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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

Billy was shouting his lungs out. Probably dangerous given his profession, but he didn't care. He had a moment of absolute freedom. No stress of getting back or being found out. No one knew where he was. And the only person waiting for him to come back wanted him gone for hours. He hadn't felt this free in years.

He was just about to give up, thinking maybe he had the wrong place, when Mark finally appeared. And Billy grinned all over again. Billy himself was in shorts, sandals, and a teeshirt. With the same baseball cap and sunglasses as before.

"Well, hurry up, then!" Billy shouted back. He wasn't actually in a hurry, though. He was willing to wait as long as needed, now that he knew this was the right place.

Sure enough, the keys come crashing down after mark disappears, and Mark honestly wonders why he suddenly feels so giddy. Why he's checking himself in the mirror and wishing he wasn't stupidly pale. His lips are too thin. His jaw is too round. Billy's jaw is square, and his eyes are like nothing he's ever seen.

Oh god.

Oh god this is what happened when he first met Maureen.

Shit shit shit shit--

He barely has enough time to splash water on his face when he hears billy come up. Too fixated on how he looks in comparison to billy to realize he's been playing Blue Phoenix while writing. Most of the movie equipment is gone and the apartment is strangely empty, but Mark has just enough time to splash water on his face before greeting billy warmly.

"I was beginning to think the fat cats are you for lunch!"

Billy wasn't worried about appearances as he trotted up the stairs. He felt like he did when he'd been a teenager. Which was a strange idea to have, when he was barely past the legal drinking age. But he was on his own. Meeting with friends. Invited into their unique way of bringing people up to their apartment. And he'd get to see Mark again! Without needing to rush off immediately after.

He shoved open the monstrous door, faltering as he stepped in. Hearing his own voice was not something he expected. He cast around, expecting to see Roger, but the other was nowhere to be seen. He tugged off his sunglasses and settled them on the bill of his hat.

"Sometimes, I worry that might happen," he grinned, giving the place another glance. "So what happened to CHAOS being a pretentious sellout?" He asked, with a small wink.

"It's just us," Mark states, as if he can read the other's mind.

Wait. Was he looking around because he wanted to see Roger, and not Mark? Of course. Of course, Mark had just made fun of someone Billy worked with. He's there to see the one that actually matters, to--

--oh, shit. CHAOS was still playing. Ah, well. It distracts Mark enough, anyway. He feels like he can just tell the truth as he moves to the kitchen section.

"Maybe," He states. "But somewhere under all the corporate layers, he's still got a core of something. Who knows, maybe it's all just been washed away since he signed with labels or something. I'm not a musician. But I am Roger's friend and I'm an artist and that letter was one of the most genuine things I've ever read. I think that warrants me listening to his music, don't you think? Do you want water to drink? I'd over you something else, but uh..." Broke.

Billy followed Mark, looking just so incredibly happy. He still couldn't believe he was here. Free. For the whole afternoon. He tucked his hands in his pockets, as if not quite sure what to do with himself. He was still looking over everything. It was a proper artist's studio in here. Just as he'd always dreamed. Not the homogenized corporate condo he was stashed in usually. On the inside it was hard to feel like he'd gone far from California. But HERE? Here he really felt like he was in New York.

At the offer of water, Billy was about to ask for something stronger, but Mark cut him off before he could even start to speak. He frowned, thinking, fingers drumming on the counter. Then all at once, he remembered what was in his pocket. The other day, before insisting on one of those walks, Casey had given him one of the company's credit cards to get something to eat while he went on his walk. Billy had thought it strange, and Casey never asked for it back after the fact. Now it hit him. All of it hit him. And his eyes lit up.

"Then let's go somewhere!" he said, rather suddenly. "You and me. We could get a drink or something to eat or...well, anything." He dug in his pocket and held it up, the Valkyrie logo printed on it. "My treat. Sort of. Make those fat cats be good for us for once."

It was all to cover up the fact that what Mark said almost brought a tear to his eye. That the letter changed his mind about his music. That there was something to the music. He could HEAR it. Mark liked his music. Why was that a big deal, suddenly? Lots of people liked it, didn't they? Mark hand been hunting for him. But hearing those words made a lump rise in his throat that he couldn't quite explain.

"What?"

Real eloquent, Mark. He's not quite sure what happened--there was a shift. Mark had been about to pull out a box, try to find a tape of Roger he could send with Billy to show CHAOS when the other suddenly decided to yell excitedly and brandish a piece of plastic. A credit card. A Valkyrie credit card. A Valkyrie credit card that Billy is insisting they use.

No way in hell Mark is going to say no. He can't remember the last time he ate in a restaurant. Shit, he barely remembers a day when he's budgeting one packet of ramen a day. Artist living was never glamourous, anyone who said anything else was lying. Especially if he's selling his equipment and all of his money is going to help Roger.

But Billy wants him to go. That's what strikes him as the oddest. That's why he looks genuinely confused, brows knitting. "It's about time we teach them a lesson," He states. That's a 'yes' in Mark's book. "But wouldn't you rather Roger than me?"

Why the hell would anyone want the silent observer?

Billy very nearly blurted out a rather rude question. What did Roger have to do anything? Thankfully, he was aware enough of himself to halt the words before they escaped. Sure, Roger was important. He was the core of the reason Billy was there. But Billy barely knew the musician. Then again, he barely knew Mark. But Roger wanted CHAOS, not Billy. It was strange to think of himself as two people like that, but here he needed to be just Billy. Mark was the one who wanted that. He'd been the one to offer the invite, not Roger.

At least, that's how Billy reasoned it. It had nothing to do with his own feelings. How could it? He'd only meet Mark twice, and both encounters were incredibly brief. Even with that bike ride with his arms wrapped around the man's chest...

"We can wait for him if you want. I've got all afternoon. But..." His mind was working a little slower than his mouth. Did Mark really doubt that Billy wanted to hang out with HIM? "...I'm totally fine with it being just you and me."

Wow.

So Billy really did want to hang out with him. Mark tries to hide the fact that he's floored but fails miserably. And he knows they should wait for Roger--it would be the nice thing to do--but...

...But couldn't he be selfish? Just this once? Because Billy is looking straight at him. Straight at Mark and not Mark's camera, and it gives him a weird sort of fluttering feeling, like the first time he laid eyes on Maureen.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck no. That was not happening.

"We'll get a doggy bag or something," he states. There, see? He could be nice as well as selfish. He clears his throat. "You've got the money, so you get to decide the type of food. We'll go from there." Because he felt like he hadn't had a decent meal in days. Probably hasn't. In the distance, he can hear Angel's drum.

Idly, Mark wonders if Angel is cupid in disguise.

"Excellent!" Billy smacked his hand on the counter, and gave a little hop. He was already trotting back toward the door.

"But we're gonna decide together. Cause all I know is that I'm completely sick of pizza."

He tried to hide excitement, but he couldn't contain himself. He was able to hang out with someone. Someone close to his own age. Without a bodyguard present. Outside of the apartment. Someone that wasn't part of the company. Someone he actually liked. It was a dream come true.

"Hey, I'll do you one better!" he said suddenly, turning toward Mark before opening the door. "After we get something to eat, we'll hit up the store. What better way to stick it to those fat cats than stocking you and Roger up for the week?" Positively beaming at this idea, he twisted to yank the door open.

He knows Billy is trying to be good to him--he knows. It's a weird feeling, actually. Makes him slightly uncomfortable, but not in the way it normally does.

Today for you, Tomorrow for me. Wasn't that Angel's theme? Shouldn't he just go for it? He opens the door and locks it up, figuring they can get whatever they want in alphabet city. Even if part of him is tempted to order something ridiculously expensive just because it's from a record company he doesn't like. Just because it's sleaze.

He doesn't want to get Billy in trouble, though.

"You know," He says carefully, "Roger and I aren't charity cases, right?"

He's grateful, but there's a strange sense of pride. Especially for him--he hasn't known Billy for that long, after all. Who's to say he's just not feeding his guilt? Then again, isn't that what Mark is doing? Feeding his guilt by filming the homeless?

Shit.

Well, no one said Mark wasn't a hypocrite.

"Of course not!" Billy said as he made his way down the stairs. And he honestly wasn't thinking of it as charity. Mark had done something for him no one else ever had. He'd inspired him. Sure, it was also Roger, it was his enthusiasm that had caused it. But it had been because of Mark that he even knew about Roger. It was Mark's drive and passion that made it possible.

Billy just wanted to repay that some how. He couldn't outright tell them both who he really was. Notes from himself veiled as though they were from someone else was completely empty gestures. They were both such talented and wonderful people. They deserved better. And Billy wanted to give them that.

"The way I see it, we could blow a couple hundred bucks living it up for one evening. OR we could spend that money on stuff we bring back so you and Roger can live it up until I can come back. Completely selfish," he said with a grin. "I swear. Not for a single charitable reason I could ever think of." He winked at Mark before racing down the stairs.

"It's such a weird dichotomy," Mark follows Billy, skipping stairs but not racing down them--he'll probably break his ankle. "When do you just help someone out, and when is it a pity thing? That's the hard part. Like... When does it stop becoming art, and starts becoming work?"

They open the door and the drumming gets louder. Mark grins and starts heading towards it, touching the other's wrist for him to follow.

"Like, when did someone like CHAOS become schlok? He didn't start out that way. You evolve over time as an artist, but at one point did that guy decide to be chained up by corporate america and Valkyrie records? He didn't raise a hand and say 'hey, I'm going to sell my soul' obviously, but when was the big push? You know? Do you mind if we stop by and say hi to someone for a second?"

Edited 2015-08-28 04:32 (UTC)

"Sure. No problem," Billy said easily. He'd listened to it all, trying to hide how deep it cut. He wanted to tell Mark everything. That he'd been young and stupid. That he didn't have a lawyer look over the contract before he signed it. That legally, there wasn't much he could do. That he was trying to fight them, but there wasn't much he could do. That they rewrote his songs and changed the music. That he'd written things that would fit in right here in Alphabet City but they insisted on washing it all until it would have mass appeal. He wanted to tell Mark all of this and more, but he couldn't. So he swallowed it down. And it came out in his tone, turning it sour.

"You really think that's how it is?" Billy asked, sounding rather defeated. "That all of this is his choice? What I've heard, just you know, through rumors and internal gossip, is that he's not all that happy. That the reason they moved him here, so far from HQ is that he was getting restless and not giving the big wigs what they wanted." That wasn't exactly the truth. It was also a move to help keep him hidden since people were sniffing around and trying to dig out his identity. As far as company records showed, Billy really was just a personal assistant to Higgins, and they were out here to recruit new talent.

"I doubt it's a conscious choice," Mark said casually, suddenly reaching into his usual bag. Pulling out the all-too familiar camcorder as he spots two young lovers by a bus stop. "But business people are good at corralling. You work in stuff like that, don't you realize how manipulative people can be?"

He's so casual, so confident, and as usual, he's started to lollygag as he winds up the old fashioned camera and shoots the couple.

"Maybe they even orchestrated his moving here, I dunno. All I know is that there's still something that and it's frustrating to hear an artist suffer like that. You can't compromise in art, not under the guise of collaborating. It's all bullshit." He's done, putting the camera away, and continues walking.

"You met Angel yet?"

The appearance of the camera made Billy tense. He watched it with a wary eye, lips pressed shut. He trusted Mark enough to not swing it around towards him. Or at least he hoped Mark wouldn't. If he was caught in even a single frame, he'd never hear the end of it. Even if it wasn't tied to anything involving CHAOS or the record company.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when the camera finally got put away. He'd been as silent as humanly possible the entire time.

"You and Roger are actually the only people I've really talked to outside of the company," he offered with a a shrug. "This is the first real day I've had to myself since we relocated."

He wanted to tell Mark so bad. The truth about everything. About him. About his stupid contact. About his awful manager. That the only choice that was made was not reading his contract better. And ever since then he'd been trying to fight it. That he knew exactly how manipulative they were, but there was nothing he could do.

"Geez, sorry it had to be us," But he doesn't sound sorry in the least, despite his usual self-deprecating humour. Hell, he just sounds amused as he swings down yet another alley to where the drumming is getting even louder.

"He's a regular fixture in Alphabet City. It's..." How does he even begin to describe Angel? "When I first met him, Collins--our roommate--dragged him over and we ate like kings and drank like fish, all because he shared the wealth. Hey, a bit like you, I guess--you're my Angel, huh?"

It's cheesy and corny and a terrible joke but Mark still thinks it's at least a little funny. Enough to laugh, anyway. "That was winter... Hey, Billy, do you ever just want to start over in your life, sometimes?"

Billy followed Mark down the alley, even if following his subject shifts was a bit more difficult. He wanted to respond to each part of it, but Mark seemed to be talking far too fast. It made him wonder if the other was nervous. Did he think he needed to impress Billy somehow? Maybe flashing that credit card hadn't been the best idea.

He made up his mind to do all he could to comfort Mark. To make sure he felt at ease.

"Sure," he responded, letting the rest slide off. "I'd pick a different company to work for, that's for sure. What about you? If you could go back and do it all over, what would you do different?"

"I'd find Mimi," Mark says simply. Like that would make sense to the other. There's no way it would but it's mostly because they're out of the alley now, and he'd just seen the steeple of a familiar church. The same steeple he filmed on halloween last year. It was a good and bad thing, that was for sure.

A little further down the street, though, there's someone on the curb near an old phone booth that no one's used in ages. There's a plastic bucket from home depot and a pair of well used but well cared drumsticks drumming. They're in the hands of a dark skinned, possibly mixed man with short black hair and extremely pouty lips, but he doesn't seem to notice anything or anyone. All he's doing is drumming.

He's good, too. Extremely. And all he cares about is the music and the rythm and it seems Mark is sidetracked yet again. He doesn't have any coin to give Angel, obviously, but he pulls our his camera. Shoots the other and the street drummer doesn't even realize it.

Mark is directly behind Angel when Angel opens his eyes, looks up at Billy. He grins a wide, easy smile. "Honest living?" He asks. Spare some change?

Billy was drawn to the drummer even before Mark led them to him. Watching his sticks move. Listening to that rhythm. He'd been hearing it for a while, but now...now it was right in front of him. He didn't even see the drummer himself at first, just the instrument and the sound. He was so entranced that he didn't even notice the camera at first.

It wasn't until Angel looked up that Billy realized Mark had pulled it out. Like a startled animal, he suddenly jolted back. Making sure he was behind the thing. He just gave Angel a tight smile, and looked to Mark. Did an old thing like that even record sound? He didn't want to risk it.

Did he even have any cash on him? While he waited for Mark to be done with his camera, Billy dug out his wallet. He did indeed have some cash. Which if and when Mark finally shut the damn camera off, he intended to give it to the incredibly talented drummer.

Angel stops, confused at the look Billy's giving him, and is about to open his mouth when he hears a familiar click and winding noise.

"Mark Cohen you should really learn to say hello, darling, instead of just filming."

"The power of art compels me," Mark says simply, and Angel gets up and wraps long, toned arms around the blonde and gives a huge smack of a kiss right on the lips. Mark only laughs and hugs him back, completely used to it.

"What brings you to Avenue B?"

"Grabbing a bite. Thought I'd say hi--Angel, this is Billy."

No judgement, no need for introductions, just love: Angel, smiling, wraps his arms around Billy's neck and kisses him on the cheek in greeting.

"You okay honey?" Angel asks. "Drumming too loud? Tired of Mark filming you?"

"I wasn't!"

Billy politely looks away when Angel kisses Mark. It shouldn't bother him in the least. He barely knew Mark and Angel seemed nice enough. So what was that strange twisting deep in his gut? He felt like he was being jilted some how. It didn't make sense. He was just going to lunch with Mark. So why did he feel dread dragging at the pit of his stomach?

He managed to put on a friendly smile when attention was turned back to him. And there were arms wrapped around him. He returned the hug, if a little hesitantly.

"He's not allowed to," Billy announces, putting on a smug face. "But I know how artists can get. Speaking of which," he opened his wallet again. He'd almost hesitated in giving over the money. His reasons to refuse it dripped with jealousy. All the more reason to push passed it. He pulled out two twenties, twice what he'd planned to give at first, and offered them to Angel. "Consider it a gift from the fat cats at Valkyrie."

"Y---"

And Mark absolutely beams at Billy since Angel, it seems, is at a loss for words. Mark feels stupidly proud, now. Like he's showing off Billy. Billy, who dresses like a shark but swims with the fish. Billy, who has alarmingly blue eyes and an amazing smile. Billy, who is still learning about Bohemia and is excited about every new thing.

Billy. Mark is showing off Billy.

Angel picks his jaw off the floor, grabs the pickle drum, and takes the money with well manicured, pink-painted nails.

"Today for you, tomorrow for me," he promises, and Mark smiles even wider, leaning in towards Billy.

"I'm bringing Stoli to Mark and Roger's tonight and you can't skip, Billy. Not when you're mysterious aloofness and kind generosity as made Mark so curious. That makes me curious."

"Where are you going?"

"Grocery shopping," Angel announces, but not before moving to kiss Billy on the cheek a second time. Mark laughs.

"I think you're just starting to buy your way into everyone's hearts," Mark remarks.

When Angel refers to Billy as mysterious and aloof, he looks to Mark and pointedly raises an eyebrow. Just what was Mark saying about him? There was a terrifying moment that he wondered if anyone in this strange group thought maybe Billy was in fact CHAOS. Mysterious and aloof certainly fit the public image. But Billy thought of himself, the face he was able to show people, as anything but.

"Afraid I gotta get back to the slave drivers by sundown. But have a drink for me, would you?" This time, he actually returns the cheek kiss, trying to hide the feeling rising at the back of his throat. All of them drinking together. Without him. Roger, Mark, Angel, and god knows who else. Getting drunk...

He pushed it down before he could think on it enough for it to show on his face. He gives an innocent shrug to the jab. "It works, doesn't it?"

"Remind me to tell you the cautionary tale of Benny. For now? Let's go to lunch." And maybe--just maybe--there's a spring in his step as he continues walking.

"There's a great deli nearby--unless you wanted something fancier? I figure the best way to stiff it to the man is support more local artists. And since Life Cafe is off the books for the time being--I don't really feel like dealing with Maureen today--I figure that would do? I think Alfonso and a few other people are working, anyway, and he's got a great artistic skill with yarn, you should see, man! I thought about filming him, but I got... Sidetracked. Which reminds me."

He turns around, walking backwards. "You're not leaving the house until I sent you back with some of Roger's stuff I've filmed. Even if I still think you should just blow off the big-guys and hang out with us for the night."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject