Richard Strand (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thesphererp2020-11-24 11:21 pm
nobasisinfact) wrote in thesphererp2020-11-24 11:21 pm
Mem share: Richard
You are looking over a large room covered in books, papers, boxes. It looks as if someone moved and dropped everything in the middle of the room. Except that the room is also fully furnished as if someone had been living there for years. In fact, someone had once lived there. You did. This house is your childhood home and the place where you grew up. Anyone who was here during Richard’s childhood memory share will recognize its bones as the same as the memory when he and his sister talked about the demons. The most out of place about this large, almost Victorian looking room is the music. The tail end of ’Somebody’s Watching Me’ is playing as it fades into ’Dreams.
Without missing a beat or even seeming to be affected by the music's tempo change, you begin opening boxes and sifting through them. They’re knickknacks, research from your father’s work, all sorts of jumbled things that would barely make sense to someone who doesn’t know the kind of person your father was or what he was doing. To you, however, it makes a bit more sense than that. A picture of a group of people, a document, some sort of statue or reliquary; they all get sorted and placed into their own piles. As you work; quietly and to no one in particular, you give in to the effects of the catchy song that’s playing and begin to sing one of the stanzas under your breath –
“Now here I go again
I see the crystal vision
I keep my visions to myself
It's only me who wants to
Wrap around your dreams and
Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?”
Your low and deep tenor-bass voice mixes with the music as if it’s an undertone of the actual song as you keep sifting through the box that’s sitting in front of you, starting to lose yourself in thought. You were eight when this song came out, but you heard it more later on when you and your friends went into stores or listened to the radio while discussing completely useless things. You can’t say it was a good time, but there aren’t many who can say that their childhood was the best. It’s a stepping stone to adulthood, to a better understanding of the world around you.
As the song is ending, you hear a loud knock at the door followed by the familiar voice of Alex Reagan. “Richard?”
You look to the door with a frown. Your taste in music isn’t exactly something you want Alex to know. She’d never let you live down the fact that you don’t listen to classical or smooth jazz, and, honestly, it’s not pertinent to your relationship for her to know that you happen to enjoy classic rock. Still, you wonder if she can hear the music through the door.
“Hello? I know you’re in there. The lights are on.” She sounds exasperated, and honestly, you try not to think of how amusing and slightly alluring her annoyance is, how the fact that she has that annoyance toward you makes you feel special. You know, after how long you’ve been working together, that’s just her natural charm.
After another insistent call and the threat that she’s going to ‘just walk in,’ you move to turn off the record player and head to the door. Hopefully, she didn’t hear it; and if she did, she’s polite enough to pretend she hadn’t.
audio; un: CheeseWiz
Re: audio; un: CheeseWiz
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[A beat.]
I could probably do with more taking my own advice.
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[And mercilessly mock him for all eternity ... like she's doing now.]
I assume you've already met her. Alex Reagan.
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Yeah, we've met. You've got your hands full, but I'm pretty sure she's worth it.
[A beat.]
And if you really care about her, you'll tell her that.
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[Somehow, that's an endearment.]
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[And that is also somehow an endearment.]
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