Jeff shifts, rolling onto his side, propping up on his elbow, practically mirroring Tim's position. Impress me, he says, and Jeff can't not rise to the challenge. He could sing them into maddening highs, fill the room with uncontrollable laughter, make it so they're both so keyed up they just have to dance and party til they're out of breath and on the verge of passing out.
It could be a beautiful, swirling mess of two. And there's a song, a lyrical mindfuck, just on the tip of his tongue, but.
But.
But he doesn't have any logical reason not to do it. He just knows he shouldn't, not to somebody he likes, not without asking-- or warning-- first. So he swallows it back, smiles, and changes course to something safe and frivolous. "You got it."
He hums softly, finding the tune-- not the tune of the song, but the tune of magic, that perfect frequency that syncs it all up. It's easy, with how much he's been feeding his twirling, twisting friend with others' hysteria-- guerrilla style, hidden in songs in the middle of his busking sets.
And then he starts singing: a new song, not a Nervous Tix original, but something that's just Jeff Calhoun, solo artist, lost and 25 years away from home. It's all playful and sweet, drifting and dreamlike, a song about drowning with a woman, fish swimming around her head like a living crown, and a kiss that fills lungs with seafoam.
Looks like-- sounds like-- Jeff went ahead and wrote that love song about mermaids after all, and he didn't even include any references to fish fucking. He glances over his shoulder, looking for the light switch, and snaps a finger, shutting it off with a little tug of magic. In another moment, with another verse, the room fills with orbs of light, deep blue, floating up towards the ceiling and gathering there--
--and then he stops abruptly, partway through the song. The lights linger for now, held together by magic that isn't yet ready to dissipate.
"Sneak preview," he smirks, before wrinkling his nose and glancing over at the door. "Uh oh... Am I gonna get busted for doing magic in here?"
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It could be a beautiful, swirling mess of two. And there's a song, a lyrical mindfuck, just on the tip of his tongue, but.
But.
But he doesn't have any logical reason not to do it. He just knows he shouldn't, not to somebody he likes, not without asking-- or warning-- first. So he swallows it back, smiles, and changes course to something safe and frivolous. "You got it."
He hums softly, finding the tune-- not the tune of the song, but the tune of magic, that perfect frequency that syncs it all up. It's easy, with how much he's been feeding his twirling, twisting friend with others' hysteria-- guerrilla style, hidden in songs in the middle of his busking sets.
And then he starts singing: a new song, not a Nervous Tix original, but something that's just Jeff Calhoun, solo artist, lost and 25 years away from home. It's all playful and sweet, drifting and dreamlike, a song about drowning with a woman, fish swimming around her head like a living crown, and a kiss that fills lungs with seafoam.
Looks like-- sounds like-- Jeff went ahead and wrote that love song about mermaids after all, and he didn't even include any references to fish fucking. He glances over his shoulder, looking for the light switch, and snaps a finger, shutting it off with a little tug of magic. In another moment, with another verse, the room fills with orbs of light, deep blue, floating up towards the ceiling and gathering there--
--and then he stops abruptly, partway through the song. The lights linger for now, held together by magic that isn't yet ready to dissipate.
"Sneak preview," he smirks, before wrinkling his nose and glancing over at the door. "Uh oh... Am I gonna get busted for doing magic in here?"