heroeswork: (Black and white serious)
Billy Collins ([personal profile] heroeswork) wrote2015-08-12 05:57 pm

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.
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (To more than one dimension)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-14 01:33 am (UTC)(link)
He's not sure what's happening, but Billy seems absolutely elated that some random guy from Alphabet City is giving him a jockey ride on his bike.

Ah, well. Just because it's normal for Mark doesn't mean it is for Billy. So Mark hops on his bike and heads to his home. He takes shortcuts, though--winds down alleys, passes the cafe they met with minimal head ducking to avoid the waitress.

"Where are you from?" He asked as he weaves in and out of traffic, behind yellow taxi cabs and the like, moving with the kind of confidence only a New Yorker can have while navigating the shitty streets and shitty drivers. For someone who looks like a dweeb, he's incredibly good at shouting right back at the drivers who shout at him. "Your accent, I mean," he clarifies, and shoots down an alley.

The more and more they go, the dingier it gets. It's not quite poor, not yet, but it's certainly not favourable. Even the outskirts of alphabet city leave something to be desired. It's when Mark cuts through another alleyway and winds up on a street next to a stripper bar called the Cat Scratch that there's a noticeable difference. Incredibly so--there are homeless people on the streets begging for change, a few junkies outside another alley. It's a bad place. In the distance, there's a sound of someone beating an old plastic bucket like a drum and Mark is biking towards that very sound.
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (Default)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-14 05:39 am (UTC)(link)
"Alphabet City," Mark explains. "But east 11th Street and Avenue B is technically where I live." He has a weird feeling about Billy. Corporate pencil-pusher, sure, but something else. He's got a knack. He's got something, a spark. Sheltered, wanting to yearn for more.

Well, looks like he's gonna get it. He slows down near the empty lot by their house, tents for the homeless crammed in every single area. Mark calmly gets off his bike, waits for Billy to do the same, and snatches the eviction notice pasted on the door without even looking at it. It goes straight into the trash, Mark lifts up his bike by the frame, and unlocks the door with one smooth motion. The door screeches but it doesn't seem to bother him. What bothers him is the man on the steps, leather jacket and plaid pants, picking notes on an acoustic guitar.

"You should be inside."

"Temperature's the same here. Who's the guy?"

"Just get up the stairs, Roger."

"New boyfriend?"

"No, and before you harp on my non-existent love life can you move so I can stop carrying this bike?"

Roger, laughing despite how pale he was, carefully hoists himself up so Mark can pass. All it takes is a quick grin, a small 'hey,' to Billy before he's trying to move up the stairs on his own. Mark knows better than to help him with this stuff--Roger has his pride. He'll die before he's completely babied.
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (Going insane going mad)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-14 06:44 am (UTC)(link)
They enter the place, Mark sliding open the large doors. It used to be a music venue--way, way, way a long time ago, and there are still posters on the wall that people had forgotten to put down once they hastily constructed the apartments. There's a tent city outside, the view horribly dingy save for the neon sign of the Cat Scratch, but it's home.

There's almost nothing valuable, though. Art lining the walls--some Mark's photography, some Maureen's canvas work, some Angel's designs--even Joanne has a small doodle up since she's part of the family. There's a large hole in the ceiling with a piece of tarp over it, an illegal wood-burning stove and a large oil drum procured via probably morally grey means for the winter.

It's summer, though, so all of the windows are open. Mark parks his bike in the corner and makes a beeline for the mismatched sets of couches and chairs, grabbing bottles and hastily cleaning up. It's not like they'd expected guests--most of them just practically live here, anyway. The fact that there's a couch with pillows and blankets made up constantly says enough.

The most expensive thing there, though--save for a slightly pricey fender guitar propped up against the coffee table---is a film projector and a small round of audio and visual equipment. It's busted, old, and second-hand but it's still something worth selling so Mark can help Roger out. Roger, who was still trying to go up the stairs by himself.

"Help yourself to, uh..." Nothing. Water? "Make yourself at home," Mark says instead. Flops onto a couch, motions for Billy to join in right next to him. "I can't believe you're doing this, you're incredible. Hey, do you mind if I film this? I want to get the look on Roger's face--" And he's bounding up again. "--It's part of a piece I'm working on documenting the human condition."
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (Not to mention of course hating)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-14 08:06 am (UTC)(link)
"Yeah... Yeah, I get it." Deflated. Deflated and, for a brief time, defeated, until he springs up. He moves almost in conjunction with Roger making it up the stairs, dragging his acoustic and looking like he'd seen better days.

"Woah," Roger says at Mark's sudden movement, and Mark actually does help him to the armchair opposite the couch where he all but collapses, finally offering a hand to the other. "Hey, I'm Roger, I--"

"Actually, you know what? I don't get it," Mark states, glass in his hand, getting water for his friend. He spins around and starts walking towards the two, looking at Billy in particular.

"This is exactly why America the Brave is such bullshit! You guys will let sleaze after sleaze show up on CNN about which celebrities going to jail or who did their boobs, take away from all of what's really happening. Yeah, I get that. But how are you a liability? I mean, do they realize that there's cameras everywhere? That sooner or later, you're going to be photographed. So--- so why not get basic, primal moments caught? Nothing for show, not polished shit that your company makes--exceptions, of course, exceptions, but--but why not? There's a liability in the fact that you'll realize you're a zombie, maybe."

"Jesus, Mark, can you just introduce us before you start ranting, please?"
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (To going against the grain)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-14 08:34 am (UTC)(link)
"Sleazy," Mark remarks, and slides into the seat next to him again.

Roger surprisingly allows the help, and it's something Mark notices even when he's in a rant. Mark loves Roger and Roger loves Mark, and that means every single intimate feeling is something the other knows, even if it's by no means sexual. Brothers, Mark likes to think. And that's why Mark doesn't comment as Roger keeps the guitar on his lap and eyes the other warily.

"Okay..."

Alright, maybe he won't keep quiet. Mark adjusts his glasses, still miffed about not being able to film. "I didn't realize you were coming. Billy, uh--"

"Wait, Valkyrie? You guys own CHAOS."

"There's an oxymoron, you can't physically own Chaos--"

"--Mark, shut up." And, to Billy: "There's no way you found my demo tape, that was years ago."
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (Hating convention hating pretension)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-14 08:54 am (UTC)(link)
"Mark--"

"Just take it."

Roger, though, can't quite process it. He's not sure if they're shitting him, but he glances from Billy to Mark to Billy and back to Mark, who can't help the small grin on his face as he raises an eyebrow.

"This is for real," Roger sets his guitar down, one last nervous look at Mark. "What the hell did you--"

"Roger."

Roger's hands were shaking, but that had nothing to do with his disease or how much medication he was taking. Mark was curious, too, and he leans in just a bit, still holding his camera.

"You know CHAOS? What are they like?" And he opens his hands to accept the gift.
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (Default)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-14 09:57 am (UTC)(link)
Mark is staring, not at the paper, not in curiousity, but at Roger, and he moves his hand to grab Billy's shoulder, squeezing it gently, as he picks up the camera and rises. It was his way of saying he won't film the letter, or even Billy. Just Roger's face.

It's no wonder, too, because Roger--strong, steady Roger, Roger who has been through so much. Through his last girlfriend, through Mimi's unfortunate end, to this. This moment.

There's only this, Mark thinks. Right now, this is everything. This is the moment, this is connection in an isolated age. Suddenly, this isn't about art. This isn't about a documentary. This is Mark desperately trying to film his best friend just before he dies. He just wants a fond memory. He wants this moment.

"Wow," Roger finally says, and his voice cracks just a touch. "I... I don't know what to say," Roger tries again, and Mark slides over so he's on the couch's arm, camera down, touching Roger's shoulder this time. Roger doesn't take his hand but he does lean into it, still staring.

"I'd say you paid for this to happen, but you're just as broke as me," He finishes finally, and Mark laughs, finally peering over the paper. Roger, looking up--desperate, with tears in his eyes--gets up and, without any warning, proceeds to wrap Billy up in a bear hug, whooping with delight.

"I'm going to finish it," Roger's saying. "I'm going to finish one great song. Mark?"

"Rolling." He lifts up the camera as Roger scrambles out of the way so Billy can't be seen.

"Hey, AIDS! Zoom in on this--" both middle fingers in the air, and he turns around only to drop his pants and moon Mark's camera.

"Eloquent," Mark observes, and Roger, laughing for the first time in ages, moves back to the chair.

"Holy shit," He pushes his hair away from his face. "I just got a letter from CHAOS."
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (To being an us for once instead of)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-14 10:24 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh. Sure, I can drop you off if you want--cabs don't stop in Alphabet City," He hastily explained. "Roger, what if--"

Too late. Roger had grabbed his guitar and had begun playing. It was Musetta's Waltz, as usual, but he had already blocked out the entire world.

"Angel will be coming up soon, I'm going to drop Billy off." And as an side to Billy once he grabs his bike: "He's not going to be able to hear a damn thing for at least 72 hours, he's got his inspiration back. And..."

The moment they're out of Roger's sight, Mark closes the door with his foot and sets his bike down in the hallway. It's... It's not that this is difficult, it's just that this is weird. Awkward. "Hey, um..."

Try again, Mark.

"I was thinking.."

One more time.

"I wanted to thank you. I mean, I pretty much walked in in the bitchiest mood I'd been in since my last girlfriend dumped me and I took it out on you. And now you're doing this for me and we haven't even met. La vie Boheme, right? But, uh... What you did for Roger. What you did for him, it's... I can't thank you because... God, what does this say about my screenplays when I can't even tell you what I'm trying to say?"
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (To more than one dimension)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-14 10:43 am (UTC)(link)
"I'll mix it personally," Mark promises, even though it sounds fake compared to what just happened. To everything, really. He sounds like he's Maureen, wanting to put her nose into everything, her fingers in all of the pie. He means it with sincerity, though--he hopes he gets that across. That Mark will take good care of it because Mark takes good care of Roger, and that Billy won't be disappointed. Maybe it's a mixed metaphor.

Maybe Mark has to stop thinking so much.

Still, it's confirmed. Chaos is a 'he,' not a they.

"I can't believe I called him pretentious. That's the most sincere thing I've heard from Valkyrie records since I started listening to music." They're down the stairs, now, and once outside Mark hops on and waits for Billy to get on the back.

"Whenever you get a break, you should sneak off here more. Or we should meet up somewhere safer, like the park. Either way, I'll catch you around, right? Since the whole CHAOS and Roger thing..."
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (Going insane going mad)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-15 01:57 am (UTC)(link)
This was nice. Almost like he could attach himself to someone, if just for a moment. Roger had withdrawn, sure, and he had a good reason to, but Mark? Mark just hides behind his work. This, though--it's stupid, but he really likes this.

Mark is opinionated, even if it's sometimes the wrong ones--there's a reason him and Maureen dated for so long. He begins to pedal, taking the usual side ways and alleys, cutting off a few cars in the process as they begin to move to the better neighborhood. The difference between him and Maureen is that Mark's opinion changes.

CHAOS is a perfect example.

He stays quiet for the most part--it's rush hour, now, there's a lot of obstacles to avoid--and it's only when they're back at the park and Mark slows down that he speaks.

"Before you go, here. A friend of mine and Roger's is putting on a spoken word night at the Life Cafe--you know, where we met? You should come." He's digging around his bag, now. Camera, pen and paper, a huge mess and what looks to be a scarf (why a scarf in summer, no one knows) before he pulls out a flier for Maureen's event.

"It's actually an open mic night, but she's normally there. You should come. I mean--you should be off work if you're not busy, and I'll definitely be there."
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (To going against the grain)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-16 03:09 am (UTC)(link)
"Even if you can't, at least stop off for lunch or something. Here--" And, once again, he's digging through his pockets. A pencil and not a notepad, but another recipt. This time for a book about Akira Kurosawa's life and career.

His address.

"--At the very least, Roger's always home. Just shout and one of us will drop the keys off to you. Does that work? If you want to, I mean. I know you're very busy selling your soul to Valkyrie," he teases, "But it would mean a lot."

Shit.

"To, um. Roger. It would mean a lot to Roger."
documentings: wehavetogoback @ insanejournal (To more than one dimension)

[personal profile] documentings 2015-08-16 12:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Mark realized around the second week that he'd gotten his hopes up. That he'd thought maybe he had a friend, one for him, as selfish as that was. Maureen had Joanne. Tom had Angel. Roger had....

Yeah. He was being selfish. He had Roger. Roger had his guitar and he has his camera. Pity he'd sold almost all of his equipment by now, courtesy of absolutely no health insurance and the need to do stuff like eat while paying for it.

Still, when someone like Maureen calls you over dramatic, that's when you pause and look at your life and your choices. Like how all he wants to do is film in black and white for some reason. Even though he grins and laughs with Roger, Roger sees right through it. He says nothing, though, and Mark is grateful for it--he knows Roger's a little sad, too.

Shit, if Roger's not being a drama queen then Mark can't afford to be one, too. He gave a powerful moment to his brother-in-arms, now he has to move on. No time like the present.

It's hot--way too hot--and even with all of the windows open and all of their fans pointed in the huge but threadbare apartment, it's smouldering. Roger's away to the Doctors, Joanne taking him, and Tom and Angel have gone on a date. Maureen's god knows where and Mark, as usual, is left alone. He's in the middle of trying to write a script when he swears he hears someone shouting his name. It's only when Lito in the apartment a few floors below yells right back at the shouter that he realizes he hasn't imagined it. Gone are the button downs and jeans, because Mark has actually borrowed Roger's too-big tank top and a pair of cargo shorts to just try to escape.

He opens the window, because he's fairly certain whoever yelled that wasn't a usual goer--not a girl, too high to be Collins, too low to be Angel--and he freezes when he looks down and spots him.

Billy.

Billy McGee.

Is this a mirage?

"Woaaaaah!" No it isn't, and Mark's face feels like it's going to split in two. "You didn't forget about us! Give me a second and I'll throw down the keys."

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