Long delicate fingers ran themselves down short dyed-red stubble on the side of a young man's head. After a prolonged kiss had been broken, the petite female took a short breath of air and looked up with starry eyes. "That was the most intense night of my life." She proclaimed to the taller and drowsier-looking man in front of her. After an awkward silence, well -- awkward for her, she broke it with a gentle question. "Don't you think so?" The young man blinked, glanced away for a brief moment, and spoke for the first time in a long while. "If you mean for you -- well, I don't know. I'm not you. But, no, it wasn't the most intense night of my life." His voice wasn't blatantly offensive, it was mostly apathetic. The girl frowned, her eyebrows furrowing on her pretty little face. "So, you're telling me you're not feeling this -- what I'm feeling?" She spoke with slight disbelief, maybe she was still hanging on to hope. The young man shook his head, smirking a little. "No, I'm not." Her hands slowly pulled from around his neck and from his chest. She folded her arms over her chest and apprehensively stepped out of the apartment. Was that it? Looking up, he had his hand on the door knob, his left arm hidden behind darkly painted wood. He didn't have the slightest bit of emotional expression on his face and she felt bothered by that. "See you around." He said rather dismissively. Closing the door slowly, the petite blonde instantly teared up. She was so bewildered and hurt, she couldn't even comprehend that she was played. It may have felt like genuine emotion, it may have felt like genuine sparks, but it was an act that the boy played well. Having gone downstairs in a fit of shock, the young girl hailed a cab and did her best not to fall apart, although it seemed she already had. The boy, however, was just fine with his bowl of Trix. He would've liked to have bought a cereal that didn't get so soggy so quickly, but this would do. Taking slow bites, he read the latest rant from a "music critic." He never understood them, yet those pages and pages of opinions took up most of his mornings before the ring of his cell phone would gently tap him like an annoying fan. Staying up all night, discussing abstract thoughts and forming them into understandable opinions, playing rough drafts of songs, writing one about her, furious contact between sheets, the boy hadn't carefully crafted the night but to any suspicious person it would seem so. The most intense night of that young girl's life would still be just that -- the most intense night of her life. However, for him, it was just another number on a calendar.
"Please, welcome Nikolas Bailyn!" A roar of applause from a sheep-like studio audience went in one ear and out the other. His demeanor was callous and holier-than-thou, however, most knew this was unintentional. It was just how he was. The uncomfortable smiles of a cult musician lulled his fans into thinking he wasn't a threat but a man to embrace and follow. His messages were sharp and poignant but hidden and scattered. Only the truly obsessed "Bailynites" felt they understood him. Nikolas believed this to be the biggest lie. "You know, I envy you." The young host of the late-night talk show smiled, leaning charmingly on his unusually clean desk. "Why's that?" Nikolas asked, his eyes lifting from a concentrated spot on the floor to the made-up man to his left. "You always seem so calm -- in control. I've been suspecting, and I think everyone will agree with me that, maybe, you are a robot." The man laughed, as did the sheep-like studio audience. The statement caused Nick to smirk just a bit. Looking away, he glanced out to the bright lights and rolling cameras. "Maybe we're all robots." The man laughed and this caused the sheep-like studio audience to laugh. The host leaned forward, which made Nick uncomfortable, so he leaned away. "Don't get philosophical on me now. I'm trying to show the people the real you -- the you that doesn't make statements like that." Nikolas furrowed his brows gently as both men returned to their original positions. "But the real me does make statements like that." He was confused, it was obvious -- something very rare for Nikolas. The host laughed and the sheep-like studio audience laughed as they cut to commercials. The host was about to lean over and talk to Nick, man to man, but by the time he had turned from the makeup lady, Nick was behind the curtain he came out of. "Where is he going?" An overly-nervous and stressed producer shouted into everyone's ear piece. Taking a cigarette from his Marlboro pack, Nikolas lit it up and took a deep drag as several crew members rushed to catch up to him. "Mr. Bailyn, where are you going? You've only done a small part of your interview. We're still expecting a performance. Are you just going to the bathroom? Where are you going?" He didn't say a word, instead his face hardened with an annoyed expression as the moody artist climbed into an awaiting car. The anxious producer clung to the door handle, tugging and begging. It didn't stop the driver from taking off and a new scandal from being born. Oops.
The annoying personas and the lime-light was something he just had to deal with -- as stated so (not) poetically by his manager. Sitting in the studio, laying off a couch with his head upside down hovering above the floor -- his feet were pressed against the wall over the back of the black leather furniture. "I worry about you." A young drummer said, taking a sip from a bottle of water. Nick looked over with a slight smile. He seemed amused by his concern. "Why?" The drummer shrugged, taking a moment to think about it. "I don't understand you, man, but I don't expect to. I just think it's really weird how you can just sit in one spot for hours and not do a damn thing and come out of it -- like you were fucking meditating -- and have a new album. A new album that went crazy popular." This made Nikolas laugh, not loudly and obnoxiously, but almost in disbelief. Rubbing his face, he shifted his position so he was sitting normally on the couch. "You believe those rumors? What planet are you from?" Furrowing his brows, bare feet picked up his heavily tired body and carried him to the door. "If you're really all that interested, I'm not that great, it's just a lot of people fucking suck." The drummer blinked. "I'm tired of teaching kids through iPods." The musician leaned against the door frame he was about to walk through. "You know? I kind of just want to make something about me." The drummer laughed, which made Nikolas frown. "What?" He asked, defensively. "Everything you write is about you." Sighing heavily, the man shrugged. "That's true, I guess." The drummer continued. "You're probably the most shallow and egotistical guy I know." Nikolas smiled again, wider this time. "That's possible." Taking yet another sip from his water bottle, the man sitting in the chair smirked. "So, how'd you really feel about them banning I Said Kill Them All from Walmart and stuff? Or -- putting that second cover on it?" Nikolas shrugged, seeming about as dead as ever. "I don't really care. It got out anyway, didn't it?" The drummer nodded. "Yeah. It was kind of scary for a while, all these news stations predicting a male uprising of violence like in Fight Club. Did you want that?" Nikolas shook his head. "I just wanted to pretend to be Hitler." The drummer blinked, not really able to think of anymore questions after that statement.
"Nick, this is Lily from that music channel's playlist show -- you know -- uh, God, I can't remember the name of it. They talk about celebrities' music playlists from their iPods or computers or whatever. Anyway, she wanted to meet you." Turning his attention away from a rather dull conversation about amps and Spinal Tap references, he lifted his eyebrows in the direction of the television show host. She looked like they always did, made-up and commercially attractive. "Wow. You've got that intense stare, even in real life. Hi!" She was really charming. "Hey." He said with a slight smile. "I'm in love with your new album -- can I just tell you that? It seriously is amazing." His smile widened. "Thanks. I like to hear that." He liked to hear all compliments. "You're pretty personable." She said. "That's not what you expected?" He asked, glancing away quickly in slight confusion. "Well, you just usually talk like a total nut job. You don't seem so strange in person." Nick grinned again, shrugging his shoulders through a slight laugh. "Glad I could meet your standards of normalcy." The girl laughed gently and leaned against his chair. Not missing a beat, Nikolas spoke again. "Hey." He was quiet. "Wanna go get something to drink? Somewhere else? It would be neat to get to know you." What a line. The girl grinned. "Sure." She said, hurriedly. The petite blonde took his hand and the two exited the party with little difficulty. The paparazzi didn't love him like some stars, but they followed him with some interest. He was a more approachable and understandable wacko with good looks, something some other washed-out stars never had. They were first mainstream and then outcasted. Nikolas Gray Bailyn had always been out there, but it was as if the mainstream was swimming over to meet him on the off-center. He was becoming more readily acceptable to everyone and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. In the meantime, he did what he loved, locking himself up and making music people dedicated their lives to. He liked that idea, people dedicating their lives to his. It was like he was the new Jesus -- but a particular British male import band had already made the mistake of making that comparison and Nikolas Bailyn decided to keep that one to himself. Just to be safe, of course.
( I used this as a first post for a super-fantastic rpg community that uses journals and what not. Anyway, it's just a basic sketch of him before he met the love of his life! Ha. )
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