Fly Robin Fly

Title: Fly Robin Fly (from a song on the BoP soundtrack which I've grown very fond of.)
Author: Ima Pseudonym
Rating: Right now, it's very tame.. But I'm testing it here.. Watching the response it gets to see how I should continue, before I post it to LJ.
Disclaimer: Breakfast on Pluto belongs to Patrick McCabe, and Sony Classical Films. Velvet Goldmine belongs to.. uh.. Miramax, I think..
Notes: Hopefully, those of you reading this are familiar with Velvet Goldmine.. I'd assume that, anyway. It helps if you're also familiar with Breakfast on Pluto, but I'd like to imagine it could be enjoyed even if you weren't familiar with it.
Alright, the idea to mix these two together came from an LJ community I'm a member of. I was ashamed I hadn't thought of it, already, as it fits so well. Kitten went to London, around the time of Glam Rock.. And Velvet Goldmine is all about Glam Rock (or glitter, as they call it in the movie).
This is from Curt's POV.

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Fucking Jerry...

Curt flicked his cigarette butt at a trashcan, hugging himself in the chilly London weather.

"And Fucking England for that matter.. Isn't it ever dry here?" He was in a particularly foul mood, today. Brian's bastard of a manager had insisted he 'clean up his shit' and all but ordered him to go take some time and clear his mind. Brian hadn't been any help. The man was a complete tool. And more than once, Curt had suspected that he, himself, was just a publicity stunt. Brought here to shock the world into paying attention..

The rest of the time, he knew.

The real question was, did Brian know? Was he putting on an act, too?

At any rate, he'd taken Jerry's advice to get out and 'clear his mind'. It had started with a few well-placed swear words, and ended with him storming outside, without a coat.

But be damned if he was going to head back now.. Let them worry a little about their meal ticket. Let them all fucking worry.

London was a depressing city at dusk. Especially when it was beginning to drizzle. Everything was soggy and dirty.. Just ugly. And everywhere he walked, girls (and boys) dressed in sparkling outfits giggled, too shy to approach.. but not to follow. He was in 'no' mood to be stalked at the moment, so he picked up the pace, thankful that he had the advantage of trainers, whereas their platform boots made quick travel damn near impossible.

Eventually, he lost the groupies down one of the back alleys of the endless city. Once he couldn't hear their uneven steps any longer, he paused to light a cigarette, taking a deep drag. And then he continued meandering, following the sounds of a not so busy street. Bizarrely silhouetted people passed by, in pairs, ignoring him for all the world, and somehow that depressed him.. No matter the fact that he'd just done his best to lose any potential human contact.

When he made it to the street, Curt took one last drag from his cigarette, savoring the taste of procrastination, and dropped it to the wet pavement, not bothering to step on it. 'Let it burn itself out..'

"Looking for company?" Despite the sudden intake of breath, Curt's surprise didn't show as he turned to face the half-obsurred person behind him. It was either a strange woman.. or a pretty boy. The clothing indicated the former.. but the voice (no matter the higher, soft pitch) was certainly male.

"Not company for pay." He said, biting his tongue. That had been rude.

"Well, I never said I was.. 'selling'." Curt felt his cheeks flush.

"I'm sorry.. I just assumed, what with the neighborhood.. and the way you're dressed-" he was beyond mortified now, forgetting his own misery, to make room for embarrassment. "Not to say you're dressed like one! That is, a-" To his infinite relief the other person just laughed, a very pleasant sound... Wholly un-offended, or so it seemed.

"No, I 'am' a call girl. But you just seemed like you needed someone to talk to.. Customers usually drive up, anyway.." He caught the Irish lilt, in the voice, and struggled to make out more of the boy's appearance. It was too dark, however.

"Um.. Right.. Listen, man-" and he stopped, letting out a mortified huff of laughter. Gods, what was wrong with him tonight.

"I mean.. Miss.. I'm sorry, again. If that offer still stands.. How about we get a cup of coffee, or something? My treat."

'She' seemed to take her time deciding, but then she smiled (lovely, even in the shadows) and nodded.

"That sounds alright. I'm Kitten, by the way.. Kitten Braden." Curt felt one eyebrow arch, curiously, at the name.. but managed to keep from saying something he'd regret.

"Curt Wild. Do you know any decent diners, around here?" He thought, for a moment, that the other had squeaked. Actually squeaked.. But Kitten seemed well-enough composed when she answered.. except for a very faint strain to her voice.

"Yes.. Just down the street.. this way.."

****

If anyone at the diner was familiar with Curt.. or the strange creature sitting across from him, they didn't show it. Either rocks stars, and prostitutes (according to Brian, there really wasn't a difference between the two) frequented this dumpy little place, or (and what seemed more likely) no one cared. Against his will, Curt's thoughts drifted back to Mr. Demon, himself. Was Brian concerned about him? He'd been gone quite a while now... Would he be sitting up, wondering... No, probably not.. He was either sleeping like the dead... or in the midst of a wild fangirl orgy.

Curt managed to come back to the present, when a warm hand rested gently on his. He realized he'd been stirring his coffee a little too aggressively.. and a good deal had splashed onto the formica.

"I can't see how they don't miss you.." the boy said so quietly that it took a moment to sink in. He couldn't help the look of surprise on his face.

"What?"

"The person you're thinking about.." This was strange... He cleared his throat, shaking excess coffee off of his hands, and reaching for a cigarette.

"Why would you think I'm thinking about hi- someone." Kitten only smiled, softly, looking impossibly young. Then there was the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, and the threadbare patches on his pants, that spoke a different story, and would damn near have broken Curt's heart if he'd let it.

"When you're in my business.. you can just tell when someone's spoken for.. Most of the time, you know better than the clients, themselves. They may be looking for something 'I' can give them.. for pay.." he added, wryly. "But none of them are really looking for 'me'." Pity rose up again for Kitten, but Curt squashed it down, once more. The words rang all too true, though. Far too true..

"Yeah.. I guess so." he finally muttered, taking another long drag of his cigarette.

"I know who you are, obviously.." Kitten said, suddenly, as though the situation called for that declaration. He drew his gaze from the puddle of coffee, up to the boy. God.. those eyes. It was a shame this kid made his living in the dark, where no one could see them well.

"I'm not really surprised. There's hardly a person on this whole fucking island who doesn't recognize me." It sounded, suspiciously, like griping. And even more suspiciously, like ingratitude.

"It must be nice, though.. To know that so many people admire you. They love what you do, and it makes them happy. How could there be a better feeling?" but Kitten's earlier words came back to mind. None of them are really looking for 'me'. If not him, it would have been someone else.

"Yeah.. It's fucking tops.." he muttered around a fresh cigarette, struggling with his lighter.

"There must be something you like about being a star?" Kitten wheedled, and Curt paused a moment, forgetting to exhale, as the boy tilted his head just right. Curly brown hair brushing an almost bony shoulder. It wasn't the most obvious (or subtle) form of flirtation that had been used against him.. But it was certainly memorable. The kid really was gorgeous.

A few seconds later, he realized he hadn't responded, and frantically searched for an answer, blurting out his first thought, in a puff of smoke.

"Well the sex is great." There was a soft 'Plop!Hiss!' as his cigarette fell from slack lips into his forgotten cup of coffee. What was it about this boy that made him say stupid things?

"Oh.. I suppose there go my chances?" Kitten laughed, voice seeming just slightly higher, in pitch, than it had been, before.

Bad idea.. very bad... Curt thought before an idea had actually formed.

TBC..

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Please review, so I can get over the brick wall I hit, and keep going with this.