#c. beacon

[callmewhenyougetthis-a]

@lovepctions // beacon x danny

For the most part, these days were over for Beacon. Between piano lessons and teaching full time, he didn't have as many opportunities to sit in a circle and smoke and bake like he used to, no matter how enticing Lizzie made it all seem. He spent time with his closest friend in other ways; visiting her at the diner, driving her to job interviews, keeping her out of trouble. Ironically enough, though, he could never curb her penchant for pot-smoking. And, well, he'd be lying if he said he didn't like it every now and then, either.

No longer was he the frequent smoker he used to be. Working at a school meant rigid rules, spontaneous drug tests. And the whole thing seemed less and less interesting to him the older he got. But, every now and then—like tonight, Lizzie's birthday—he indulged.

"C'mon, Beac, play us something," she'd egged him on. Of course, that was the downside of having these intimate gatherings at his place. She always begged him to play music in front of whoever she'd brought over.

"Ah, c'mon. Don't make me embarrass myself," he said. To that, she pouted.

Beacon sighed. "Alright, alright. Any requests?" he looked around.

[mutatedangels-a]

@soulmissed // soleil x beacon x august

"Auggie!" Soleil calls out to him from her seat at the bar, where she's assembling to-go utensils. Napkin, spork, knife. Roll. There's a fun little pyramid already going next to her, albeit a somewhat crooked one. "What're you still doin' here?"

It's about twenty minutes past closing, near midnight. Soleil's shift technically ended a few hours ago—and she had left to attend practice at the ballet studio—but she's back now, waiting patiently for Beacon, who gives her a ride home every now and then.

There are a few other workers lingering at The Blue Note. There's Nehemiah, the bassist, practicing at the stage. Toledo, an old friend of Beacon's, who mops and keeps the bathrooms clean. It's raining lightly outside, and quiet inside. The big lights are off and it's just the neon signs and a few of the secondary bulbs illuminating the smoky jazz club.

"The boy's finally got some sense in 'im and he's gonna learn piano," Beacon chimes in, patting August's shoulder. "Isn't he? Before the sun rises, we gonna have ourselves our very own Thelonious Monk."

[callmewhenyougetthis-a]

@indiestarter​ // open starter

connection & plot: it’s the holidays! your muse and beacon, a middle school music teacher, have been meeting once every sunday for piano lessons so that your muse can perform for their family/significant other/anything like that. it’s your muse’s second to last lesson with him. 

      “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we had a regular ole’ Beethoven on our hands,” Beacon said teasingly, standing up from the smaller piano bench that was positioned close to the grand piano at his house. He brushed his hands together and gave the other a smile, his next words more sincere. “Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure how things were going to go when we first met, but you’ve shown lots of improvement.” At the beginning, they were practicing simple songs—Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Happy Birthday, and of course, Jingle Bells. Now, the other could play more advanced—albeit, still beginner-level, but impressive enough—songs. “You feeling ready for that show you’re gonna put on?”