Hopefully (Doyle)

[Deon De Soto]

Deon liked a lot of things. He liked to be outside, liked visiting parks and things, he loved salads, anything with raw vegetables, he liked sweets but never ate many of them, he didn't want to get fat- it's rather important that a budding artist keep his girl-killing figure. He actually loved parties and getting together with friends, family... well, friends. Not so much family. But something about the fake, uppity, straight laced suit and tie aspect of these formal get togethers that the band often insisted on attending made his skin crawl. It was like being on display in a zoo- you're there to do nothing, say nothing, affect nothing other than the other people in the room, who were there to do nothing, say nothing and affect nothing else, just there to watch you, like some weird freak on display. It really highlighted the differences between himself and normal members of society, differences that really only applied to his making of music but somehow it always felt like more. Like they were staring, in their suits over their glasses of fancy champagne and their gold encrusted glasses, over at him, with his white useless eyes and his gross slobbering dog and his utter helplessness in a room full of people. He had a lot of differences, and they were looking at all of them like it was stamped on his forehead.

Feeling utterly uncovered and exposed, Deon paused in the doorway. From what he knew of the event, it was in someone's house, one of the big fancy houses up on a hill that had fifteen bedrooms and twelve bathrooms. They'd driven in through a security gate with a guard that checked for invitations and made a weird skeptical noise at the sight of the giant dog sitting on the floor of the limousine that had been sent to pick them up. It was a long drive from the gate to the door, indicating a large yard, full of fountains according to Deon's incredible hearing and full of apple trees if his sense of smell said anything, it was probably full of tons of sculpted pretentious furnishings. Hedges in the shape of lions or something, every thing that he learned, every sound that he heard, made him a little more uncomfortable.

Until he remembered that Doyle had changed his mind and decided to accompany. Immediately, the thought of at least not being alone in this endeavor relaxed his shoulders, and with some feigned confidence, he was able to step into the wide open foyer. The sounds of shoes on tile indicated it was probably a well designed space, possibly full of marble. Jimmy-6's claws clacked loudly as they entered through one of three doors, probably turning heads. But it didn't matter, he wasn't alone.

He wasn't wearing a suit either. Maybe it was a public statement, maybe he was taking advantage of being blind, or maybe he was just lazy, even Deon couldn't exactly say. But suits are stuffy and uncomfortable, going someplace in a suit was stuffy and uncomfortable, so he just skipped it. Khakis, a blank t-shirt and a leather jacket was more than enough forethought for these things. His bandmates would probably be wearing even less. Joey never went anywhere without his ripped skinny jeans. Hopefully all of the fancy stuff and the suits with sticks up their asses wouldn't scare away his only real companion for the evening.

[Brandon Doyle]

Doyle had been sitting in his van for a bit too long, when he actually met up with the other and had been utterly silent when he exited and seemed to only get more uncomfortable on the actual ride there. But it wasn't like his companion could see this. He couldn't SEE that his skin was crawling and he flinched whenever somebody happened to pass him a little too closely. He couldn't see the crude attempt at NOT scowling. Maybe that was why he invited him in the first place. He didn't get to see these things. He didn't have to. He had done even less sleeping the night before so today definitely warranted sun glasses. He would feel rude about it, he felt, if he gave a crap. But lucky for him he did not. Not this day or the next one. Or the one after that. He had, however, opted for a grey button up shirt under his hoodie as opposed to his regular hoodie t-shirt combo. Mostly because he couldn't... just not wear his hoodie. He hated to admit that he was actually kind of cold without it. Even when he had no right being cold. But fuck if he cared what people thought, he figured. It didn't matter. None of this mattered.

He followed Deon in with a very deep feeling of not belonging here. Or anywhere for that matter. He wasn't comfortable anywhere; he might as well be here. He had no idea how he ended up here at all. He had agreed so this WAS his fault. Maybe it was some futile attempt to pretend to his mom he did have some form of social life. Which he didn't. But maybe he could pretend. "You could have invited anybody else" he sighed to himself, agitated. But nowhere to direct this annoyance. He wouldn't even look at anybody else and would definitely not speak to them so he couldn't use his go to insults in some attempt to make himself feel better about this. So he just dealt. He just kept his hands shoved so deep into his pockets his fingers curled at the bottoms. "And you invite me" he muttered even quieter than the first time.

He was really trying not to be a stick in the mud in his head but he couldn't help it. This was simply not his element and he felt so out of place. He had thrown a house party before that was a large scale gathering of teenagers who only wanted to drink and fondle eachother and somehow that was easier. He had a friend back there. He just had some blind stranger and his delightful seeing eye dog. Maybe he agreed to come just to worm his way into Jimmy-6's life. He could believe that more than he could anything else. Like oh maybe he was actually wanting to socialize with the most interesting person in the town he has much thus far. No. Couldn't be that.

[Deon De Soto]

"Not really. My family's in another country and I have exactly zero friends, since you refuse to be counted as one. You were really my only choice." Deon quipped softly, pausing in the entryway so that Doyle could catch up. He didn't need his extra sensitive hearing to catch his companion's complaint- the room was spacious with an echo, but there weren't a wide variety of voices bouncing off the granite walls. It wasn't supposed to be a super crowded event, just a small get together of record labels visiting the area to show off the local talent, to find some fresh faces and to earn some fresh labels. There were only three or four other groups in town besides A Louder Romance, shared among only two recording studios, so between those six groups and the two visiting studios, with guests, there was should be maybe twenty people present in the mansion besides servants. A piddly number for the sheer size of the space.

Deon gave it a once over with his dead eyes, listening rather than looking for clues. He'd never been to this particular mansion- it belonged to the owner of one of the car dealerships outside of Rainy City- one of the record labelists was a huge fan of classic automobiles, he'd heard. Though he had a fascination with cars and motor vehicles, he'd never been to the home of any collectors before so the layout was new and fascinating. The front hall seemed to open up to some kind of sitting room or hallway- there were a few people milling about in it, chatting casually to what sounded like servants about cheese or something ridiculously uppity. Deon made a bit of a face at them. The food at these events was usually exemplary, hopefully this one wouldn't be a let down, he kind of banked on it when inviting Doyle- hey, free food is good for everyone, isn't it? Free sushi even, salmon rolls and tuna and all kinds of things.

The main event seemed to be taking place in a large main room down the hall, if Deon's ears told him anything about the house's layout. There were stairs behind him, down which a butler was carrying a tray of something, implying that the kitchen was up there, and sure enough as the man passed by Deon and Doyle, he paused, bowed his head and offered them a platter of Sake Nigiri, silently at first but upon noticing the taller gentleman's blank gaze, he cleared his throat and explained what it was. Deon shook his head but smiled gratefully in silent thanks, cocking his head in Doyle's direction instead.

"But at least there will be music... and... food." He shrugged. Maybe inviting someone along was a bit of a mess. It was stuffy and uppity and overly expectant. Second guessing himself, Deon toyed with the hair on the back of his head, running his fingers through it sheepishly.

[Brandon Doyle]

"Certainly more entertaining than anybody here" Doyle grumbled bitterly to himself, but was sure the other would end up hearing him. He has noticed at this point that he did have pretty sharp hearing; though he kindof expected something like that. He probably isn't terrible at smelling things, as well now that he thinks about it. He briefly sniffed himself, now wondering if he smelled weird or somehow bad to the other. Not that it mattered if he did. He didn't care. But it was a thing that he now thought of. But he smelled fine to him.

"So you're in a band?" he finally asked, though he had known that since last night. He had looked at the card and actually ended up looking them up. Not their music or anything since he assumed he wouldn't care anyway, but he did want to have a vague idea of who he was hanging around. His google search did bring up the bling south African and the rest of his band mates. He didn't do any actual reading, though. He was just gauging how big a thing he was getting himself in to. Which it wasn't THAT big but it was bigger than anything he had ever come in to contact with to be fair. He briefly wondered if they had as many fans and he had DeviantART watchers. Which briefly turned in to an accidental popularity contest in his head. In which he wrote himself as winning because come on. There were more watchers on his DA than there will ever be people in this town. And he was sure that would cover any fans they had outside of the town as well. He wasn't proud of this, though. As somebody who wanted to be left alone he could honestly say that it made everything more frustrating.

[Deon De Soto]

Deon smiled pleasantly at that, making a mental note for later. For what, he wasn't sure. Maybe he could con Doyle out again with it, use the promise of sushi to drag the boy kicking and screaming from his home. Well... kicking, not screaming, Doyle didn't seem like much of a screamer. But still, it was a useful tidbit of information and it gave Deon some hope that maybe, just maybe, he could prove himself to be a less than annoying ally of some kind, even if it was just an alliance of sushi. Having learned very quickly that Doyle had a tendency to recoil when called out, Deon remained purposefully quiet, smiling blankly but otherwise saying nothing as he turned his attention down the hall. He'd keep the all important sushi revelation to himself.

He turned and told Jimmy-6 to move forward, and the hefty sagging animal lead his master down the hall, which had emptied moments prior. Deon still moved slowly, partially in the interest of making sure his new companion was following but also because hallways have side doors and he didn't want to run into anyone darting out of one. But the dog seemed relaxed, panting slightly and offering a careless shake of his head in the open space.

He led Deon to the ball room, where the main event of the evening was happening and it was obvious, even to the blind man. The room hummed with activity, people busied past him carrying what sounded like arm loads of dishes and stacks of trays that clacked and clattered against each other. The room was spacious with some sort of vaulted ceiling that lessened some of the echo but not all of it, which he imagined was really going to annoy him later when A Louder Romance was called up to play. He couldn't see the small tables spread around the room, but he could hear the clack of forks on plates and the sounds of chewing and smacking. It was clearly something of a dining hall. Hollowed footsteps told him there was a stage somewhere, small-ish sized judging by the length of time it took the stage hand to cross it, and made clearly out of some kind of wood. Moving into the room, Deon gestured vaguely.

"Well if you liked that, there should be plenty more. These record reps love their sushi. And they get five star chefs to make it too, very good stuff."

[Brandon Doyle]

"Certainly more entertaining than anybody here" Doyle grumbled bitterly to himself, but was sure the other would end up hearing him. He has noticed at this point that he did have pretty sharp hearing; though he kindof expected something like that. He probably isn't terrible at smelling things, as well now that he thinks about it. He briefly sniffed himself, now wondering if he smelled weird or somehow bad to the other. Not that it mattered if he did. He didn't care. But it was a thing that he now thought of. But he smelled fine to him.

"So you're in a band?" he finally asked, though he had known that since last night. He had looked at the card and actually ended up looking them up. Not their music or anything since he assumed he wouldn't care anyway, but he did want to have a vague idea of who he was hanging around. His google search did bring up the bling south African and the rest of his band mates. He didn't do any actual reading, though. He was just gauging how big a thing he was getting himself in to. Which it wasn't THAT big but it was bigger than anything he had ever come in to contact with to be fair. He briefly wondered if they had as many fans and he had DeviantART watchers. Which briefly turned in to an accidental popularity contest in his head. In which he wrote himself as winning because come on. There were more watchers on his DA than there will ever be people in this town. And he was sure that would cover any fans they had outside of the town as well. He wasn't proud of this, though. As somebody who wanted to be left alone he could honestly say that it made everything more frustrating.

[Deon De Soto]

"Indeed." Deon quipped somewhat distractedly. He was turning his head as if looking around but, given that impossibility, it was more likely that he was actually listening around, searching in his own way for an empty table. His bandmates were probably in there somewhere but he didn't really want to throw poor Doyle to the wolves just yet, so to speak. He'd introduce them slowly, if at all. "There's four of us. They're in here somewhere, I'm honestly hoping to avoid them."

He went to elaborate, opened his mouth to and everything, but at the very last minute, his usually so non-existent filter clicked into place with a rusty swing and he managed to stop himself. His bandmates were nice people, a friendly bunch but they were terribly judgmental and prone to speaking their mind. It was unlikely that they'd think highly of Doyle, or refrain from letting their malformed opinions known. Some of them were even prone to jealousy, they might feel threatened by the presence of another friend. They were Deon's only friends so far and he had a sneaking suspicion that they wanted it to stay that way.

So rather than explain, Deon changed the subject. "See anywhere you'd like to sit? Stage front seems a bit too crowded a space, feel free to choose somewhere a little more sparsely populated."

[Brandon Doyle]

Doyle took this opportunity to move away from everybody about as quickly as it had come. He looked down at Jimmy-6, then to where he was going which was literally as far away from anybody as he could possibly get. His cold hands pulling his hoodie tighter around him. His tired eyes observing the room. It wasn't too bad, really. It could be worse. He has seen worse. But it was the fact he was here with... Deon. Which wasn't terrible. The guy was weirdly nice and way too hopeful that this would result in a friendship or whatever. What was he even after? What the heck would he get out of being friends with a highschooler? Better yet, did he even TELL him he was a highschooler? That might be something worth bringing up. He filed away these notes to perhaps bring up later.

"Why didn't you just hang out with them?" he asked curiously. He wanted some kind of motive and he wasn't sure if he even had one. But he was still going to try and find it. This would thing was just very strange to invite some stranger you briefly spoke to in Spencer's to some get together instead of anyone else.

[Deon De Soto]

Deon seemed to follow Doyle as he moved through the room. Armed with his sunglasses and with the dog hidden behind the tables, it was likely that onlookers would have a lot of difficulty identifying that he was in fact blind. He moved with a certain confidence, feeling tables pass on his left side with a free hand in a whimsical, almost thoughtful manner. He didn't blunder into him, didn't bang his hand or jam his fingers on the edges. Instead, he gently touched their tops with his fingertips, bold in the knowledge that there was no one sitting at any of these far away tables- he would hear them talking if they were, hear their forks on their plates, the shuffle of clothing as they turned to watch the odd pair pass them by, massive dog in toe. It was close to silent out where they were, so Deon was all confidence and quiet serenity as he paused briefly to map the pattern on one of the cloth table covers, following the lacing with the pads on his fingers like a car on a roadway, before following the sound of sneakers scuffing the tile flooring.

Doyle had a really distinctive sound to his movements. There was a lot of fabric shuffling to his movements, the gentle whisper of cloth against skin, telling dark and terrible secrets to each other just out of ear shot and it fit him so well. Doyle was made of secrets. Deon wanted to pull him apart, to dig his fingers in the mud and pull out the nuggets of gold he knew had to be hidden in there somewhere, but he also knew how badly Doyle would recoil, how badly he'd turn and run, the kind of pain that would cause him. He was the secretive type, those whispers were rooted deep in his heart and to tear them out would certainly kill him. So Deon sat with his arms in his lap and just waited, waited until he'd have a shot at unraveling the deep roots and the hidden wounds to find the secrets that they held. So he could hold them as well.

"They're..." Deon started to answer distractedly, pausing to give the room another listen to, searching with his keenest sense for the tell tale signs of his group's proximity. He could hear them out there somewhere, one of them was laughing his distinctly loud, bellowing laugh, but it was far off, near the stage and well out of normal earshot. "They're very... shallow, I guess. They mean well and they try their best, most of them, but it's just... not enough."

They reached the very back corner of the room, the last possible table, which Deon could identify only because Jimmy-6 stopped expectantly. So he stopped too, running his hand gently over the back of the nearest chair to confirm it was empty before moving to sit in it. Jimmy also sat down in time, taking up a spot between the two boys where he could maximize his pettins.

"They're not like people like you, who ask questions and pay attention to what's around them. They just take everything at face value and it's really annoying. I'd much rather spend my time elsewhere, here in fact. You're a very interesting person to hang out with Doyle. Not like them at all."

[Brandon Doyle]

"I'm NOT shallow? Are you reading some sort of sub context that doesn't exist in my speech?" Doyle squinted his eyes, confused by what he meant by that. Thus far he seemed painfully shallow. Then again he did hate everybody equally so perhaps that was a thing. Maybe that wasn't very shallow because he did hate people more according to personality types. But he was generally not fond of getting to know the person in the first place. At least not enough to make any sort of educated decision on whether or not he liked them. He shut down almost all social interaction before it had the chance to even start. And he trying with this one. He did. But Deon seemed to not even notice and that bothered him a lot. But at the same time it made him actually somewhat appealing. Which he didn't expect in the slightest.

"I'm about as interesting as anybody else. I just happen to hate everybody significantly more" he sighed as he leaned back in the chair he found. Boredly tipping his chair backwards. He didn't know what to say, really. He wasn't used to keeping up with conversation but it was actually not terrible he supposed. He could think of worse things to do. His eyes wandered around, looking at all of the people in the usual amount of judgement but then looked back at the dog between them, looking at Deon for a moment before looking back at Jimmy-6 and scratched him very lightly on the side of the neck.

He at least got more time with the dog which dog time is literally all he lived for these days. He didn't know what he would do if he had no dog time. He began to suddenly miss his dogs despite having only been away from home for a couple of hours at this point. Mostly because he had something to do before this. And he had homework to do after this. And a lot of notes and comments to reply to. He expected another late night.

[Deon De Soto]

"But see, that's it entirely." Deon started with a bit of vigor. He sat forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the table and showing off his incredibly well toned lower arms, which were exposed thanks to his rolled up sleeves. He realized in the moment that he should've taken the jacket off, but already committed, he pressed on with his conversation. "You hate people so much that you're just brimming with observations about them, retained for the sake of explaining your reasoning for hating them, but either way I'd bet it results in some highly interesting points of view of the world and its inhabitants."

Deon grinned somewhat slyly amused not by his description but tickled by what he was describing. It was his favorite part of Doyle's so far very well hidden personality. He didn't know much about the boy, it was very true. But he did know that Doyle hated people, and not just hated them but hated them with a certain passion that would have him cussing people's names and speaking poorly of their behaviors, behaviors that no one told him about- he'd just noticed them. Such as the way someone walked or the way that they talked, he didn't communicate these reasons very often so Deon was assuming a little bit, but he was pretty confident in his assessment of people- Doyle had to have his reasons. He wasn't the kind of guy to do something, anything, without reason. So he had to have them, and the only way to make an assumption about someone was the first observe them in some way.

"Not that you've told me any of them but you must understand who I am comparing you to. My bandmates are more blind than I am. They'd break their noses trying to find a wall right in front of them. They are so self-centered and just...ignorant..." He trailed off, searching for the word with a vague stressing gesture of his hands, as though gripping something tightly. "They're hard to deal with sometimes, maybe all of the time, I'm not sure. Because they are just so far gone, far removed from the rest of the world. But you, you're here and you won't be moved, not unless you want to be. It's just a nice change of pace is all, to feel like the person you're talking to knows that you're there."

Even if he hates the fact that you're there, Deon wanted to add but thought better of it. He was a little worried that his reaching was going to scare Doyle away, that it was conveying too much too soon, but the boy had asked and he was terrible at lying so he just tried to stop while he was still ahead. Maybe he was too late, it was hard to tell. He would just have to wait and see if Doyle stormed off. Hopefully he'd at least wait until after the show to abandon him.

[Brandon Doyle]

Doyle listened to him, looking at him as he spoke. He was right he was certainly brimming with observations about everything. If that was what you wanted to call it. He did always have a reason to hate everybody and they were certainly always accurate. He leaned back and crossed his arms, mostly because he was kindof cold. It was warmer out and that encouraged people to turn on air conditioners and central air. Which would be fantastic if he had been hot. He was never warm, though.

Once he was finished speaking he looked away from him. He was still pretty right. He was dolling it up, but he was still mostly right. He was very observant and that was somewhat offputting to him. He was very secretive and highly guarded so the fact anybody could tell him about him accurately made him a little uncomfortable. It made him feel somehow like he was under threat, which he knew he wasn't. Unless his dog was also an attack dog. Then he may actually be. He felt a strong sense of discomfort roll through his veins and he raised his walls even higher than he had before, building his fortress thicker than before. Not willing to give an inch for the rest of the night.

"So are you, like, pedo creeping on me?" he asked blatantly. He had been wondering since he was initially invited, to be fair. He still had no real concept of the age of Deon other than he knew he hadn't seen him at school so he assumed he HAD to be out of school. But what if he dropped out? He could still be CLOSE to his age. He looked a little older than 17 so he was assuming he was. But either way, he was 17 so if he was like 20 or something that would still seem like he was creeping. If so that was actually kindof flattering because Deon didn't happen to be bad looking. But he also had no concept of what Doyle even looked like so it wasn't THAT flattering. He also held out a strong hope that he would get a pretty quick and confident no because frankly he didn't want any of that. Not even a little. Last thing he needed was a creepy blind guy following him around like a loud yapping puppy. He would rather have the loud yapping puppy, to be frank.

[Deon De Soto]

"Creeping?" Deon's eyebrows fell and a wrinkle formed between them as he seemed to roll the word around in his mind. It sounded weird on his tongue, his accent giving it a really hard and emphatic I that simply drew too much attention to itself, split the word right down the middle and left the halves floating in the air. He tried his best to figure it out but ended up shaking his head. "I'm not sure I follow."

Which he immediately regretted admitting. His time with Doyle had been brief and somewhat strained on the teenager's end, it was unlikely that the youngster had the patience necessary to deal with someone not understanding him. But Deon couldn't help it. He'd never heard the term creeping used outside of a reference to a wild animal slinking through the underbrush or a cartoon character sneaking up behind their nemesis. He assumed Doyle wasn't actually referring to the concept of tip-toeing or the literal slithering of a snake in the grass, it had to be some kind of figurative usage of the word, but in reference to what, Deon could only ponder silently, apologetically. He'd studied hard upon first arriving in the US, searching hi and low for all of the intricacies of society and living in the states to make sure things like this never happened. It was always such a joke to his bandmates, always a source of laughter and jabs at his intelligence, which were funny sure but in some ways entirely too unpleasant. Too frequent perhaps, they were always making fun of him. Or perhaps it was something about being belittled by those you consider your friends, something about it always rubbed him the wrong way.

Doyle could be just like them, he realized. He could laugh, point a finger and call him a moron. But somehow, Deon doubted it. There might be a moment or two of name calling, something Deon was not only prepared for but entirely expecting, but Doyle always seemed to have more pressing matters on his mind, something that would likely override something as shallow and petty as excessive name calling.

[Brandon Doyle]

"Not from this country. Right." Doyle reminded himself out loud with a sigh. He didn't know how to explain something he always thought of as a basic concept but now that he said it, he realized it wasn't that simple. He grew a little frustrated by language barriers but quickly got over it and began to really think about how he was going to explain this. Because he didn't mean it in a literal way and the majority of easy ways to explain it use other terms that may also be misunderstood. He didn't like not being understood since he spoke pretty clearly but he could accept it since he was foriegn. He wasn't mad about that. Maybe very minorly annoyed just a little bit.

"You know. Like... When some weird old guy is getting weird on some kid" he tried to explain but realized that was a terrible example but he really had nothing. "Because this kid doesn't get weird back" he added quickly. He didn't want to refer to himself as a kid but whatever. He was, right? He looked back at him, frowning. He was an /attractive/ dude but like. Dude. No. Don't be creepy. And he assumed he was being creepy.

[Deon De Soto]

"I see." Deon nodded tersely, his sightless eyes looking down at the table in front of him.

He was busying himself with the table cloth, which was full of intricate designs and lacing in the soft high quality fabric. It felt good in the hands of seeing people, let alone to the finger tips of the blind and Deon was taking full advantage of this, idly mapping the patterns with the palm of one hand. He was like an old man at the beach with a metal detector, moving his hand only slightly every few moments, using the large surface area of his palm to map large areas at a time. Whenever he would find a place that the design dug so deep into the cloth that a hole was created, he'd pause, find it with his fingers and dip them curiously inside, touching the table top instead, toying with the grain of the wood beneath and scratching his nails against it occasionally to judge whether or not it was really wood or just plastic with a grain carved in it. It turns out it was real wood.

He looked up as Doyle finished, still mapping the table cloth with his non-dominant hand, but he wanted to convey that he was in fact listening to his companion's explanation, which was something he had trouble remembering. It's hard to remember to look at something you've never seen, to stare at something you'll never find. But he tried, was almost ashamed of himself for forgetting, and peered across the table with his empty pupilless gaze. His brow was still forward, this time more wistfully, like a child with an idea that they didn't totally comprehend, and he tilted his head to one side thoughtfully.

"Is it still creeping if the child is weird in return?" Deon asked honestly, as though completely missing the well crafted subtext. He didn't miss it, hopefully Doyle wouldn't miss his either.