they say it's your birthday
Mar. 7th, 2010 12:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
harborshoreSo according to my time zone, it's just barely beginning to be ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blindmouse's birthday in my part of the world. I'm naturally very excited about that, and very happy to have some slow, slow internet I can coax into behaving for long enough that I can wish you a very happy birthday indeed, my darling. You're one of those people I'm immensely grateful to have found, and I plan to keep clinging to you for a good while yet. See, because you're brilliant, and you're one of the best writers I know, but most of all I just love, love, love talking to you about writing and why we love it and why it's the best thing out of all good things in the world. I love you lots, dearest. Lots and lots and lots.
Also, I once wrote you a story, and I swear I didn't mean to write a sequel, but it appears I am. So, like, have the first bits? And have a wonderful, wonderful day.
Ryan is being weird. Spencer sometimes feels like she can chronicle half of her life around Ryan's various weird phases, but now he's being particularly quiet and weird and she doesn't like it. Especially because she's actually on the other side of the world and can't poke him until he yields and tells her what the fuck is up. The lack of easy access to a somewhat cryptic best friend is one of the shittiest things about this band split business.
She clicks the browser window of Ryan's twitter shut and sighs.
On the other side of the hotel room, Brendon looks up. "What's with the sad, Spencer Smith? No frowning, I told you they don't allow frowning in Australia."
"I'm not sad," she says automatically. "I'm just—" she flaps her hand in what she thinks Brendon will probably interpret as "meh" and move on.
Instead, he says, "I told you not to read Ryan's twitter."
She'd deny it, but she's too fucking tired. "Stop being psychic," she says, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
"He always gets cryptic and then you get mopey," Brendon says. "Or you're sad and then he comes to fix you, like a knight with scarves or fancy shoes or something."
"No, really, stop." And then she feels a weight on her knees and opens her eyes to find Brendon in her lap.
"Here's the thing," he says, half-seriously, half daring her to crack up, "I get that you have the epic friendship of eight million years behind you, give or take a few months when, I don't know, some shit happened, but you really suck at actually talking to each other."
blindmouse's birthday in my part of the world. I'm naturally very excited about that, and very happy to have some slow, slow internet I can coax into behaving for long enough that I can wish you a very happy birthday indeed, my darling. You're one of those people I'm immensely grateful to have found, and I plan to keep clinging to you for a good while yet. See, because you're brilliant, and you're one of the best writers I know, but most of all I just love, love, love talking to you about writing and why we love it and why it's the best thing out of all good things in the world. I love you lots, dearest. Lots and lots and lots.Also, I once wrote you a story, and I swear I didn't mean to write a sequel, but it appears I am. So, like, have the first bits? And have a wonderful, wonderful day.
Ryan is being weird. Spencer sometimes feels like she can chronicle half of her life around Ryan's various weird phases, but now he's being particularly quiet and weird and she doesn't like it. Especially because she's actually on the other side of the world and can't poke him until he yields and tells her what the fuck is up. The lack of easy access to a somewhat cryptic best friend is one of the shittiest things about this band split business.
She clicks the browser window of Ryan's twitter shut and sighs.
On the other side of the hotel room, Brendon looks up. "What's with the sad, Spencer Smith? No frowning, I told you they don't allow frowning in Australia."
"I'm not sad," she says automatically. "I'm just—" she flaps her hand in what she thinks Brendon will probably interpret as "meh" and move on.
Instead, he says, "I told you not to read Ryan's twitter."
She'd deny it, but she's too fucking tired. "Stop being psychic," she says, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
"He always gets cryptic and then you get mopey," Brendon says. "Or you're sad and then he comes to fix you, like a knight with scarves or fancy shoes or something."
"No, really, stop." And then she feels a weight on her knees and opens her eyes to find Brendon in her lap.
"Here's the thing," he says, half-seriously, half daring her to crack up, "I get that you have the epic friendship of eight million years behind you, give or take a few months when, I don't know, some shit happened, but you really suck at actually talking to each other."
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Date: 2010-03-09 08:43 am (UTC)Australia is pretty awesome, Spencer definitely enjoys herself. It's possible Brendon also gets a hold of both her computer and her phone at some point (she's pretty sure he had to ask Shane how to block Twitter, though), which does help her be less obsessive about what Ryan says or doesn't say on the internet.
After she's thrown three shoes and a drumstick at Brendon and called him an interfering little shit, that is.
Coming home is weird, though. They're doing album promotion and keep having to answer the same damned question about the split; fuck, but sometimes she wishes she and Brendon were the ones striking out on their own, because surely it'd be worth touring in vans if she didn't have to tell every music journalist ever why they couldn't keep the band together?
Also, they're still asking her what it's like to tour with boys. Still..
Two weeks after they come home, Ryan calls her.