diademlogs | february catch-all.

Getting run over, mostly. But Sciel doesn't need to know that.

Verso takes his glass and the rest of the bottle, setting them carefully on Sciel's tiny little table. How quaint! He still has no furniture, mostly because he doesn't have steady lodgings. A motel room for the weekend here, a night spent propped up against his moped there. He probably shouldn't have splurged on the electronic keyboard.

Sciel doesn't need to know that either, so—

"Ah, you know." Does she??? "Actually, uh, I found a little bistro that will let Lune and I play." For peanuts, but the owner had said the exposure would be great...! "You should come watch sometime."

There's a little twitch of her eyebrow at the 'you know' as she prepares to bully him into providing some answer to a perfectly reasonable, open-ended question. The answer he goes on to give is sufficient, though, and brightens her further.

"Did you?" If her voice sounds proud, it's because she is! The idea that he and Lune have already carved out some corner of this place for their music gives her a little, pleased thrill that comes with the happiness (if not success, yet) of friends. "I'd love to! Just text me the next time you've got a time and a place, yeah?"

He's already seen her phone by now, but her excitement around the thing hasn't yet waned, so she slips it out of her pocket and flips it around in her hand for effect.

"Was it easy to get the job?" She doesn't know anything about when businesses do or don't let musicians take up residence, after all. "Haven't been here long, but I wouldn't describe the city as...artsy."

He wasn't going to admit this, but: "It, uh... pays three joolies an hour."

If there were such a thing as minimum wage in Panorama, it wouldn't meet the cut. In fact, they could make more in nearly any other job—but it's the principle of the thing. They get experience playing for near-nothing, and then people start to like them, and then they move up in the world.

So, no. It's not really an easy place to get an artsy job.

"Each," he adds, like that makes it sound better.

"Hmm." Sciel is no expert on fair wages, given the simplicity of the Lumièran economy (such as it is) compared with this place, but she frowns anyway. "Did you...negotiate?"

Verso and Lune are both smart and capable, but that doesn't mean they'd definitely end up with a fair deal. Particularly if whoever had made the offer didn't actually get to hear how good they were at what they'd been hired to do.

He shoots her a flat look over his glass of wine. "You don't think that I negotiated?" He did! The negotiation was to let them play in the first place.

She returns the look, raising her eyebrows.

"I could see you...underselling," Sciel replies, choosing the word with care. He'd had Lune there with him, and she wouldn't have been afraid to speak up for them, but she knows that Verso's got a habit of devaluing what he brings to any given table. "You don't always seem to know what you've got to offer."

He may spout jokes about himself that could come off as overconfident, if you weren't someone familiar with him, but Sciel's seen enough to read between the lines. And so she continues to stare back at him as if in challenge, drawing a slow sip from what's left in her glass.

Verso is fairly confident he's never undersold anything in his life, but he doesn't argue; Sciel is a difficult person to want to contradict. If it were Lune, maybe. Instead:

"I've been told the exposure will be the real payment."

...Which he sounds a bit dubious of even now, but it's still the best offer he's gotten yet. Plenty establishments weren't interested in paying at all—they'd just suggested that Les Vagabonds visit during something called 'open mic night'.

"And," he adds, "we're allowed to keep all of the tips we receive."

There's another scrutinizing look. Then —

"Okay!" And her chipper, excitable air returns, overtaking the concerns she...definitely still has, but isn't willing to get hung up on. "Well, I'm really excited about it, and I'll absolutely be there for your first show. ...Oh! I've met all these people, I'll make sure to tell them to come, too."

For the exposure, the tips, and so she can show off how talented her friends are like the faux-mother hen she is. Sciel looks very pleased with her idea as she polishes off the glass, setting it down on the little table with a satisfied sigh before leaning back again.

"I'm glad," she stresses, beaming at him. "That you're getting to play again. Both of you."

God knows it's a nice change from their usual day to day.

Oh, god. To be the recipient of Sciel's warmth—to have her megawatt light shining directly on him—is nice, but too much light can also feel a bit... exposing. He's glad to be playing again, too, but he doesn't know how to express that without getting into all the reasons he couldn't before, and then things are liable to get weird and heavy and sad once they begin to discuss the state of Lumière.

So, moving swiftly along. He takes a sip. "And what about the Dome's most illustrious fighter? Any fan letters yet?"

The subject changes again. She lets it happen, reaching out for the bottle to refill her glass. They're...going to need more than one, the way this is going.

"Oh, I'm not sure I've earned that title yet. Hopefully before too long, though." There's a pause as she dips into some private reminiscing about her recent fights, huffing out a laugh. "There are some people here who're a lot tougher than the gestrals. Hit harder, too." There's a quick, unconscious brush of the back of her knuckle along her jaw as it aches with a not-so-old bruise. "...Not as hard as Golgra, I'm sure, but."

It's been challenging, in a good way. Familiar, but new enough to keep her occupied when she's got down time to fill.

"And...well, yeah," she begins, on the subject of fan letters. "But I'd recognize your handwriting anywhere, so I'm not sure I can count them."

There's a little wink as she goes in for a sip.

february catch-all.

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