Greg had gone very still, cold sweat breaking over him. Whatever this was, it was some seriously bad news, and he didn't want anything to do with it. Balding, overweight, sporting torn shorts and a nasty farmers tan, he was the last sort of person who needed to get involved with whatever weird magic stuff was going down.
He kept his hands raised, just to make sure he didn't touch anything--not that there seemed like there was anything to touch, in the first place, but this was definitely a case of "better safe than sorry."
"Hello? Anyone? Steven? Uh... Garnet? Someone?" He kept looking around for some sort of indication that this was okay, this would work out, so long as he waited for someone else to handle it. His car wash was right there, he could see it, so he just had to hang out here and keep from getting lost, right?
B1: MR. UNIVERSE
Oh man. He's got a killer headache. Whatever happened last night, it must've been amazing. The headshots stacked in front of him kept blurring, and he would find himself staring, trying to process his own face. It was his face, obviously, he knew that. Young, cleanshaven, pierced. Still, somehow it looked... more awesome than ever. Man, he's one good lookin' guy.
Ego didn't fix the headache bouncing through his skull with each bump the bus took, though. With a low groan, Mr. Universe leaned back on the couch, running a hand through his hair.
"Anyone want to stop for burgers? I gotta kill this hangover, somehow." His workout routine could take a hit, just the once. Greater good or whatever.
B3: MY SPOOKY UNWANTED MUSE
He keeps pacing, muttering to himself, guitar strapped over his shoulder. This tune. He knows it. It's--it IS music, so he should--there's a song coming to him, that's what it is. He should be writing it down, getting it out of his head, because that's what he does, that's what you do when there's music in your head, and that's what it IS, it's in his head, because no one is playing it, so it just means he's INSPIRED.
The problem isn't the music, though. It's how, every time he lifts a pencil to write down the notes, it escapes him. Every time he puts his fingers to the strings to make it real, it shifts and warps, and he goes blank. It doesn't make any sense. He loves music, and he loves making and hearing music, so why doesn't he love this.
Greg Universe | Steven Universe
"Oh boy."
Greg had gone very still, cold sweat breaking over him. Whatever this was, it was some seriously bad news, and he didn't want anything to do with it. Balding, overweight, sporting torn shorts and a nasty farmers tan, he was the last sort of person who needed to get involved with whatever weird magic stuff was going down.
He kept his hands raised, just to make sure he didn't touch anything--not that there seemed like there was anything to touch, in the first place, but this was definitely a case of "better safe than sorry."
"Hello? Anyone? Steven? Uh... Garnet? Someone?" He kept looking around for some sort of indication that this was okay, this would work out, so long as he waited for someone else to handle it. His car wash was right there, he could see it, so he just had to hang out here and keep from getting lost, right?
B1: MR. UNIVERSE
Oh man. He's got a killer headache. Whatever happened last night, it must've been amazing. The headshots stacked in front of him kept blurring, and he would find himself staring, trying to process his own face. It was his face, obviously, he knew that. Young, cleanshaven, pierced. Still, somehow it looked... more awesome than ever. Man, he's one good lookin' guy.
Ego didn't fix the headache bouncing through his skull with each bump the bus took, though. With a low groan, Mr. Universe leaned back on the couch, running a hand through his hair.
"Anyone want to stop for burgers? I gotta kill this hangover, somehow." His workout routine could take a hit, just the once. Greater good or whatever.
B3: MY SPOOKY UNWANTED MUSE
He keeps pacing, muttering to himself, guitar strapped over his shoulder. This tune. He knows it. It's--it IS music, so he should--there's a song coming to him, that's what it is. He should be writing it down, getting it out of his head, because that's what he does, that's what you do when there's music in your head, and that's what it IS, it's in his head, because no one is playing it, so it just means he's INSPIRED.
The problem isn't the music, though. It's how, every time he lifts a pencil to write down the notes, it escapes him. Every time he puts his fingers to the strings to make it real, it shifts and warps, and he goes blank. It doesn't make any sense. He loves music, and he loves making and hearing music, so why doesn't he love this.