Logs:Fan Club
| Fan Club | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2019-09-29 "I'll add it to the list." |
| Location
<NYC> Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary Catholic Church - Red Hook | |
This is a soaring gothic revival church of dark schist set off by three scarlet doors in pointed arches on its facade. Inside, the cavernous nave is lined with gold-painted columns and solemn stations of the cross, a massive mural of the Crucifixion overlooking the sanctuary at the front. With morning mass concluded, though, most of the congregation has migrated to the adjoining St. Mary's Hall for fellowship. The large social hall is tastefully appointed with exposed stone and beams, and long buffet tables have been set up for the distribution of donuts, bagels, and coffee. Steve, as usual, is one of the last parishioners to successfully obtain his food, having been waylaid for conversations at a somewhat higher-than-average rate. Also as usual, he has dressed sharply for church in a tailored navy suit, a white dress shirt, a silver-and-blue striped tie, and black oxford shoes. But finally he has a plate with several donuts and a cup of coffee and is wandering the hall in search of a place to sit, his progress still slow as he stops to exchange pleasantries. Finally he spots a table in the far corner that has only a couple of occupants so far and approaches, nodding his greeting where he can spare no hand to wave. "Good morning, gentlemen. Is this seat taken?" Their table has only just gotten a lot more vacant -- the older well-dressed man and woman who had been there are taking their leave together with a college-aged young woman. They leave behind a pair of men -- the darker and longer-haired of the two is currently busy pilfering a powdered-sugar donut-hole from the plate of the other. Max's thick black hair has been tied up in a neat topknot, the purple ribbon that encircles it matched to the shade of his crisp dress shirt. "We have space," he answers Steve easily, waving at the seat indicated. "Hey, man, you ever thought about joining the choir here?" "Yeah, go for it." Across from Max, Jake looks a lot more typical in pale blue button-down, khakis, his short hair neatly combed. "He was just admiring your voice. Our sister's always complaining that not enough dudes like to sing in church." He picks up a glazed donut hole. Pops it into his mouth whole. "'Course if you did, we'd probably be one of the only Catholic choirs in town with a /fan/ club." Steve sets down his plate and cup, shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair before taking a seat himself. "You know, I hadn't seriously considered it before," he replies with an easy smile. "But now that I actually know all these new hymns..." He shrugs, picking up a glazed donut and dipping it in his coffee. "Maybe I will. What can I call you fellas?" "I'm Max. That's my brother Jake. He hides it well but he's already, like, your fan club /president/. Or would be if you had a -- wait, do you have a fan club?" Max isn't waiting for an answer, just breezing along to: "I used to sing in the choir but their rehearsals now interfere with my band practice. -- I'm sure St. Patrick's has a fan club, they've sung for, like, the Pope or some shit." He picks up his coffee to take a swig, then makes a face. "I don't know why I get this every time it's never less burnt." "Caffeine junkie." The tips of Jake's ears have pinkened at the mention of Captain America Fan Club. "It's good to meet you. Have the hymns changed a /lot/ since your day? My head spins any time they change a word. I still haven't adjusted to this 'and with your spirit' nonsense and it's been like five. Six years." Steve is in the middle of washing down a bite of donut with a large gulp of said burnt coffee. Lowers it slowly to the table, nodding noncommittally. "I have at least two fan clubs. Apparently they don't get along." He shrugs. "Nice to meet you both! What kind of band are you in?" He dips his donut again, considering. "There's a few that are the same, but most are new -- a /lot/ more are in English, now. Goes with the ah..." He jerks his thumb back in the direction of the church proper. "Entire liturgy being in English, I guess. It takes some getting used to." He gives a self-deprecating smile that dissolves into confusion. "Wait, did they keep the Dominus Vobiscum in Latin until six years ago for some reason?" "What's Dominus Vobiscum?" Max just looks blank -- but then abruptly more animated. "Oh! It's sort of this lo-fi art punk zydeco coldwave kind of fusion, we're experimenting with --" "-- /don't/ get him started," Jake groans, a second too late. Max seems /undaunted/ by this discouragement. "-- mixing in a little neo-folk kind of -- you really should come see us, we're -- definitely going to have a show, some time." He munches down another donut. "You ever tried any instruments?" "Dominus Vobiscum is the Lord be with you." Jake is now, apparently, electing to ignore the entirety of this musical detour. "But growing up we always responded, 'and also with you'. They changed it and I've never recovered." Immediately after saying this, he frowns down at his plate. "... sorry. I'm sure it's not half as big an adjustment as -- the entire Mass being in English now." Steve blinks at Max. Blinks. Blinks /again/. "I'm afraid I haven't caught up to the musical trends of the day just yet. There's...a /lot/ out there." His smile skews crooked. "I can pick out a few notes on the piano and play Shave and a Haircut on the harmonica, but I suspect that's not what you mean. What do you play?" He sips his coffee again, apparently undaunted by its burnt taste, and gives an emphatic nod at Jake's explanation. "We always said 'Et cum spiritu tuo' which...just means 'and with you in spirit.' But really, a small change like that is hard in its own way, when everything around it has stayed the same. Besides, I do kind of like being able to /understand/ the whole Mass." "Harmonica!" Max /crows/ this triumphantly, beaming across the table at his brother. "See, /real/ people play it! I play a little of everything, you know, keytar, ukelele, working on the harp..." He shrugs a shoulder. Gulps down most of the rest of his coffee with a faint grimace. "Woah. Did you /learn/ any Latin from that? That sounds useful maybe I ought to start going to Spanish Mass. Brush up, some." "Oh trust me, even if you'd grown up this century, he doesn't make a lot of sense." Jake leans back in his seat, picking up his own cup -- plain milk, not coffee -- to gulp at it. "Dropkick Murphys, /Do or Die/. That's all the catching up you need, right there." Steve looks even more lost, now, but he nods anyway. "Um...I don't know prayers and hymns and the order of Mass, but it hasn't been /particularly/ useful in my life. Spanish would probably serve you better." He fishes a small notebook and a pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Dropkick Murphys, /Do or Die/," he repeats as he flips the notebook open to scribble it down. "I'll add it to the list." | |
