Snippet #2318575

Ted quirked his lips at Victor's response. Astonishing. He was out of practice? There had to be a catch. Jaco Pastorius wasn't a terrific bassist AND mentally stable. Ted had to admit he placed a slight emphasis on mental stability over musical prowess; after all, musicians grew in bands. He himself knew that; recording the first album had forced him to develop a lead style that would both contrast with Bey's and fit the genre. Admittedly reviews indicated that had backfired, but plenty of bands had had weak debuts and went on to great things. He'd learn. He'd improve. They all would. And unlike getting mental help, that would be relatively free of charge, and free of stress...well, not free of stress. Ted always pushed himself and others to stress in the pursuit of perfection. It may have driven Jackson away, it may have ended plenty of collaborations, and he probably should stop doing it...but he was too much of a perfectionist in the studio.

But he was getting off-topic. The point was, if Victor was a mad genius, he was probably getting the boot. He had to ask why he was in such an...unfortunate...condition, but he decided to wait for Charlotte's question to get answered. Though after a second, he realized the din seemed to be ending. He had half a mind to go in and check, but decided not to. Izzie was like a black mamba, he reminded himself. Don't cross her or you'll get bit, and if you get bit you're in deep shit. The analogy even had a half-assed rhyme to it. Probably why he remembered it.

He blinked and licked his lips. He needed to focus on the people at hand. And probably give a call to the manager, have a word about the atrocious soundproofing, not to mention the personal troubles.

Speaking of which...where had Bey gone?