(no subject)
Their meeting was completely chance, but even so, it was a meeting of the fucking minds. As Roger left the Compound with his guitar to set up and write somewhere along the inspiring shoreline, Bill was packing up his practice in the rec room. It seemed like an opportunity, and one that shouldn't have been wasted.
The Hub was close, traveling there made it seem closer when punctuated with the excited conversation of two men and the bumps of their guitar cases against their legs. Ellen was tending bar that night, and he was sure he could get some approval for a small, on-the-fly concert without too much friction.
It wasn't long before a quick conversation with the generous (and possibly misguidedly so) Ianto Jones brought about alcohol, and where Roger came from, that made it a party. There was just one thing missing.
Both amplifiers were set up in virtually no time flat, and the tune-up began. It reminded him of the beginning of the play version of his life, and so he began to pluck at the string in quick succession with a grin to Bill.
"December 24th, 9pm, Eastern Standard Time from here on in I shoot without a script..." Roger sang, and Bill was eager enough to pick up Roger's part of the song, each of them in the fondest mocking of their respective roles. Peals of laughter cut off this portion of the evening, but damn, it seemed they were drawing a crowd. There was only one thing to do.
"Well? Don't just stand there. Request something!" Roger took a seat on top of his amp and grinned. This was where he belonged.
[Impromptu concert and party in the Hub. Tag Bill, tag Roger, tag each other. Timed to this evening, open to all! There's alcohol and great music.]
The Hub was close, traveling there made it seem closer when punctuated with the excited conversation of two men and the bumps of their guitar cases against their legs. Ellen was tending bar that night, and he was sure he could get some approval for a small, on-the-fly concert without too much friction.
It wasn't long before a quick conversation with the generous (and possibly misguidedly so) Ianto Jones brought about alcohol, and where Roger came from, that made it a party. There was just one thing missing.
Both amplifiers were set up in virtually no time flat, and the tune-up began. It reminded him of the beginning of the play version of his life, and so he began to pluck at the string in quick succession with a grin to Bill.
"December 24th, 9pm, Eastern Standard Time from here on in I shoot without a script..." Roger sang, and Bill was eager enough to pick up Roger's part of the song, each of them in the fondest mocking of their respective roles. Peals of laughter cut off this portion of the evening, but damn, it seemed they were drawing a crowd. There was only one thing to do.
"Well? Don't just stand there. Request something!" Roger took a seat on top of his amp and grinned. This was where he belonged.
[Impromptu concert and party in the Hub. Tag Bill, tag Roger, tag each other. Timed to this evening, open to all! There's alcohol and great music.]