17360/You Gotta Get that Vinyl

You Gotta Get that Vinyl
Date of Scene:	06 March 2024
Location:	Monkey Heaven Records
Synopsis:	Carol Danvers and Harper Row find they have a lot in common and go to discover just how similar their tastes are in the depths of their new favorite record store.
Cast of Characters:	Carol Danvers, Harper Row

---

Carol Danvers has posed:
    It's not every day an Avenger walks into a record store. But then, on those days where that Avenger is Carol Danvers, she does it undercover. Or at least, she does it dressed up in street clothes, and when most of your iconic looks involve flaring with energy, or thigh high boots and a sash, a comfortable denim jacket over a white ribbed tanktop and a pair of frayed and faded jeans that don't look like they got that way from the factory works pretty good for cover.

    And the sunglasses. Nothing so over the top as big blocky aviators, but they're also not sleek, modern style. All in all, Carol's just another tall blonde with her hair grown out somewhere between 'aggressively short' and 'waves that can pool at her shoulders'. It's one of those times where she's been trying to decide how she wants to carry herself, but trying NOT to think about it has carried her to one of the hidden gems in music in the tristate area, and now she's slowly flipping through record sleeves. Independent 80s British punk. But there's a fair chance she's been here awhile, and has just been working her way through the genres.

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper Row pushes in through the front door. The dingle-dangle of the well-battered bell isn't a pure clarion tone anymore, but it immediately tells the young Gothamite that this place has character in spades. She's come for the reputation, and she's come for the selection.

    "Oh yeah." she sniffs and tucks in her chin to peer about like she's casing the place. Some hard-wired training makes her seek out means of exit before she catches herself. An elastic-band snap at her wrist ready to manifest if she doesn't remember to check corners. Having fulfilled that, she allows herself to relax and peer about and stop blocking the entrance

    She's dressed down, not ready for a Punk show but casually anti-establishment. And it's laundry day, so while her blankets and pillows spin with suds, she's wearing a hoodie loose over a faded tee. Her shorts are part of her workout attire and rollerderby hijinx, showing a lot of skin before her socks slip into some athletic shoes. A vibrant blue adorns a slash along her cascading curtain of hair. Snack-chew-chomp-popping some bubblegum. She's going for a sporty vibe.

    She's also shamelessly here for another reason. There's more than one thing on display in places like this. Harper is a bit of a shark, and these types of waters carry the kind of fellow fish she wants to associate with. Or chase. Or show off in, with her annoying knowledge of some bands. She's terrible.

    Harper moves down the end of the aisles, the racks, eyes drifting innocently along the angular sleeves and covers. She spots a tall individual at the Brit-section and snoops closer to see what she's working her fingers and peepers over. Maybe she can impress with her pokedex of musical beasts..."Mmmmmm..."

Carol Danvers has posed:
    You would think being on call for alien invasions and dimensional breaches and... 'Doctor Doom is doing some bullshit' would mean any sudden noise would set an Avenger to an instant state of alert. But Carol was very very determined to not let her day job consume her life even more than her military service did.

    Which is why when the bell jingles and jangles, she picks it up over the background music playing on a speaker in a far off corner, providing just that level of 'They're technically playing music for the store, but clearly just for the cashier in the back' ambiance that a really struggling record store needs to drive home how People Are Shopping For Music Wrong These Days. Carol could dwell on how long ago she first heard people claim that, and how many of the bands in the 'Nostalgia' section are from after that. But no. No she's not going to do that. If she doesn't think about time, it doesn't count. What even is a birthday?

    Besides, while she wasn't on alert, the jingle of someone entering the store always draws attention from people already in the store. And Harper Row was dressed the part of vibrant young sporty punk, and that definitely grabs attention. And while Harper's hunting, prowling really, Carol's soon enough realizing that hunting zone's zeroing in.

    On her section? On the exact box she was flipping through? Oh. Oh boy. Carol's left hand lifts just enough to adjust her sunglasses, to draw them down a little so she can give one blatant sidelong peek over the rim as she grins lopsidedly, "Want to take a look? I'd say 'Maybe there's something new', but... that'd kinda defeat the purpose of the category, huh?"

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper tongues the side of her cheek until it bulges slightly, rolling around her gum while she was busy rolling through the rollodex of responses for potential new meets. Chomp. Yeah, abort that move. That's what her brain says, holding up an imaginary finger and wagging it gently. Listen to brain. That delay results in Harper needing to return a smile in response to the grin. She controls a slight muscle flinch and takes in a breath.

    "Yeah. Well...yeah!" she agrees, following that line of thinking. She even nods. She moves a little closer, friendly-like, peering over while using a free hand to pull away some dyed hair to get both corn-flour blue eyes on the racks. "Would it be lame if I said, I don't need new?" A pause. "Gawd I love stuff you can actually touch. Hasn't been digitally slap-chopped into a bitrate or whatever. I've got sickness, where when I pick up a record, I like to raise it up and see if it's got a wobble or it's as slim looking as the rings of Saturn. Not that the rings are...Actually, did you know the rings are really just..."

    Harper chews, frowning slightly and then eyeing Carol. She's very striking, and there's possibly familiar...

"I like record." she says through numb lips. "Records."

Carol Danvers has posed:
    Carol fights not to grin, smirk, not even to make a noise at Harper's tongue pushing at her cheek as she considers her approach. Because she doesn't want to scare the young woman off. Or tease her. Or make her blush. Well, maybe she wants to make her blush a little, but... no Carol, behave. Behave. But a little grin does slip through, just the briefest little warm flicker as Harper speaks up in response.

    And, really, the way she's teasing at her hair, those bright, arresting eyes? Well, jeeze. Carol could almost forget why she came here. Except, of course, she just stopped in to browse, so... this is like browsing, right? She clicks her tongue thoughtfully, "Well, there's something to be said about the classics. Cars, records, it's nice to have those real tactile things you can get to grips with and really feel." She lets out a low breath that might almost be a ghost of a laugh, "I mean, even planes kind of have that. Like, the old prop driven stuff is just... you really feel it. All the touch screens and augmented reality displays and stuff today just... doesn't grab onto you like you want, right?" Eyebrows perked questioningly.

    Because she's definitely asking this young woman about airplanes. Because she certainly expects her to have /opinions/ on piloting. And then Carol's grinning just a touch broader and giving a little nod. "Yeah. Me too. That's what's so great about a record shop like this. You can relax, and browse, and..." She trails off for a moment, "Well, you know, you realize if you run into someone else who likes the same tunes, you know you both like records."

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper reaches down to rest her palm on the rack, letting the worn surface take her weight and really make a nice indent into her flesh. The chipped paint and grain of the exposed wood helps. Feels somewhat sturdy and enough to support her dumb cock ass from keeling over. A little shifting of her hips to adopt this into her nonchalant pose. Her lips press tightly together and nods. They pry open to murmer, "Yeah, relaxed."

    Her nails scratch lightly along the rack without a true direction or intent. She's nodding again, like a member of the choir, and she clears her throat to show that she's paying attention and a really considerate smart person. "Exactly."

    Following up that really huge verbose statement, so full of detail and depth, she blinks and her brain scrambles for smart things and not the lyrics of ~Drive~ by the Cars and the earworms laying down highways in her skull. "Y'know I think I know what you mean. Birds of a feather or at least even...squawking at each other over when that Band or this Band peaked at which album. Still speaking the same language even if it's a bit of back and forth. These sorts of places should be shrines." And some of the people inside prophet and soothsayers.

    Harper thrusts her free hand forward after wiggling her fingers. "Harper. I would like to subscribe to your newsletter, flying lessons and a fan of driving fast with loud music."

Carol Danvers has posed:
    Carol does her best to peruse the records she was already flipping through, but like, she was really just getting away from the whole costumed adventure thing for the day. Save the spaceport one week, get to browse records the next. That was how it works. But now she's got Harper just like... calculating and angling and making her posture just so, and all Carol can do is lift an eyebrow slightly and look the young punk over with a crooked little grin and not a spoken word at least for a long moment.

    And then Harper's continuing on and Carol's just grinning wider, head bobbing slowly. "Yeah, exactly. Like, it's all about... the whole package. Just kinda... letting it all wash over you and erase all the BS and tension and trouble of the day and just... appreciate the music and your fellow disciples at the temple of..." She frowns just a little, "I mean... music? In general? I guess not everyone goes for something with driving bass and wicked guitars _all_ the time."

    And in an instant, Carol's taking that hand in hers, grip firm and confident, not too tight, but there's an unmistakable strength in slightly calloused fingers... less hard worked than most people think 'Punching robots' would call for, but she's also got a farmhouse she's constantly fixing up, and really, she usually wears gloves for the robot punching so they're more mildly work-worn than beaten up. One eye flicks in a little wink. "Carol. Sometimes pilot, occasional woodworker, music enthusiast. I don't think I've got a newsletter though, so I think I might need to just run through it with you face to face."

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper blurts out a genuine laugh. Just on the event horizon of a giggle-snort, flashing her teeth and returning the clasping of hands. She returns the pressure with warmth and a little competition to boot. Harper senses she can't really push that too far, and it's stupid to try, but she tries to show she's a spunky tough gal. Her M.O. would be to find a way to squeeze a shoulder while helping someone browse. Not this time. Her glance moves to Carol's shoulder and down to the bicep before looping back on up. Calculating or just appreciative, it's a moment that she hopes isn't as broadly plain as two Corps trying to out-squeeze each other. Her brain just keeps on truckin, scoping out imaginary and real phantom imps giggling at her flustered behaviour.

    "Real glad to meet you, Carol. That's quite a bunch of interests. Like, you'll have to let me pick your brain over those sometime. There's gaps I've got, nooks and cranies in my self-proclaimed library of smartsness..ess." She sighs and winces. "I do like to get my hands in the guts of stuff, but it's waaaaay geeky and electronic. Messy doesn't put me off and I like to take my time teasing out things. Upstairs is probably a real tangle of wires." she lightly taps her temples. "I do like to fly though, but I guess you'd call it mostly gliding."

    Harper half-inflates a watermelon flavoured bubbled in her upper palate and lightly pops it. "Face to face is better. Do they have a listening booth here?" A pregnant pause and toe-scufing. "If I wasn't tumbling my body pillow of a t-rex and polka dot bedsheets I'd invite you over to listen to some very solid bass lines and scorching axes. I mean. I could just throw a sheet over my mess if you can promise to have selective visual acuity." she laughs again, to suggest some of what she says is joking, but not specific. "Or!" Almost as good as a Seal. "Hey, if your finger tips are tired, we can grab something hot and sugary and I'll give you my top 10 faves, and then you, and we swap."

Carol Danvers has posed:
    Carol might just be used to people up close realizing that she is in fact, in one way of putting it, sculpted. And while she tends towards less brazen attire when she's not in costume, up close there really is no way to hide the sculpt of shoulders, the width of biceps, and while that squeeze of a hand shake was casual, there was a little glint in her eyes in the wake... right after Harper's eyes went on that little tour, just a glint and a little smirk, only growing just a bit more as she makes sure Harper's catching it.

    She laughs out softly, "Oh, any time. I mean, the piloting was... I was in the air force, I used to be a test pilot, but... well, you can really only crash so many experimental planes before you start to think maybe it's _you_, right?" She shrugs lightly, that's clearly a joke, but it's also true, she doesn't really have an active role in the air force now. Because god, juggling the League, the Avengers, and the Air Force? Even Carol would admit that's too much. She snorts softly and grins, "Any time. I mean, what kind of mentor would I be if I didn't let the eager youth pick my brain to increase their... smartnessness?" One eyebrow lifts high, archly, clearly certain Harper would agree it would be unthinkable for her not to let the younger woman pick her brain. She grins broadly at the mention of gliding, "Oh! Gliding can be fun too. I haven't been up in one in forever. I've got an in with a company outside Gotham, you know, if you want some lessons. ...For flying. I mean, you've probably got the gliding thing down, right?"

    Both eyebrows perk up as she hums out, "T-Rex, huh? ...Does it have adorable tiny arms and a giant cartoon face?" She narrows her eyes slightly, voice dropping to a thoughtful, low hiss, "Yeah. You strike me as the 'Adorable cartoon dinosaur' aesthetic type for sure." She clicks her tongue and looks around, "I mean, I'm sure they've got something, or there's all the storage space downstairs, but we might get lost there. Of course, if we do, we'll just have to go on from top tens to top twenties, right?"

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper shows little Tells as she listens. Oh look, she's actually trying to hide it of course. Punky Adorkable is dimpling at the corners of her mouth, the piercings in cheek standing out more strikingly. The floorboards of the struggling shop feel like there's a bit of a shift when she hears Carol's lower tones. "Trigger does have cute tiny arms, like little nubs, and eyes you can fall in love with." She definitely heard the word adorable, and she's going to see that Call, and raise it 20.

    "I can tell." Harper nods and gestures vaguely in a hocus-pocus there-you-are gesture. "I like to stay in shape, but I can tell, not that I've been blessed with X-ray vision." she snorts and swallows, lifting her chin and grinning tightly. "It would help though, then I'd be able to see down below. See if they've got stuff down there, like a booth." She nods more emphatically like she just thought of a new Law of Physics. "That means, we have to rule it out, in person. Face-to-face with the fact that there's either cool as fuck stuff downstairs for loyal patrons like us. And I'm totally going to support this place. So I think it's best if we go satisfy my...I mean our, curiosity. Or it'll tickle at my brain forever. That makes sense, right? I think I scoped a door near the back. Hey, either it's a place to powder noses or a flight of stairs we can...glide down?"

    "I take full responsibility, unless we get caught. Or it's a secret lab mixing up lime-green laughing gas."

Carol Danvers has posed:
    Carol quirks an eyebrow slightly, "I think that only happens in Gotham stores. It's why I usually plan trips there for weekends. You think you're about to find a great deal and then it's all 'Whoops! All Joker Gas' and you need decontamination and it's a whole thing." She heaves out a sigh, a sigh that's like... way past 'Random civilian who lives in the place where all the heroic stuff happens'. And then she's suddenly got an arm around Harper. Yep. That powerful bicep over one shoulder, across the back of the neck, her fingers lightly resting atop Harper's far arm as Carol's leaning in like she's about to share a secret.

    "Oh, x-ray vision's actually pretty rare. I mean, extended electromagnetic spectrum? Sure. Thermal vision? Lots of the gadget-y sorts can work that. X-Ray's pretty rare though... I mean, which is probably good. I'd be totally afraid I'd be accidentally triggering it like all the time."

    And with that casual announcement, Carol's in motion, and that arm across Harper's shoulders is intended to draw the younger woman along towards a simple door, unmarked, tacky 70s faux woodgrain, rattly brass nob. The store basement is clearly for the true music critics, because it's absolutely non-descript. But it opens easily at Carol's touch, so they're sure to find something on their journey into the labyrinth of musical appreciation.