Why do we never get an answer when we're knocking at the door?

[live_ringer]

Characters: Nobody (notpaid2dodge), Gene-1 (live_ringer)
Date/Time: October 12, late afternoon/early evening
Location: Workshop Island
Rating: PG-ish?
Summary: Boys dig giant robots. Even if they can't completely remember them.

Comments

[notpaid2dodge]

Nobody used a thin metal rod with a flattened, angled section on one end to dislodge and flick rust and dirt out of a deep crevice in a what appeared to be a small metal case of some kind, working a little slower than some of the others--but out of obvious patience and care rather than apathy. His one visible eye was narrowed in concentration, the item firmly set and held in a makeshift vise so that both of his hands were free.

He also looked tired as hell, that same eye rimmed in dark red, and every now and then--when the music following him decided to temporarily play a little louder than usual--his fingers tightened around the handle of the tool he was using.

There was a reason he was at the far end of the tent, with everyone crowded in towards the other side.

[live_ringer]

It was now that Gene realized he should have asked for something even more important than directions: a description. Anything that would set Nobody apart from the crowd.

And speaking of being set apart from the crowd... he noted that one person was separated from the rest, and that the blaring music seemed to be coming from him. His hand was still in his bag, still brushing against the fuzzy, comical earmuffs and he was reminded of Nobody's cryptic comment. Was this the reason? It seemed likely, though there was no guarantee that he was at the source of the noise and not one of the ones huddling away. Still, it was as good a place as any to start.

He strolled up to the young man, noting that face-covering haircuts seemed to be all the rage here in the Sphere, and raised his voice so he could get the young man's attention without startling him too badly.

"Yo!" He waved, giving him a friendly enough smile. "Got any idea where I could find Nobody?"

[notpaid2dodge]

The teenager looked up from his work and gave a slight frown, looking at the person who had just asked for him. The diddly little bit of clown music that had been running on repeat for the past seven hours (seven hours, he found himself thinking in dismay, wondering just how much longer he was going to have to put up with it before it either stopped or he went crazy) got softer, and for a single, hopeful moment he thought it would end entirely.

And then his punishment trumpeted back into existence with high-volume clarity, complete with brand spanking new melody and lyrics.

i've just seen a face,
i can't forget the time or place
where we just met

Ignoring the helpful accompaniment, Nobody stared at the man before him for a moment before turning his attention back to his work. The bouncy song faded out, and came back as a quiet, drum-filled piece suitable for the kind of tricks elephant tamers did.

"Range," he said, quietly. "It's not the time for pranks."

[live_ringer]

That little bit of customization confirmed it. The music was coming from the teen, or at least meant for him. The burst of laughter came before Gene could even think of repressing it, not that he would have bothered. His mirth was short-lived, however, and Gene's expression flattened into exasperation as Nobody joined the ranks of people who had mistaken him for Range.

"That Range gets around, doesn't he? You should pay more attention to your musical accompaniment; this is the first time we've met." He relaxed somewhat, picking up the air of casual flippance he usually wore in circumstances like this. "I'm Gene and I believe we had a meet up arranged. That is, unless I really do have the wrong person."