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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 8, 2007 2:03:42 GMT 7
There were some places that Charles Landen did not frequent. Places that he passed daily but because of an unfounded, personal enmity agaist the establishment refused to enter. The Wreck Room was one of these places. He saw it on his way to Magnolia Bakery, he saw it everytime he mustered up the courage to slip into Times Square only to have an anxiety attack and waltz right back out, he saw it quite a few times on his little visits to the Big Apple. There were a few things that deterred him from actually entering the Wreck Room.
First things first: the music. Young, new fresh artists, who weren't always artists as much as a conglomerate of ne'er do well teen garage bands with newfound confidence to perform on a stage. You did not subject yourself to this unless you were a friend of the band, a friend of a friend of the band, or you wanted to add to your scene and alternative persona and purposely listen to bad music. Not that Charles Landen really had a musical genre he favored, or even a band. In fact, it would have been safe to say he didn't really listen to music. While his ringtones were an enthusiastic array of Daddy Yankee, Fergie, and Mims...Well, even with that said, it'd still be safe to say he wasn't a regular listener to anything.
Second on the list: The element of people who walked in and out of the Wreck Room. Charles Landen was well into this thirties. Alright, he was twenty-four, but he'd been acting like he was well into his thirties since he was twelve. There were three definite types of people who frequented the Wreck Room and he was neither one of them. He wasn't a scenester (tight pants, lip piercings, died hair, sideswept bangs, penchant for the Honey Trees, Myspace hair stylists, and Myspace in general), he certainly wasn't one of those Zac Effron/Jesse McCartney look-a-likes with a baby face, acoustic guitar and voice to match, and then there were the hipsters. Those were the Goldfrapp-listening, IKEA purchasing, Mac crusading, Mac wearing (if female), Baked frequenting, indie movie watching, exercise concious mid-twenty year olds. Maybe he did fit in somewhere.
Lastly...Today, maybe he'd go in. And so, Charles Landen, much like he did with Times Square found the courage in himself to walk into the Wreck Room.
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Post by Marta Chang on Apr 8, 2007 7:32:03 GMT 7
Marta had been sitting on bar stool by the bar smoking a cigarette when a guy, probablly in his mid-twenties or early thirties, walked in. Marta, who was a frequent visitor to the Wreck Room, noticed that this guy was a new comer, and as all new comers, Marta had to give him a test. Marta stared at the guy for a couple seconds, realizing that she had seen him before, but she couldn't remember where. After the guy had taken a seat Marta slipped gently and silently off the stool. Her biker boots made so sound as she walked across the room. Her black corset top showed off Marta's chest perfectly and her fraying denim skirt was a little shorter then advised.
Upon arriving to the table where the guy sat, Marta let out a puff from her cigarette above her head. She didn't look at the guy directly, but from the corner of her right eye she looked at him with her dark blue, almost black eyes. Her fish-net arm socked hand rested on the table as Marta turned to look at the guy all the while asking, "I've never seen you here. You new to the Wreck Room?" She smiled, showing off her pointy teeth. Marta was going to enjoy this, she could tell.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 8, 2007 9:22:53 GMT 7
"Uh."
He wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't want to allow room for a fiesty Asian chick to beat him up, did he? Fiesty Asian chick. Hahahaha. No, but really. That was not how he imagined his day unfolding at all. There were no Asian girls at all, involved in his mental layout of the day actually. There were no Chens, Changs, Lis, Mins. There were no girls period. He thought he'd stroll into the Wreck Room, probably go subject himself to Times Square, rent a motel room a few minutes out of the city. Chillax. Maybe watch a paper view movie. Return tomorrow in the morning. It was a pretty solitary day he had planned out. Maybe he'd even go to the book store afterwards. The giant Toys R' Us if he was feeling a little spontaneous. Looking over his gameplan, there were a total of zero Asians involved. Not that he had a thing against Asians or anything, they just weren't included in his Chinatownless day.
"Yeah, actually. I am."
That's the way he was going to roll. He was going to be honest. Who the hell did she think she was? Wreck Room authority? She might have been. He'd never taken the time to go in. What was there like, hazing in the Wreck Room? That was completely and totally illegal. Or maybe it wasn't. He really didn't know. Maybe she was some sort of Wreck Room authority. That would have been unforunate. He would have mustered up the courage to waltz right in, and he would have had to waltz right back out because a fiesty Asian decided to give him a taste..of the...life...that she lead...Shit.
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Post by Marta Chang on Apr 8, 2007 10:21:50 GMT 7
Marta looked at the guy for a couple of minutes, knowing that he was shocked that some Japanese girl that looked like a rock&roll star walked up to him and started talking sounding like some badass. "I see, so, you're our newest person to wonder into here. Most of the people here are musicans playing their crap. I'm Marta Chang, I'm performing tonight." Marta said smiling, trying to lighten up the mood just a little bit. Marta looked at the guy, knowning that she had come on a little bit strong.
Marta took out her packet of cigarettes and look at the guy real quickly before grinning and pointing the box at him. "Would you like one?" She looked around the room, not many people were there, so she didn't expect much of a show today. "Damn, I'm going from a super-star to a crappy Japanese musican in a dump like this." Marta muttered, starting her own cigarette.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 8, 2007 10:48:43 GMT 7
"Uh, no, that's alright."
What could he say? He was a jackass. He wasn't the attractive kind of jackass either. He was the kind of guy who briefly carried around a briefcase full of lysol just in case. He was the kind of guy who picked fights on subways and was an over all tool. He rained on parades and knew obscure statistics off hand.
Most importantly, he was frightened of Asian chicks like Marta Chang. He was afraid of their second hand smoke and boots. He was afraid they had burly boyfriends named Nana who in the midst of their glasses and otaku-lifestyle were hiding biological weapons in their basement. He was afraid of their music. He was afraid of most music. Because Charles Landen was not a fan.
"You're a superstar, really?"
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Post by Marta Chang on Apr 8, 2007 11:00:49 GMT 7
"Hey, do you mind if I sit down?" Marta asked pointing to the chair next to her.
She was being really kind today toward this guy, even though she didn't even know his name. Then Marta realzied that was the reason that she was being nice. She didn't know the guy's name, meaning that should couldn't get connected, meaning that she couldn't get hurt.
"I was a super-star in Japan at least." Marta said with a heavy sigh, staring at the stage for a second. "So, what's your name? I swear I've seen you around before." Marta smiled tucking her rusty hair behind her ear, looking very threeish.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 8, 2007 11:27:49 GMT 7
"Big in Japan."
He laughed. She was big in Japan. When people said that, it was like forfeiting the other person's potential to believe what you're saying. Big in Japan: to say or pretend you are someone of stature somewhere else. It's meaningless, not verifiable and nonviable where you currently are.
Well, unless the other person cares to take a little trip to google.jp and take a little looksie. That said, not many people want to go to that trouble. It's taken in stride and usually, in most scenarios gone unbelieved. On the other note, this girl was legitimately Asian. She might have been, for all he knew, big in Japan. Isn't everything to an extent, big in Japan?
"Trust me, you haven't."
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Post by Marta Chang on Apr 8, 2007 11:43:20 GMT 7
"Whatever. You didn't answer many on my questions." Marta said, sitting down anyways, leaning forward so that her shirt hung a little. "So, what is your name?" Marta asked the question for the second time more slowly, hoping that he might get the importance to why she wanted to know his name.
"And yeah, I was huge in Japan." Marta said frowning looking down at the table, he chin in her hand, remembering the stage, her guitar and the microphone; it had been real, yet the way Marta remembered it the tour had seemed like a huge dream. She sighed, getting out a picture from her pocket. "That's me on tour." The picture had her standing in front of a microphone playing bass guitar and singing.
Marta looked at the stage, it was calling her. She had to get up there and sing, now. Marta stood up, almost in a trance. She always had her guitar with her, so she picked it up and rumaged through her denim vest for a second, finding her red lipstick. She put a freash new coat on then walked up to the stage, setting the micophone up and her guitar.
She looked at the people on the drums and keyboard. Marta had left copies of her music on their stands. She turned back around and looked at the almost empty room sighing. She caught the eye of the guy and smiled. Then Marta began singing, her lips almost touching the microphone.
"Itsumono shisen ni kimi ga ite kokyu uuga dekiru boku ni totte sore dake du mou juubun na hazu nano ni. Chippoke na boku wa kurikaesu ayamachi bakari, dore hodo tsuyosa wo teni shitara nani mo kizutsukezusumuno. Mayowazu ni ko na ai wo shinji ikite yuka, fusagaranu kizuguchi mo gyuu tto dakishimete. Futariwa arukisuzukeru, ato ni wa modorenaikara, ima demo kono mune no oka kesenai tsumi wa itamukedo, darling."
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 8, 2007 22:31:17 GMT 7
"Heh." He didn't always answer questions. It wasn't in his nature. If it was a question about what he did, or what he was studying, always - but if it was a question about himself, him as a personage, his method was beating around the bush. That didn't always work, since people didn't enjoy being ignored. They also didn't enjoy listening to a census being read off, which most conversations with him read like. Speaking of statistics, had she not run off to the stage, that would have been the next thing that had come out of his mouth. Did you know that Japan was...etc, etc.
And then she began to sing. Japanese, how soul engulfing. How mind-numbingly amazing. It was like a gift from the heavens. Forget the Jews, they must have been the chosen people. No. Not really. He had a feeling that the exposure that the U.S. had to Japanese culture was revenge for Nagasaki and Hiroshima. They'd show us just a taste, take a hold of our souls, then when we'd go over there humilate us because we'd only seen a small part of their culture. "Not everyone is like Sailor Moon!" then they'd been the shit out of us. Poison us with their sushi. They'd be killing us one person at a time. It was only a matter of years before we became futile and Japan took over.
In all honesty, he didn't understand the fascination with Japan. He'd seen it only to the extent of 'They have cool shit.' Thus, he had a lot of Asian stuff, but he had never really understood what drove people...to...do what they did. He'd only gotten it to the extent of running up his credit card, but then again, that was the way he understood most things. Not that he wasn't sure why a Japanese girl who was, in all likelihood, from Japan was singing in Japanese it was just that he wasn't really sure...what drove the people around him to listen. Maybe they weren't listening. Even if they were though, there are undoubtedly people who would. What made Asia so special? What was so mind blowing about Japan? What the hell did 'kizutsukezusumuno' mean?
It could have been sorcery. Like said, you know, to make up for Nagasaki.
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Post by Marta Chang on Apr 9, 2007 1:20:49 GMT 7
Marta came off the stage in a couple of seconds, looking around the room from any sign that someone had enjoyed her music. Only one pair of eyes seemed to catch her attention, those of the guy she had left. Marta looked at him couriously, knowing that he was confused.
She swung her guitar around her waist before walking toward her chair. She put her lipstick and cigarettes back in her denim vest. She kept her gutiar around her waist before walking back toward the chiar. "I'm sorry about all this." Marta said taking her picture off the table and turning to leave, her rusty hair coming around her face.
Marta knew that if she didn't leave nowshe would try to open up to this person, and that would give her a chance to get hurt again. As she was leaving, her foot caught on her shoe lace from her left boot, and she feel over, hitting her head on the concrete.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 9, 2007 3:27:18 GMT 7
That must have been embarrassing for her. Hell, what could he say, he was embarassed for her. Now in normal situations, he would have gone and helped out. No, I take that back. Had it been an isolated situation -- just the two, he would have helped her. It would have been the right thing to do. If it was an isolated situation. They, however, were in a public place. A room filled with people. No, an ESTABLISHMENT filled with people. There were the club owners and the people who had come in for a drink and music, probably the rogue few who had come in just to use the facilities (ie: the bathroom). A couple of people there to play pool.
It wasn't really his place to help. She seemed like a pretty dominant power in that place, so she had friends. He'd be pretty surprised if she didn't have friends. He'd gotten his taste of the Wreck Room. It was great for the twenty or so minutes he lingered but it was time for him to go. Remember the game plan? Hang out in a motel, watch some pay per view movies. Hang out. Guys night out, just him and himself. And thus, Charles Landen stood up from his seat, politely stepped over the fallen Asian diva, excused himself and left.
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Post by Marta Chang on Apr 9, 2007 6:48:40 GMT 7
All Marta could see as the guy left was his shoes, walking away from her, not offering to help. As Marta was there, lying on the ground she started crying as the shoes walked away, leaving her there. Marta could feel that two of fingers on her left hand were broken. So, in the end, Marta was just trying to fool herself when she said that she wouldn't be hurt.
Marta pushed herself up wth her right hand and watched the guy leave. All of a sudden Marta had this impulsion to get up and walk after the guy. She grabbed her vest on the way out, and kept her hand level with her stomach as she walked. "Bastard!" Marta shouted at the guy.
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