Cameo Single – Findurfamilytree
From the woman moaning in French at song's end -- a cameo by Stewart's then- girlfriend, Bond girl Britt Ekland -- tonight was, apparently, the. Plus, for tabloid cred, he's also had a cameo on the reality-TV show . listen to the s-style instrumental 'Be My Girl' and you know The. (Miller, ASCAP) Blues Pizzacato 71 Piquant instrumental theme with urban flavor is handed polished orchestral treatment. . (Andover & Buckeye, BMI) The Flirt. LA LA with Coeds Cameo • ^ RECOTOS ® TONY MARTIN Try to Love Me.
Whereas amongst the rest of the world, in the never-ending flow of life, he can not. Wants to, but can not. Freedom—the world out there—it's still too bright, too hot to the touch in many ways with its hope and courage and compassion.
And Simon, having already erred by letting that brightness filter through the curtain of misery encircling him, and being burned so all-consumingly by it—he will be more careful this second time around. This second time that shouldn't be. He seats himself on the piano's bench, and rests the champagne flute atop the piano's covered keys.
He's mired in a trance-like stillness for no more than thirty seconds when the phone in his pocket buzzes. He reads her latest text, a reply after he'd sent her a picture nearly an hour ago, of the surplus of hors d'oeurves provided by the Gatewater this evening. Smuggle some back for me?
Somewhere on the road to recovery after laying motionless, stranded off to the side of it for the past two months. He considers his response, then sends it. However, Simon finds them—food, in general, really—an excellent bait in fishing amusingly melodramatic reactions out of Athena. Another near-instantaneous reply, and precisely what he'd been angling for.
There is an open bar, to answer your question. But she'll be with her friends, the trio from the Themis Academy.
He can not disrupt her fun by being honest with her.
Funk fans....tell me about Cameo!
He's yet to be entirely honest with her in any regard, but that's beside the point. That time will come—she won't allow it not to—but Athena provides a unique form of entertainment to Simon that he finds tremendously beneficial in its own right. And while their communication is harmless enough, Simon knows once they meet again face to face, Athena will address his self-effacing humor, his references to questionable coping mechanisms.
It's how she operates, he's beginning to learn. Not ignoring the discord—because, oh, is there discord—but letting Simon get it out without the perception of if it's right or if it's wrong, and just letting it exist in the open.
Ok ok DAD, I swear we're behaving! But I'll leave u alone for now One of many he deserves. I will inform you when the evening is nearing its end. Simon is still without his license; his permit, he's reacquired, but the road test is scheduled for a few weeks out.
If only the Gatewater weren't in such an unfamiliar part of the city, he'd begin walking home now and allow Athena to have the fun evening with friends that she rightfully deserved.
Wander the streets with the notion of finding his way home, but the hope of disappearing, some way, somehow. Back into the darkness, never to be heard from again—never to be a burden, or a headache. He's become nothing but a task, taking away from someone spending time with friends who enrich her life, not remind her of what and who she's lost along the way. Decision made, he stands, but promptly sits back down when his phone buzzes again as he reaches for it.
He taps the message, and its photo attachment, open. Beside her, Miss Newman is also grinning and flashing a peace sign. He automatically finds the champagne glass and raises it, whispers "Cheers" to nothing and no one.
Unwillingly, he imagines it clinking against Fool Bright's own—he should, would be here tonight, after all—before downing a large swallow. Simon hiccups at the intake, eyes stinging from the fizziness mixing with the memory of the equally effervescent smile that, despite his admittedly biased opinion otherwise, could be duplicated. And just like that It's a small miracle, how he's able to reset the flute down without dropping it.
He plants both elbows upon the keys' lid, hunching forward to hide his face in open palms. Simon's mind flatlines into static until a whispery tchick!
Behind his closed eyelids are bursts of whiteness as the lights switch on. He's heard that voice plenty of times piped through the sound system in the prison; the nitwits who worked there were somehow under the impression that Top 40 radio toned down the homicidal tendencies in unhinged murderers. His immediate thought is, has Gavin come here of his own accord, or was he sent?
The former, Simon decides as he rises and crosses to the doorway where Gavin still stands, watching him curiously. Firmly gripped in his hands is that accursed trophy.
Gavin does not move, only asks a question that makes Simon wish he were still in the crosshairs of Kirsten Payne's pointless babbling. I missed your brand of humor. And what, praytell, are you doing?
And no, I'm not joking either. Or, no, that's not quite accurate: Klavier Gavin has helped Simon on a couple different occasions, and never has Simon appealed for it.
The last time Gavin "helped" him, it was over a year ago; Simon's final consultation with him during the training cases Chief Edgeworth had Simon involved in before his return to prosecuting. An exercise for both of them: Simon's sanity and competency being vouched for, with Gavin-dono adjusting to only one career, after being forced to do away with his other. And also adjusting, Simon had come to learn through the prison's grapevine, to living life without a brother who had removed Gavin from his own life long before Gavin was notified of it.
It suits you more than it does me. Brings out your eyes. A dapper turquoise dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and encased by a black vest shot through with silvery threads acting as pinstripes. The shirt's top button is open, exposing a thin chain necklace from which a glassy onyx stone dangles. It is cut to resemble a guitar pick.
He's dressed to impress, though who in the world platinum recording artist Klavier Gavin has left to impress, Simon can't begin to speculate. She said the same about her latest concoction, a spray to help detect various DNA residue left on electronics.
Then, a scrunchy frown answering Simon's musings from a moment ago. Others—yours truly, for instance—have been awarded this trophy for accomplishing much less. He was under my nose the entire time, and I was too blinded by—" Simon cuts himself off; what he was blinded by is far too intricate and personal to divulge to Gavin-dono.
He hasn't even shared it with Athena or Aura, as he can hardly begin to make sense of it himself. I may as well have been part of the gallery. Aura, finally snapping and knowingly facing jail time by becoming the criminal she sought to disprove her brother of being. Justice, emotionally and physically battered, still soldiering through for Terran's sake. Wright, valiantly bluffing as if his daughter's life wasn't hanging by a thread.
Giving the ultimate sacrifice.
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But Simon did nothing, and Klavier Gavin knows nothing. He also says nothing, only holds the award upside-down so he can study its base. There's a plaque soldered to it, and Gavin's long finger traces where his own name appears several above Simon's. At last, Gavin speaks, although not necessarily to Simon. More thinking aloud, still examining the trophy. This is only the second year it's been here, at the Gatewater. It never used to be like this, it was always—" "I know.
At the time, no one had known the award was posthumous. He—or, who Simon thought was him—had been so proud, in his Fool Bright way. For nigh on twenty minutes the next day, he'd prattled on to Simon about how fancy the ceremony was now with Edgeworth in charge, compared to his early years as an officer where it was much more business-like, at the police department itself and not a regal hotel such as the Gatewater.
And now Simon is left to wonder: But really, he doesn't have to wonder; the way his heart constricts, tighter than the hug Fool Bright would give him, is answer enough.
I don't mean to be so critical of you, but it's a terrible slight to Herr Edgeworth for you to decide this now. He's trying, I think, to make it truly represent something again, and not be the ah But it's my understanding Herr Edgeworth celebrated his day in the sun by finding a detective's body in his car trunk afterwards. And that's not even the worst of it. I take her word for it. What he is certain of, is that Gavin will not turn down a chance to talk about himself, however vaguely.
And if it means getting away from this dissecting he's intent on doing of Simon What woes did you suffer from due to this You could say I was feeling a bit of, er I actually came up with our song 'No Statute of Limitations to my Love' while in the audience, waiting to be called up. The only way I could distract myself from how horrible I felt was by writing in my head, you know?
The opposite of the presence, of the mindfulness preached about when it came to the recovery process—and what had become a necessary tactic, all too often. Not just the newspaper, but magazines, entertainment blogs—you name it. Every one of those photographers captured my stylish ensemble of a satin shirt and leather pants—with the zipper down.
But a laugh spurts out nonetheless, followed by an apology that's choppy from said dying laughter. I had the distinction of being the first person to crash the servers at Hollywood Central's celebrity gossip blog. It is what we in the business call a 'learning opportunity. He has probably told this tale a hundred times over, but still describes it in this shiny manner that makes Simon believe he is privileged, special for having it told to him.
But you see, Blackquill, we all have our embarrassing moments. I'm not saying you need to necessarily embrace all this, but it does little good to exit stage left like this. Somehow, something will happen that will force you to Can't imagine it ever won't be. At least, that's the impression I got when I talked to him briefly, before I went off looking for you.
The speech, and this godforsaken party Because you are not ready? Perpetually waiting for a cue is hardly the most effective way to go about being human. Otherwise you'd spend your whole life in the wings.
Like it's not only for Simon to hear but something Gavin himself needs to reaffirm. Still, it's not his place to be sharing it with Simon to begin with.
Are you really trying to use psychoanalytics on me, Gavin-dono? Imitation may allow you to pass yourself off as a warrior, but it is not a weapon that can ever truly be mastered. Sooner or later, it will only ever expose you for a fool. Those awful things you described, that you so adamantly want to reject—" "Emotions," Simon supplies flatly, not liking the implication he was perhaps too cowardly to name them for what they were.
Allowing yourself to have them. That's what comes with your newfound freedom, I'm afraid. Otherwise, I don't think you could truly consider yourself exonerated. And visibly enough too, because Gavin continues, "Listen, Blackquill. I didn't want to be here tonight any more than you do.
I don't think our reasons are quite the same, but they're probably close enough. It's just an automatic response, his insecurities taking over not because he wants Gavin-dono to leave but because he knows that, inevitably, he will. Carefully, he reorganizes these pieces into something that will inflict less damage on either of them. And it's what Gavin wanted all along, isn't it? While Herr Edgeworth discovered a corpse and I very nearly destroyed the world wide web, you are being invited to grab a drink with a former international rock star.
This is my invitation for you to do so—with me. It's karaoke night, and perhaps you'd enjoy indulging in other peoples' embarrassment instead of wallowing in your own. I would be on my way already, if not for a more pressing matter"—Gavin levels his gaze on Simon—"that I had to attend to. Or he's at least less anxious about it than he was about attending the ceremony tonight.
Maybe it's because of how unexpectant Gavin sounds. That he does not seem to be anticipating Simon to answer one way or the other. Simon has no trouble searching for more info by way of a dry observation. I didn't expect you to be such a proponent of reveling in others' misfortunes.
Think of it, how we'll be enjoying such beloved pastimes from each others' cultures. Me, karaoke; you, schadenfreude.
What made the turnaround? Neveu vocals, guitar, piano: This is my first band, my first time being on stage, so naturally time cured any shyness and allowed me to develop my onstage tactics.
It also really annoys me to go to a show and see musicians just standing there not reacting to the crowd. I try to have fun and trick the audience into having fun, too. What's been the hardest part of getting all the people in the world to know how damn cool your band is?
It's been hell finding a drummer. It's hard to play shows when you don't have a drummer. Regardless, we are lucky to have a lot of our friends come out and support us at shows as Clock Work and as Indian Moon--Scott's side project.
The difficult part is to gain the support of other artists out there. It also doesn't help when you get booked to go on a month tour with a bigger band and then have them drop you from the tour because you wouldn't draw enough people at shows. Bands should help other bands.
If your parents were seeing you play, is there any song in your canon you wouldn't play, and why? Scott Wheeler guitar, vocals: My first instinct is to say 'all of them' just because my parents hate music. My parents are pretty cool with everything, so I'd totally play anything in front of them. My mom says she can't understand anything I'm saying, anyway. Dave 'Petti' Pettijohn bass, vocals: Sum up the San Diego music scene in one sentence as if your life depended on it.
Lots of black Converse, no smiling or eye contact allowed, and a dash of tofu. John Meeks One www. But it wasn't until we heard Meeks sing whiny, lamenting country music with pretty much just an acoustic guitar that our jaws dropped.
This is music to cuddle your dead horse by. Dude, you're from San Diego. Closest thing we got to country are sorority girls in cowgirl boots. Where the hell did you get that country-bumpkin sound?
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When I was a kid, I would visit my dad in Albuquerque and he would baby-sit me by taking me to the honky-tonks and VFW halls. He would play drums and sing while his girlfriends would teach me how to two-step and try to get me drunk off Shirley Temples with extra cherries.
Why the semi-solo thing? Was it because your band Plural wouldn't play your twangy shit? Plural's great and all--we just couldn't pull enough sorority girls in cowboy boots. What is your dream show? Dive bar or stadium? Soccer moms or hipsters?
Beer backstage or Snapple? Headlining Cain's Ballroom in Tulsa, circafollowed by a quiet evening back in my trailer with Skeeter Davis, a branding iron and two pairs of spurs. If you met Tom from MySpace, besides telling him thanks for being your first MySpace friend, what would you say to him? Tell Rupert Murdoch to give it up. I will never add him, or his stupid band. It gallops, it swings, and so do the rest of the songs on the band's self-titled debut for Oakland indie label, Antenna Farm Records.
But they deserve their own slot on any bill. Band seeking musician with fingers that 'fing. Has the San Diego scene--club owners, press, radio, fans--welcomed you with open arms, or do you hate this fucking city because it just doesn't understand your genius? Everyone who we have dealt with show-wise has been very pleasant.