There are times when Dave wishes that he had chosen some job that didn't involve quite as much physical work as this one. Then he remembers what he might have gone into, and he decides that he quite prefers theatre after all.

Of course, the fact that one of the lights shorted out is no one's fault, but it's still a pain in the neck (literally) to bring the lights down so that he can actually get to them and remove the shorted out light and put a new one in, and do all the rest of that annoying stuff involved when something like this happens.

He's standing on a step ladder, holding the swaying array still with one hand and trying to carefully lower the fixture to the top of the ladder--without dropping it, or falling--so that he can put up the replacement piece that is on the stage next to him.

His dark hair used to be curly, but he recently had it cut off... rather close, for certain... embarrassing reasons. His shirt was a somewhat paint spattered old black thing, which matched his equally paint splattered jeans--lights and sound tech in name, jack of all trades in reality, which included painting sets--and he was muttering curses at the frustrating equipment.

Tech work seems to involve at least as much frustration as acting.

Keye doesn't exactly look like salvation with his tousled hair and his sunglasses, but at least he's wearing traditional techie black. Having discovered that the show wasn't open, he'd...well, he'd come in anyway. Nothing kicked out the blues like a little tech work, after all.
"Hand that down to me."
He sees a precarious situation and jumps in, not bothering with introductions.

"Thank you. Idiots can't be bothered to get their lazy asses up here to help me. Leave me to do all the work." Obviously, he is ranting about his coworkers. He's also handing the light down to Keye with a smile of relief. After a measuring glance, then an almost shrug.

He was probably going to drop it anyway, so if this kid dropped it... he wasn't to blame.

Keye might notice a vague familiarity in Dave's features--when they're out from behind the lights--but not enough of one to tell just who Dave is related to.

"Hand the other one up, would you?"

He handles it expertly (well, as expertly as you can handle a heavy light, anyway), putting it down carefully on the floor. Then he just obeys orders; it isn't hard, being a worker-ant techie.
"Here...take it." he holds up the new light.

"Nice," is the one word comment, after which Dave is completely engrossed in hooking up the new light properly, so that it will hang but not fall off, and all that other interesting stuff.

When he's satisfied, he plugs it in and backs down the ladder with a smile.

"So, what's your name, lifesaver? I'm Dave."

"Keye." He replies with a grin of his own. "Tomlinson." he adds, as an afterthought. He's not sure why, but he gets the feeling that Dave might want to address him by his surname.
Like Alexander.

"Nice to meetcha, Keye." His voice is closer to tenor than Alexander's baritone. He extends a hand.

"So, feel like helping me with some more of this shit?" The voice is different, but some of his inflections are similar to his (distant) cousin's. The vocabulary, though, is totally his own.

((*blink* Dave has a dirty mouth. Wonderful. -.-))

"Definitely. And five bucks for dinner at the end of the day would be greatly appreciated. But I'm not chargint, I'm just hungry. So whatcha want me to do?"

"'Nother one of these things shorted out, up on the catwalk. I've got to get all this stuff fixed before the rehearsal tonight, and everybody else is either sick, out of town, or just didn't show today. Seems to be happening a lot lately. 's bloody irritating."

He jerked his head towards the many, many lights up in the ceiling of the theatre.

"Hope you're not afraid of heights, Keye-the-lifesaver. Also, dinner's definitely on me."

"If I was afraid of heights, I'd never leave my bed. Just tell me what number to take down, and I'll go get it."
Funny, isn't it, how Dave's actual technicians aren't this helpful?

"Number fourteen, over there on the left. Watch your head when you get up there; there's a whole crapload of pipes and shit."

If Keye decided he wanted a job, and Dave had the hiring power, Keye would be snapped up so fast that he would be dizzy. Unfortunately, Dave was only a tech, not anyone in a position of authority.

"I'll get the replacement."

He's gone in a second (with a brief delay during which Keye gets a little lost and can't find the ladder).
However, once he's up there, it takes him a while.
It's not that he's afraid of heights. It's not even that he's afraid of falling. What he's afraid of is wanting to fall, of suddenly not being able to resist the urge to jump. So he edges along, white as a sheet and trembling.
He regains all his confidence once back on the ground with the burned out light (having already installed its replacement).

"Damn, Keye, where did you come from and are there more like you back there? I could use 'em around, 'stead of the lazy idiots I've got now." The inflections there were almost eerily similar to those of Alexander, in his little 'you've got potential, Keye' speech.

Of course, Dave had no idea that he sounded like his freshman English professor, nor did he have any idea about Keye's fears--he'd assumed that the extra time it had taken had been because Keye wasn't familiar with the theatre.

"I've got about an hour before the people start showing up for rehearsal; what say we go grab something?"

"Of course there are more like me back there. Better, even. Broadway, man, Broadway."
He chuckles.
"'course, I didn't work on Broadway m'self...yeah. Yeah, eating is good."

"Broadway, huh? You think I could steal anybody off crew on Broadway? Not on your life. It's a nice dream, but there's no way it'll happen. Guess I'll have to be happy with you, eh?"

Dave was nothing if not practical, and holding out for a hope of a Broadway trained addition to his crew was not practical.

"Where d'you wanna go? My treat."

"No, I didn't think that. But you asked."

Uh-oh. Keye got asked a question of his preference. Remember, in his mind, he isn't worth enough to have preferences.
"I-I-I..." he stammers, flushing "I d-d-don't c-care."

"Sure you do. There's gotta be somewhere that you like better than other places. Or even just somewhere you like."

Dave is of the school of thought that considers everyone--or most everyone. There are a few people that he wouldn't mind seeing vanish off the face of the earth--to be equal and all that.

That doesn't mean he is without prejudices, of course. He doesn't like lazy people, for instance. Or stupid ones.

He clamped his teeth shut, shaking his head violently.
"Hm-mm."
A decisive shrug. Not just 'I don't know' but 'I really really don't know.'

Dave doesn't precisely know how to respond to that.

"Um... 'kay. How 'bout Monroe's, then?"

It's not a bad place, and Dave really doesn't feel like fast food--he gets enough of that when the show is actually running. Rehearsals are a little more relaxed.

Nodding rapidly, he forces his jaw to unclench.
"Y-yeah. That sounds f-f-fine."
Keye's voice is full of relief, rather disproportionate to the situation at hand.

"Hey, buck up, kid." Yes, those are almost the exact same words that Alexander said to Keye the other day, and they're delivered in almost the exact same tone with almost the exact same inflection.

Dave's more like his cousin than knows. Or would admit, if he actually knew that he was related to his freshman English professor.

Who he hated.

All of Keye's distress is completely swallowed by surprise.
He's staring at Dave with his jaw hanging open.
That was weird. That was way, way, way too like...
"Your last name wouldn't happen to be Barclay, would it?"

"Hell no. It's Tuckey. Why?"

The only Barclay he knows is Dr. Barclay, who he is nothing like, thank you very much. He had him for one semester, and that was more than enough. Dave, you see, never inspired the sort of parental feelings in Alexander that Keye does.

Anything but, actually. Alexander never did like being interrupted.

Sheesh, why so vehement? Keye doesn't think Alexander's such a bad guy.

"Well eh. A...well he teaches uni. Dr. Barclay. Said almost the same thing. You sounded just like him...I thought you were him, for a second. It was creepy."

Perhaps the more pressing question should be why the hell Alexander would use a phrase even remotely similar to 'buck up, kid.'

"Well... had him for freshman English, but... wait a sec. He said buck up to you? Damn he must like you. That's better than the kids that he liked in my class." Dave's impressed.

He didn't know it was possible to get Alexander to like anyone, much less one of his students.

Well...Keye's not one of his students (yet). Maybe that has something to do with it.

"Like me...?"
It's painfully obvious that Keye admires--no, idolizes--the man. Adores him to boot.
"Nah, I never got the impression that he particularly liked me."
But he's pleased all the same.

Technically, Keye's a student. Granted, he's not one of the students in his English class, but he is a student of Alexander's.

"He used slang. That guy never uses slang. Always used to get on my case. 'Language, Tuckey. Grammar, Tuckey. What was that, Tuckey?'" He shook his head. "Nobody ever got him to say anything that couldn't've come right out of the English books. Either he likes you, or he had a personality transplant."

"He still said all that stuff. About the language and the grammar. And by the way, your imitation is way uncanny."

Yes, Alexander used slang. He also cursed. He also called Keye son.
But Key has decided that that information is, for the moment, private.

"I did it back in school too..." He grinned reminiscently. "He caught me once and gave me this Look like he'd caught me desecrating the Sistine Chapel or something. I think it made him grade me harder on the next test, though. That wasn't so fun."

He shrugged, dismissing his imitation of Alexander as simply that, an imitation, and beckoned Keye to follow him.

"C'mon. I dunno 'bout you, but I'm starving."

"That might be good to remember, if I actually get to go to uni. Yeah, food."
He hardly takes a step before he halts, swaying. Suddenly, his knees buckle, and he slumps to the floor. His face is ghastly pale, his eyes closed. His hands are twitching slightly.

"Holy shit!" This is not a situation with which Dave has experience. He doesn't know if he's supposed to move Keye, or leave him there, or what...

Wait. Isn't there something about 'if the face is pale, raise the tail'? Keye's face is most definitely pale. So... Dave grabs a chair from offstage and puts Keye's feet up on it.

Is that going to do anything? Should he maybe call someone?

Keye is struggling towards consciousness. His eyes move under closed lids, and sentient thought is slowly returning to his mind.
I'm so tired.
I haven't slept in...haven't slept...in almost...
But he never really gets a chance to resurface, to tell Dave about how long it's been since he last slept.
His prone body changes. A pair of velvety red feline ears sprout in his hair, which also turns deep red, becoming smoother, and an entirely different length. His skin becomes a sort of translucent pink, the color of water with a little blood mixed in; it looks as if he might have fur. His nails grow long and sharp. Even his clothing changes, becoming something like a leisure suit from the 1970's, only infinitely thinner in material, and infinitely tighter. This too is red. Also, he sprouts a tail.
Smiling, the not-Keye-thing sits up, a soft purr rising in its throat.

"Holy shit!" This is the part where Dave backs away quickly, brown eyes wide in something close to terror. I say something close to terror because at least half of Dave's brain is insisting that this is completely and totally impossible. The other half is gibbering.

This is also the part where Dave wonders if maybe he would have been better off leaving Keye to lie. Or maybe just not talking to the kid at all. Yeah. That was probably the smartest thing to do.

Too bad he hadn't done it.

It would probably be a good idea to hit him or something. That usually knocks Keye back into possession of his own mind.

The...thing stares at Dave in an intensely alarming manner that suggests that it's either going to eat him alive or rape him. It's smiling.
"Well hello there."
Not Keye's voice at all.

Under normal circumstances, rape doesn't sound like an appealing option. Under these circumstances, it might be preferable...

"What the hell are you? Where's Keye?"

Dave, it might be a better idea to run, instead of question the thing. Probably that would only make it want to chase you, but at least you'd have a slightly better chance of getting away.

It can't go faster than a motorcycle, can it?

"Keye? He's here. Somewhere." the thing tapped the side of its head, the grin widening.
"Crying."

No, it can't run faster than a motorcycle.
But flying is a whole different ball game.

"Holy shit." Dave seems to be at a lost for exclamations, and this one's delivered in a blank tone that suggests that if he lets any emotion at all leak, he's going to fly to pieces.

Of course, who's to blame him?

A few quick steps away. Maybe he can outrun the thing? Or lock it out of the dressing room or something...?

The thing is still sitting on the floor as Dave starts to move away.
Still sitting...
Still sitting...

And then its claws are pressed into Dave's neck, and it's laughing.

Maybe it could run faster than a motorcycle.

"Urk."

Dave would go limp, but he's afraid of what that will do to his neck, what with the claws and such, so he simply goes very, very still. If the thing still feeds on negative emotions when it's out here, it's getting a three course dinner.

Fear, anger, and worry.

The worry's for Keye, oddly enough.

"Wh-what do you want?"

"I haven't decided yet. But don't worry, I won't kill you."
The way it says that makes death seem the best option by far.

And somewhere far away...
Stop that. Don't you dare hurt him. He...he was nice to me. Don't hurt him.
"You should hear him, begging for your life...silly creatures, all of you."
But Keye had had an idea.
Go away, or I'll kill myself. I'll go far away, alone, where there's no one around for you to take after I'm dead. You can't survive without a host yet, can you?
A rather regretful sigh.
"Well...I suppose we'll have to finish our little game later, David."

The body collapses again, turning back into Keye slowly. He curled into the fetal position and whimpered softly into his hand, his eyes shut tight.