Story: The Band.

[wolven7]

Star walked into the club, late; they had said 7, precisely, and one of his bandmates couldn't keep it to himself, this time. Josh, the guitarist, exploded.

"Where the heck have you been?! We need to get this thing started, man, and it's not like we have unlimited time, here!"

Star took a long drag on his cigarette, and exhaled directly into Josh's face. "Funny," he smirked, "I thought that was exactly what we had. And fuck you: I'm only five minutes late, asshole. They're not even ready yet." He hooked his thumb at Jenna and Honda, the lead singers. " And who knows when the rest of them are going to get on the fucking ball."

"Whatever, man," sighed Josh. "And you're six minutes late, jerk." He walked over to the stage, and took three long gulps from his water bottle, as Star began his set up and level check.

Star looked at Josh and chuckled. "You better watch that shit, man; it'll kill ya." When he got no response, he asked "Where the fuck is Dove?" and without a word of reply there came from the darkened stage-back a crashing drum solo like glass and bricks on fire, alive and breaking. "Ah," he said, bowing to her, slightly. She said noting in reply, only a half-smile and a tip of the drum sticks. The bassist began tuning his bass, kicking the amps and the monitors, whenever they shorted, or squealed. The guitarist and the drummer only looked at him, the former with a scowl, the latter with that same smile.

To Star's relief, Jenna and Honda stopped fucking with the mic, and Honda cleared his throat, while she just stared and waited. They all knew what time it was, and they needed to get this show on the road. No one was going to want to listen to them, if they were still pulling this amateur hour bullshit, and Star had been saying it for weeks. No one listened, not until it was to fucking late, right?

"You never listen. I said we needed to be doing this shit, weeks ago. Always the last fucking minute, with you, isn't it?" No one said anything, they only stared, and waited for him to start. "Fine. Fuck it, let's go." And he started the bassline.

It was slow thrumming, at first, slow but steady, sucking the listener into the easy rythm of the thing, and then a growl: Too late, the realisation of a predatory nature. Menacing, inexorable crawl, now, across the room, with a jagged not right in the middle, like a half-hiccup, almost out of synch, but right where it was supposed to be. Deep in the dark.

And Josh's guitar came screaming over top of it, wild and free, and clear blue skies in musical form, wheedling, pleading, promising nothing but what it was.

And Dove broke into the drums, crashing through the bass and the screaming guitar like God and Satan crashing through the walls of reality into a playground fully of terrified children: Heavy, insistent, undeniable, unbelievable, unstoppable. Holy. She brought it down to a manageable pace, and steadied in with Star and Josh, weaving a house, and home for what came next; a place for the words to dwell.

And Jenna and Honda sang, together. Their voices flowing under and over each other, in and out of the drums' staccato, the thump-thump of the bassline heart, and the high screeching scream of the guitar, they were all together. The singers sang, and everything melded togther, fit into the jagged, bleeding, living whole. Josh's guitar flew higher, Star's bass pounded, demanded, hummed in the deepest part of everyone's mind, and Dove's drums gave the skittering, tangled clashing movement of a metal scarecrow falling down stairs. With Jenna and Honda's voices it was beautiful, complete.

As they came to the end of "Brush Fire," Josh skipped a note, and Star screamed "Fucking Cocksmoking DAMN IT!" And Josh said "Sorry, everybody, sorry. My bad." And Jenna and Honda said, in turn, "Star, calm down;" "Josh, it's okay." And together "We'll just take it from the top, in a bit. Take five"

Dove stood up and streched, then walked over to whisper something to Josh, patting him on the shoulder. She came over to Star and held out her hand, staring him directly in the eye, smirking at him. He smirked back, and tossed the pack of cigarettes at her, turning to watch her go out back to smoke.

Everyone waited and collected themselves, getting ready to go through it, again. Tonight was it. If they didn't get it right, here, they were fucked, and they all knew it. Star stared at the ceiling, waiting for what he knew was coming, and closed his eyes when he heard Jenna and Honda say

"Star? Can you check the light levels?"
©Damien Williams. All Rights Reserved

Music used for inspiration: Autechre - [Windwind]; Architect - [Pastgate]; Tom Waits - [Temptation]; Sin - [The Day I Killed Myself]; Apeboy - [Enya vs Prodigy (Lenlow Edit)]; The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets - [Chunk]; Android Lust - [Unbeliever]; A Perfect Circle - [Rose]; Tool - [Intension]

Comments

[unknownbinaries.livejournal.com]

Prrrrrrr. ExACTly.

Yes, you had to explain it, and it's still awesome. I love that he's the only one with a terrible pottymouth, and that he curses like you do. :P

[wolven.livejournal.com]

I figure I'll have to either explain it, or nod to explaining it (which is more what happened, when we talked about it), and I'm okay with that. I want it to be a good little slice, on its own, too.

And of course he does. :)