—”Sounds like a winter wonderland that I’d read in fairy tales when I was young。”
It was almost wistful, his tone of voice。 Like there was a deeper meaning to it, but with no explanation, that particular subject is silently spoken to not engage in it。 Appeased, Defalt closed out of the profiler and put his phone away, returning to his still-open laptop with the unfinished tracks。 He had a lot of work to do until tonight, but he’s never been one to become lax in his DJing, so he sacrifices the conversation for a few minutes。 Just long enough for him to focus on a particular song that had been giving him a bit of trouble lately。
It’s more of an ‘I haven't forgot our conversation but give me a second.' sound that he's made。 And he tilting his head, and essentially the mask, to further include this statement。
Alas, he’s at a point where he can call that song slightly-presentable and finish it later in the privacy of his home。 Where he can play it aloud and tweak the mistakes。 Defalt saves the file, and successfully closes his laptop。 That lasts for only a few seconds before he’s opening it again, but his hands aren’t on the keys。 It’s more for comfort, this time。
—”It depends on what it’s being used for。 Sometimes it’s quiet, but very violent。 As much as we as humans can trust electricity, we also have to know to be distrustful。”
A change in octave, maybe? What was level and entertained has become low and serious。
—”A lot of things can happen because of electricity。 And some of the people around here? They like to play with it, like it’s theirs。 Turn it off and on like a switch of a room, except this time it’s the entire fucking city。”
A halt of breath, as if he’s having second thoughts。
—”People escape from places they aren’t supposed to。”
Just like that, the moment is gone, and Defalt has returned to his previous demeanour。
—”I’m sure the more you’re in places with so much electricity— like here in Chicago— you’ll get used to the noise。”