Work Text:
"Hm," he muttered.
"Hm?" she replied.
That clarified everything, obviously, so he repeated himself, thumb rubbing absently at the beard-shaped device gaining purchase on his chin, other hand tapping absently with a pen on a notebook page half-covered in a scrawling palimpsest of blue and black ballpoint. "Hm."
He was tall and gangly, mahogany skin stretched thin over bone, joint and knuckle. His face was sharp but not cruel, focused at this moment on the scrawlings on the paper he kept tapping. She was shorter, plump and pale, multicolor streaks painted through her hair and inked down her shoulders. "Nope, not getting trapped in a Morecambe & Wise routine with you. What're you hming about?"
He squinted a bit as a slanting ray of mid-morning sun went slicing between two buildings and in through the front window of the shop to pound on his right temple. The shop in question was Roy's Music Exchange (New and Loved Vinyl & CDs, Sound Systems on Consignment, 717 Broom St), and the frustrated phonomancer who ran it was indeed Roy, who continued to stare down at his scribblings. "This ritual, Polybdenum," he explained in a warm West Indies accent, tapping the paper a final time. He put down his pen. "It is not what it should be and I am damn sure I've not made mistakes." He paused, conceding: "This time."
Polly Wiltshire, craft name Polybdenum, phonomancer and first and only employee of Roy's Music Exchange, snuck a pair of heavy plastic reading glasses out of her purse, buffed them briefly on her t-shirt and leaned over the counter to proofread. "You mind if I put something on? You've been working all morning on this working and haven't turned the stereo on, it's too quiet in here."
"Here" was a fairly dingy space that had apparently sold sewing machines until 1973 or so, but remained bafflingly open until sometime in the nineties, when Roy took over. His only efforts in redecorating consisted of a sign out front, some posters of musicians lazily tacked to the hospital-green walls and wooden racks groaning under staggering amounts of vinyl on the speckled-egg lino floor.
The small bell tied to the door handle jangled and Roy shrugged idly. "Sure. What did you bring today?" he asked Polly, turning to wave at the fellow in the black t-shirt who'd just walked in. "Coal! The whitest man I know, with the blackest name I know. I still don't know how that happened."
David Kohl smirked as he stepped in through the door, flicking away the butt of his smoke. "Morning, Roy. What's going on? Feels a little tense today."
Polly lifted the crate of records she brought with her to work that morning, grunting slightly as she placed it on the counter. She cut Roy off as she began flipping through the sleeves, "He's stuck on a ritual. Give him a hand before he hums me to death. Anyway, got a bunch of stuff today...Starsailor, One Beat, Waiting for Herb, Fastbacks In America, Heretic Pride, Ralf and Florian..." she flipped past a few more records. "Relax?"
Roy looked confused, craning his neck to get a look at Polly's crate. "Frankie?" he asked.
"Das Racist," she corrected.
He shrugged, concluding, "The German record is fine."
Kohl frowned at the parbaked ritual as Roy stepped out from behind the counter. Polly uncased the record with the dour Germans and the traffic cone on the cover. Roy was opening the front door just as someone else breezed through it with a dour expression, black scarf trailing behind like a pennant in the spring breeze. Roy and Polly simultaneously recognized her, chorusing "Hey, Silent Girl," and receiving something resembling a small wave in return. Texting furiously, she stepped around the new-release rack to tap Kohl on the shoulder, engrossed in the patterns of script on the page.
The crackle of vinyl and the warm, spacy glow of a synthesizer rose from the silence, adding a depth to the space, a third dimension sinking away towards the back of the shop.
Kohl was already reaching for his mobile when it started vibrating. He checked the message, nodded once. "I know. It's total fucking bollocks, but I know."
Silent nodded, put away her phone, muttered, "I wouldn't have texted if I knew you were here," and walked towards the import rack at the back of the shop, heels clicking.
Polly pushed herself up on the tiptoes of her Chucks to lean most of the way across the counter, asking Kohl "What was that all about? Get in a fight with Bingo? Scheduling a fight with Bingo? Scheduling a date with SG?"
Across the room, Silent Girl flipped Polly off nonchalantly.
David sighed, shrugging and idly scratching the back of his head. "No, mostly just coven gossip. Aster's annoyed at me again, which is why I'm here, actually. We were arguing and then----ah! Roy!"
Roy poked his head back in the shop, having located the doorstop and propped the door open more fully. "Wh'appen?" he asked around the cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
"I don't know if this is the problem, but it looks like it might be a problem." Kohl dragged his finger in a brief curve describing a single line of script within Roy's maelstrom of work, turning those few characters red. Roy didn't bother coming back in, realizing what he'd found. "It's the bit with the phone number, right? That stays." Kohl nodded, blanking his highlight. "Fair enough, I don't see anything obviously backwards here, so it made sense to ask."
Polybdenum nudged Kohl in the ribs with one glitter-painted nail, her spiral-tattooed elbow still resting on the counter by the register. "Well, come on, love, dish. What's got Aster's knickers twisted?"
Kohl considered where to begin. "Well, you've heard she's currently sleeping with your ex, right?"
She nodded. "Chloe. That utter cunt. Why did I ever date her?"
"I think your exact words were that you 'wanted to live inside her bra and have a week-long orgasm.'"
"I was drunk at the time."
"You were very drunk at the time."
"Right, go on."
Fishing a pack of smokes out of one pocket, Kohl fidgeted with one. "So I stop by Emily's place for a thing, and suddenly Kid..."
"What about me?" asked Kohl's erstwhile minion, having walked up behind David during this piece of explanation, jocular as ever.
"Saturday night."
Kid-With-Knife grinned even wider. "Oh, right. Also, 'sup, Pols?"
She and Kid fistbumped, as Kohl continued, "so he starts hitting on Chloe."
Kid shrugged, "Well, she was a total slag when you two were hooked up, I figured I'd give it a go."
Kohl punched the Kid in the shoulder, filling in: "And no-one'd bothered to tell you she's currently identifying as a militant dyke..."
Kid nodded. "So she slaps me in the face, hilarious. I back into Kohl laughing, he trips and steps on Chloe's purse and breaks her favorite Stereophonics CD."
"Which was apparently pretty heavily charged," Kohl interjects.
"So Aster is making Kohl buy a new one, which is also hilarious."
David rolled his eyes. "It's apparently the only way to smooth everything over..."
Polly picked up the conversational thread---she'd been there before, "...without Chloe complaining about it for the next eight months, right."
Silent Girl came back to the counter with several white-label 12"s. Kohl indicated SG with his still-unlit cigarette. "And Seth and Silent have apparently thought it's all the funniest thing ever." SG shrugged noncommittally as Polly rang up her purchases.
Roy swung back in to pick up his notebook, muttering "Idea," before walking back out into the sunshine again.
Kohl turned to start picking through the used CD bin. Kid asked Polly if they had the new Kanye in. Within minutes, Polly'd rung them both up and they shuffled on to their next adventure. Polly swapped her reading glasses for sunglasses and followed Roy out of the empty store.
The pavement was mostly empty beyond Polly, Roy and a thin suit-and-bowtie-wearing middle-aged man who was out walking his poodle. Roy was leaned up against the doorjamb, staring into space, cigarette long gone to ash between two of his fingers. He didn't turn as he addressed his employee, "You know, Polly. I think I've been trying to write this ritual in one form or another since I was fifteen."
Polly pulled a cigarette of her own from behind her ear as he continued.
"And every time I get halfway into it, I realize that all I'm trying to say with it is that it's a nice day." He threw his hands up in the manner of the wholly helpless.
Polly smiled guilelessly, "It's alright, Roy. I'll get you laid eventually."