Mighty Max (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crapbearer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2016-07-21 02:17 am
crapbearer) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-07-21 02:17 am
Entry tags:
lessons in guitar-ing and also how to people
WHO: Max n' Marty, also Doc later
WHERE: Marty's house, while his roomies are gone (because noise)
WHEN: sssometime mid-july? Will be hasned out
WHAT: Guitar lessons! And then... well, other hard lessons, too.
WARNINGS: strained friendships :(
---
Max had a good enough handle on his portals to know the quickest way to De Chima without using the porter. It wasn't too much quicker but sure as heck needed less walking, which was especially good if he was carrying a bulky guitar case.
He arrived right on time - maybe a few minutes early? It didn't hurt to be a little early, especially for guitar lessons from Marty freakin' McFly. He was a time traveler, he could appreciate a little punctuality, right?
The weight of the guitar case slung across his back hung heavy on his shoulders, and even through the case he could smell the oil and varnish on the new guitar. He'd already played around with it, learned a few things, but there was still plenty of breaking in to do before that new guitar smell gave way to old guitar smell... whatever that was.
Max rocked back on his heels once he knocked, grinning with excitement.
WHERE: Marty's house, while his roomies are gone (because noise)
WHEN: sssometime mid-july? Will be hasned out
WHAT: Guitar lessons! And then... well, other hard lessons, too.
WARNINGS: strained friendships :(
---
Max had a good enough handle on his portals to know the quickest way to De Chima without using the porter. It wasn't too much quicker but sure as heck needed less walking, which was especially good if he was carrying a bulky guitar case.
He arrived right on time - maybe a few minutes early? It didn't hurt to be a little early, especially for guitar lessons from Marty freakin' McFly. He was a time traveler, he could appreciate a little punctuality, right?
The weight of the guitar case slung across his back hung heavy on his shoulders, and even through the case he could smell the oil and varnish on the new guitar. He'd already played around with it, learned a few things, but there was still plenty of breaking in to do before that new guitar smell gave way to old guitar smell... whatever that was.
Max rocked back on his heels once he knocked, grinning with excitement.
no subject
A smirk crossed his face at the comment at the thought of Doc and Gold, though he didn't look up from the book. More than anything it was just a bit of smug satisfaction that he'd introduced a pair of friends who'd hit it off so well, and his mind quickly dropped the subject and moved on to the task at hand.
"Scales, chords, finger exercises..." Max finally looks up, offering a more cheerful smile this time. "Guess it makes sense, I can't exactly start off with Johnny B. Goode and The Power of Love, right?" Much as he'd like to try.
no subject
Come on, Marty. Breathe. Just because Doc was your best friend, didn't mean you were his parent. If he wants to make friends, fine! If he doesn't want to tell Marty about it, fine again! There's guitar lessons to do; it's not going to teach itself, anyway.
Max's smile catches Marty off guard a little. It's a friendly enough sight where he can put off whatever was bothering him and focus on the present. Especially, especially when those two songs were brought up. This kid didn't miss a beat, did he?
"...Why can't we start with those?" Marty frowns to himself. He doesn't remember much about what he got started with in regards to guitar, but he didn't have a book about struts and strings, and whatever. He listened to a song, he mimicked the song. And then he took it from there.
"Half of the time you got guitar players who can knock out whatever music you give 'em. Like, I've heard of guys who can play an entire song from scratch and not mess up a note. But they never have the drive, y'know?" Marty looks over to Max, pointing to one of the books. "That can tell you to finger A and B, but you gotta have the want to make it sound good. If you don't put everything you got into your music, it's gonna sound like shit."
Watch your language, Marty. "...Y'know what I mean?"
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And because they both have a friend in common, Max supposes, but judging by that reaction he's not sure he wants Marty to know who introduced them. Instead, he listens intently to Marty's explanation, looking more and more excited at the prospect. Already Max's imagination is filled with scenes of him shredding on a stage, covering Nirvana hits to a screaming, energetic crowd.
"Hey, we can play it by ear. Teach me how you feel comfortable and if it's too hard, we can dial it back." He grins, miming an air guitar and pretending to shred it. "And if it's too easy we can kick it into overdrive!"
He steps back as part of his little charade, forgetting he'd set his own guitar down behind him, and promptly trips. He cries out and stumbles, dropping the air guitar to flail his arms, and in the end gravity wins out. He goes hurling toward the wall and the guitar stand up against it.
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But Marty shrugs. Focus. Focus focus.
Max is so excited about this, so he should be happy too, right? Big breath in, big breath out. He tries to make himself smile, and almost does, but what's when Max ends up tripping over something- his guitar. The world goes into slow-mo as Max stumbles backwards, running right into the wall and the guitar Doc had bought Marty a while back. When he falls backwards, there's a sickening crack!
The neck of the guitar is spent, severed right in half. What was once a nice guitar -and a present from Doc before all this went haywire- is now junk.
Oh my god. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Marty wants to say something, but rage is slowly starting to fill up the bucket and is threatening to overflow. He should ask if Max hurt himself, but he won't. Not now.
no subject
"Oh. Oh no. Marty, I'm..." He reaches down for the guitar pieces, frantically grabbing the neck and trying to press it against the body, as if force of will could weld them together. He ignores the small slice in his arm where he'd struck and smashed the instrument. "I'm so sorry. We can — I could — I'm sure Doc can fix it, right?"