Video; un: rtozier

[summertimeblues]

[The feed begins with a man in his late thirties, one hand welded to his forehead in consternation. Adjacent is a swanky looking turntable, and stacks of records can be seen on a table behind the sofa. The titles are indiscernible but it looks to be a ballpark of about fifty albums.

He stares into the camera, desolate.]

All right kids, I'll concede: my folks would have cracked my radio if they heard how much I let The Doors holler out of it. I know it's a pattern and every generation thinks the one after it is a tasteless pack of miscreants. And I've been keeping an open mind. I can't afford not to. Music was my job, and for the most part the stuff hitting the airwaves had been pretty solid. Whoever's been picking out tunes for me up above has been doing pretty damn swell so far, too. Soundgarden was great, Lauren Hill, the Alabama Shakes — there's a lot of good shit I've missed out on because my apocalypse hit so early.

[He takes a deep breath.]

But today, I need an explanation.

[He takes a record out of a sleeve. Sets it on the player and closes his eyes in bitter resignation as the thing gets rolling.

His jaw clenches tight as the music starts.

"Hiya Barbie!"
"Hi Ken!"
"Do you wanna go for a ride?"
"Sure Ken!"
"Jump in!"
"I'M A BARBIE GIRL! IN A BARBIE WO-O-ORLD! LIFE IN PLASTIC, IT'S FANTASTIC!!"

A comely but irate redheaded woman stomps into the background.]

If you don’t shut that off, there’s going to be cats clawing at our window to check out who’s dying!

[Richie rips the record off, vein pulsing in his forehead.]

Music is dying, Bev! It's over! We've lost the war!

[She scoffs, disappearing once more. Richie looks to the camera.

He snaps the record in two with a malicious crack and tosses the pieces behind him.]

I don't know who allowed this to happen, but you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

[The video cuts out. Please deposit your apologies and condolences below.]

Comments

[summertimeblues]

Hate to disappoint, but I've already snapped it in two. Tough luck, my friend, you'll have to imagine the rest. Think broken glass on a chalkboard meets Cyndi Lauper on a bad bender.

[priorly]

[There's a thud which may be his hand slapping mournfully to his chest.]

Exactly what I've been nostalgic for. Oh, Cyndi. It was like she wrote from my soul.

[summertimeblues]

How does this not surprise me in the slightest?

[He grins, unseen through the voice-only call. Perhaps it's for the best then, that he left matters to simmer down for a bit rather than called up either Prior (or Byerly, though that reconciliation came with an excessively uncalled for highlight reel of both their lives). There's a number of things he's still not so keen to talk about. Music, on the other hand, is a boundless well of material.]

Well I don't have anything from her yet, but let me see if there's something along the lines... [Some muffled rustling, a small "hmmph". Then comes your song, baby.

"You don't have to be beautiful to turn me on..."]

[priorly]

[From Prior's part, there never was anything to let simmer. Though, he's fucked enough pseudo-straight boys to appreciate the quaint little need for space. All he's been aware of is a lack of contact, and a vague disappointment that Richie couldn't find a couple of hours to make bedrest less dull.

He's been coming back into work, too. Gradually, and rarely alone. Keeping the panic that sometimes still wells up for behind locked doors, or shutting it into the silence of storage closets. The matter of who or what Richie may have screwed hasn't really been of primary concern.

But music - it really is something Prior misses of home. Although, not precisely this.]

Is that Prince? [This song, specifically, is a fraction after his time, but it has a particular flavor.] Richard, he's the kind of queer straight women are into, not girls like me. I was raised at the tit of the queens of trashy disco, baby. Did you get any Cher?

[summertimeblues]

[what do you mean "quaint"??? he was having like three hundred crises at once and touching d was only one

Anyway, he's laughing at the protest. Good God, not even a minute into broadcast and he's already getting complaint calls. Feels just like home.]

Jesus, quit your belly-aching. Don't you think that'd be the first thing I'd reach for if I had it? I'm working with the goddamn skinniest collection of records I've ever seen, cut me some slack, Jack!

[Though he is somewhat put out (a Prince joint from the future was the best boon yet, and it had been the first to get gobbled up once the new batch of tunes popped on top of his coffee table) he acquiesces. The song stays on for now because silence was a drag and he liked it, but there's the sounds of movement. Richie resumes the call with a hum of indecision.]

So this one, this is another one from a time beyond us both, and I got too spooked after that ditzy Barbie pap to give it a go. But the look is very Cher. A touch of Madonna, even. If I give it a try, you've gotta promise to not give me shit if it stinks.

[priorly]

[It's not bad - the Prince song. The kind of thing Prior would listen to while skidding up to a high, sprawled on a couch somewhere with Belize dragging his fingers through his hair and singing along low enough that Prior wouldn't call him out on being off-pitch. Prior closes his eyes now and lets the scene picture itself, until Richie's back on the line.]

I'll cut you some slack when you stop snapping records I could have come up with a look for. Do you know how rare it is to find anything worth lip-synching here? Odes to fair Nithor just aren't where it's at.

[He sucks a breath through his teeth, easily seduced by this hybrid being described.]

But I'm willing to put my faith in aesthetics. I won't give you shit. For this one, anyway.

[summertimeblues]

You can dress up as Barbie all you want, just not to that music.

[Please and thank you. He huffs amiably, feigning hurt.] Everyone's a critic...

[But he slips the record on. Starts at the beginning nice and proper, because unlike the half of his collection he's familiar with he has no sense of where the good stuff is sitting.

The song starts bold. Vocalizing with a burnt and raw edge.

"Who-oh-oh-oh-oooh, Caught in a bad romance!"

Then it drops to pounding beats, raucous and romping. Richie sits in stunned silence at the other end of the line.

"I want your ugly, I want your disease.
I want your everything as long as its free, I want your love
Your love, love, love, I want your love..."]

...Is this hitting the spot, Pry?

[priorly]

[Well go home, girls, Miss World already got her crown. The record starts off fun, gets weird and then turns into a good-god-damn classic. You know something's good when Prior's voice drops from its affected lilt to a low rasp, but there's a long pause before he replies. Who's going to talk over I want your drama, the touch of your hand, I want your leather studded kiss in the sand-

He lets the crescendo of the chorus hit before coming back.]

Spots you don't even know you have, Richie. Why it's almost enough to make me want to get back in the business.

[summertimeblues]

[Whew. What a relief. And truth be told, he doesn't lean into pop half so much as he does the electric guitar and drumlines, but he likes the stuff when he's in the mood. And baby this is a downright bop. His foot is tapping away, and he's happy to hear it's passing muster.

The track is strange, but not so far removed from the best disco and synth had to offer that he can't see the influences. Plus it's a riot.]

You sang? Or was it drag? [Or both, actually, though most drag queens he knew only lip synced and pumped up the performances with splashes of standup in between jams.] How am I only hearing about this now?

[priorly]

Oh, drag mostly. [Shh shh, let him listen. He'll interject other comments in what seems like musical downtime and cut himself off as her voice cuts back in, already curious what kind of bribe could earn him a loan to listen through uninterrupted.] I sing a little but, well. I sound like a boy. Didn't work with the act. Though I gave it all up a couple of years back. Lou thought it was sexist. Politically incorrect.

[Now there's a sigh lost under the beat. I'm a free bitch, baby. Well, almost.]

Not that I gave a crap about politics, proper or otherwise, but I gave several about him and - mm. As Petula sang, can't forget, won't regret -

[Though he might, a little.]

And now look where we are. Trapped in the land that pop forgot. Tell me this is an LP?

[summertimeblues]

[He gets the hint, albeit with a shit-eating grin. It really was a beat to pulsate and grind to. Perfect for drag. Sadly, it seemed like Prior's old boy Lou fit the older definition of the word better.]

You know, [He starts, politely waiting for the instrumentals before interrupting Miss Gaga,] the more I hear about this Lou, the less fun he seems to be.

[He waggles his brows at the last question. Flips the case into view (and what a view it is, black and white and that dollish dome wig topping the woman's stark black pleather) and spins it around. Four tracks a side.]

It's an LP.

[priorly]

Then you have no idea how fun it can be to watch someone be desperately awkward at parties. A curious mix of uncomfortable and horny - it was like I'd brought a straight boy out on the town.

[The sweet smile following that means nothing, really. But oh - it vanishes to something more intense at that album cover.]

Have I told you about my charitable foundation? This could be your chance to donate.

[summertimeblues]

[Richie laughs.] Okay okay, now I'm imagining my old pal Eddie Kaspbrak playing wallflower at a gay bar. You're right, that is a hoot.

[Even if half a second later the words reverberate in his head. "Brought a straight boy out on the town." That's no jab on him, is it?

The notion is there and gone in a flash.]

Pry, do you even have a turntable?

[priorly]

I'm trying to decide whether I like this nickname. I've gone from an adjective to a verb. Oh, and at gay bars, we call them backs-to-the-wall flowers.

[Ah, semantics.]

I did say I was accepting donations. Loans also apply.

[summertimeblues]

I can swap to Pee Diddly if it suits you better.

[He puts his chin in one hand, coolly surveying the album in hand.]

That's a steep ask for items irreplaceable, baby. What's in it for me?

[priorly]

No, kind of you to offer but I think I'll stick with Pry. Not many people shorten it, that's all. Maybe the WASP in me makes them want to be correct. As for what I could give you in return - deciding that would require a better knowledge of your taste. Ask, and you may receive.

[summertimeblues]

Must be the Rebel Rebel in me.

[Richie dips back into the couch as the next song fires up, phony accent playing intro before the ABBA beats kick in.

"I know that you are young, and I know that you may love me, but I just can't be with you like this anymore! Alejandro..."]

Hmmmm... You feeling more mobile these days?

[priorly]

Your face is a mess.

[So she's not a one trick wonder. As he's currently making bargains unknown, it's good to hear it may be worth it.]

Reasonably. The cane's no longer in use. I keep meaning to tell Byerly to pick up a barbeque and invite everyone round for a ritual burning while we have the weather for it.

[summertimeblues]

Flattery will get you nowhere.

[He lets the cover go, leaning forward once more.]

What a coincidence! I've got to make a blazing sacrifice of one "Aqua" record. Want to swing by and do it together?

[priorly]

That poor thing doesn't need a pyre, just a touch of glue and somebody who understands it.

[summertimeblues]

You're wrong and I'm pretending you didn't say that.

[priorly]

Such judgement over a simple matter such as what I love. I need a moment, the nostalgia's getting me a little -

[A shivery little breath doesn't entirely hide a laugh.]

Is coming over the extent of the request, or should I prepare myself for something outrageous once I'm there?

[summertimeblues]

[Richie keeps quiet for that teeny flutter of a queer heart, pining for the dirty disco of old. His mirth still burns bright in the wide smile, though, and the twinkle in his eyes.]

I'm no extortionist. The pleasure of your company's more than enough.

[It will also give him further excuse to avoid visiting their apartment. He's still feeling too skittish to sit on that couch, risk Byerly coming home halfway through and lobbing choice barbs at him when he's not fit to bark back. The man was protective of Prior, after all, and though they're on peaceable terms now Richie can't help treading lightly anyhow. Once bitten, twice shy, and all that jazz.]

[priorly]

[Although he's a little too transparent on some aspects of that, and it doesn't go unremarked.]

Well I asked you over weeks ago, just think of all the pleasure you've missed. [There's no bite to the comment, it's just that Prior will only take bullshit if the other party's aware he knows that's what it is.]

And I have manners, I can't just show empty handed. What if I pick up lunch along the way?

[summertimeblues]

[Ugh. He sucks back a gulp of air through his teeth, wincing with one eye pinched.]

Must we dwell so much on sins past? You know my visa's only valid half the time when I cross the borders of your door.

Lunch would be fine and dandy. I'll cover drinks and dessert?