[ @zenithspan : A meager audience settles in. Clark arrives, and proves to be the most attentive of First Contact's act. Perhaps they can recognize him from the vivid descriptions 683 has probably offered uninvited. In any case, he's shown up to offer some support. Possibly also to help fix stage equipment like a true roadie, or to wave around a lighter. Or whatever it is people do. Clark wants to add to the experience more than he takes away. ]
HE STICKS out like a mislabeled hair metal record stashed in the glam rock section ( in other words, extremely and infuriatingly badly ). Those dorky glasses, that ugly, tacky shirt -- not that anyone else’s shirt around here is any better, mind you, but ugliness is subjective, and wearing something hideous with ironic intent is entirely different to just succumbing to bad taste. It’s one thing to look like the secret fifth member of Led Zepplin -- it’s another thing to look like you’re straight out of Scooby Doo.
SID REGARDS Clark with narrow-eyed suspicion, his cigarette limp between his lips as 683 fawns over him, sickeningly saccharine enough to rot your teeth down to the roots. He’s quick to remind anyone -- and everyone -- that Clark came just to see me, ‘cause he must really dig me, man, isn’t that just so fab ? Sid is a man of tact, of pride, and he is not jealous at all. 683 is welcome to go cuckoo over whatever washup nerd he pleases. The bassist gives a dismissive sniff, grumbling under his breath when 683 exclaims he’ll be right back, he promises, okaaaaay, throwing arms over Clark’s shoulders and swinging Priscilla in a circle as he zips away like the streaking afterimage of a fiery comet. He isn’t jealous at all.
WHEN CLARK makes a move to pack up his bass, Sid’s quick to push himself away from his place slouched against the wall, snapping, ❝ hey man, don’t touch my shit, got it ? You come in here, ❞ he grouses, snatching the neck of his instrument from his hands, ❝ act like you’re with the band or whatever, but I don’t know you, and I don’t want to. We don’t need a thirty year old groupie with some embarrassing radio show. You wanna hang around 683, that’s your prerogative. You keep in her orbit, and you don’t come near mine. Do you copy, space cadet ? ❞
