WIP - Ian McCulloch/Johnny Marr talking at a bar

Jul. 22nd, 2011 at 4:21 AM

"Johnny Marr! What are you doing here?" Ian asks with enthusiasm, as if he hasn't seen Johnny around before, making Johnny – no doubt – turn his head to Ian. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"No, I was with someo… Some people. They just left."

"Well, then, what were you waiting outside for? Let's go back in. Come on, it's still early."

With that, Ian puts his arm around Johnny, dragging him back into the pub.

They order drinks. After a small talk, it seems like there's something on Ian's mind that he feels the need to air.

"You know, that guy you were seeing a few years ago, that weird bloke with the hair, where is he? You know who I mean, don't you?"

"That guy… You mean Morrissey?" Johnny sighs, but keeps a small smile.

"Oi, yeah, that's the one!" Ian grins, his change in pitch could be possibly mistaken for real joy of being reminded about Morrissey's name. Johnny's not buying it, but he wishes to keep Ian entertained. "Is he still alive?" Ian asks.

"Yeah, I suppose." Johnny says, smirking. Many times people try to talk to him just to pick some pieces of info on his ex…bandmate. Ex-bandmate, yeah, and he's gotten wary of those conversations, but it's different this time – if anything, Ian's taking the piss out of people who do that.

"Noooo. Really?" Ian straightens up in his chair, concentrating his eyes on the chip in his hand. "He was a dodgy fucker, though. I never liked him."

"You didn't?" Johnny asks. He knows Ian has said less than favourable things about the Smiths, and about Morrissey in particular, but he assumes Ian's always playing it up a bit.

"I suppose I liked 'Reel Around the Fountain', it was a good one." Ian says in a serious, impassioned tone which voices his appreciation. "And the one which goes…" He sings Johnny's guitar part, perfectly.

"This Charming Man." Johnny pitches in.

"You know what I mean!" Ian looks at Johnny appreciatively.

"It was a very good vocal impression." Johnny says in return.

"Well, you wrote the tune, didn't you?" Ian asks. "Some of your tunes were good, like. Some were excellent."

Johnny nods. "Alright, cheers." Ian is feigning some kind of cool objectivity, isn't he? I bet he listens to the Smiths at home, having a good time to our songs, like everyone.

"Your singer, though-" Ian continues. "He's a bit mental. Way too much of a purist, in every way. I don't believe him. Maybe it's because I'm the complete opposite of him, I don't know."

"What do you mean?" Johnny asks. Are we still talking about Morrissey? It was a long time ago, mate, let it go. Ian must be really pissed, does he even know what *year* it is?

"He's vegetarian, he doesn't eat meat." Ian provides both info and literal definition, which are invaluable, especially to Johnny. "Will is vegetarian too; he says it's good, he believes it's healthier, you know, not eating dead things. I tell him he still smells." Ian grins proudly. Something about the timing and the way Ian delivers his childish joke makes Johnny chuckle wholeheartedly.

"The truth is, I don't know if you've heard about it, but I'm vegan." Johnny says. Although it has been dropped off in various interviews and articles (which Ian would have known if he'd bothered to read them), Johnny secretly hopes Ian doesn't know about his veganism, so that Johnny could shock and titillate Ian with that fact.

"Really? You're vegan?!" Ian asks with a mix of genuine curiosity and surprise, which pleases Johnny. "Wow, um… pfff." Ian breathes out. Johnny can't help but feel Ian's a lot more impressed than he'd expected him to be. It could be that Ian never got to talk to a vegan about veganism, or at least he hasn't been aware of any vegans around him; Johnny considers that. But maybe - Johnny thinks - there's a whole different reason why Ian is thrilled, and it involves Johnny specifically, in contrast to any other persons Ian had mentioned.

"So… um… Could you tell me what you eat?" Johnny could see Ian was searching for the right words; and although that question may be trite – Johnny would normally answer dryly 'Anything you do, except for products which cash in on the abuse and killing of animals', as the definition already implies – he wants to indulge Ian's sudden interest, so Johnny actually goes on in lengths about his favourite foods, cruelty-free products and the like.

"No way, man…" Ian squints, deep in thought. "You're looking good." Ian says decisively. "Did I ever tell you you look good?"

Johnny shakes his head, smiling weakly. He doesn't think Ian had ever told him that, and even if he had, Johnny would have had no real reason to remember it – Ian may be quick to slag off other musicians, or criticize individuals, but when it comes to talking about personal feelings or wants, he could be described as vague at best; simple and direct, but maybe too simple and not direct enough.

Terminal Young Thing Pt. 1

21 FEBRUARY 2011 @ 02:20 PM

When Wayne had first met James Dean Bradfield – James was looking for supporting musicians for his solo tour, and Wayne got the job – he really thought he'd hit it off well with James. He remembers James shook his hand, and complimented his hair – Wayne doesn't remember the details exactly, he had such a head-rush from meeting James Dean Bradfield.

He'd only seen pictures of him sometimes, when he was going through guitar magazines, and his expectations weren't elevated – he had set out to be professional about it, as he is when meeting any other musician.

But James was so cool in person – so warm and affectionate with everyone, and he seemed to have taken a liking to Wayne – he interviewed him for a very long time, although it didn't seem like he was scrutinizing Wayne, or trying to figure out if he really is the best option, but asking him questions out of genuine interest; And then Wayne realized, he wanted to be liked by this man.

When Wayne had told his friends about this encounter, and how happy he was that it turned out well, and how excited he was that James had liked him, and even looked him in the eye and said something – maybe it was 'Hi, great hair', right after he shook his hand, or maybe Wayne's mind just idealized what had really happened – they didn't understand it.

They thought Wayne was being odd about it, and maybe even a bit star-struck. In all fairness, Wayne had never been so fascinated by another man before, for all they knew; it did seem a bit out-of-character for him.

They told Wayne that if it had been Nicky, then they would have understood – he wore dresses; or Nicky's friend – the one who disappeared - with a fuck-load of foundation, and his stage make-up, he could be mistaken for a girl. A butch, angry goth girl, with a razor-sharp jaw… But still, they thought it would be more excusable if Wayne had been sexually confused by those two. After all, they'd crafted their image to do just that, get a reaction from your average straight bloke who never had their heterosexuality challenged that way before.

However, they didn't seem surprised that James may have hit on Wayne; they only got a kick from Wayne's reaction. The rest seemed perfectly normal to them. It made sense that everyone who's been with the Manics must be somewhat bi.

Perhaps Wayne isn't confused, perhaps he knows exactly what he wants. But talking to people he trusts about it, made him think twice about his feelings. He decides to slow down, and have a calmer, more detached approach over James Dean Bradfield. He decides to let it go, and see what happens.

"The one with the window"

15-10-2009, 03:01

Sometimes Nicky felt like he was watching Richey from afar. But loving isn't anything like that. And Nicky loved Richey. 

One afternoon while they were on tour, Nicky woke up in his room with Richey, to find Richey sitting on the window frame. He shifted himself to the other side of the bed, to get a better look at Richey, who'd seem to not nod back or move his head slightly to look at him. Probably in the midst of some deep contemplation, Nicky thought.


Nicky didn't like the silence. To be fair to Nicky, he probably didn't even know what silence means. He could be attentive to a ridiculous extent, putting his mind into things no one else did, be it an object that seemed to be out of its rightful place, sounds that could be traced as coming from outside, too much light, or not enough light. It would all dissolve into one big mess that can only be articulated through his words or paintings. 

And it's not like his head was an empty space for all these things. First there was homesickness, and making sure they got the right hotel rooms, and that everyone got what they need. 

Then there were his deepest, most uncomfortable thoughts that he intended on showing as little as possible of. Those thoughts all seemed to gravitate towards the person he considered to be his best friend, who at the same time seemed like the loneliest person he's ever met. He went about sneakily and subtly making sure Richey was OK, for as long as he was there to watch him, at least, while careful not to break into his psyche, not knowing what he'll find there. 


On his own, Nicky would fill stacks upon stacks of journals, and he had a knack for making new places appear homely, if he knew he was going to stay there for a while. He'd fill silences with escapism, most notably the buzz from a TV set, and replace boredom with perpetual movement, and routines. With Richey though, every moment spent next to Richey, but not focusing on Richey, seemed like a wasted moment. 

--

Nicky hunches over, trying to keep himself small and closer to the ground rather than the ceiling as Nicky possibly could as he approaches Richey. It works as far as he knows, as Richey's small frame is still curled up staring at the window, looking serenely over the city landscape like a postcard.

Nicky is crouching, closer than ever to be sitting on the floor. He puts his hand over Richey's thigh, doing spider-like movements with his fingers tapping, hoping to shift his attention in the slightest. Richey shuts his eyes, in a way which makes his whole face contort for just a second.

"Did I scare you?" Nicky asks worriedly.

Richey shakes his head for 'no', smiling secretively. Nicky was the least scary of things he could think of. He puts his hand down on Nicky's.