welcome, new visitors

[modconcierge]

There isn't much fanfare for the new crop of visitors who have come in this month, but what they encounter is quite wondrous. Is it a cruise ship? Is it a hotel? Is it a tiny planet? No one can give them a straight answer, but all are encouraged to take part in the buffet, where visitors may find an assortment of foods both familiar and unfamiliar to them. There is an open mic night happening in one of the lounges on site, featuring staff and visitor performances. Or there are a handful of shops to browse if you're amenable to trading.

Visitors will find that the Hotel Multiverse at the Edge of the Cosmos between Canons (its official name) is very much alive beyond the bustling crowd. In fact, it might just be listening to you and anticipating your needs.

As for the rest? Well, that's up to you. You may as well socialize, right?

Comments

[tunesmith]

What? Peter? Who's Peter? Is he a composer?

[ winslow definitely gives off a weird, simmering energy, and he fidgets like he doesn't know what to do with himself, because he doesn't. he's still holding the list, and he turns it in his hands, wrinkling the edges. ]

What I mean is - is he here? Did he hear that just now?

[ that clears up nothing. in winslow's defense, popular music is absolutely not his thing. he holes up in a basement apartment when he's not sneaking into concert tapings to illegally use their instruments during cleanup. it's normal. ]

I guess what I'm trying to say is that it sounded pretty finished to me.

I'm Winslow. I write music.

[stereophonics]

No, he's not. But he's heard parts of it before.

( is it bad that she sounds almost grateful for it? for years he had been her rock, her home. until they'd formed a band with the others and her world was suddenly bigger and brighter. maybe the powers that be really knew she needed a break. a chance to catch her breath outside of the dingy studio.

she briefly flags down a waitress and orders a whiskey sour. her guard is still up, but she allows herself to be a little vulnerable for a second and smiles a bit. )

It'll sound more ... full with the rest of the band. ( she nods. ) I'm Diana. I also write music.

[tunesmith]

Great to meet you. Really. Thanks for coming.

[ he's been so rude! winslow offers his hand to shake, retracts it, wipes it on his pilled sweater, offers it again. he's clammy. composer =/= performer and stage fright is very, very real. ]

And - I mean - I don't know about that. All that overdone production really takes away from the heart of the music these days. You know what I mean?

[ he's so optimistic when he hasn't had his music stolen by the guy who wrote "rainbow connection." ]

[stereophonics]

( she's shaken clammier hands and has master the art of the subtle wipe-off. once he's extended it the second time, diana shakes his hand without hesitation. )

We're a rock band. Our records are all heart and soul. Stepping it up with each new album has become ... sisyphean lately. But I get you. Disco, for example, is a lot of fun but there's a lot of silliness with it.

( some of it is very, very good. but a huge majority of it is very boring and only fun when you're on a dancefloor somewhere. but diana supposes it serves its purpose that way. she just hope she writes songs people can listen to and hear themselves within them. )

[tunesmith]

[ disco.

oh. the wince is visible. ]

Yeah. Yeah, if you say so.

Look - uh -

[ networking is not his strong suit, okay. he only has one of those. it's writing music. sometimes, it's working his shitty hotel staff job to afford to go home and write music. but! musical souls, real ones, are rare in whatever plodding monster the industry has become by this point, and -

well.

he does have a one-track mind when it comes to career. ]

You have a record deal?

[stereophonics]

( diana's stomach briefly drops. this shit's getting to her head already. and no one here probably even knows the name of her band! ( because it's not named in the play but still. ) )

Sorry, babe, I didn't mean to offend if that's your thing. Where I'm from, there's so much of it. Oversaturation. You can tell who's just in it for the money, not the art. And, you know, maybe you can have both, but I'm trying so hard to hold onto the art part of it.

( and there's a shy smile. she tucks a feathered lock of hair away from her face. ) Been on the label for a bit though. Are you ... a hopeful?

[tunesmith]

Something like that.

[ okay, okay, she gets it. she can hang. he's genuinely relieved, and it shows in his posture, along with another dose of polite bashfulness. the thing is, he's not used to talking about his stuff, but he's practically boiling over with desperation to. ]

I've been working on a cantata. I don't know if you know the story of Faust? I have a whole record, based on just that, but I can't get anyone to sit down or have a meeting with me. But these acts like the damn Juicy Fruits get all the gigs, all the airplay! [ yes that's for real, yes he's big mad. he's gonna keep it cute, though. he's gonna rein it in. ] It just seems so hopeless, sometimes.

[stereophonics]

Well! Aren't you something.

I'm ... familiar with Faust. I'll admit it's not my wheelhouse. ( her brow furrows in thought, trying to imagine what exactly he means by a "cantata based on faust." )

Pact with the Devil? What kind of genre were you going for? That's usually the most helpful when it comes to targeting your best options.

[tunesmith]

Well. That's the thing. The idea is for it to be sung through, on piano. [ he's much too good for genre pigeonholing ok, how dare you suggest marketing? ] Really stripped down. Focus on the music, not the production.

[ my guy, what the fuck are you even talking about. he looks somewhere between bashful and smarmy, but switches gears — ]

I'd love to talk lyrics with you sometime. If you want.

[stereophonics]

( the idea sounds interesting. unfortunately, she's not sure how bankable it is if he's looking to sell it to a label or something. but diana's not peter, with his bluntness and severity ( especially as of late ). she's afraid of hurting a stranger's feelings. why bother anyway? they're not working out here. )

If we're still around tomorrow, that'd be swell, ( she replies kindly, reaching for another blue drink provided to her by the bartender. )

I've got my notebook with me too.