[Behind the Music]: Code

[wonderlandfill]

((Note: This piece contains heavy drug use. Written with Code Dietrich))



What Had Happened Was...
Circa 2014. Hollywood.

Two encores was enough. Fuck this. Code kicked out from behind his kit, arms raised in a V. No one ever noticed the drummer.. unless you wrote the shit. His fingers curled into his palm... Give it up! the gesture said.. and the crowd did as they were fucking told. So loudly in fact that the announcer was all but drowned out. "Eat it up, boys... doesn't last forever..." he murmured to his bandmates who had all been standing around like a bunch of grinning apes. This wasn't his first rodeo... but it was theirs.. and Andromeda South had put on a pretty spectacular show.

That nu-metal rap/rock hybrid was still being pumped through the speakers as Code Dietrich, former backoffice name as a ghost writer on the scene, descended from the stage. Most of these people were here for him and it wasn't lost on his ego. Sweat pouring down a bare, tattooed chest like a veritable font of human emulsion... he managed to be fairly gracious as he fell into the clamoring hands of his fans-- covetous grabbing fists, and inappropriate pet names just the same. Who the fuck was Code-y? Not gat-dam him... that was for sure. A flex of his jaw gave them the white of his teeth in a smile the girls had gathered for. A tongue ring click against the center-fold line of them, for their afterthoughts. Then... it was the lonely walk down a long corridor of flashing lights... to the solace of a dressing room that gave zero fucks in the way of amenities. Code collapsed against the cushions of the couch and pressed his fingers into his temples while he fished his phone from the tight back pocket of his jeans.

Not...entirely alone. Whatever rules there were or weren't, there were no rules on Earth that applied to Meadow-fucking-Starling. There were a lot of things Meadow would do, on a whim or a dare or for the ever loving fuck of it, but one thing she did not do was swarming crowds. Not unless they were paparazzi.

It was LA and LA was her home. She went where she wanted, when she wanted. The fact that she'd been invited by someone else for some other reason in no way mitigated the fact that, given the options, she'd just as soon spend her time with the only other A list name in the venue, and that explained what she was doing in an armchair adjacent to the couch he'd dropped into. Her sleek frame outlined in liquid leather pants that fit her like a glove and a fishnet shirt that probably cost somebody in the hundreds, underscoring the exquisitely shaped black bra underneath, she was concert appropriate but also concert adjacent. She'd watched most of the show from the sidelines, retreating to the relative refuge of the dressing room about the same time he was telling the crowd to kiss off.

Her phone was caught between supple fingers, doubtlessly checking in on various social media accounts, possibly posting a selfie from the dressing room. Eyes like thunderclouds lifted when he walked in, tracked his movement to the couch. She gave him his space and his silence for a beat, and then: "You must be Code."

She almost didn't register. It wasn't odd to find a rando in your business after a gig, and Code was most definitely not a stranger to that perk. Not in the least. Her vibe, though... spoke a bit loftier than the other silver-platter-delivered tail he'd grown accustomed to. A few swipes of his thumb to clear those annoying-as-fuck red blurbs of unread notifications, and forest green eyes swiveled towards her... for a first round of acknowledgement. Legs, tight pants, skin, fishnet, bra... and a pretty face, if not an equally cocky one to match his own. She was a part of the industry. Plain as day. "And.. who the fuck are you?"

There might or might not have been such silver platter delivered tail in the room when Meadow arrived, but in any event, there wasn't now. There was just Meadow, and she cocked a brow incredulously when he questioned her credentials, looking so much in that moment like her legendary father that it should have been absolutely obvious.

"Meadow." She said simply, because here in her hometown, her last name was rendered mostly irrelevant. She paused, maybe for dramatic effect and maybe just because it only occurred to her after the fact that she might should explain. "John invited me because I drum too. Said you were worth watching." Whoever John was, he could trust that the name appeared in tabloids on the regular.

A too plush for a male mouth formed her name silently and a crescendo of brows mimed an impression he simply didn't feel.. "Oh.. you're Meadow..." Of course he'd heard of her... knew of her... but the coke in him could really care less in its dwindling state though and he made quite a show of not giving a shit. "That just... makes perfect sense now... totally explains what the fuck you're doing in my dressing room... Cause I doubt you're here to wrap your precious daddy's girl mouth around my..."

Code's tirade was interrupted by an extra life à la Mario Bros chime, and he brought his phone up to his disgruntled face before...melting... essentially... against the furniture. "Tell me you have a supplier.. cause this piece of shit literally just told me he was fresh out." His hands had come up to make air-quotes around the last two words uttered. He was shaking. Like a car about to stall. It was gonna be a long fucking night if someone didn't get the kid a stacked mirror pretty damn quick-like.

"Meadow..." He said, suddenly congenially, rolling his neck against the pillowed cushion-back that cradled it. "Tell me you like to get high... and fuck."

His antics earned him an eye roll but no outright reciprocation. Her name carried a weight to it like gold, a currency on some lips and a curse on others, and the only reaction she wouldn't tolerate was a faux failure of recognition. Love me, hate me or have no opinion, but don't play like you don't know who I am. Coolly, she looked him over with unabashed interest, her gunmetal gaze making a point to trail down over his naked torso to his belt line and back again. "Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about," she said with an insouciant smile.

His demeanor changed in a ten second redirect that brought a deeper, more dangerous smile to the mobile contour of her mouth. She was an exercise in contrasts, her delicate features too pretty, too precise, to be anything less than artistic, but there was a gritty undercurrent to the way she wore them, like sharpie scribbled on a marble statue. Part punk princess, part idyllic angel, she wore the dichotomy like a badge of honor. "...Warming up to me now, are you?" She lifted her phone, perused her list of immediately available contacts. "What do you want, and what do I get if I come through for you?"

He could feel her eyes travel down the length of him in appraisal, and... he may have sprawled a bit further for effect, the lean, muscular lines of his torso pulled taut in the movement. Deep viridian hues paced a large circle in the home of their sockets, rolling back as his lids dipped low to the sweat-smeared eyeliner accenting would be reddened hollows. A purr of sorts worked its way out from the peaks of his throat, stretched back in a crane like an altar for blood-suckers.

“Mm-Meadow.” Her name teetered between a moan and a whimper on his slightly curled lips-- It was probably a song she was supremely familiar with; one of desperate need and want.. desire and worship. Though in his case, she was merely a bonus. A beautiful cherry on top of whatever massive narcotic sundae she could find him. He’d give her his left kidney if she asked for it right about now.

“I suppose that is entirely up to your verdict on the... fuss.” A comma-shaped smirk pressed a deep dimple into his cheek, and he cracked one sparkling green eye back open to watch her. “What can you get the quickest... and what do you want for it?”

The way he preened, peacock proud, under her examination brought a slow-boil smile to her mouth. This was her favorite kind of pretty, the kind who knew it unreservedly and didn't mind who else knew it too. No false modesty in the way he curled his lips, but also no hamfisted overplay in the way he craned his neck. Meadow approved, and if Code was going to get what he wanted tonight (or at least the way he presently wanted it), Meadow's approval was everything.

"Now that's what I like to hear," she said breezily, making someone's fucking night at random as she selected a contact from her list and issued a summons with the quick splay of talented fingers manicured in black and bruise. She didn't specify which part she liked to hear, whether she was referring to the way he said her name or the way he left it in her hands. Setting the phone aside, she watched him thoughtfully, seemingly mulling what she might want, for the twenty odd seconds it took for her minion to arrive. Dashing headlong into the green room with wild eyes and cheeks mottled with hopeful red blotches, his gaze spun from Code to Meadow, fixing there.

"Mm-Meadow!" The wannabe echoed the drummer beside her breathlessly in a dose of accidental irony that made her laugh. "What... what do you need?"

"Not me," she countered smoothly, lifting one hand to gesture her new best friend. "Get him whatever he wants."


That cheshire grin struck a chord in him. It was reminiscent of something... and if he were in his right fucking mind, he would have been able to pinpoint it in that exact still-frame moment. Her eyes locked on his stationary strut, his on her confident evaluation. Code languored there a moment, watching her while she swiped away at her phone screen.. finding the familiarity both intoxicating in its own right and also somewhat alarming. Who was she really? Another hedonistic animal... Just like him? Or something else? Just like him.?

A squint made crows-feet out of the corners of his almond shaped eyes-- like he was sussing out a differentiation in a mirrored image. Suspicion. In smooth sweeps of a calculated gaze. Then... a blink or two to clear the haze of come-down that was fighting an all out battle behind the lids that slunk to a close, the bob of an adam's apple and an involuntary flex of his fingers against the leather couch cushion-- accoutrements to the remainder of a nonchalance gone askew.

The surface of him was intensely glad for the interruption that came careening through the door, and he moved a fraction of an inch to a more upright position. The sound of her laugh jarred him more than the mimicked intonation of her name if he were to be honest... and verbal about it... which... he decidedly was not.

Code grit his teeth, jaw-line etched in the clench. "A gram of coke. Three if you have it."

The minion she'd elected for the night showed confusion and a fleeting uncertainty, but he gamely followed Meadow's instructions and veered his attention to the drummer. "S-sure, man. Whatcha need?" He interjected softly ahead of the request. Once the order was placed, he glanced back over his shoulder at the woman who had summoned him, requesting confirmation or permission or maybe both.

Meadow nodded with a dismissive twirl of her fingers. "Get it for him," she said generously, and there wasn't a hint of request in her voice.

When the man had gone to do their bidding, she lifted perfectly manicured brows. She knew he was preoccupied, but she was also aware enough to know when she was being assessed. It didn't bother her -- she'd been assessing him too, afterall -- only provoked a certain measure of curiosity. She wondered what he was thinking, what dimension his thoughts hinged on, but she didn't yet ask. What she said instead was, "...so what else do you want to do tonight?"

[wonderlandfill]

Code contemplated her question, wet his lips with a dash of his tongue and answered her with a direction-changing narrative that was both nonchalant and calculatedly dismissive. "You've got him wrapped around your pretty little finger." He murmured. An observation, rather than a topical strike up of conversation... but it didn't stop him from continuing.

Dark green hues had followed the mouse of a man as he scurried out of the room, then moved back to her eerie grey gaze.

"How many of those did you bring with you?" Was that what he wanted to do? Make smaller men scamper about doing his bidding? It wasn't out of the realm of possibility... but no. His aim was much more... local. Sitting in the same room in fact, and the dimension his thoughts hinged on... was a very basic curiosity that made his line of questioning sort of side-step around her to get a better view.

It was a short-lived dance, one he really didn't give her time to answer, because... well... he was never terribly good at sidestepping. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his elbows into his knees while his curiosity got quite right up in her business. "What sort of girl are you, Meadow? What makes you come to shows to eyeball drummers and hand them groupie slaves as drug favors? What do you get out of it?"

She let the observation pass unchallenged, neither confirming nor denying his claim. Chances were, she had a lot of people wrapped around her pretty little fingers, or desperately wanting the chance to be. They were talented fingers, after all, in addition to their prettiness, and nevermind the legendary pedigree of the blood that powered each of them.

"Those are a dime a dozen," she said with the same calculated dismissal she'd heard in Code's mannerism, her gaze meeting his. The challenge in their gunmetal depths was as clear as it was interested, what do you have to offer?

"Simple," came her next reply with the nonchalant rise of one shoulder, and her gaze never left his face even as he got considerably closer. "Stimulation."

"Mm." a single syllable response followed by a silent snort-- or rather a brief hiccup-bob of his head and a curl to the corner of his mouth as the flagship. "Oh, Ms. Stars..." Apparently he did know exactly who she was. "I don't know that I could stimulate you any more than any of those other peons you have in your clutch... I have a feeling drugs and fucking are kinda even easier to come by than those..." he tilted his head towards the doorway her bellboy had dipped through. "All that's left after that is... music... tattoos... and a deathwish." He smiled slow and wide, about as toothy as the Joker right out of a Batman comic. "...'fraid that's all there is to me."

"Oh Code, tell me you're not doubting your ability to be memorable? " She asked with a skeptical slant to the perfectly poised arch of her brows. She didn't argue or deny that any of it was easy to come by, the drugs or the fucking or the so-called peons either, for that matter. His estimation of his worth brought the cruel twist of an amused smirk to full lips, equal parts impressed and entertained. "You're a fuckin' liar, Dietrich," she added, mimicking his chosen turn of phrase, "--but I don't require honesty when I can have interesting."

Just then, the minion returned, eager and breathless as ever. Once more, he tried to come to Meadow, and once more, she redirected him to Code. He paused, uncertain, and then shifted his attention to the drummer, pulling a folded magazine from his back pocket. "Uh, here..." he added uncertainly, awkwardly. "Do you... do you two need... anything else?"

The exchange between them pulled an amusement from his pocket that he hadn't anticipated-- most notably demonstrated in the ghost of a smile that didn't seem to be capable of simply fucking off. It would seem she was a good distraction. One he needed more for every second it took mouse-boy to do the one thing he was worth... which apparently was fetching drugs at the beck and call of one Meadow Starling.

"I have no doubt that I'm memorable. Good or bad." It was delivered in a matter-of-fact nonchalance with a modest roll of his shoulders. The clefts in his cheeks deepened, however, as his last name fell out of her mouth in a lean. He watched the shape her lips made as it tumbled-- a mental snapshot for an at will recall performance later, no doubt. He opened his own to reply but fell short when his delivery arrived.

Hungry hands closed around the proffered mag and he flat-foot pushed himself back away from Meadow towards the glass coffee table at the foot of the couch. Like his life depended on it, he set to promptly unraveling the parcel while murmuring "..Bottle of Jack... two hookers... and some Carl Orff... would be nice." There was a long pause before he looked up to realize that the guy was still standing there.. "Fuck. Relax dude... I'm kidding..." Code raised an irritated brow and side-eyed at Meadow. "... am I supposed to tip him?"

The nameless minion blanched at Code's laundry list; Meadow covered her suddenly snagged interest with an expressive roll of allegedly disinterested eyes. "Breathe, my dude. He's kidding. Thanks though!" She gave him a picture perfect smile and even went so far as to lift perfectly manicured nails to her perfectly painted mouth, blowing a kiss off the tips of her fingers.

Frowning uncertainly, the man looked from one to the other of them, opened his mouth to say something, sighed and walked away.

There was a languid grace in the way the rocker's daughter lounged in the arm chair, her long, leather clad legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, her body aslant from one corner of the chair to the other. One arm draped elegantly over one chair arm, the other held her phone in an indolent sweep across a tummy made taut by some mix of genetics, training, and chemical assistance. Her head tilted as she watched Code at work on his prize, an idle curiosity in steel grey eyes to mask the intrigue underneath. "You...realize he probably thinks you meant some kind of drug reference he couldn't identify, right? He's probably on his phone right now trying to figure out what he missed." A lazy, feline-esque grin spread slowly over her mouth. "So what's your favorite piece?"

Razor-blade produced from an altogether too-tight pants pocket, Code set to cutting lines through the soft, white powder that was now scattered along the glass table-top. He hadn't paid another single second's worth of attention to the delivery guy, and was currently sitting in true addict concentration-- bottom lip tucked in one corner between his teeth as he fanned the substance out and traced ridiculously intricate patterns into the depths of it.

"I mean Mindy is nice, but... Gretchen... Gretchen does this thing with her tongue that I just-- " He couldn't even finish the joke due to the interfering smirk that had plastered itself all over his proud face. "Oh... you mean that kind of piece..." he feigned, before crooking a finger in her direction-- an invitation extended to join him. He'd tilted his head at her then, studying her features for another moment longer before going back to his art project... the design of which was swiftly turning into a replica of that mouth he'd been so intrigued by.

"Orff is pretty solid. Nothing he did before or after Carmina Burana really mattered of course.. O Fortuna being the most popular.. Fortune plango vulnera maybe... both from the same year long labor... the entirety of which is just this vast, deep, dark, swirling, miasma of gorgeous fucking misunderstood pain. There's a beauty in that, you know? When someone listens to something and blurts out Ooo this is pretty but doesn't see or hear all the reasons it isn't... how it isn't pretty at all... and that mistake itself is fucking beautiful."

He was rambling while he continued his work, and the mouth he'd carved had expanded into a rather ingenious likeness of her face. "Besides Orff, Vivaldi... Debussy... anything in D Minor... or Jimi Hendrix's weeping guitar." His fingertips ripped a swath out of the magazine, and casually set to rolling it as he looked up to address her again, "Fan of classical music?"

"Gretchen's got the tongue thing, but Tina's tits are better," she fed immediately into his joke with a knowing lift of her brows, an amused smirk coiling across a mouth made mostly for sneering. She watched him as he worked, comparing the look of intense concentration on his face as he cut up the powder with the way he'd looked while he was playing. Her thoughts turning somewhat inevitably to an idle speculation about what expressions he might wear during certain other times, her gaze was there to meet his when he gave her that studious, appraising look.

Not normally one for being beckoned, it was his conversation that made her move, brought her up from her jungle cat sprawl. Rising, she walked the two steps to the couch and settled alongside him, her movements graceful the way anything in slow motion can be graceful. Crossing coltish limbs at the thigh, her head tilted subtly sidelong as she listened to his rambling, and this time she didn't mask the expression of interest in eyes of gunmetal grey.

"I'm classically trained on almost everything," the response was a statement of fact, there was no boastfulness or particular pride in the low melody of her voice. "Anything in D Minor... do you have thoughts on the Havergal, then?" Glancing away from him to see just what he was taking so long with his drugs for, a low laugh of surprise welled up from her throat. "Clever," she commented, lifting her phone to snap a quick picture. "Not bad, either. You draw?"

".. Tiiiiina.." he responded in a decibel piqued tone composed of both longing and teasing. The sound rolled around in the back of his throat in a lengthy exaggerated growl. Then, in an otherwise conversationally bland inflection, "I think she finally saved up enough cash to go to med school though..." There was a wait-for-it pause followed by another slow-crawling smirk to match her own-- both the one on her face, and the one he'd created on the table top.

Another dumb joke had lined up on the tip of his tongue as she came panther-slinking over to him to take her new seat, something regarding being trained on almost everything, but that Metro beat it out of the station pretty quickly once she rekindled the conversation about music.

The flow of their topic swept him back into motion like it was a wave he could surf, and he set to cutting tiny hairs into her cocaine eyebrows, spurred into reanimation while he talked.
"The Gothic is a masterpiece... it has a... little bit of that element but... in a different way. Another angle. It became something on its own. Something outside of what Brian even intended. So instead of a composed piece that was executed with a distinct purpose and meaning... and everyone misunderstanding it... he created this like... AI of classical music... "

Code snickered to himself at the comparison before continuing. "It created itself after a point... and... there's so much in it... No single person could ever tell you what it's truly about or what it means or what it's meant to invoke. Too many players..." His tongue dashed against his bottom lip as he leaned back into the couch cushions to admire his handiwork. "...Too many layers." he rhymed, in a soft sing-song of summary. "So it's... something misunderstood by the creator... and understood by everyone else, in this case, and... yeah.. I guess I do." Draw, that is.

Dark green swiveled over to her, and on his hand's way up to interlace his fingers in a cradle behind his head, he offered her the rolled scrap of film coated magazine. "Ladies first."

[wonderlandfill]

"Yeah, she told me she has you to thank for that," countered Meadow with a sly smirk and a certain amount of strangely affectionate tolerance for his antics, brought on either by a sympathy for his present mental state, the flattery he'd given in the form of that offhand poisonous portrait, or something else altogether she wasn't sober enough to name. Like a verdict pronounced in a court of law, she delivered her next statement deadpan as she sat beside him. "I like a guy who knows how to adequately support the arts."

The conversation about the Symphony, however, that had every bit of her actual attention and none of the casually deflective air she normally wore. "AI of classical music... huh. That's a good way to put it, actually..." She murmured as he spoke, seeking not to interrupt--if anything, to encourage. By the time he was done, Meadow was infinitely more interested in kissing him than she was in the drugs, and actually because she wanted to, not only because he was pretty and she had nothing better to do, but it was the drugs that were presently on offer. Drawing her focus from his lips to hers -- the facsimile of hers, that is, that smirked coyly up at her from the table's scarred glass top, the rocker's daughter snapped another picture with a short, delighted laugh. "You want me to... take myself? Gotta admit, Dietrich, this is a novel application to that particular request..." Even so, she took the makeshift tube that he was offering.

That deadpan delivery got him. Right in the throat. He kind of just... choked on his own saliva and smiled at her. Not a smirk. Not a snicker. No audible guffawing laughter or knee slapping... not even a trace of irritation as she took her sweet time reaching for the MacGyvered straw. It was a genuine smile. Something that felt a little alien on his cocky, arrogant, and unfeeling face.

The muscle memory in his cheeks seemed to be actively rejecting it like a faulty implant on an episode of The Real Housewives of Hollywood. Trashy reality shows were a guilty pleasure of his, but that was neither here nor there. It was such a foreign feeling that he actually rubbed at his face a bit and leaned forward towards her, pinching down on the paper so that she would have to really wriggle and tug on it to pull it out of his grasp. Still in a decent proximity, with his grip of death clamped down on the vehicle he so desperately needed, he let his voice drop a little lower in volume to follow the descent of his eyes. It was a closer, sweeping, observation than his previous appraisal. He studied her a moment, charting her in his brain like a new fangled species.

"Well look... I'm really glad you like it and all but.... three things... One. I can request it however you want me to, Stars, if you'd prefer... Two. You could be quicker about it... on account that I'm dying over here... and Three. But since you are being a slacker and holding up the show... after you snort that powder off your own deliciously curved mouth, why don't you tell me something I don't know about you... something they don't print in the tabloids?"

Up close, she smelled like an expensive designer perfume, something tasteful and not overbearing, something sweet and just a little bit spicy. She submitted to his scrutiny, painted lips just subtly parted as she watched him watch her, and all the while she kept a steady grip on the straw he was chastising her for not taking and simultaneously... preventing her from taking. Plucking it finally, neatly from his grasp, Meadow rather deliberately leaned against his thigh as she bent herself nearly double to partake of his artistic design.

She did not go for the so-called deliciously curved mouth, however, if only because she didn't want to deprive him. Settling for one of her eyebrows instead, Meadow made short work of it, inhaling with the long, slow control of a trained musician. Sitting up again, she squeezed her eyes closed for just a moment, riding out the burn with a flutter of her lashes. Opening them again a moment later, her only comment was a "mmm," as she passed the glossy paper straw back to him.

Taking a deep breath through her mouth, she let it out slowly. "Something the tabloids don't know..." Pondering while he availed himself, the chemical punching into her bloodstream, her smile was almost serene. "I'm like... mortally afraid of Big Bird. Have been since I was little. No fuckin' canary is supposed to be that goddamn big."

For some reason, her choice of lines highly amused him. An expression that sat like a fat cat on his slightly tilted mouth, broken only by a reflexive bite into the left corner of his bottom lip. As Meadow leaned against him, the heady scent of her perfume wafted up around her and caused an unconscious shift of his hips in his seat. Following the adjustment, an equally instinctual motion brought his hand pretty fucking close to sinking his fingers into a fistful of that dark hair at the nape of her neck while she swept her portion of the white powder through the straw and into her bloodstream-- he caught the action in a hover before it was effectively executed. A smirk was given to his arm.. like it had a mind of its own, and he lamely pulled it away to perch harmlessly against the back of the couch. Instead, he sat still a moment longer to watch the poison settle in beneath her features on the wings of that Mmm she'd emitted.

Code drew a deep, anticipatory breath of pleasure, took up the implement he'd fashioned from her fingertips, and scooted to the edge of his seat, not a moment longer to be wasted. Knees spread haphazardly wide enough to fit his encroaching slender but well defined torso between them, he'd take her other brow... for symmetry purposes... that, and there was something intriguing about leaving her confectioned mouth for last. The movement he affected was like someone rising out of the surf, a low dip, steady sniff... and a fluid curve upward and back upright, a board breaching a wave. The burn in his sinuses was a welcome sting and he let out a lazy laugh as it sank in. "I mean... I'm pretty sure no Woolly Mammoth has eyelashes that long either... get it together, Snuffleupagus."

The spread of his knees brought his leg against hers again, to which Meadow hardly objected, considering she'd only just been practically in his lap herself already. Acclimating to the new balance of chemicals in her system, she brought her hands to her face to pull a tendril of dark cinnamon from the corner of her mouth and let them fall carelessly, one landing on his outstretched thigh. It wasn't smooth or even particularly intentional, but she didn't seem to mind it being there, either, as she made no effort to collect it.

Watching him while he took his line, her vision swam and stilted, but she rather liked the effect of it. "Nah, man, Snuffie was cool. He got those eyelashes on fleek before being on fleek was a thing." She grinned, laughing in a way that sounded funny to her and made her laugh more. Maybe she was trying to figure out how to make a Vine of someone dressed like Snuffleupagus, or maybe she just felt good in good company. "Oh no," she glanced down at the portrait he'd made. "I have no eyebrows."

It's not that he didn't notice the flop of pale palm to denim. He just didn't give a fuck. At least, not a bad one. The tingle that the unintended slap of her hand left on his thigh was quite pleasant in the slow creeping numb... a reminder that he could still feel through the ramping up of toxins. "I don't think I'm cool enough to know what on fleek means... or how eyelashes as long as my dick qualify... those things were ridiculous. It was like the entire cast of Rocky Horror, extras included, all took their falsies off and glued them end to end... created a monster out of it... then paid that monster to fuck a feather duster, which then, after thirty six hours of labor, bore Snuffie's eyelashes."

A snicker crept up his throat and he tilted his head back to toss an amused grin at the ceiling. "Snuffie.. pfft.. how did the network NOT know they were basically propagating coke use? Like... here's this weird hairy beast with a long ass snout and fuck me lashes..." he rolled his head against the cushion it had reclined back on until he was facing her. "He was doing lines off of Oscar's trash can lid... guaranteed."

Somewhere in his tangent, Code had brought his arm down off the couch back and was absently tracing random patterns over the back of her still-there hand with his fingertips. "And yeah... Sorry.. I did leave you a little Girl with the Dragon Tattoo..." he murmured, eyes wandering over her actual brow line. "I can fix it... or... we can Picasso this bitch... What do you say?"

It started as a low laugh, amusement sparkling in eyes like steel wool, like gun metal, like storm clouds. The more his description evolved, the wider her smile spread, watching his face intently even as the other hand flexed and curled idly at her side. She would have pulled the first hand away too except that he was apparently drawing on it with his fingers, and in the first part it felt good, and in the second she imagined, briefly, that she could almost see whatever pattern he was scribbling into her skin.

Only very belatedly did she realize that he'd asked a question, and even when she rewound it in her mind, she couldn't come up with what he'd said. With an insolent shrug and a twitch of her brows, her focus snapped back into place on his face. "I'm sorry, what was that? I was ...trying to remember how long Snuffie's eyelashes are."

He almost snorted. If he hadn't just burned his nasal passage with dust he probably would have, so she'd have to settle for one wheezed out puff of air. Short. Staccato like. To represent laughter. But also... the way he was looking at her and the long pause between his initial response and what he said next was a dead giveaway that he was entertaining the idea of reminding her of the simile he had used. Maybe that's what his fingers were so busy tracing... who's to say?

"I said..." he began, lifting his cheek off the cushion to get a more vertical view of her. "I can fix it..." His fingers stopped tracing the back of her hand and came up to smooth each of her brows, pointedly. "I can fix them.." a sideways nod given to the neglected glass table. "Or we can Picasso this bitch... which means we can rearrange your god damn face into whatever we damn well please..."

Code sat up straighter, narrowing the distance between them, and Meadow could feel her pulse pounding in her head as surely as she tasted the telltale battery acid on the back of her tongue. Running that pink muscle reflexively over her teeth, she swallowed back the noise in her head, watching his mouth as he moved closer. His touch where it shaped her brows felt explosive, harmless little sparkly firecrackers going off along the ridges above her eyes. Shivering almost unconsciously, she grinned crookedly at him.

Glancing sidelong at his artwork, she gave a light-hearted shrug. "I mean, you made a beautiful rendering, but nothing compares to the original, right?" Her grin spread, the skeptical sparkle in luminous eyes giving her away, proving that even she wasn't quite as vain as what all she was saying. "Picasso that shit. Let's see what else you come up with."

The tip of his tongue dug into the soft flesh of his cheek as his eyes fell in unison with the slant of her smile. There was something so.. NOT Meadow Stars in the way she shivered and hovered in the closeness he'd inadvertently created... and in that lopsided crescent moon of a grin she wore. At least not the cocky, self assured sort of way the limelight painted her, or what he knew of her. It made him curious. It made him ... want to... eat her. So to speak. Peel back the layers of Hollywood bullshit and see if that's really all there was to her. Maybe he'd be disappointed to find out that's the truth of it... but maybe not. Despite the baser instinct to instantaneously lean in and mouth fuck her until her clothes came off, Code raised his brows at her challenge. "Are you... doubting my abilities, Miss Stars?"

The darling Starling child would tell you that she was perfectly transparent. That she was exactly as one dimensional as she appeared, the ready made and picture perfect celebrity tabloid social media princess. Meadow made her life's work --so far, anyway-- of appearing exactly as shallow and celluloid as she was expected to be, but the scary truth was that there really was some depth lurking in there behind the placid grey of her eyes.

Somewhere.

That same baser instinct had likewise occurred to her, she was already wondering what his mouth might taste like, if the metallic burn of the drug on the back of her tongue would taste the same or different as translated by his skin -- but hers broke into an irreverent grin when he challenged her. "Doubting you? Not at all. I just want more examples of your ...skill."

[wonderlandfill]

Code's own natural reaction to challenge crept up his spine, pivoted against his atlas and set his barely hawk-crowned skull at a full tilt. A rebel of even his own physiology, he gave the bone a lazy crack that resounded in a sharp pop and a trickle of aftershocks by pressing his knuckles into his jawline and hyper-extending. First one way... then the other. The irreverence on her lips was met by a lick of his own. Clearly they were on the same wavelength.

"I might need you to elaborate on just what skills you'd like a tour of..." he retorted with a smirk-- one that lingered as he contemplated some of his favorite ones. The drummer stretched his lithely muscled body from the position he held, one that looked remarkably similar to the one he was often in behind his kit. "I'm a man of many talents." Well... the abject modesty didn't last long. Blame it on the steadying nature of the poison coursing through him and the effect it had on his attitude and openness. Besides, she talked about classical music... and Big Bird... in the same sitting... That meant she was entirely welcome to stick around, just in case her looks-- and the fact that she came bearing drugs (or at least groupies that could get them)--hadn't been enough on their own. The combination of randomly entertaining conversation, hot as hell, and hooked up was a god damned guarantee of an extended invitation.

But first, Code turned back away from her, leaned forward and paid his respect to the powdered ghost of her mouth still smirking up at him from the table... taking the outlines of top and bottom with a cut of the magazine to start rearranging.. "Big Bird maybe.." he teased.

"You mean I have to choose?" Meadow countered him with a lift of her perfectly sculpted brows, her lips quirking curiously around the word 'choose'. "What if I want to see them all, hm?" That spark of challenge was getting stronger, growing slowly into flame. Or maybe not just the challenge of it...

She watched him as he moved, the crack of his neck, the roll of his spine when he stretched... it all put her in mind of a giant serpent, some lithe and undulating creature both monstrous and mesmerizing. The combination of complex chemicals in her bloodstream was probably responsible for the way her mind carried the image on, picturing him coiling himself around her, constricting ever more tightly until she could scarcely breathe. Shaking her head to clear it, she gave him a picture perfect smirk -- so like her legendary father's as to be disconcerting -- and raked her polished nails through her hair, pulling it back from her face.

"Fucking Big Bird, really?" She caught up to the conversation at hand, stretching languorously and at length before she sat up again to see what he was doing. When she looked, her mouth was gone, which put a deeper smile on the genuine article. "Nah," she said a moment later. "Draw me Snuffie with those dick-long eye lashes."

Choose? Oh no... she could have as many as she wanted... provided she had the time. "... well if you aren't in a hurry..." he feigned, a brief pause before he continued, "...Stick around." And though it was still framed inside an arrogant melody, there was a note of seriousness to his tone. Something that said plainly... that he wanted her to.

He glanced up to punctuate the underlying invitation with the slightest raise of his brows and a smile that sat off-kilter-- lips parted and tongue touching the back of his teeth, watching the way her fingers caused rivulets in her dark hair, like gliding birds in jet colored water. She was much easier on the eyes than her father, but he could certainly admire the resemblance.

He turned his attention back to the reconstruction of her pretty powdered face into something children's nightmares were made of. Namely her nightmares. Code chuckled... it was probably the most sincere laugh that had come out of him in... mm... who even knew at this point? "You gave that to me... I had to take it... it would've been like.... a crime against nature or some shit for me not to."

The fluid sweep of his hands, dual wielding like a badass, coke-mag swinging rogue, rearranged the particles with confident precision. "Hm..." he huffed at the nearly formed woolly muppet and stood, puffing up his chest and turning to the side. He was standing with his legs apart, like he was about to take a piss-- but he just kind of put a bend into his torso, and looked down and sidelong at his junk alongside the shadow of the table next to him, measuring in real time it would seem. Code grinned and squatted down in front of the artwork again, his full-colored, intricately inked back to her, while he proceeded to cut the most ridiculously long eyelashes anyone had ever seen. "About three standard dick lengths, at least..."

In a hurry. Was Meadow ever in a hurry? She mulled that quandary, turning it over thoughtfully in her mind as if she were contemplating some deep philosophical truth. Though she acquiesced to his logic with a nod -- yes, not using Big Bird against her when she'd so-recently told him how the giant canary traumatized her as a child would in fact be a crime against humanity-- her actual, eventual response was to ever so maturely stick her tongue out at him, the long pink muscle coming to a sharp tip that flickered once -- perhaps she was still thinking of serpents -- and retracted again.

"How much of my time do you want?" She finally asked, several seconds later, and her voice was the mirror to his, a playful singsong response to nonchalant banter with a seed of truth concealed in its allegedly superfluous layers, the slant of her eyes where they met his said as much. That he could have some of her time was already a forgone conclusion; the negotiation lay now only in how permanently he wanted her to stick around.

Acutely aware of being watched, she let him, and did some watching of her own when he went back to "drawing" with his razorblade. His antics were rewarded with a measured (and measuring) look as she seemingly assessed his crotch right along with him, and when he dropped to a crouch in front of her, Meadow leaned forward for a better look over his shoulder. "My, Code. What long eyelashes...."

"You mean I have to choose?" Oh... the symmetry in that recalled remark and tone was nothing short of music all on its own. Code found himself in a rare situation indeed. A usually solo performer, suddenly synchronized, harmonized if you will, in a not-so subtle duet. The intriguing part about it was that he didn't even need to show her the sheet music. And they were high as fuck. Apparently the negotiation would be left open ended, but no doubt teetered somewhere in the realm of Until one of us gets sick of the other.

When she bent close to him to spy on his progress, the ends of her hair hit his back and felt like hundreds of tiny, scattering spiders. The sensation caused the serpent she'd spotted earlier in the rollicking coil of slim muscle to slither from one shoulder blade to the other then creep up along his neck as he turned his chin towards her. "The better to traumatize you with?" he answered with an amused drawing up and together of brows. He offered her his brush after a moment longer of admiring the dark fringe that rimmed her own eyes. "Wanna take a stab at it?"

The laugh that vibrated in her throat was practically a purr, a rich melody that was equal parts pleased and entertained. Well played, her smile spread, the soft point of her chin dipping in a nod. "Well, no, I don't guess you do..." she conceded in a soft hum, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment that read a lot like a yes and certainly wasn't a no.

Distracted from her study of the art at hand by the shiver that slithered across his shoulders, her gaze slipped sidelong over the intricate ink work that adorned his back. Hung up there for a long several seconds, her gaze pulled away from his exposed skin only when she found verdant greens looking back at her, crescent brows rising for the ceiling. "Maybe stick to traumatizing me with that three standard lengths, then..." came her murmured reply on the heels of a sly smile.

Glancing back at his masterpiece, that sly smile spread into something of a smirk, but she shook her head without accepting the 'blade. "Mm, no, nothing less than a Code Dietrich original for me, thanks..."

Code was only halfway hearing the words that were coming out of her mouth. He was transfixed by the pucker, pout, and bite of each syllable like they were notes amidst the rest of her body language- playing off one another like a well composed song. Maybe it was the distinct sound of his own name that he couldn't mistake even in his intoxicated state. Maybe it was the tone she wrapped it in. Or the matching shift of smile to smirk. Cheeky monkey. Whatever it was... it laser focused his next action simply by erasing any other possible outcomes in that particular moment.

There was nothing for it. It wouldn't be a fairytale princess storybook first kiss but rather a hunger. An all consuming desire to possess a likeness he hadn't anticipated. Code flicked the razor blade onto the table and brought his hands up to cradle her sharp jaw. He captured her sly smile between his lips and stood, bringing her up with him. "On to act two?" He murmured, and offered his tongue against the soft pout of her mouth. "Or do you need another hit?" He asked, a nonchalant hand drifting away from her to the table at their knees.

Both impossibly slow and in the blink of an eye, Meadow watched him coming in closer. It seemed like she had all the time in the world to contemplate what he was about to do and at the same time his mouth on hers still surprised her, jolting her drug-saturated system into action. One second idle and then she was returning his kiss, her fingers sliding into the belt loops of his pants at the outer edge of each naked hip, her thumbs curling into the indents along the front ridge to balance herself as they stood.

Full lips parting readily at the emergence of that tongue, she met it with her own, a bait and swirl game of tag ensuing where the whole point was to give chase. Too busy kissing him at first to much bother with a reply, an "mhmm" was smothered against his mouth to the first question and a slight back and forth headshake answered the second.

The calloused pads of a well-rounded musician's fingers slipped from the jaw he'd framed and dipped into the depth of her dark, shining hair. Obsidian, jet, onyx, midnight, ink, and vinyl all vying for prominence in his mind as descriptors that might prove adequate enough to accompany it. He didn't know which he favored, but he distinctly liked the way his pale hands looked tangled up in the stark contrast, even more so when he pulled back slightly on the grip held at the base of her skull to encourage her chin to lift. His mouth broke away from hers and breathed a single word, "Good." Then, he propelled the attention of his lips, tongue, and teeth to her elongated neck.

Code was on his way to backing her against the nearest wall when his name was shouted three times from the doorway. Three times because the first had gone completely unheard, the second sounded far removed like he'd been underwater... swept away in the undertow of one Meadow Starling.

"Code! Dude..! uhh... Hi Meadow." His guitarist shuffled a foot and flapped a helpless hand against his thigh. "Is.. is that Snufflupagus?"

Finally... he'd gotten the drummer's attention. And it didn't go unnoticed that Mitch was at least familiar enough, or brazen enough to call the girl whose hands were tucked into his belt loops, by her first name. Code snarled, a reaction he also wouldn't necessarily anticipate, but the distinct expression of lips being pulled back and away from perfect teeth was pressed against her skin. "What?" He asked, without letting go of Meadow in any fashion.

"Ten minutes, bro... tour promo pics... onstage..." Mitch waggled a hand at the pair of them and merrily popped back out of the room.

Code let out a hot breath against her skin and finally pulled his face far enough away to get a look at her... master of the one-word responses (when he wasn't spinning ludicrous tales about the sex lives of feather dusters), his last one, while dark greens roved borderline ravenous over the girl he'd intertwined himself with, was this: "Fuck."

[wonderlandfill]

Intoxicated as she was, Meadow couldn't blame the intense electric jolt she got from his kiss on the powder, much as she might like to or would probably try to claim otherwise later. The chemicals in her veins warring for dominance, her skin prickled everywhere he touched her-- his fingers in her hair, his mouth on her throat, his teeth in her skin. Any other thought she might have had or been thinking about having was erased in an instant: she would gladly drown herself in the tide of his kisses if she could.

As if from a thousand miles away, she heard the murmur of another masculine voice, some obnoxious buzzing sound that was getting closer, sharper. It resolved at last, taking solid, definable shape for her only when she heard her own name, and her gaze slipped sideways, over Code's head, trying to locate the source. With the crown of those inky tendrils tipped back against the wall and Code all over her, she could make no immediate sense of the things that were being said. She did recognize the baring of teeth against her throat, the low rumble of a snarl muffled between them, and she curled her fingers ever deeper beneath the beltline, more completely into his hips to compensate.

Meadow couldn't remember whether she knew the guy or not -- everyone knew her name, after all -- but she surmised from the words "tour" and "stage" that this must be one of the other band members. The drummer made no move to release her and likewise, the rocker's daughter made no move to extract herself, only turning her head ever so slightly to watch the interaction.

When the other guy left, her steely gaze swept back to Code, a smile breaking out on flushed lips. "Mm. Act Two, Interrupted." She mused, her fingers freeing themselves only to slide up the length of his chest, learning its lines. She took a breath and let it out again, pleased with the mellow buzzy feeling the mix of drugs had wrought on her system. "Who was that guy, anyway?" She added a moment later. "The... um. The guitarist, right?"

The last thing he wanted to do, next to taking photos for a tour that should have long since been promoted, was let go of Act Two. Code groaned and side swiped her with another kiss and nibble of her bottom lip. The kind that was one smear of motion that usually led to a whole lot of knocking shit off counters- clearing surfaces to plant asses and anchor spread thighs upon. Instead though, all she got was a disgruntled confirmation of her surmise. "To be continued?" he asked while his hand moved over his purported nominees for starring roles. He couldn't tell whether it was her he wanted to keep tasting, or the faint traces of coke that sweetened her upper lip and cupid's bow. He'd put money on both if he was a betting man.

"Yes. The guitarist... Mitch Calloway... Not a bad kid... but... a kid. He's not a day over eighteen... Literally... it's his fucking birthday." He shook his head dismissively like none of that mattered in the least. "You gonna come with me?" Code seemed incapable of looking anywhere other than exactly where his mind was. A trait she'd come to either love or detest if she stuck around long enough. There was nothing subtle about him. No way of hiding what he thought really... and no fucks to give that would suggest he would care to if he could. Currently, his fixation was her mouth... a key theme of the evening. "I'm sure there's something exciting on the horizon for the kid... you could... tag along... be my date." The raise of his eyebrows was a testament to just what he considered such a role.

The drummer started walking slowly backwards away from her, a fox sly smile spreading across and around his lip that'd caught between his teeth... "Come on, Stars... unless you have something better to do and want to call me when you get bored..."

"...You're asking me on a date to aphotoshoot?" Meadow's much-appreciated mouth split in a wide smile, drawing perfectly painted lips -- for the stain was perfect still, despite all the abuse it had so recently taken -- drawing back from teeth too white to be entirely natural. "First time I've gotten that from somebody who wasn't a model, or an agent..." she eyed him faux-suspiciously, looking him over like she thought maybe he was secretly an agency man in disguise, and all of this was somehow an elaborate ruse to trap her into a contract. She was being facetious of course, but then again, was it really all that far-fetched, considering...?

"Aw, his birthday. How sweet. Do I need to find him some entertainment?" Starling had an army of resources at her fingertips, afterall -- what seemed like a million minions ready and eager to do her bidding down to the very last detail. She was only like five minutes over eighteen herself, but that hardly seemed relevant in the swim of things, and Meadow wasn't about to comment on it now. "And just what does being your date entail, anyway?"

He'd separated himself from her at last, and she felt strangely bereft -- an absence of warmth, a tingling of hyperextended nerve endings left utterly unsatisfied by the sudden loss of contact. It was natural as breathing to follow him, to peel herself away from the wall and stalk the three steps it took to bring them together again, to drape one elbow over the ledge of his shoulder. She glanced down at the glass table so recently abandoned, pondering. "It'd be a shame to leave Snuffy, though..."

Psh. Pfft. Guffaw. All anecdotal expressions springing up on his lips and in his eyes like night blooming flowers. "No. I'm asking you to follow me... to a photoshoot..." he stopped by the table and swept up, at minimum, Snuffie's lashes, with the sharp edge of the discarded magazine... his other hand blindly groping about for the equally neglected baggie the goods had come in in the first place.

"WITH Snuffy..." he continued while he brought the two lonely items together in a happy little reunion of plastic and powder.

"To stand there and watch me look pretty..." Code sealed the winning envelope and tucked it into his back pocket as he stood.

"And then be my date... afterwards." Grin flicker. "Which includes... probably more drugs... some fortunate-slash-unfortunate adventures that you may or may not have to provide some sort of entertainment for as per your offer... and then... maybe some indecent exposure charges after scaling and subsequently fucking on the Hollywood sign?" His lips pursed and his eyebrows rose, shoulders scrunched and palms offered face up... like... Whaddya say, eh?

Meadow rolled her eyes, making a point of it if only to mitigate the smile that was creeping unbidden into the mostly sophisticated structure of her face -- maybe it was just the drugs in her system, but he was really kind of obnoxiously cute when he was protesting.

The next smile came less restricted while she watched him collect up Snuffy, and a little giggle rolled up out of her throat. "Something something...putting our imaginary best friend in your back pocket...." she trailed off, amused with the image that had occurred to her while he worked.

His final point brought a third kind of smile to her face, the rocker chic, the pretty angst, the knowing grin of the cat with canary feathers in its teeth. "Please, Dietrich," she made a show of scoffing. "Like I ever get arrested." Drawing the moment out just a little bit longer -- she figured she was owed as much, considering -- Meadow made a point to check her phone. Skimming a dozen notifications, she slipped the sleek device back into a skin tight pocket and stepped forward, closing the distance between them once more.

Cupping his face in her hands, she drew the velvet pink tip of her tongue across his bottom lip, tasting him, the drugs, and everything. It was settled, but the playful threat that came next wasn't entirely idle: "You better make it worth the wait."

Code gave the back pocket of his burgundy jeans a quick pat-pat as Meadow referenced the rehoming of their beloved pet, and he flashed his brightest most dazzlingly roguish smile to address her third expression.

"Mm... well," he murmured in a tone somehow managing to be every bit a brash mark of innuendo as two syllables could be. "We can't all have legs that go on for six miles, Stars." To accentuate the compliment, emerald hues crept from toe to hip in a slow panther crawl of appreciation until her increased proximity wouldn't allow any further ogling. No matter though... his face had been seized and his attention was squarely shifted to that bit of tongue his own went chasing after in immediate retaliation. A silken lap given to the inside of her mouth, lips interlocking with a small grunt of approval.

When her threat had pulled her back, his eyes were left heavy and half in a trance, along with his mouth... that just sort of hung open dumbly. "Or else? We'll go back to a couple of hours ago when you were merely social media spank-bank material to me?"

"I am burdened with many gifts," she agreed with an affected sense of humility as perfectly plastic as the credit cards at her disposal. Her supposedly-saintly expression dissolving rapidly into something more sinful where they came together, what was meant to be a teasing lick devolved into another all out kiss: shorter this time but no less aggressive.

The look on his face when she pulled away made her grin, catlike, and kiss him again, and at this rate they were never going to make it back to the stage for his supposed photoshoot. The confession that came embedded in his response to her threat brought a certain knowing into her eyes, an instant and vivid image of what that might look like nestling itself into her consciousness. Filing that away for later, a nonchalant shrug rolled over her shoulders. "I told you, babe, it's no substitute for the real thing."

"I don't doubt that..." Code said, running a hand along her arm until it curled against her own, snaking their fingers together. He used the hold to tug her along, continuing his recently abandoned trek backwards. "You'll forgive me of course for not being able to just... you know..." his free hand came up and made air quotes, only one set, since his other hand was busy tucking hers into the back of the waistband of his jeans as he pivoted to finally head towards the door and corral her down the hallway "... take your word for it," he finished in an eye roll of intonation, the sound of his grin still equally prominent. He fully intended to witness these gifts for himself.

It was curious, how easily her fingers curled into his, how strangely comfortable with it she was. She let him entwine their hands, let him prompt her into motion as they headed towards the exit. Preoccupied, perhaps, with that particular phenomenon, her well manicured nails were all too easily tucked into his jeans, and the next thing she knew she was being lead out into the hallway.

Giggling in a disjointed way, Meadow shook her head. "No, of course not," she said distantly as they made like a two-person conga line back towards the stage. "That's ... I'm pretty sure that's the threat I was making in the first place?"

It'd be a lie if he were to tell himself he didn't like the way her questioning intonation curled at the ends like the fancy nails tucked up against his back. And while he didn't come right out and say it, he did leave her with a "But not certain," and a wink. He'd unhooked them at the edge of a small throng of people. Meadow looked like she could handle herself and she probably knew half of them as it was, in his estimation... so he didn't feel too bad about making no introductions. Her presence spoke for itself, and got a smattering of different expressions. Some awe. Some leering. Some jealousy. But none indifferent. Code's sandy brows rose up and he shook his head gently with a sort of... I GUESS... sort of expression shaping the rest of his features. "I'll try to make this quick." He shouted over the people that quickly separated them and swept him onto stage.

"Mhm... hurry back," she called back to him, lifting that newly separated hand to wiggle her fingers in a wave. Meadow had no trouble with crowds, certainly not crowds who already knew her, and it was only a handful of seconds before she'd fallen into a sea of selfies, groupies and Twitter updates.

Someone handed her a drink, someone else asked her if she needed drugs. Some offers she accepted and others she declined, but perhaps most notably, she rebuffed any and all advances of a sexual nature. Meadow was popular and sort of famously apathetic, but she wasn't entirely unloyal, and against all odds, she wasn't actually an asshole, either. There were no hearts in her eyes (yet) and she had no expectations for how their night might go, but even so, she never for a second forgot who she'd come here with. Keeping a periodic eye on Code's progress onstage, she took a couple pictures of him here and there.

[wonderlandfill]

It was incongruous work, wrangling young rock stars for photos. Catch them in action... catch them in one-off candids with devil horn hand gestures and their variety of pierced tongues wagging from their heads with scrunched noses and creased brows. Don't ask them to stand still and pose for more than five excruciatingly long minutes unless it was for an album cover... and certainly don't tell them to act natural. For a bunch of boys ranging in age from eighteen to twenty six... all you were really going to get was a lot of dropped trou and sexually obscene gestures. Which is exactly what was currently happening on stage.

Ghost white legs marked up to the hip in a random assortment of tattoos were on display as his pants had been yanked down around his ankles... junk cupped modestly with both hands-- a smirk on his face while the others lined up to mime oral favors... Hail to the King! they shouted, while they waited for the privilege. Later, this particular collection of photos would be named just that. With a subheading of Dietrich puts Andromeda South on the map as the next concert to see!

Satisfied, the photographer swung her hand around in a big circle to signal the wrap up. His publicist looked mortified... but clapped him on the back regardless as Code turned and hoisted his pants back up over his hips. Emerald eyes searching for Meadow while patting his back pocket for reassurance that their little long-lashed friend was still with them. Ready? he mouthed at her... the ghost of an amused smile lingering.

She'd definitely caught a few pictures here and there, the incongruous spread of her grin jarringly askew on perfectly stained lips, and she'd finished at least one of some kind of vodka drink as well. Keeping an eye on the rockstars' antics, she also kept an ear on the crowd around her, participating exactly as much as necessary to be considered "part of things" while still reserving most of her attention for the stage.

By the time Code was signalling in her direction, she'd answered at least half a dozen requests to stay in touch with follow me on Twitter, and she separated herself from the lot of them with a blown kiss and a wiggle of her fingers. She did not approach the stage -- she'd been to too many shows for that -- but she did make herself available somewhere between the thronged knot of exuberant hangers on and the space where the band was still milling about, joking and laughing. Here she stopped, hands on her hips, and waited.

Dodging a piggy-backing bassist with a smooth pivot and roll on the ball of his heel, Code descended the stage with a casual hop and moseyed over to the point of focus he hadn't strayed from, even during the acrobatics that got him to her in one piece... and without a monkey-clutching bandmate. His hands, pulled by tractor-beams it would seem, slipped right into the little gaps her arms made with her palms tucked against her hips like they were. "Festivities are a matter of debate... you're welcome to weigh in..." he murmured, nodding towards the stage of frolicking musicians. "You want an introduction?"

On said stage, the photographer having wrapped and disappeared as quickly as humanly possible, there were only five people still assembled; the remaining four members of his band, presently engaged in a game of chicken... and a tall suit that must have been their manager, or publicist. If he was actually paying attention to the shenanigans going on behind him, he might have been tempted to just haul her straight back to his dressing room and pick up where they left off.

Meadow snickered at the bassist's antics, but her smile carried a hint of the absolutely genuine when Code's arms slid around her. Almost -- but not quite-- begrudgingly, she peeled her hands off her hips, lifting them to encircle his shoulders instead. "Nice ass," she murmured, all but resting her forehead against his.

Shaking her head a moment later, Meadow's gaze remained on his, grey on green, steel wool on emeralds. "Nah. I'm good. You're the only person in this band I feel like knowing right now, but I can play pretty for the festivities." A pause. "For a little while, anyway."

Her comment on his anatomy had him nodding, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling while the corners of his mouth bent with opposing force. It was an expression of modest admission. He... clearly agreed with her assessment. He did, in fact, have a nice ass. And certainly wasn't shy about it. The humble-ruse fell away to a soft smirk and half-lidded, chief-heavy eyes.

"Biblically, or..?" The emeralds inset into his skull, like some sort of idol plucked from Mayan ruins, glittered with an enticing little come-hither flicker. Code squinted at her. Trying without much strain to imagine what that might be like. "I mean it's not too late to ditch these fuckers and go gallivanting on our own..."

So modest, too. Meadow's lips broke into an easy smirk with a knowing tilt of her head. She could appreciate a man who knew what he was working with, after all, she certainly did. And anyway Code had a nice... pretty much everything else, too, based on what she'd seen thus far, so there were considerably worse ways to spend an evening, and never mind the feeling she got in her chest when she locked eyes with all that green.

Surely that was just the drugs in her system, right?

One shoulder lifted in a nonchalant shrug, her expression coy. "It...may have been said in the past that it's something of a religious experience, sure." She smiled, and maybe it was her turn for a little false modesty, or maybe it was just that nobody who actually got to get naked with Meadow fucking Starling was dumb enough to complain. Her smile spread. "Planning on doing something Holy? I seem to remember you promising me the Hollywood sign... "

"Mm. Mhm." was pressed between their mouths. It was a dismissive sound. One that usually came with a waving-on of a hand.. but seeing as how his were busy feeling up the small gap of skin he'd unearthed along her back as he tightened his arms, he'd used his lips instead... and a tiny pinch of teeth... to drown out her coyness. He circled back though-- once his tongue had taken the remaining bittersweet taste of powder off of her lips.

Cause.. that's what he really was after, right?

"A lot of Oh Gods and second comings and all that?" he asked in a undertone, loosening the circle of his bare arms. "I bet prayers sound pretty great up there... screamed down into the valley.." That smirk was pretty much surgically implanted on his face since he'd gotten over the initial disgruntled shock of finding someone in his dressing room during a comedown-- now, he just couldn't seem to shake it. Something about her.. called it out. Snake charmed it right to the surface.

Her arms on his shoulders, her fingers wound up the back of his neck, threading into his hair. His eyes were intoxicating, the taste of him even more compelling than the drug that still had its claws clamped into the back of her throat. His tongue met its match -- so he could soak up the last of the powder on it, obviously -- and she kissed him deeply, fully, in view of absolutely everyone.

"Basically, yes. Let's find out, hm?" She glanced rather deliberately past him, at the band on stage who were still horsing around. She grinned. "...They'll forgive you for bailing on the birthday shindig if you marry me later."

This sort of thing didn't bleed into Code's realm of reality... so he played along like it was a totally natural suggestion instead of a flat out joke. It still... got him where he wanted to be, which was directly into the clutches --and the pants-- of Meadow Fucking Starling. "I think they might understand." He agreed, clutching her hand and all but dragging her from the stage, clear out of the venue in to the streets of L.A.

"This is what you want?" he asked tugging her along through the crush of weekend society. Adrenaline junky overriding the coke as he pulled her clear from the venue through the streets. Nevermind skidrow and the homeless population... Code Dietrich was a birthright. This was his home. He spun her by the fingertips and caught her by the mouth in a kiss that was just as good as sealing deals in the land of ink and plastic. "One Uber to the Hollywood sign?"

It didn't bleed into hers, either -- it was just something ridiculous and shocking to say, something to draw a reaction. The reaction she got wasn't the one she was looking for, it was better, he played along. A grin stretched wide across her mouth, but she nodded like this was a perfectly normal, natural, serious conversation. "Good."

Whisked away, Meadow laughed -- exhilarated, almost giddy -- as he dragged her away and outside. The night hit like a cloud, the day's near desert heat still shimmering up off the pavement. She breathed in and it put her in mind of breathing fire, made her feel like a dragon, ten feet tall and practically invincible. "Depends," she murmured as she moved in his wake, holding onto his hand as they swam the late night seas of humanity. "Is this you?"

He spun her and she twirled, a perfected dance move that spoke of prior training, made them look like extras in a choreographed musical. Pulling her hand free, she draped her arms around his shoulders again, meeting that kiss with no hesitation or delay. "Yes please."

A single digit depressed against the request on his screen. One SUV to the god damned Hollywood sign. Cause that's what he promised, and cause that's what she wanted in one fell swoop of drug addled hearts... that's where they were. Code cupped her jawline in an overly tattooed hand, drawing her mouth down against his. "This is me.." he murmured back against babygloss soft lips. And it was true. Stripped beyond the scene... beyond her fame... beyond his. They'd talked classical music for fuck's sake.

Hollywood and Vine never looked so alive. Crack heads and musicians... bar crawlers and... them.

"Meadow..." he began lazily, tucking his phone into his back pocket, his fingertips alighting on a certain plastic baggy of friendship. "If I was ever going to marry anyone on this god forsaken planet... it'd be you... so help me, Snuffy." he promised, pulling their little friend into view. "More?" he asked.. because excess was a thing... and they had time to kill.

[wonderlandfill]

Energy humming in her veins, the city was loud and vibrant and close around them, but her world, her focus, had narrowed. There was Code, the feel of his hands on her body, the taste of his lips on her mouth, the electricity in his poison green eyes. Feeding into his kiss, her fingers curled into his sides, pulling him close and then closer for at least a few seconds. "Then yeah," she whispered, part of a nod smearing her lips against his. "This is what I want."

Her grin spread, virulent. It threatened to violate the integrity of her ears, made her feel like her face might crack, and even still, she couldn't make herself stop. "...I'll keep that in mind, just in case. And yes. More."

The little baggy was dragged like bait towards the waiting cab of a Nissan Xterra.. as that was the fanciful ride Uber had deigned appropriate, and... he was okay with that. "You better get in then," he purred, tugging at the waistband of her pants, still feeling the intoxicated want of her lips. Code found himself grasping at her from all angles. Whatever happened tonight... he did not want to let her go.

"Hollywood Sign..." he explained without having to as he slid into the SUV, yanking Meadow in after him and all but on top of his nonchalantly sprawled frame in the backseat. If there was one saving grace about LA Uber drivers... it was that they didn't balk at requests, or the demonstrations of intent in their rear-view.

The only 'bait' she really needed was the man himself, but she was along for the little baggie too, following him into the street with a haughty toss of her head. Her scalp tingled; she ran her tongue over her teeth again as they approached the vehicle. She hadn't asked, so either this was the car he'd requested or they were making friends with strangers as he scrambled into the back and hauled her in right after. She landed in his lap, limbs askew and tangling, but she made no immediate move to collect herself or move.

Her hands on his chest, it only dawned on her just now that Code... had never put on a shirt. She grinned against his tattooed skin, pressing a kiss there that ended in the subtle scrape of her teeth against his sternum. She drew back at last, pulling her own expensive fishnet scrap of a 'shirt' back into place as she sat up beside him.

Glancing up at the rearview mirror to check out the driver, Meadow laughed to herself as she produced her phone from the pocket of her leather pants and laid right back down on top of him. Hitting the camera app, she turned the phone around in her fingers and held it out between the seats. "Hey Code," she said with a tip of her head to get his attention. "Smile."