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Recording Session
Aug. 27th, 2010 03:17 pmThe building they'd been brought to was a little bit of everything. Recording studio, accounting office, dark room, painting studio, film set, living quarters, and secret hide-out. There were no windows, apparently only one door, and way too many items crammed into every single room.
Teller did have to concede that he at least liked their style.
While Penn pulled out his bass and started tuning it, Teller took off his jacket and curled up in the corner of one of the half-dozen sofas in the room.
“I hear you boys had some problems on Friday Night.” It wasn't so much a question, as it was a statement.
Homer walked into the room, carrying a large sound board. He took it across the room, and set it on a long table next to two other sound boards.
“Yeah, nothing Teller couldn't handle, though,” Penn said, not looking up from his bass. “We dropped a guy last month, and I guess in his mind, trying to kill Teller on national TV was a negotiation tactic to get us to represent him again.”
Teller, half-listening to the conversation, shrugged indifferently. As far as he was concerned, the whole thing was ancient history. He'd survived, and the appearance had gone over well. He was completely over the whole thing.
“No wonder they like you boys so much,” Homer said with a laugh. He was referring to his own clients, who were predictably late to the meeting.
“The feeling's mutual,” Penn said honestly. And then he looked over at Teller, who seemed to be trying to fall asleep. “From me, anyway. I don't think Teller likes anybody.”
“He must like you?” Homer finished setting up the sound board and stretched out on another sofa, waiting for the band to show up.
Penn shook his head. “We can't stand one another,” he said. “We just both have a lot to benefit from keeping the other around. It's a symbiotic relationship built on an understanding that neither of us would be successful without the other.”
Homer sighed and checked his watch. “I think I know what you mean.”
Teller did have to concede that he at least liked their style.
While Penn pulled out his bass and started tuning it, Teller took off his jacket and curled up in the corner of one of the half-dozen sofas in the room.
“I hear you boys had some problems on Friday Night.” It wasn't so much a question, as it was a statement.
Homer walked into the room, carrying a large sound board. He took it across the room, and set it on a long table next to two other sound boards.
“Yeah, nothing Teller couldn't handle, though,” Penn said, not looking up from his bass. “We dropped a guy last month, and I guess in his mind, trying to kill Teller on national TV was a negotiation tactic to get us to represent him again.”
Teller, half-listening to the conversation, shrugged indifferently. As far as he was concerned, the whole thing was ancient history. He'd survived, and the appearance had gone over well. He was completely over the whole thing.
“No wonder they like you boys so much,” Homer said with a laugh. He was referring to his own clients, who were predictably late to the meeting.
“The feeling's mutual,” Penn said honestly. And then he looked over at Teller, who seemed to be trying to fall asleep. “From me, anyway. I don't think Teller likes anybody.”
“He must like you?” Homer finished setting up the sound board and stretched out on another sofa, waiting for the band to show up.
Penn shook his head. “We can't stand one another,” he said. “We just both have a lot to benefit from keeping the other around. It's a symbiotic relationship built on an understanding that neither of us would be successful without the other.”
Homer sighed and checked his watch. “I think I know what you mean.”
