maskormenace | 001

[ Lovely evening to you all, imPorts. Tonight, you shall be treated to a video feed shot by the hand of someone who is clearly A) entirely new to this whole "communicator" and "talking with videos" business, with the way she holds the damned thing a little clumsily and the unfamiliarity of having to point a camera at oneself, B) slightly inebriated, as evidenced by the glass of something she holds in her other hand, C) having a pretty good time in her living room, or D) All of the Above.

(The answer is, it's always All of the Above.)

The feed opens with the dulcet tones of "My Boyfriend's Back" by The Angels blaring in the background, and a woman wearing sunglasses moving as though she's dancing to the beat a little bit while holding the communicator. It's only after a laugh that she finally speaks, her thick German accent coming through: ]

I won't bore you all with more introductions and confusion. I'm settling in just fine.

[ Yeah, we all see that, Gaby. ]

I just have one question. I have been spending a lot of time catching up on what the music of the next fifty years have to offer, and...

[ Setting her glass down on the nearest surface, she then reaches over to a radio and switches it over. This song is playing, and Gaby lifts her sunglasses up from her eyes, letting them rest atop her head as she squints and looks like she's waiting for a very specific part. When the awaited line comes on, she hooks her thumb, pointing it at the radio. ]

"Dumps like a truck, truck, truck." What does that mean?

(( ooc: East Berliner from 1963 vs. The Thong Song. What will the outcome be? Maurtia Falls 001 has free reign to go straight to action! ))

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[Dipper doesn't spend much time at Maurtia Falls 001, but when he does things tend to... happen. Like loud inappropriate music. He peeks out into the living room, prepared to be a little annoyed and is surprised to find a pretty lady.]

Hey, uh... hi? Hello? I'm Dipper?

[ Oh, dear. Gaby nearly forgot about... roommates. And such. And hadn't realized she could very well be rooming with younger folk which, as it turns out, is the very case. His peeking out into the room seems to catch her a little by surprise, and her hand flies to the knob on the radio to turn that terrible, terrible song down. ]

--Well, hello there. I'm Gaby.

Is the music bothering you?

No, it's fine! I mean, a little loud, but that's totally fine, I'm used to way worse.

[Stop babbling, Dipper. Be cool!]

It's nice to meet you? Welcome to uh, Maurtia Falls.

[ 1960s! Music! Pretty ladies! Oh man, this is Dorian's jam. He's sitting on a couch, leaning back, guitar in his hands. He plays the opening guitar riff of a Yardbirds song, grinning at the camera all the while. ]

It means she has a phenomenal ass.

[ Instant communication with hundreds of people and this is how she uses it...? Anyway, here's Gaby's daily dose of sardonic Russian, even if it isn't the one she's used to. ]

Something offensive, I think.

[ Meanwhile, Nicolas is a year behind that song, but he's having a sixth sense about this. ]

I suppose you are.

[ Said a little skeptically, because poor Gaby has not had a taste of the craziness that goes down in this place. ]

Anyway, I'll keep the radio down a bit. Unless...

[ She gives a thoughtful hum. ] Want to dance?

I'm not... really much of a dancer.

[Despite that, he finds himself inching into the living room.]

[ She watches him play with an unveiled amusement -- she's impressed, especially with the song selection, sure, but this man on the other end of the... whatever this is (technology?!) seems just a tad cheeky. ]

Aha. And why not just say that? "Dumps like a truck" doesn't sound poetic at all.

[ A beat. ] Rather impressive with that guitar, aren't you?

Edited 2015-11-05 04:03 (UTC)

[ it's you ]

That much I can figure. I've just learned it means "phenomenal ass."

The song's called 'Thong Song.' Poetics aren't exactly it's style.

[ but he can't help but keep up that slightly smarmy grin when she compliments him. ] It's one of my many talents. Got any requests?

[ Hello, Bond Girl. ]

Hmm. Really. I think if I called a lady's ass a "dump truck", I would get slapped.

[ She sees him stepping so, so slightly into the room, and takes that as invitation enough. She strides on over, and by the time she's in front of him, she's holding a hand out. ]

Come, I'll teach you. Everyone should know how to dance.

I gathered that. Still, it's quite an unflattering metaphor. I don't think I'd like my dumps being compared to a truck.

[ She takes her drink into her hand once more, and takes a sip as she mentally sifts through her brains for a song selection. ]

The Beatles. Pick any song.

[ She gives him a knowing grin. ]

I know I would, if you called mine that.

That music is awful...

Easy. Here's hoping this one isn't after your time.

[ And so, Dorian launches into 'Day Tripper'. However this time, he's singing as well. Dorian's a fairly good singer, though he's never gonna be the next Paul McCartney. He sings the first two verses before stopping to give Gabi a grin. ] Good enough?

I think I agree with you there. How do people nowadays dance, to music like this?

I dunno.

Cat's don't dance. [He actually found an animated movie he shamelessly enjoys.]

No comment on the dump truck or-- whatever the hell that song was, but--

[ get it. "but." butt. thONGS. THIS COMEDY DOESN'T WRITE ITSELF PEOPLE. ]

If by "fifty years" you mean from, like, the '60s to now, then make a point to get a sampling of Boston, Hall & Oates, Electric Light Orchestra, Michael Jackson, Fleetwood Mac, and Earth, Wind & Fire,

You'll thank me later.

[ And she bobs her head along as he ventures through the two verses. By the end, both her brows and her glass are raised at him. ]

Well done. Are you in a band?

I was back home and I'm starting it up again here. Dorian Gray and the Hedonists—currently looking for a permanent drummer, by the way, if you happen to magically know one.

[ ...aaand that's when it hits her.

She is talking to a cat.

A cat. ]

...Huh. You're right. Cats don't dance.

And that's what you are.

It's amazing that nobody in this world seems to care about that.

[ She chuckles. ]

That's quite a name you've come up with.

But no, I don't magically know a drummer. I don't normally know one, either.

[ you tried, Peter Quill. Either way, she audibly whistles at all of these suggestions being thrown at her all at once jeez. ]

And what if I don't? That's quite a list you've given me. There's no guarantee I'll like all of them.

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