Snippet #2618719

Don't let the conversation die... He shouted in his mind. Oliver despised awkward silences. Granted, maybe everyone else didn't think it was awkward, but he did and that was enough. But Farah had politely declined his offer and so he ran out of things to ask. He felt that they hadn't known each other long enough for him to ask more personal questions, while those he could ask might make her feel bombarded with questions. I think about these things too much. The big man said with a deep breath and a drag of the cigarette. Needless to say, he wanted to please everyone. "A healthy attitude." Oliver commented, throwing a smile in Farah's direction briefly.


A few minutes passed in silence as they finished their coffee and he finished his cigarette. Oliver put it out, stepped on it and then walked to the back of his car and fished his guitars out. Stepping back around it he looked at his band and nodded. "Let's go." Silently he prayed that everyone came with thoughts of their own and perhaps some ideas. It'd give them a place to start but also make it less dull. The whole creative process was the thing that interested him. That and the wild touring life.
He headed towards the door, fished his key for the studio out of the pocket and unlocked it - stepping around Farah - and opening the door. A long hall stretched out before him. "Second door on the right." He said out loud, mostly for Farah to hear. Oliver himself went down the hall and opened the first door on the left, entering the kitchen. Man's gotta eat, right? The guitars leaned against the door, he went the familiar way over to the coffee machine and did the usual thing. Fuel for the fire. Out of habit he checked the fridge and tilted his head, finding nothing of interest within. Slightly disappointed he returned to pick up the guitars and go to the studio itself.

"All these fucking keys." He muttered under his breath but eventually found the right one. When he stepped inside the scent was the first thing that struck him. It smelled like hot tube amps, old strings, beer and... People. Not sweat, just that scent in the air when there's been more people in one room than the fire marshall would allow. That kind of thing. Oliver proceeded to go straight for the window and open it. "And this will be home for a while." He said, smiling as he turned and looked around. They stood in the control room itself where the techs would sit and the talking would probably be done. The recording room itself was beyond the soundproofing double paned window (with space between for isolation), with the drums, amps, microphones and all the necessities of a quality studio.

"Coffee is brewing, don't worry. There's tea as well." The last part was again offered to Farah. Did she even like coffee? Or did she like tea? What did she like. Fuck. Well, she'll probably let him know at some point, in some way. Oliver sat down on a leather couch and leaned back, waiting for everyone to settle.