Well, you see, back home, people loved me for it. They practically worshiped me. Do you know what it's like to be at the head of a congregation, to be the high priest of a bacchanal, the light burning at the heart of it, the minor god they scramble to venerate in pure, ecstatic revelry?
"I dunno," he shrugs. He'd like to leave it at that, just stonewall Neal out of any real answers, hide behind his usual selfish junkie bullshit. A little worm of guilt is gnawing away at his insides, and he doesn't really know why, but he looks at Neal and all he can think of is Mike, and all the things he wishes he'd said the last time he'd talked to his brother.
Have you ever had a crowd cling to every word, every note, every sound you bless them with? Have you ever been so beautiful and tempting that even a being of pure magic and abstraction was drawn to your song?
Jeff blinks, and he frowns down at his untouched drink. Someone's hung lights outside, a festive border just on the other side of the window, and he only now catches the splash of colors on his mug, on his fingers. Jeff watches them dully, wishing he could feel any of that holiday cheer. Instead, all he has is the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and all the words he wants to say climbing up his throat.
It's love, it's obsession, it's desire. It's the greatest high there is, and I would give anything, even my soul, to feel even a fraction of that again, because I'm a fucking monster--
There's so many ugly truths on the tip of his tongue.
"I was... I was almost somebody back home," he admits, in that clumsy, uncertain way he struggles to say anything real. "For a while, it was like, everyone I met just... fell in love with me." The words are coming faster now, and he doesn't know if he can stop them. "Which is fucking weird, right, I mean look at me, I'm a fucking-- a fucking-- I'm a mess. But the more I sang, the more people loved me, so I kept doing it."
Almost somebody. Those words hit hard, in a particular soft spot he keeps for young cons and kids.
"It's not weird," Neal says, taking a sip of too-hot coffee. "Maybe you're chaotic, but you're also charismatic. Genuine. People get drawn to that."
A soft sound of amusement. "You've got genuine up on me. I'm horrified that these words are passing my lips, but when I was your age I was already lying for a living."
He flashes a wry smile at Neal. He doesn't know if he'd consider himself genuine, but it's a nice thought.
"Most jobs are all about lying anyway, right?" There's that Gen X cynicism. "I was probably lying, too, anyway. I mean, selling some... fantasy that wasn't real. I dunno. I just loved the feeling of everyone looking at me, listening to me, um... losing their minds over my music. Whole clubs full of people. They knew about the magic, like, I wasn't tricking anyone. It was part of the fun."
"I wouldn't say that. About most jobs." Neal turns his cup in increments on the table, studying Jeff and something past him at the same time. "Of course it depends on the type of job, and there will always be some smiling through your teeth on bad days... But I think 'fulfilling' is a job where you don't have to lie more days than you do."
He hesitates, then says, "Does it... do you ever do it on request, for people? Sing like that, with the magic?"
Neal grimaces, immediately ashamed of himself. Using his abilities here puts Jeff at risk. That release, that euphoria, it isn't worth getting someone hurt. "Forget I asked that. It's not important."
He gives a faint smile at the notion of fulfillment. That's what he's dedicated his short life to pursuing, after all. He played until his fingers hurt, and well past it. He skipped out on homework and studying and other unimportant bullshit to perform and make a name for his band. He dropped out of high school. He didn't even look at any colleges. He stayed up nights and worked days and kept going and going until people knew who he was.
He invited a demon into his head.
He'd give up his life if it meant sharing his music with the world. That's where the pursuit of a fulfilling career almost took him, and he's pretty sure he'd do it all over again, given the choice.
That's fucked up, right? He shouldn't feel that way. And he wonders if Neal's going through some similar mental hurdles, considering the question he asks, and how quickly he retracts it.
Still, Jeff barely even hesitates before he answers. "Yeah. I do-- or... or I did. Back home, all the time." Jeff hesitates before admitting, "It's not as easy here. It's all... I dunno, twisted--" Spinning, spiraling, coiling. "--and, um. Tangled. Magic's weird here."
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Jeff blinks, and he frowns down at his untouched drink. Someone's hung lights outside, a festive border just on the other side of the window, and he only now catches the splash of colors on his mug, on his fingers. Jeff watches them dully, wishing he could feel any of that holiday cheer. Instead, all he has is the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and all the words he wants to say climbing up his throat.
There's so many ugly truths on the tip of his tongue.
"I was... I was almost somebody back home," he admits, in that clumsy, uncertain way he struggles to say anything real. "For a while, it was like, everyone I met just... fell in love with me." The words are coming faster now, and he doesn't know if he can stop them. "Which is fucking weird, right, I mean look at me, I'm a fucking-- a fucking-- I'm a mess. But the more I sang, the more people loved me, so I kept doing it."
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"It's not weird," Neal says, taking a sip of too-hot coffee. "Maybe you're chaotic, but you're also charismatic. Genuine. People get drawn to that."
A soft sound of amusement. "You've got genuine up on me. I'm horrified that these words are passing my lips, but when I was your age I was already lying for a living."
no subject
"Most jobs are all about lying anyway, right?" There's that Gen X cynicism. "I was probably lying, too, anyway. I mean, selling some... fantasy that wasn't real. I dunno. I just loved the feeling of everyone looking at me, listening to me, um... losing their minds over my music. Whole clubs full of people. They knew about the magic, like, I wasn't tricking anyone. It was part of the fun."
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He hesitates, then says, "Does it... do you ever do it on request, for people? Sing like that, with the magic?"
Neal grimaces, immediately ashamed of himself. Using his abilities here puts Jeff at risk. That release, that euphoria, it isn't worth getting someone hurt. "Forget I asked that. It's not important."
no subject
He invited a demon into his head.
He'd give up his life if it meant sharing his music with the world. That's where the pursuit of a fulfilling career almost took him, and he's pretty sure he'd do it all over again, given the choice.
That's fucked up, right? He shouldn't feel that way. And he wonders if Neal's going through some similar mental hurdles, considering the question he asks, and how quickly he retracts it.
Still, Jeff barely even hesitates before he answers. "Yeah. I do-- or... or I did. Back home, all the time." Jeff hesitates before admitting, "It's not as easy here. It's all... I dunno, twisted--" Spinning, spiraling, coiling. "--and, um. Tangled. Magic's weird here."