Welcome to Gaia! ::

It had taken some doing, but Rob had finally been able to land a room at the Studios as practice space. He didn't care at this point that it wasn't soundproofed; he liked the cinderblock and cement acoustics better than the soundproofed rooms down in the basement. It was like playing on the streets or down in the BART tunnels, like he was used to back in San Francisco. He missed it, but he didn't -- he had a new life here, and new opportunities. A new reason for being.

His fingers moved effortlessly over the guitar's fretboard, idly playing one of his preferred English folk tunes as he allowed his mind to wander. He had so much to think about. He'd settled into his room in the Dionysus dorms and promptly celebrated with a bottle of wine from the amazing wine cooler, practiced with the greatsword enough that he wouldn't hurt himself should it come down to fighting, started working out in the Gym and decided he liked it (since he wasn't getting his exercise flailing out punk music any longer), and he'd talked with Max about what he wanted to accomplish here. That was a big one. He thought he wanted to put his band back together, but then he mentioned his love of beer and idle thoughts of brewing his own, and something pinged in his head. Somehow that just felt right, like it was what he was supposed to be doing.

Could he do it, though? Could he set himself apart enough from the thousands of other craft brewers out there to make a name for himself? Nevermind make something that was drinkable and tasty?

Rob was contemplating this when he finally noticed a head poking in through the open door out of the corner of his eye. Placing his palm on the strings of the guitar to stop them from ringing, he turned his attention to the doorway. "Hallo!" he smiled. "I'm sorry, am I disturbing you? I can close the door if you like…"

"No need to apologize, I was just noodlin' about." Rob studied the woman who stood in the doorway. Small but curvy, with huge blue eyes and a camera slung around her neck, she looked about as harmless as a kitten. "And thank you. I haven't had much time to play since I got here, what with training and all. Me fingers are a bit rusty from not playing every day, but I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Reaching down from the stool he was perched on, he picked up his beer bottle and took a sip which he swallowed with a surprised gulp as she spoke. "You recognized what I was playing? Heh, not many people back home would even recognize it. It was an old English tune, Sheep-Crook and Black Dog, though that's just one of the names it's known by. As is typical," he chuckled, happy to have the chance to prattle on about a subject near and dear to his heart, almost as dear as beer. "I reckon you'd know it if I sang it, and if you listened to Steeleye Span or the likes."

He took a bigger swig from the bottle, then gestured with it, waving her in with a smile. "Come on in, love, I won't bite. Me name's Rob, Robin really, Robin Attewood. Chosen of Dionysus." With a wry nod he raised his beer bottle as if toasting her. Or his deity.

"Pleasure's all mine, Tara," Rob grinned at her, taking another swig of beer before putting the bottle down. "I'm impressed you know the song! Yeah, I play -- used to play trad stuff all punked out like --" He banged out some chords and belted out the first line of the chorus in a punk snarl. "Here's me sheep-crook, and me black dog, Iiiii give 'em ta yooooou!" Palming the strings of the guitar again to still them, he laughed, brown eyes crinkling almost shut. "Yeah, that was what I did. Not anymore, though, I don't think. Not with all this going on."

His expression grew soft and pensive. "You woulda thought I'd be chosen by Apollo, right? My best friend from when I was a kid's here -- huge bloody surprise, that was -- and she's an Apollo-Chosen. Took piano lessons from me mum. She's a DJ now." He shook his head, dreadlocks flying. "No, Dionysus chose me. I guess he liked the fact I'm a bit of a beer snob." He snorted. "A bit. No, I'm a helluva beer snob. Max thinks I should go into brewing, and it's actually an idea I've toyed with in past. I dunno, though."

With a laugh, he shook his head again. "Listen to me, prattlin' on and s**t. Music's what drew you in here." He let fly a casual solo riff on the acoustic guitar. "Would you like to hear anything in particular, love?"

With a nod, Rob noodled around a bit on the guitar and thought about Tara's words. It did seem a shame to put away something he loved, something he was good at, that made people happy. He couldn't count all the faces of the people who'd stop to listen to him in the BART stations, listening and nodding along. Even if they ended up not putting anything in his guitar case, it was still gratifying to know his music had an impact on people, if just to brighten their day a little.

"Oh, I'll keep practicing," he agreed with a grin. "Can't keep me hands off my baby here." He patted the body of the guitar. Where all of this will lead? He had no idea. Maybe there was some way of combining brewing beer and music. Like a live music brewpub or something -- that would be a great way to combine the two. He could make beer and still play, and have other bands come and play too -- undiscovered bands, artists just getting started. Give others the chance to do what they love.

All kinds of music. But what kind of beer? Rob pondered her question. "Something unique, for sure. Something different. Something that people who say they don't like beer would enjoy." He thought about that beer he'd been given by Dionysus the night he'd been Chosen; heady, rich, fruity and sweet but not cloyingly so. Like a more full-bodied Belgian lambic mixed with mead, only more beer-like? "I'd like to try to find some old recipes for beer, you know? Like from the Middle Ages, or even older. It'd be a hunt for sure, but I think it would be worth it." With a laugh he picked up his beer. "I'd call it Nectar of the Gods," he grinned, taking a long drink and killing the bottle.

He started noodling on the guitar again, happy that Tara was indulging his mental ramblings. It was good to actually talk this stuff out; it was helping solidify things in his mind. "My favorite song, huh? Hmm. Well, Sheep-Crook is up there, but it ain't my favorite. I think that would have to be Boys of Bedlam. Or that's one of my favorites." He grinned at her and stilled the guitar's strings. "Would you like to hear my take on it?"