Vintage Vinyl

Posted on Mon Nov 13th, 2023 @ 19:51 by Alastair Temple & Sarah Bright

Chapter: All Hallow's Eve
Location: Parking Lot, Avalon Institute
4079 words - 8.2 OF Standard Post Measure

Sarah was always mesmerized by the sight of the Avalon Institute as she drove up. It was the cutest castle she'd ever seen. Seen up close, anyway. It wasn't majestically pretty like the postcard castles whose likenesses made their way into the movies, but it was still a castle. It was cozy, yet imposing, as its small, simplistic design still dominated the sparse landscape. It was hard to imagine anything as both cozy and imposing, but somehow Avalon was just that. Her mind on the sights, and on whether she would find a parking spot, the librarian thought of little else as she drove across the bridge and made her final approach.

"Score!" Sarah exclaimed with glee as she saw an empty spot. The castle was built on a small island, centuries before automobiles were even invented, so of course parking was at a premium. Meep meep! She honked at group of students returning from a chaperoned hike, and smiled as they waved back. Her car was so comical, sounding just like the roadrunner cartoon, although the car itself wasn't nearly so fast. Not unlike the unfamiliar-looking sports car in the spot next to hers.

The car door opened with a creak as Sarah stepped out. "Oh for fuck's sake, Charlie! Why've you gotta be such a bi--" Sarah exclaimed in a pained cry as she likely ripped yet another pair of tights on the cracked vinyl driver's seat, which had been patched together with duct tape that looked almost as old as the car. It seemed like every time she got up, another piece of tape came loose, and stuck to her tights. Ripped tights might not have been a big deal for her in years past, but now, a working professional nearing thirty, grunge or metal were not exactly the sort of fashion descriptors she was going for. The librarian cut her foul tongue short when she realized that there were probably still kids within earshot. "Oops." She whispered as she peeled the tape off the back of her leg and balled it up before tossing it back into the car.

"I'm sorry Charlie. You're pretty, I promise. I'll get your vinyl bits patched up before you know it." Sarah said in a consoling tone as she patted the roof. In fact, Charlie, her 1973 Morris Marina was not pretty to look at, and that was highlighted by the pristine-looking car parked next to it, which looked like it belonged at Le Mans... before the race started. Her car, in contrast, looked like it had sat out in the sun for twenty years before surviving a few rounds of demolition derby. The black paint was fading in places and its clear coat eroded by years of exposure and neglect. It's chrome bumpers and detailing were pitted and tarnished to a dull grey. The car, named after her Converse shoes, looked just as worn and grimy. It had taken her a while to realize that why was she'd bought it, against everyone's advice. But it was comfortable, and fit her style... Sarah had not had many cars in her life, and took reliability for granted.

".. That you in that - " a baritone sounded behind Sarah. Al walked up, carrying a small, nondescript, cardboard box. Upon second thought though, he decided not to speak the word that he'd originally planned, realizing that anyone driving a Marina did so because they had an affinity for the car; not because it was a 'good' car. Because it wasn't. " - classic?" he made of it instead. And, for all its flaws, at least the Morris Marina had charm. Which already set it apart from so many new cars of the day. The quest for aerodynamics meant that they all looked alike and blended in with each other. Which, to the tall man in the fancy, victorian inspired outfit, was a far greater sin than being a bad car.

Sarah stiffened upon realizing that someone had probably witnessed her petting and consoling her car. Not that she really cared, but she knew that sometimes poor first impressions could have an unfortunate habit of spreading. Her guard was almost immediately relaxed though, upon the realization that that her would-be witness was singing. She had a weakness for casual singing, and just regarding life in general as one big awkward musical to help take the edge off equally awkward interactions.

"Hired or fired?" The librarian replied, her question instilled with a subtle melody after she turned and noticed the person behind her, and their cardboard box full of belongings. She figured he was a new hire, but but then again it was never too early to get fired from a new job. She couldn't help but notice his outfit, and couldn't entirely fight the urge to signal her appreciation through her body language. Victorian wasn't exactly her personal style, but it did blend rather well with her present surroundings. She could picture him as a prominent feature in her library, reading in one of the Victorian wingback reading chairs, or perhaps as a more permanent feature in portraiture decorating the walls.

"Hm? Oh - me? New hire," Alastair offered, beaming a winning smile as he offered a warm, strong hand in greet. "Al Temple, music teacher," he added, making sure to lock his gaze with hers. Then though, he turned his attention to Charlie. "Morris Marina. Nice. She's an early one, going by that grille," From 1975 onwards they had a slightly different grille, he knew, though more sweeping changes to the interior, that he couldn't quite see from where he was standing. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a car person," there was that smile again.

"You're Alastair Temple. Heheh... good one." Sarah said with a sarcastic laugh, clearly taking Al for some sort of shapeshifter mutant with a penchant for impersonation, and not the real deal. She did not have any sort of intimate familiarity with the musician, or his former band, but what she did have was a longstanding intimate fascination with goth women, and she had dated one years ago who had been borderline obsessed with Alastair and his band, Somnium Tenebris. Sarah couldn't name a song, or really say much about the band in general, but she'd heard the music at her girlfriend's place many times, and there had been a poster on the wall, among others, that had featured in some of the whimsical conversations that followed after their romantic escapades. She could probably point them out in a crowd, and whoever this shapeshifter was, he'd (or she'd) done a good job.

"Sarah Bright, librarian." Sarah said, taking Al's offered hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "And this is Charlie. She doesn't like it when I talk about her age." The librarian added (the last in a near whisper) as she stepped back to her car and shut the driver's side door. It swung closed with an even more noticeable creak, and didn't entirely latch closed, which elicited a slight wince. It was as if Charlie was protesting being shut out of the conversation so soon. A graceful, though not-so-subtle thrust of her hip closed the door with a clunk of finality. Sarah wondered if she'd be able to get the damned thing open again.

"This your boy?" Sarah motioned to the adjacent car, the one that looked like it belonged on a pro circuit, and not a school parking lot. "He looks fit." She added, knowing nothing about the finer details of cars, and not even attempting to sound like she did.

Alastair noted the disbelief in Sarah's voice when he'd introduced himself, though he didn't make anything of it. Such was the price of fame, he supposed. Wasn't worth making a point of correcting her, so he simply nodded and said "The one and only," though he raised an eyebrow at her introduction. Specifically the part about being the librarian. "I think you and I are going to see a lot of each other, because I'll be raiding that library and reading up on things. History, mostly, but anything that strikes my fancy," he smiled.

At the change of subject though he remembered why he'd come outside, and low key juggled the box of spare fuses he'd brought with him. "I've always thought of her as a lady, actually. But, yeah, she's mine. She's a '73 Skyline 2000 GT-R, I had her imported a few years ago. Her name's Omen."

Sarah leaned in towards Al, as if to impart an important secret. "Her real name is Skylar. She just told you Omen because it makes her more mysterious." Her voice was low, so as to not let Omen overhear. As for the Skyline being a her, Sarah wasn't fully convinced, but if that was what she wanted to be, then who was Sarah to judge? Besides, even if she was right, there were still lots of guys who wouldn't mind being treated like a lady, and that was just fine with her too. Omen was obviously being treated right. Sarah looked at Charlie, and felt like a deadbeat in comparison.

"But anyway, yes you're welcome in the library anytime. I'm trying to build up our collection of history books written in the modern era. We've got loads of older history texts with outdated perspectives that Phoebe... erm, Miss Hunter, and I are trying to sort through, but you're welcome to browse them too, and tell us what you think." That reminded Sarah that she needed to speak with Phoebe about how to address historiography in the curriculum, which she felt was essential for the younger and more impressionable students.

Sarah then eyed the box that Al was juggling. "She a high maintenance gal?" The librarian asked as she moved to the back of her car to open the boot... which she knew by now required a kick to the rear bumper to fully unlatch.

"Uh - " the question caused him pause. Was it? Not really; the drive train was overbuilt and undertuned for its purpose, meaning it was remarkably reliable, as long as it was cared for properly. Perhaps in there, it was relatively high maintenance, as it did require looking after - oil changes in time with the proper oils, regular valve clearance checks, proper carb cleanings every now and then (he always hated that job whenever it came around) but all that came with the territory, he supposed, of owning a highly tuned, twenty year old classic sportscar.

So he answered her question with a shrug. "Not particularly. I mean, she can be demanding, but she's also goodnatured and reliable, so I wouldn't say she's particularly high maintenance," Yeah. That was a good answer, he decided. "Right now though her radio's not working and I'm thinking she blew a fuse, so I brought out the spares," he smiled, flipping the small cardboard box in his hand like a sleight-of-hand magician, before turning his attention to the car again.

"Skylar, huh?" An amused smirk. "Bit on the nose, innit. Skylar the Skyline. How'd you get by Skylar anyways?" he glanced at Sarah again. "You mentioned her telling me things? Is that your - uh .. talent? Hearing what machines - ... feel? Think?" he didn't quite know how to word it properly.

Al would've lost Sarah after 'oil change,' had he voiced his thoughts aloud. She knew next to nothing about cars, and left the maintenance to the professionals. She did have a much better head for professionals, however, and had learned to trust her instincts on whether they were making honest recommendations, or trying to fleece her out of unnecessary work.

"I wish Charlie had a radio..." Sarah muttered. The car was a very basic model, with no bells or whistles whatsoever. It barely even had a roof. Just a faded and somewhat leaky ragtop that buttoned over where a sunroof would've been on a newer car. And the ragtop had more duct tape on it than the driver's seat. She was fairly certain that the 'sunroof' hadn't even come with the car, and that a previous owner had simply decided to cut one in. Poor Charlie. She'd certainly been through a lot.

"It's just observation, really." Sarah said with a shrug. "And I think its fun." Were there even mutants who could talk to machines? She didn't want to come straight out and say that she was full of shit, but that was basically the case. "Skylar's fine tuned and well coordinated. Her colors match, tires are spotless... even her emblems and ornaments haven't got a bit of dust on 'em." She leaned in and squinted at an emblem that identified the car as a Nissan. "A pro athlete's gotta have a memorable name, one that rolls off the tongue and gives the sports commentators something to talk about. Skylar Nissan Skyline.

"But Charlie Morris Marina is memorable too." Sarah said quickly as she turned back to her car, as if to preemptively sooth ruffled feathers. She pulled a brand new roll of duct tape out of the boot before slamming it shut. Oh she was memorable all right. Charlie was like the girl you let crash on your couch 'for just a few nights'. Then, next thing you know, she starts borrowing your stuff and a month later all your clothes permanently reek like cigarette butts. She brandished the roll of duct tape and scrunched her face in concentration, trying to visualize how she was going to go about patching up the seats with tape in a way that wouldn't actually make them stickier than they already were. She didn't seem to realize how creepy it looked to keep a roll of duct tape in the boot of her car to begin with... even though she'd just bought it.

Al wandered over to Charlie and looked inside the passenger side window, examining the central console and dash a moment. "I could build a radio in. Not really a problem. Would need to add speakers, run wiring, tap off the twelve volts - afternoon's work, no biggie," he offered before turning his attention back to his own ride and getting in to access the fuse box. He was no electrician, but could do simple jobs like that.

Sarah's mouth nearly went agape as she considered the enormity of the task, and Al's relative dismissiveness of it. For her, a car wash, and then checking the oil or tire pressure would constitute an afternoon's work. If she had to use hand tools, and it took longer than an hour to do (neither of which she usually had readily available), then she called a professional. But then again her ignorance was probably quite apparent, given the way with which she was brandishing her roll of duct tape.

"And I would loan you my first edition copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey, no biggie." Sarah said with a smile, as if that should seal the deal. She'd stumbled across the book in one of the local thrift shops, and paid pocket change for it. An absurd find, really. At least for a book nerd like her. In truth, she had no idea if Al would be a fan of Wilde, but his manner of dress and eye for extravagance (e.g. imported sports cars) suggested that perhaps he might be.

"You know, I've heard of that book. With as unread as I am means it's famous, and therefore has to be good, right?" Al argued. "And, first edition, too. That makes it extra special. Yeah, I'll take that deal," he smiled, leaning against Omen, folding his arms and just watching her work. "Can't promise you a time, I'll have to get a radio, wiring and some speakers next time I'm in town. Won't be a very fancy radio, just AM/FM with a cassette player, basic stereo speakers, but should do the job."

"That sounds perfect." Sarah said with a small smile. She was not ready for a compact disc player in her car yet, and didn't know if she ever would be. She did have a small and growing collection of CDs, but most of her mixtapes and favorite albums were on cassette. Sarah knew that she was a person who didn't like to embrace change, and it made her feel warm and fuzzy when people set her up in such a way that she wouldn't have to explain that.

"It's in my bag there, on the hood." Sarah said as she started tearing the remaining strips of old tape off of the drivers seat, revealing a large tear in the vinyl seat. She pulled out a strip of tape from the new roll, and then realized she didn't have anything sharp on hand to neatly cut it with. More than that, she seemed oblivious to the notion that it would probably be better for her to at least try to wash some of the old tape residue off of the seat first.

"I find it... interesting." Sarah said, clearly struggling to find the right word that wouldn't turn off a potential reader. "But many people of his day did not. It was considered offensive to Victorian sensibilities, and he became infamous as a result. Wilde's infamy brought a lot of scrutiny into some lifestyle choices that he was later sent to prison for, and I don't think he ever recovered from his time there." There was a distinct pause there, as Sarah realized that most people would've simply called him gay. Only a fellow closeted homosexual, or someone deeply offended by the concept, she reasoned, would've beaten around the bush and minced words there like she just had. Fuck. Sarah hated constantly over-analyzing herself, in fear of what other people might think. She might not get sent to prison like he had, but it was hard to think about how little some things had changed, after so many other things had.changed.

But then again, almost everyone at Avalon could relate to her and Wilde, couldn't they?

"Al, have you got a pocket knife, or some scissors?" Sarah asked, having the decency to look sheepish over her unpreparedness. Again, there was a tone in her voice as she spoke his name that suggested more than a little disbelief.

Al could almost hear the fingerquotes in her words and quirked a brow. He'd ignored the earlier disbelief, but now it was getting to be a bit noticeable. "Know what, I do have some boxcutters on me," he produced a knife from his pocket and flipped it about in his hand a bit, leaning against Charlie. "But they're only for people who don't think I'm lying to them when I say who I am," he added with a teasing smile, showing that he was still taking it in good humor. He'd get to the bag and the book later. And possibly note that she'd be better off cleaning the old tape residue off first. In fact, cleaning off the whole surface, first. "I've heard about Wilde. Wasn't he gay?"

"That's what they say." Sarah said with nonchalance as she tried and failed to cleanly tear a piece of tape with just her fingers. She was able to rip of a piece off, but nowhere neatly enough for her to feel convinced that it wouldn't immediately start catching on her clothing again. She fixed Al with some sideeye as he fiddled with his boxcutters.and mulled over what he'd said. There was no way he could be the real Alastair Temple. She hadn't heard anything about the man for years, except for rumors and tabloids claiming that he was dead. They also said that if you heard any lie often enough, you could start believing it was true.

"Fair enough then. Answer me this." Sarah began, turning toward Al with a level of seriousness she didn't often show. "Boston, 1986. Second American Tour. Your show gets shut down because some drunk girl trying to stage dive splits her head open and gets blood everywhere. What song were you playing, and how far into the set?"

"Third song in, 'Forest Grave'," Al replied easily, "It happened right before my solo. Poor girl spent a week in the hospital; I hope she's doing alright. We gave everyone their ticket money back because they didn't get the show they paid for," he explained. Many bands wouldn't have done that, he knew, but they had felt it was the right thing to do, and some positive publicity among the negative headline of 'girl gets injured during concert' didn't hurt either. It cost the band tens of thousands of dollars in expenses; the venue still had to be paid after all, along with all the other overhead. "It was the first show of the Unbroken Tomb tour, first time we got to play those songs live. We increased security after that incident to prevent a repeat."

"Holy shit." Sarah said in a hushed tone, which coincidentally suited her as there were students within earshot. It really is him. Aside from the quiet outburst, she somehow managed to maintain her composure. She did totally fudge the application of the piece of tape in her hands though, getting it creased and stuck to her own fingers in a manner that was probably quite amusing to watch.

"Erica..." Sarah voiced a name to the girl in question as she tried to free her fingers from the tangle of tape. "Or Violet, as she liked to be called. Was my... roommate at the time." Her lingering shock at being in the presence of a rock celebrity made the air quotes in that all but palpable. "She recovered, but who knows if she's all right. That wasn't her first reckless stunt, and it certainly wasn't her last." Sarah would've liked to say that she broke if off with Violet for not being able to put up with her shit, but actually she was the one who'd been dumped. Now Sarah was a lot more careful about dating women who claimed to be vampires.

"I'm sorry about your band mates..." Was all Sarah said after that.

"Thanks, kind of you," Al replied, quietly. Thoughtfully. "And I'm sorry things didn't work out with your - roommate, though I'm glad to hear she was well enough to do more stupid stuff after," he concluded.

Sarah noticed the shift in Al's demeanor, and was worried she might've struck a nerve. Though it had felt appropriate to say what she'd said, she was generally not the sort to dredge up bad memories. She wanted to finish what she was doing and head inside, but there was no way she could send him off with gloomy thoughts.

"Well I should finish this..." Sarah said, looking at the car seats with dread. This was her second attempt at trying to replace the tape, and she doubted that she'd learned enough from the first try to make this attempt any more successful. "But here." She added, moving to retrieve the book she'd promised. Like her car and shoes it looked dingy and worn to hell, but still perfectly readable and obviously well-loved. Someone had taken very good care of it, for it to have survived a century with its original binding and spine intact. With her Halloween night obviously disrupted, she'd regretted not having the opportunity to hand out any treats to her students and colleagues. Maybe it wasn't too late. She hoped he would let her know if he didn't like it. Her feelings wouldn't be hurt, and she'd be able to make a better recommendation.

"It was nice meeting you Al, and Skylar too."

"Certainly," Al smiled warmly. "Was very nice meeting you as well, Sarah. I'll get a radio, some speakers and some wiring for Charlie next time I'm in town," 'And do something about that duct tape disaster,' he added in thought, as he headed back to Omen - not Skylar - to finish what he came here for, replace a fuse for the radio.

"Don't you worry about having to sit next to Skylar, I know she's pretty, but I'm sure she's a good lass." As Al moved off Sarah could be heard talking softly, presumably to her car. "But in The Breakfast Club even the athlete and the basket case get together in the end."