it to be an automatic flinch.

Ugh. Mark takes off his glasses to rub his hands over his face. He's not a detective. The things he's doing for Roger are making him insane. Sure, Roger likes them, but--

"I mean, it's probably not real, either way you look at it. You know?"

Billy glanced toward the door. He should make some excuse to leave. Or refuse to have a conversation. And he was about to get up and leave. To say he didn't really follow that sort of thing. But then what Mark said, it cut deep. People didn't think he was real? Was this true? Or was it just this guy's crazy theory? Did he know? Why else would he start talking to a total stranger like this?

"I really don't know about that," he said a strained smile. When he usually went out with his manager, he often spoke as little as possible. And when he did, he tried to mask his accent. But now, he didn't even attempt it. "Is this...is this how you greet everyone you meet?" He seemed cautious, holding himself back.

"No," He admits, and at that point his hands have settled from his face to reach for his glasses again. He gets a better look at the other, noticing the rather interesting accent, and flashes a small, awkward smile. "I normally just don't talk."

It was half a lie. Mark isn't quiet, no, not like Roger's quiet--but he's not loud like Maureen. "You just got the bad end of the stick, sorry. CHAOS is a weird subject for me."

He's had just about enough with the exclusiveness of the artist, anyway. It's beginning to dig under his skin, like a splinter that just won't go away. He has to do this--has to do it for Roger. He needs to. "What or who do you think they are?"

Edited 2015-08-13 04:58 (UTC)

Billy knew he was supposed to tell the guy to bugger off. But it had been so very long since he'd spoken to anyone outside of the company. The PR guy he worked with seemed pretty alright, if a little paranoid. His body guard was a real sour-puss sometimes, but Billy knew how to get that shell and even made him smile sometimes. And the intern they had running around seemed alright, even if Billy had been part of schemes to mess with him. In the company, Billy could be himself. Or at least as much himself as he dared to be. Outside? That was something else entirely.

Why was he being so worried about this? Mark seemed nice enough. No one in this city knew who he was, and Mark didn't seem like any press Billy had seen before. Why did he have to be so secretive in every single aspect? Couldn't he have a social life?

Rather than try to think of what a normal person would reply, he decided to go with what his heart told him. So he shrugged. "I don't follow that sort of thing, but whoever he is, maybe...it's not his choice." Why had he said that? But without missing a beat, he pressed on. "Why's it a weird subject for you?" To mask any uneasiness he might show, he took a slow sip of his coffee.

"So you're a fan of the fact that it's just one guy," Mike says softly, stopping just so the waitress could bring him tea and remind him that she's paying for it until tomorrow. Mark claps his hand in a prayer gesture in thanks before his gaze turns back on Billy.

Not quite as skittish. Not exactly bold, either. Maybe this was a good conversation for them to have? Mark was dying to know about his accent, but it was New York City. There were chances he wasn't a tourist that just strayed off the path and wound up dangerously close to the slums.

"I don't know what to think," He says honestly. "It's either one guy who's completely sequestered himself and is therefore way more pretentious than his music is and therefore a corporate cash-cow sellout, or it's one monkey dancing for Virgin Records, bending over to get fu--I'm sorry, it's been a day." Apparently graphic imagery seems to spew out of his mouth when he's angry.

At least Maureen isn't here to rub salt in the wound.

"You should be glad you don't follow CHAOS. Everyone's obsessed, no one's immune. It's like a fever you can't sweat out. Who do you like, then? If it's not CHAOS."

Guess who dodged the weird subject line? Mark Cohen.

Pretentious. Sellout. Those words cut far deeper than Billy would have liked, and he had to use his coffee once more to help hide his grimace. Is that really what people thought? Sure, his music wasn't entirely his own. Half the time, he barely had a say in what he got to write, and the sound wasn't quite what he'd wanted it to be. But his music still had heart, he was still passionate about it.

Billy gave a vague cant of his head, dismissing the question. He was too hung up on what Mark had said. "There's a lot of stuff I like..." But for some reason, at that moment, he couldn't think of a single band. Not even one he shared a label with. "Do you really think his--their music is pretentious?" He tried so hard to keep his tone neutral. Blandly curious. But there was a slightly raw edge to it that he couldn't mask.

"I don't know," Mark says simply, blowing on his tea and pulling his bag out onto the table with his free hand. There was a couple with a small child, an adorable sight, and Mark was never one to lose B-roll footage.

This CHAOS thing... It bothered him. A lot. Mostly because of Roger. "Maybe one time they weren't," He theorized. "They've got heart and talent, but it's missing something. I'm not the music guy, though--my roommate is. I just set up his sound equipment."

He was actually fairly good at AV things, but his realm was words and pictures, not lyrics and song. Mark takes a large gulp of his tea, pulling out his small, hand-held camera, only half-paying attention to Billy now.

"It's just too conventional for me. It's like they don't know what the real world is like. There could be an argument to be made that it's a form of escapism, but there's no way, no way you can convince me that's what's in those lyrics. Too sheltered."

Billy only heard half of what Mark said. For as troubled as he was by the comment, that camera may as well have been a live grenade dropped on the table for the way he looked at it. Talking to a random stranger was one thing, but if he was caught on camera...wait. Why was this guy suddenly filming? Was he press, after all? Some twisted paparazzi? If that camera swung his way, he was doomed.

Frantically, he shoved his sunglasses back down onto his face and got up from the table. He muttered a quick "I have to go," and got to his feet, almost upending his half finished coffee in the process. He strode toward the door, trying to keep his pace casual and not rushed, holding the magazine between his face and Mark's camera. He needed to get back before Higgins returned from his meeting, anyway.

What the fuck just happened?

It was none of his business, Mark wanted to say. Just let him abruptly go and act like a complete lunatic. Hell, maybe he is, this close to ABC. Mark wouldn't be surprised. But he'd been fine, if nervous before, and the moment Mark pulled out his camera...

Was he wigging out because of Mark's camera? Interest got the better of him--he swings his messenger back on, still holding the small thing but not turning it on, and immediately follows the other outside the coffee shop.

"Hey--" He had stopped, ready to talk, but Billy kept his pace brisk and so Mark had to continue on wards as well, confusion written over his face.

"Are you alright?"

Shit shit shit. Billy couldn't just head straight home of Mark was following him. It was only a couple of blocks. How could he shake the guy without raising suspicion? The apartment was in his manager's name and as far as anyone knew, Billy was just the guy's assistant. No one special or worth nothing. But if Mark followed him there...there could be trouble.

"I'm fine," he said, a bit brisk and terse. "I just have...a meeting that I realized I'm late for. Please just...go back to filming or whatever it was you were doing." He ducked his head, picking up his pace a little bit.

Oh no, Billy. Mark knows that it's something he did. Probably filming, though he doesn't know why. Still, Mark also knows now that Billy's trying to hide that fact from him. It was too casual, too convenient.

"You'll have to forgive me if it sounds like you're bullshitting," He states, voice dripping with sarcasm. "This isn't a bomb, it's just a camera."

Something inside Billy just sort of snapped. Between the constantly nagging voice of Higgins in his head, and Mark trying to pester him now, he reached a breaking point. He was sick of being jerked around. Sick of being told what to do. Sick of having to answer for his actions. Sick of people questioning him. Sick of being unable to live his own life.

He stopped rounding on Mark with a strange sternness in his face that seemed like it belonged to someone much older than his 22 years. "Perhaps I am. But I've got no reason to explain myself to you. I've only just met you, and in that time you've managed to insult one of the most successful artists that happens to work for the same company that I do. Without so much as introducing yourself. It may not be a bomb but it is incredibly rude to pull such a thing out without asking if it's alright. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be that is away from the likes of you."

He turned on his heel to start off again, hoping to maintain face as the realization of what he'd just said hit him.

That got Mark to stop, at least, mouth open. Watching the first few steps the other takes in shock and awe.

He'd found it. He'd found a connection. He'd found something so he can show Roger. Someone who works in the same company. It's a start. It's a start and Mark suddenly feels absolutely giddy, as if the other's anger and sternness hadn't effected him at all.

"Wait, hold on--" He moves his hand out to grab the other's wrist, glasses nearly sliding down his nose. "Please. I'm sorry, I didn't know that--but please just stop a second and listen to me, this is important!"

Billy didn't know how to handle this. He'd never stood up to anyone like that. He'd always been the one to slide out of things without confrontation. Or just doing as he was told and keeping his head down. He wanted to just walk away before anything else could be said. He didn't know how if he could keep up the lie on his own. It's just what Higgins always said. That Billy worked for the company.

He stopped, looking back at Mark as he hastily hid his uncertainty. "I really don't have time to talk," he said, trying to pull his arm free. What if Higgins came back early and found him gone? This was a stupid idea.

"My best friend is dying," Mark says. He's not thinking, he's not too detatched like he normally is, he's full of emotion and he's not even sure where it came from. All of the stress, all of the anguish has finally got to him over the last year. Maureen. Mimi dying. Roger going, too. Angel and Colins going the same way, eventually.

"He's dying and there's nothing I can do about it, and I made a stupid promise to myself that I can't keep because I wanted to keep him happy. CHAOS is his biggest influence and he was talking about how mysterious they are and I kind of thought if I could get a message to him somehow, I could find him Roger'd like that but I can't so I was frustrated and I took it out on some random guy I never met and--"

He cuts off abruptly, as his voice was growing more and more frantic. He really was losing his shit, not just his touch, and Mark forces himself--wills himself--to calm down.

"--If you work for the same company than maybe, maybe you can contact him, or them, or whatever--just some sort of message to somehow give to Roger."

Everything just stopped. The rest of the world came to an abrupt and sudden stop. It may have fallen away to a blank white void for all it mattered to Billy. Never before had he heard of his music, even the watered down version the studio insisted on, moving someone to such a degree. He was only allowed to know the highlights of the fan letters he received, and never got any of the gifts. To hear it so raw and so close, it made it almost difficult to breathe.

He didn't know how, but he had to do something. Just hearing that, in the midst of being so frustrated and so angry, when he'd been feeling so stifled, he felt so incredibly moved. Moved and inspired.

He forced himself to breathe. To think. He was supposed to be just a PA. Which would mean a long shot. He could spin a story. He could DO something. He'd have to get away from Higgins, though. He could mask it as working on a song. But he could never send out a letter or sneak off until Higgins was guaranteed to be gone, and without leaving security detail behind to babysit.

He managed a weak, strained smile, trying to mask how stunned he was. "I...could try to do something. I don't...really have access to CHAOS myself, things are pretty locked down, but I could try to get a word through. Is there somewhere I can contact you, uh..." he still didn't know the guy's name.

Mark stared. For once, things were going alright. For once, things were looking up. There had to be a catch, there just had to be, but--but he so very wanted to believe this was true.

He has to stay guarded with things. Mark knows this, knows he has a problem with this. Too much of an observer, waiting for the moment the plot twist happens to realize it happens to him. He wants to be suspicious. Wary.

Mark starts to laugh. "Mark. Mark Cohen, I--oh, God. Even just trying. I can't thank you enough--" He digs through his pockets, wishing he had business cards or something cool like that. Eventually, he finds an eyeliner pencil (Angel borrowing his pants no doubt) and a receipt for a pharmacy from picking up Roger's prescription.

He writes the number with a quick 'Mark & Roger - camera guy' so the other would remember who he was. He doesn't realize he's laughing and smiling.

"Here. Here, just... Wow. I was ready to just give up today, and this..." This is fate.

Billy smiled and managed to hold himself back. He wanted to tell Mark the feeling was mutual, in a way. He'd been on the brink of either just rolling over and letting Higgins do whatever he wanted and just out-right quitting, even if it meant violating his contract. Which would mean giving up all rights to his music and resigning himself to living with basically nothing, because a clause in his contract still prevented him from working with other labels for a number of years. But now? Now he had the strength and inspiration to keep going, and keep fighting.

He glanced at the number before shoving it into his pocket. "Thanks, Mark," he tried to sound neutral about it. "I can't make any promises, but I'll see what I can do."

He's forgotten about it by the time Billy calls. It's been weeks and Mark has already settled on the idea he was being preyed upon by someone who liked fucking around with him. Besides, he had a few things he was caught up in.

Between all of them working to help Roger out, they managed something else. A protest. Maureen's idea, of course, because on top of that it looked like Mark and Roger and Collins and--hell all of them--were getting evicted. Again.

They'd fight. They always did.

The point was that Mark barely got time to shoot anything for his footage, let alone think about a phone call. He's in the middle of trying to figure out how much money he'll get if he sells his film production stuff when the phone rings.

"Speaaaaak," Roger and Mark's voices together closely followed by the tone, and it's only when Mark realizes who it is that he picks up the phone and apologizes. They decide to meet, and Mark is very careful about where. Chooses a spot near but not in Alphabet City and the tent quarter so Billy doesn't have to go into the shadier part of town, and chooses a park because Mark can't pay for a damn thing like a drink at the moment. He arrives, on his bike at the promised time, and catches sight of the other.

"Heeey, you're actually here!"

It had been a rough couple of weeks for Billy, as well. He'd beat Higgins back to the apartment, but not Casey. He'd found the body guard waiting for him, with that sour look on his face. Then the terrifying hours and days that followed, waiting for something to be said. It was hard to get time alone, to work on writing something for Roger. And even when he did, he was stumped.

It wasn't until he pulled out that bit of paper that something shifted. He considered calling Mark and saying he had nothing. Or just throwing it away. Maybe it was better that way. But then he ended up turning it over and seeing just what the paper was. He had to ask what AZT meant for medications. And he felt the bottom of everything drop out. Roger was dying of AIDS? On a rush of sadness and inspiration, he locked himself away in his room and set to writing. It took him a few days to perfect the letter, but he had something.

It was a while before Billy had a chance to slip out again. Higgins was off doing things for the company again, but Casey was there. "Protecting" him. With some careful planning, he was able to call Mark and convince Casey to go for a walk. The park was perfect. Claiming he needed fresh air and something new for inspiration. Casey made him add a baseball cap to his sunglasses, but reluctantly agreed to go out. And once they got to the park, Casey grumbled something about feeling peckish and telling Billy to not wandering too far. While conveniently turning his back.

Billy arrived at the agreed spot at almost the same time as Mark. He grinned, looking around. But Mark was alone. He'd hoped he could actually meet Roger. "Yeah. Almost didn't make it, boss being a hard ass and all. But..." He took a big breath. "I've got good news and I've got bad news."

Mark's grinning. He can't help but grinning, plopping off of his bike rather unceremoniously. This is real. He's trying not to act too giddy, trying not to look like a total loser.

...Then again, hasn't Mark long since embraced the fact that he is, in fact, a total loser?

"Lay it on me," He expresses. The fact that someone was there didn't seem to occur to him--he didn't even notice. Instead, he's leaning on his bike, glasses slightly askew as he waits expectantly. Billy--he had the guts to show up. To call him. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten," He says after a small beat, before the other can talk. Now he can tell Roger.

"Not in the least!" Billy proclaimed. "It just took a while to work things out and I didn't want to pester you with updates that were all just waiting, you know?" A total lie, but he couldn't exactly share the truth.

"The good news is..." From his back pocket, he pulled an envelope with Roger's name scrawled on it. "I've got something for your friend. But the bad news comes in two parts." He lifted his chin, as if it were going to be grave. "I've been sworn to deliver it to Roger myself. And for the second part, I'm kind of just on a really short break." He glanced toward Casey who was still at the hot dog cart. He was taking an awfully long time, which was odd for Casey. "Personal business on company time, and such."

"That's--" Amazing. He reaches out to grab it before realizing what he was doing--if something's handed to him, he's going to take it. It's not his place though, but mostly he's just shocked. Can't help it.

"Yeaaaah, but I don't live near here, I'm on Avenue A." There's no way they're going to get a cab and it's not that far a walk, but he has no idea if Billy has even been to his part of town. The artists alleys, so to speak.

Still, he knows the whole two thing. "I mean--assuming you wanted to see him. And deliver that. But I can definitely just take it, it's not going anywhere if you have to go back to your corporate hell job." The latter had come out without realizing it.

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