33 Apocalypse Ave, Tuesday Afternoon

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It was October, even if the weather didn't match Tumblr's expectations of the month, and Kathy was getting into the spooky spirit. She'd decorated the living room with some window decals and a small stuffed bat for the cats to play with, there were a chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven and a bowl of ganache cooling on the counter for chocolate monster cookies, and two gallons of apple cider sat in the fridge, waiting to be mulled or spiked with cinnamon-flavored booze.

Now she was sprawled on the couch, playing through her repertoire of songs she'd learned on the guitar, and trying to figure out if she could learn to play Bad Moon Rising before it ceased being relevant. Hmm, maybe she should try to play something off of the Bad Seeds' Murder Ballads instead.

Comments

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"Didn't, really, at first," Dante said, fingers sliding over the strings. "But he convinced me."

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"Was it him?" Kathy teased. "Or that sweet red and black electric guitar you're playing?"

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Dante shrugged one shoulder vaguely. "Eh," he said, and struck a chord in line with the more rhythmic part of the song.

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Kathy waited a moment to see if he was going to say anything more--or, at all--and when he didn't, just followed his lead on the guitar.

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It had been a weird time in his life, with conflicting ideas. Dante wasn't going to blackball her on purpose, but she'd given him an organic out out of thinking about it too much.

"One point for the Cash version," he said, "Way more guitar."

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He hadn't even given her enough to be able to tell if he was dancing around the topic or if he just thought it was boring. So she shrugged and let the change of conversation come as it would.

"And it sounds less weird on acoustic," she said with an amused snort.

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"Because he put a few more chords in it," Dante said sagely. "Shortcut."

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Kathy couldn't help giving him an admiring smile. Hell, she didn't even realize she was doing it. "You've learned a lot about music," she said.

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"I work at a music shop," Dante said. "And I dig music. Seemed to make sense at the time, figuring it out."

He wasn't sure what to make of that smile.

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Good to know that they both sometimes found the other completely inexplicable.

"I agree," Kathy said easily. "Even if music theory was never my thing."

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"It's not about theory. You just gotta listen. Break it up into parts," Dante said. "That's the only way you learn how to make it."

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"Do you want to make music?" Kathy asked. "Not just play others' but make it yourself?"

She didn't. She was happy following the directions of others, obeying the notes across the stage or the fingerwork of someone better. But even if Dante just broke music down now to recreate what he heard, she was pretty sure that was just one small step from mixing it up to make something new.

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"I've been thinking about it," Dante admitted. "Until a few weeks ago, Starsmore'd have like, jam nights? It was fun."

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"Who used to come for that?" she asked. "Just a few people, or...?"

Cause, like...they had a house. People could fit in it.

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"Just a couple, yeah," Dante said. "Sometimes just me and Starsmore."

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"Any reason you can't invite him and other folks here?" she asked. "Not the Boards, but there's room for people and instruments."

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"Run jam sessions myself? I dunno. Might wreck my image," Dante said. But thoughtfully.

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"Yeah," Kathy agreed impishly. "I mean, you've got nothing else going on that could challenge your disaffected loner image."

Like, oh, ridiculously domestic bliss living with his partners or anything.

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Dante rolled his eyes at her. "I'm not a guy who runs things," he complained.

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"Who said anything about running?" Kathy asked, skipping over all the evidence she could point to the contrary. "You tell people to show up to play music and drink beer. You bat your unfairly blue eyes at me until I begrudgingly agree to provide refreshments. And then you spend the evening bitching about how much easier this is at the Boards until Mr. Starsmore agrees to host again. That's not running, that's playing music with the door open."

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"Ugh," Dante said, which essentially meant: fine.

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Kathy's lips curved and she didn't say anything more, looking down at the guitar to make sure her fingers were spaced correctly and replayed the original line of notes Dante'd had her practice.

"Not sad you're missing out on--what, skiing?"

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"I could be rolling around in cold snow on a mountain somewhere, or I could be here and get laid every day," Dante said. "Hard choice."

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"Hey now, ski resorts have lodges with booze and fireplaces," Kathy pointed out. "You could be inside with a guitar and a cup of boozy hot cocoa instead."

But still not getting laid so the choice remained pretty one-sided.

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"Still not as fun as getting laid," Dante said. Predictably.