hugobhaer

[hugobhaer]

robinshore​:

The motions of it are second nature by now, repeated over and over again in the handful of months that the two of them have spent together. 

 She nudges the pack of cigarettes closer to him with her fingertips, then does the same with the silver lighter. Robin then settles back again lazily in the chair, not shying her form away when she feels his touch on her leg. 

 It’s grounding, comforting — even if it would be like pulling teeth to get her to admit it out loud, it brings a half smile to her lips that she manages to hide by taking another inhale from her cigarette. 

 “I think usually I’ve been the family drama,” she muses, self-aware. “Maybe that’s why it feels so jarring when it’s coming from someone else.” 

 Her eating disorder, the severity to which is reached, had taken up more than its fair share of air time for about three years. She’d always carried guilt about that. 

 “Who is the main culprit in your family?”

It is still a feeling he is getting used to. Hugo has always been nomadic, drifting from place to place, from person to person, leaving so light a footprint it was almost as if he was never there at all. Sure, he had friends all over the globe, and he still kept in contact with them, but his imprint on their lives was minimal at best. He liked it that way; there was such little responsibility, very few opportunities to hurt people in ways he never intended. 

If there was one thing he’d learned from his parents, it was that relationships – and people in particular – could be so very fragile. 

 At her words, he does not react; at least, not outwardly. It tugs at his heart, every time she makes those kinds of statements. And maybe, at least to some degree, it’s true. She had her issues, her struggles, and it very likely did cause her family worry, and probably kept them up at night on more than one occasion. But he hated how that hung on her shoulders. This girl who took no shit from anybody, was so incredibly hard on herself. 

 It was no wonder she needed some kind of escape from that life. 

“My mother.” The words tumbled from his lips before he could really even think about it. Maybe it was this moment of vulnerability between them, maybe it was his tiredness from being woken so unexpectedly from such a deep sleep. 

Hugo hated talking about his mother. He wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, not easy to offend in the least. But his mother was always an exception. Her selfishness had done a number on him, on all of his sisters, and most especially to his father. Most days, he liked to forget she even existed; which was easy to do, since she was out of his life significantly more often than she was in it. 

 There was part of him that wants to ask if this is the kind of drama that will take her back to California, but he is not ready to know the answer to that yet. So he settles for, “I bet I can guess who is the center of this particular act of the Shore Family Drama.”

[hugobhaer]

maggiehagann​:

–

“Probably.” Maggie agreed, lips pressed together as she laughed with the other. She had gotten her fair share of it but it would always be a place she would visit for a day or two, Maggie dreamt even too much for New York. “I mean I like to think not, I once sent my coffee girl and apology bouquet because she got my order wrong and I asked her to remake it but I felt that bad.” It had also taken her around two months to be brave enough to go back into the shop too. “Some adventure. Not much though so don’t get too excite, but I want to be an author, like a successful one and I want to catch a stranger reading my book in public, that’s when I know I’m someone.” 

Her confession earned her a hearty laugh from him. “And there you go, proving my point.” His whiskey was all but forgotten at this point as he leaned in closer to her. It always annoyed him, how people had such a tendency to give others their leftover attention, never really listening and having genuine conversation. “That’s a pretty hefty goal to being someone,” he said, eyes widened just a bit. “Have you started on your great American novel, then? How are you making it happen?”

[hugobhaer]

sebastianortiz​:

Sebastian hadn’t really expected company, but he definitely never minded, if there was one thing that he loved it was getting to know other people. “Mostly souvenirs I’ve picked up on my travels, you don’t really think too much on where you’re actually going to put it when you get home…” he commented with a laugh and roll of his eyes. There were, of course, a collection of tickets and other random shit he’d collected —- the exact stuff his mother kept telling him to scrapbook. “God knows,” he said then. “Any suggestions? Because all I keep getting told is scrapbooking and I’m not really the scrapbooking type, you know…?”

“Ah,” Hugo replied. Now that the other man mentioned it, he could see that now. It was a life of traveling, all on display, though not in any kind of organized order. He chuckled a bit, sitting in a nearby pool chair. “You certainly have quite the collection.” It was something Hugo himself had not been great at; in the moment, he preferred to live in the experience. But the human mind, and especially its memory, was so incredibly frail. It was one reason he’d initially picked up photography, an attempt to carry memories of his favorite places, never guessing one day it would land him an actual career. “Yeah, mate, wish I could be of help. Maybe you should, I dunno, start your own museum or something.” The joke was met with a small smile. “Guess that’s the one good thing about photos, they are quite mobile. Even though I keep having to buy more hard drive space. And I know, I know, I could invest in the cloud or whatever, but I have trust issues.” He directed his attention back to Sebastian’s things. “Are you sticking around for long, maybe hang stuff up, make it a shrine of your travels.” The endeavor would be fruitless for Hugo himself, who was a bit on a timeline of leaving the city. “I’m Hugo, by the way.”

[hugobhaer]

mcrganshore​:

status : closed

location : an art gallery in los angeles

tagging : @hugobhaer​

The Gallery was in full swing when Morgan had arrived, people gathering in front of paintings and sculptures, heads bowed close together as they whispered their critiques to each other. Beside each piece was a plaque with the title of the piece and the artist’s name, some had red dots stuck haphazardly to them, signifying that they had already sold. Waiters and waitresses drifted between the crowd, offering champagne flutes and trays of canapés.

Morgan collects a champagne flute from a passing waitress, thanking her before she could flitter away. Taking a sip of her champagne, she cast a curious glance around the gallery, searching for the photographer’s pieces that had attracted her to the venue in the first place —— Hugo Bhaer, German photographer and author of her favourite coffee table book.

She drifts towards a picture of a girl hunched over a piece of fabric, brows knitted together, tongue pressed between her lips in concentration as she’s captured stitching a piece of fabric by hand. It reminds Morgan of the countless times she’d walked into Robin’s bedroom at Bowie’s apartment, surrounded by pieces of fabric on her bedroom floor, cursing every time she pricked herself with the needle.

“I know art is supposed to be subjective,” said Morgan, tilting her head at the picture, “And it’s all about how the art makes you feel, but I’m guessing sympathy wasn’t what the photographer was trying to evoke here.” Pursing her lips together, she glanced at the person who had gathered around the picture. “What do you think? Because all I see is a girl who’s going to have a sore back in the morning.”

He supposed these networking events had helped him to come out of his shell a bit. Hugo had always been a textbook introvert, preferring to sit in a corner with his coffee and camera and simply observe. But in order to make it in a competitive industry and manage to make a living wage doing what he loved, he had to show up, meet new people, and be willing to talk about even the most mundane of topics. So far it had brought him a bit of success, as two of his pieces had already been sold. Perhaps L.A. wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

This particular piece had not initially been available for the gallery. It was in his portfolio and one of the curators had told him he had to include it. And, in some way, maybe it was a bit cathartic, to sell it instead of holding on to it – for what reason? Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have thousands just like it. Still, his heart skipped a beat every time he passed it.

Hugo chuckled at the blonde’s remark, forcing himself back to current time and reality. “I dunno, I think she was so very into what she was doing, she never even noticed the back pain. It’s passion, you know. Few people every really experience it. Doing what you love, that rush, it’s contagious.” His attempt at quelling the nostalgia was failing. “This particular one, she was my muse for a while.” He smiled, somewhat sad, taking a drink of his wine. “Any pieces here you do like?”

[hugobhaer]

do you miss anyone when you travel?

“Like, from home? I miss my sisters. On occasion, Papa. But I’ve been traveling so long, I guess I sort of stopped missing people the same way.”

[hugobhaer]

ronit-friedman​:

“That’s a good point,” Ronit said, head tilted and still staring at the painting. “Early modern Western art always has these grey cityscapes and then the rural scenes are all yellow cornfields and green meadows and turquoise brooks. That used to be so strange to me, you know? Where I’m from…the Middle East…artists paint such colorful paintings of their cities. If you believe Israeli painters, the Western Wall is made of gold, not stone!” She had to laugh at her own former childish naivety that had been surprised at this fact, before narrowing her eyes, playfully quizzical: “Let me guess….photographer? And coming here for inspiration?” That just came to show again that regularly attending the local art spaces was a good idea, no matter how much of an uphill battle starting anew in a new place had felt like. Ronit had to laugh at the idea that she was the painter: “No, I’m afraid not. I have no artistic talent myself, sadly! I deal in art. I have a store a few blocks down the street, so I always like to keep on top of what’s out there and what people are currently interested in buying.”

Her tone earned a chuckle from him; she was the first person he’d met in America so far with such a lively appreciation for art. Truth be told, it made him a bit nostalgic for home. “Ah, Israel. Spent a few weeks there several years ago. Beautiful place. And the artwork is exquisite.” Hugo nodded, adding a bit of a sheepish smile. “In the city for a collection project, actually. Still deciding if I think it was worth the move or not,” he teased. “Oh, a seller? I  imagine that is fun work. I don’t know that I could do it, though. I don’t have an eye for what’s on trend. Or so I’ve been told by-“ he paused. “an old friend. I just like what I like. I couldn’t do it for other people. Art is such an intimate experience. I commend you for it.”

[hugobhaer]

dante-gallagher​:

Dante was in her own bubble, seemingly not noticing anyone passing them, her face scrunched up in a frown as she listened to the person on the other end of the call intently and tried to scribble as many details as possible. She managed to look up from her notes and a small smile appeared on her face as Dante looked at the stranger who was now stuck holding her coffee, the blonde’s little nod of appreciation that the man didn’t start shouting at her or threw the coffee back in her face. Both very plausible things to happen in the sunny state.  Unfortunately it was gone as quickly as she heard yet another demand from the phone, the blonde’s eyes rolling as she inhaled slowly. 

Few more quick exchanges of words and the call was over, thankfully. “Well,” the blonde exhaled sharply putting the notebook back in her bag along with the phone, “That was fun” her lips twitch into a quick smile. “Thank you,” she took the coffee cup back and took a sip, even in the afternoon she needed the caffeine fix. “Oh that?” she chuckled “That’s a snippet of my life on a good day,” Dante joked, although it was partially true, the person on the phone, as annoying or demanding as he was at least wasn’t in a middle of a scandal that needed to be sorted out. “No emergency really, well at least not what I’d call emergency. Just a man in his fifties trying to get famous again on tik tok of all platforms.” she shrugged, a short snort coming out as she said the sentence out loud. Now that the conversation was over she could see the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“Anyway, thank you” Dante picked up and pointed at the coffee in her hands, safely guarded by Hugo not a minute ago. “You must be now in town, I don’t think any true Angelino would just take the coffee and hold it.” the blonde chuckled, “I owe you one coffee hold.” she said with a nod, “And name’s Dante, by the way” she extended a hand to shake, a bit official, but it was too late now to retreat the gesture.

It was almost impressive, the way she seemed to seamlessly handle whatever crisis the person on the other line seemed to be throwing her direction. Admittedly, he was somewhat curious about whatever was going on, but he held his tongue, and her coffee, surprised he was being such a willing participant. Typically, he did not have patience for such things. But it was a new city, and he trying to be nice, the necessity of making community and all that. He imagined it wouldn’t last long – and for her sake, he hoped it at least last until the end of her phone call.

He was thankful when she hung up the phone and took her coffee back. “Sounds like a shit show,” he answered truthfully, the look on his face bearing his true feelings about her position. The allure of fame always eluded Hugo; he never understood the draw of it. As much as he liked to discuss topics he deemed authentic and meaningful, he was not the type to share much about his life. He was incredibly private, and the notion of wanting every stranger on planet Earth to be privy to every aspect of your life? It sounded like the most terrible thing he could imagine. “They let people over fifty have tik tok?” he asked, joking, but that was not betrayed by his tone.

“That was the tip off? Usually it’s the accent.” He did manage a small smile, allowing his icy demeanor to crack just a bit. “I’ll hold ya to that, Dante. I’m Hugo, and yes, new in town. Not sure I’ve been missing out on much all these years, though.”

[hugobhaer]

mirellarusso​:

Mirella stared through the window of the quaint furniture store, lips pressed tightly together and brows creased. She was always on the hunt for furniture to hoard for staging purposes — and now for herself with her new home in mind. But there was a different vibe here, one that she was still trying to understand. “Did I miss a memo? The person that decided the faux-distressed look was a trend must have also thought that painting quotes like live laugh love on a plank of wood was a good idea.”

Though he prided himself on a minimalist lifestyle, it was time that he finally broke down and looked for a coffee table, a cheap one to go with the one couch in his apartment. He found himself scrunching his nose at the very cookie-cutter and, dare he say it, ugly designs. “It’s kinda pathetic, right? The distressed look should be reserved for things that are actually old and valuable not…whatever that is, I’m not even sure I can call it wood.”

[hugobhaer]

javi-navarro​:

starter for: anyone / @slchat​ where: ready player one

“I can’t believe it.” Oh, this is a sad one. The worst Tuesday of the worst month on the best machine this place owns. “Can you read that? Does that say BOS? As in boss? ‘Cus the high score of the Ninja Turtles game used to say JAV like Javi, and now it doesn’t.” He pauses. “…what title do I have if not the Ninja Turtles machine high-scorer?”

Arcades had never really been much of Hugo’s thing - mostly to blame was his god awful hand-eye coordination. But Ready Player One had an essential vibe, and one he planned to capture as part of his collection. He overheard Javi’s seeming conversation wit himself, and was unable to stop from intervening. He looked over the other man’s shoulder and answered plainly, “Looks like second highest scorer.”

[hugobhaer]

daveyscott​:

“so i have a dilemma…i want to get a tattoo but i’m absolutely fucking terrified of needles. any advice?”

@slchat​

“You could try the temporary kind? Won’t last more than a day or two, but the variety is endless.”

[hugobhaer]

[hugobhaer]

robinshore​:

Robin feels a twinge of guilt for waking him up – especially because she knows how much they both appreciate a good lie in after a long night out. It was practically a call back to the weekend that they had met, when they had spent an entire evening out together exploring Berlin only to fall into his bed as the sun rose and remaining there well into the next afternoon. 

 If she had overstayed her welcome, Hugo had never said so. 

 "I’ll add it to my list of accomplishments,“ she chuckles, running her free hand through her hair as she brings her cigarette back up to her lips and slowly inhale. She’s lounging back in her chair, one knee pulled up and the other bare foot on the floor of the balcony as she looks out over the rooftops for a moment, smoke escaping from her nostrils. 

 At his question, Robin shrugs a shoulder and then fixes her robe, reaching over for the ashtray and tapping her cigarette out. 

 "Do you ever have family dramas that suddenly, like, overtakes everything going on with everyone else?”

There is a light breeze, and it feels nice, a change from the humid bedroom. Even at this hour in the morning, the city is still alive, people walking through the streets, mostly sloshed out of their minds – not so much unlike the two of them had been when they finally turned in. Truth be told, his head was still kind of swimmy from all the alcohol.

Typically, Hugo was not much of a smoker. Even though he was European, it wasn’t a habit he picked up, except when he was drinking. But Robin always made it look so inviting, especially when shit was about to get real; it was almost like a bonding experience. Being somewhat still buzzed, it only made it all the more appealing.

The man snorts somewhat, in a way that says he understands all too well.

He sits down on the balcony at her feet, his back against the railing, taking a cigarette from her pack and lighting up himself. His hand rubs against her bare leg and he nods while he takes a drag.

“Unfortunately, I’ve been dragged into my fair share of it.”

[hugobhaer]

phedova​:

“Yeah? Where? If you don’t mind me asking.” Not all places are bad around the area, and Ophelia might not be a picky eater but when it comes to coffee – her expectations are high. Too bad her schedule didn’t always allow her to go to her favourite coffee shop while on her way to work. So settling with this was better than not having coffee at all. “Yeah, actually, the school’s just around the corner and since I work there…” the blonde explains, shrugging her shoulders. “Please, you need to toughen up. Their herbal tea is actually great, so maybe you could try that next time.” Phe exclaims. “Mm, yeah. In Boston actually. You?” 

“Some diner, edge of town, practically the desert. I was exploring late one night, stopped there to refuel. Huge mistake. I thought I’d learned my lesson with shit coffee. Clearly,” he said, gesturing to his plastic cup. “I have not.” His face soured a bit, but not too offensively. “Perhaps.” Finally, he grinned again. “Oh, yeah. Plenty. I make a pretty great one myself.” But he was intrigued. “Boston? Visiting, or from there?”

[hugobhaer]

rafecruz​:

“Yeah I’m pretty sure none of Italy had any say in this.” He said looking around the coffee shop. Rafe smiled. “ You should head over to the abandon house if you want to get some unique shots.” He suggested and then sighed. “ Just got to get the playlist sorted for this Sunday’s program and then organise the rota for the bands that are coming n on Friday… Thank got I have Saturday off.”

“I think that’s a fair assumption.” He should have just gone with a straight shot of espresso; it may still have tasted horrific, but at least the agony wouldn’t have been as long lived. “Oh yeah? Hmm, interesting, I’ll keep it in mind.” Hugo made an effort to finish most of his drink without wincing as he listened. “Sounds busy as hell, I don’t envy you. Work for radio, I take it?”

[hugobhaer]

hollybernex​:

Holly could definitely relate on that note. Milk was tolerable, they’d gotten used to customer service while working multiple jobs in New York, but a coffee shop they wouldn’t be able to cope with. People could get bitchy in the mornings, screaming and shouting about being late for work —- they definitely didn’t have time for that. “I get it,” they answered with a light chuckle, lifting their mug to their lips. When he reacted to their words, they nodded their head, mouth curling up into a small smile. “You’re not the only one, but I am always running around like a headless chicken.” They laughed. “Holly, nice to meet you, too.”

Suffering from a bit of self-awareness, Hugo managed a chuckle. “In case you haven’t noticed, patience is a virtue I could work on.” It was true; for the most part, he had friendliness and generosity in spades, but impatience was where his asshole tendencies were regularly highlighted. “I’d say you have a bit more grace than a headless chicken,” he teased. “I’ve been here three weeks and I’m only now meeting my neighbors. That feels odd for me. Anyone in the complex I should watch out for? Any advice for a newcomer?”

[hugobhaer]

sebastianortiz​:

The response wasn’t quite the one that Seb expected and he found himself cracking a smile, tearing himself away from the mess of stuff in front of him. “Not quite…” he answered with a chuckle. “Trying to figure out what to do with all this stuff now I’m not moving around. It’s long overdue.” Six months overdue. He knew he’d be able to store it over at his parents house in the long run if he needed to, the exact reason he kept his belongings to minimum, so he could just dump everything there if he did head out into the world again. Trust fund or not, he didn’t want to spend any of it on a storage container, it was just a waste in his opinion. “Can’t afford to be sentimental… yet here I am.” Struggling to let anything go.

The book in his hand was long-forgotten as Hugo took a seat in a pool chair near where Sebastian had carefully scattered the trinkets. “What is it?” he asked with genuine curiosity. Now that he was looking at it all better – and with a bit more insight – it looked like the guy could open his own museum. He wondered if Sebastian was a collector or an explorer, and it had piqued his interest. Hugo himself did not keep records of his travels; only his photos. Which, he supposed, were artifacts of his adventures in their own right. “What are you going to do with it all?”