poeticterms | (no subject)

"Very. And he's good at it. He skipped some stuff, though—he didn't use to smoke for a long time, and he still doesn't do it much."

The sound of the violin recedes as they enter this room. (Almost every wall in the house has some soundproofing.)

"Better than going through a pack a day, I guess."

Auggie was an occasional smoker when he was younger. Not any more -- not only does he have enough problems without adding cancer and emphysema to the mix, he doesn't want to fuck up his sense of smell.

"And he doesn't have fucked-up ideas about women and he doesn't do drugs. So, you know, basically he just kept the good parts. You wanna take a seat on the couch? Uh—right in front of you. Well, not quite. One o'clock."

Auggie grins, filing the information about Sherlock away.

"Hey, I didn't even have to tell you the clock-face directions. Thanks."

He finds the couch easily and sits. "So, the fabled sound system."

"You use those? Man, suddenly both our lives are so much easier."

He plops onto the couch at Auggie's side—in touching range, but not touching.

"Okay, fabled sound system is go. Jarvis, show off for us, pretty please?"

"Have you ever been to a shuttle launch?" Jarvis inquires. He could use the speakers to place his voice as though he were standing in the room, but he doesn't, preferring to use all of them equally and maintain the perception that he is everywhere.

Every room in this place must be wired with mics and speakers. He'll have to watch what he says.

You know, unlike any other place he spends a lot of time.

He laces his fingers behind his head and snorts. "God, I wish."

"Well then, allow me."

Jarvis goes quiet; a slow rumble starts up all around them.

Auggie closes his eyes -- old reflex. He can feel the vibrations from what must be some incredibly expensive subwoofers.

He takes them through it and it's like they're standing on the launch pad. When the shuttle lifts off, so does the sound—they're not standing on the launch pad at all; they're floating in the air a mile away, hearing it climb the sky in front of them and then fade slowly into the distance.

Once the room is silent again:

"Tony," Auggie announces, "I want to buy your house."

"Well, you can't have me," he says—primly, but with laughter in his voice.

"Well, I'll just take the subwoofers if I have to. Damn."

Tony laughs. "Now I know what to get you for your birthday. If you've got a room I can rip the walls out of to install the whole rig, anyway."

"Traditionally he buys people cars," Jarvis explains, "but in this case I am sure you can tell where the flaw lies in that plan."

Amused: "Buying me a car sounds like a flawless plan to me, I don't know what you're talking about."

"This is where, if I was a huge asshole, I'd say 'Catch' and then throw a pillow at your face."

"Ah, yes, the good clean wholesome entertainment of making fun of the blind guy."

"You started it. Also, I am not totally sure you couldn't catch it, I'm like two feet away and you've got better ears than Sherry."

"You can try it sometime when I'm not expecting it, but I warn you that I'll make you feel guilty about it forever."

"Since I am not a huge asshole, I'll pass."

Beat.

"Can't promise the same about Sherry, though. If he thought you could, he'd totally try it."

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, very dry, and changes the subject.

"So what brand of speakers are you using for this set-up? If I can't buy your house, I can at least get your advice?"

"JBL through and through. Have fun. The real trick is in the placement—you would not believe the amount of math I did to get them all where they are. Or maybe you would."

He laughs. "Oh, I would. I might let you do it for me, but I would believe you."

"Hey, anytime. I meant it about the birthday present."