[ it's telepathy. if it's just thoughts, if they can push images of themselves as they look down at mirrors at other people, then music shouldn't be impossible, should it? so dave starts out slow, testing, and then shoves a song across the mental gap.
when they were kids he mostly wrote fast things, incessant beats and technic skips and constant frenetic motion. he still does, sometimes. this is a little slower and it was written thinking about a million fireflies in the sky as he looked up. kind of quiet and kind of trying to call up some memory of his best friends when two of them were a million miles away for years. ]
[He doesn't put up much of a fight when Dave tells him to be quiet and instead he settles and lets his mind go blank to focus. It starts out as little clips at first, sounds he can't quite grasp until Dave fully concentrates and the music comes through.
It's refined, maybe. He remembers the four of them trading songs back and forth, three playing instruments and one making remixes that brought the sounds together. He's used to Dave's haphazard collection of sounds, but this is slow and relaxing and...
...instead of words, there's a ship. A yellow battleship zipping along at the speed of light, large and empty racing along the yellow yard. A driveway, a view of a planet of wind and shade and some smog. These images filter through even as he's listening and he's not really conscious of it.
Is it possible that the four of them can be together again? He hopes so. He's silent until the end, and there's a very, very brief flash of something. A cacophony of planets collided that quickly gets replaced with images of fireflies.]
...it's different than normal. [Which like. There's nothing wrong with it, and he actually sounds very pleased about it.] I like it. It's a really cool present.
[ there's piano, and there's violin, and there's bass notes. there's the flow of the turntables around and between them.
the suggestion is hesitant but it's not like he hadn't written it thinking of his friends, and of doing something they all loved together in person someday, instead of in pieces and parts over the internet, tracks sent back and forth and changed between them. ]
Yeah dude, definitely! [It's not as enthusiastic as a non-ill Egbert but he's doing his best. The idea is beyond exciting.] It would sound even better live. Do you think we will even find instruments in this universe though? Everything else I've seen has been hit and miss.
It is hardly my fault I did not grow up in the jungle like they did. And Jade probably fed weird stuff to her dog, too. So maybe you are right. But...it's only the first day. That means it can only get better now.
Seriously? [WHY.] How could you come up with the dumb bet in the first place and not have a favor in mind already? [He's not that annoyed but Dave come on.]
Dependin' on how long it takes you to figure out bday stuff. But I feel I should not ask a favor of you on your belated bday celebrations, so maybe like...the day after that?
I think I will think of something once we see what is really out there on the island. It's hard to make plans without knowing what's out there. But the day after would be okay. We have a lot of days, I think, so no rush.
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[ it's telepathy. if it's just thoughts, if they can push images of themselves as they look down at mirrors at other people, then music shouldn't be impossible, should it? so dave starts out slow, testing, and then shoves a song across the mental gap.
when they were kids he mostly wrote fast things, incessant beats and technic skips and constant frenetic motion. he still does, sometimes. this is a little slower and it was written thinking about a million fireflies in the sky as he looked up. kind of quiet and kind of trying to call up some memory of his best friends when two of them were a million miles away for years. ]
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It's refined, maybe. He remembers the four of them trading songs back and forth, three playing instruments and one making remixes that brought the sounds together. He's used to Dave's haphazard collection of sounds, but this is slow and relaxing and...
...instead of words, there's a ship. A yellow battleship zipping along at the speed of light, large and empty racing along the yellow yard. A driveway, a view of a planet of wind and shade and some smog. These images filter through even as he's listening and he's not really conscious of it.
Is it possible that the four of them can be together again? He hopes so. He's silent until the end, and there's a very, very brief flash of something. A cacophony of planets collided that quickly gets replaced with images of fireflies.]
...it's different than normal. [Which like. There's nothing wrong with it, and he actually sounds very pleased about it.] I like it. It's a really cool present.
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[ there's piano, and there's violin, and there's bass notes. there's the flow of the turntables around and between them.
the suggestion is hesitant but it's not like he hadn't written it thinking of his friends, and of doing something they all loved together in person someday, instead of in pieces and parts over the internet, tracks sent back and forth and changed between them. ]
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[ his best guess, but. shrug. ]
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[...] You can get back to me on that. Whenever we figure out stuff for my birthday. That should be enough time?
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Would you really figure out how to draw a piano? Because that sounds hilarious. [And also. Like. He'd be happy with that just for fun.]
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[ dave's voice stays quiet and calm. he'll let john drift off whenever but will keep responding while john's responding? ]
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If you do I'll play you something awesome. And we can have a real jam session and everything. But I have no idea where we would put it.
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