Making The Band

[Lucien]

(Closed)

The brightly lit room was the most chipper environment Lucien could say he had ever entered on Althanas. The mid afternoon sun didn't just pour in, it raged through the camp suite like a river, blinding all the nervous inhabitants. They sat in plush blue velvet chairs that were rank with the smell of perfumes of the long forgotten, affluent guests that had sat there once. From the finely kept carpets, to the varnished oak doors that matched the doors perfectly; even down the potted plants with green and white leaves, everything seemed so out of place compared to the rest of the backwater world of dragons and warriors.

Through the pane glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, Lucien had a full and unobstructed view of Radasanth; every cottage and every temple, and even the Citadel itself. The boy would've gotten up and stared at the awe inspiring site, if not for the man who stood in the center of all the chairs, speaking to everyone in the room.

He had a glass of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other. When he wasn't flicking ashes carelessly around the room, his thick British accent pervaded throughout the room in its cockney, guttural tone.

"So what'a'ya think?" he chimed, his auburn, straw-like hair clinging to his forehead. He slammed the glass down in excitement, wiped a few ashes off his discolored gray suit, and eagerly pointed to everyone in the room. "Christian Goldstein can make star outta' each one of you!" He stopped for a moment, noticeably out of breath.

Lucien's high school mentality kicked in as he reluctantly raised his hand, only to shout out his question a moment later. "I'm not entirely sure what you're suggesting, Mr. Goldstein," he said with a smile. "Heh, an English Jew." "Are you really a band manager from Earth?"

[Bohemia]

One of the blue velvet chairs was wreathed in a sickeningly thick fog of cigarette smoke and hangover daze, it's occupant sprawled carelessly over it, one leg tossed over an arm, the other stretched out on the floor, head hanging over the other arm, and his own arm thrown over his face, blocking out the rotten god damn sunshine and the sight of more people he hated. The world was fuill of them for Jonathon King, who stirred only every so often to take a drag off a bent cigarette and then drop it back into the glass ashtray settled on his doughy stomach. The paunch sagged unseemly over the waistband of his pants, but seemed to vanish when he rose; skinny when standing, Buddha when seated. His arm, still clad in the leather jacket he'd been found sleeping under that morning, rose out of the cloud.

"I don't care," he muttered thickly, giving a rude gesture he'd learned a few months prior. The arm collapsed a second later, cutting a swath through the smoke, and briefly, anyone who cared to could see the vagrant clamp his arm tighter around his face and turn it into the back of the chair.

'Goldstein...christ, a jew. Here in this god forsaken fucking land. As if it couldn't get any worse, now I've got this...thing poking his giant nose around. It gets worse by the day. Retards prancing down the street in armor polished so bright it blinds, and the jackasses cheer them on. Or some queer half angel, half demon stinking up the dark corner of the bar with his angst. Why did I ever want to be some half cocked hero?' Grunting, Jon sat up, spilling the ashtray onto the floor, making a terrible, large stain as he ground it into the impeccably clean carpet with his foot, digging through his jacket with squinted eyes.

"Roight, roight, you got that one, love! Yanked through a portal with all my equipment I was, an' fig'red it was better'n nought that I jus' contin'ya business as was, amIright?" The slick manager talked fast, making hand motions that seemed natural and fluent, but all Jon could hear was his voice, a constant buzzing drill bearing down on his patience. As his hands fumbled through his cluttered pockets, the voice just droned on and on, until he could swear he could hear the nasal drone...

"Shut up! Shut the hell up!" Jon leapt to his feet and slammed his foot into the chair he'd been sitting in, arms twisted over his chest and his hands continued their fruitless search. The chair crash to the floor and the vagrant climbed over in a clumsy display, finally raising both arms over his head in triumph, donning a pair of dark sunglasses. Blinking, his bloodshot eyes blearily focused, his left hand raising to his face to pluck a malformed cigarette free from the crumpled pack.

"I can't stand the fucking sunlight, I can't stand the sound of your bullshit. It's driving me insane. There's blood vessels breaking in my dry rotted brain from the god damn noise and the light." A flame sparked in his hand, dancing at the tip of the cigarette, and as he blew a plume of smoke from his cracked, chapped lips, the smell was anything but burning tobacco. It spoke of vapid eyes, hanging jaws, and rampant hunger.

"Okay. I'll join up, but you gotta give me your bag of jew-gold first. I know you have it and...uh." Jon stopped, the joint hanging from his lips as he stared over Goldstein's shoulder. After a few moments, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, wow, hey, wow. This room...I'm hungry, man." Collapsing against the overturned chair, Jon draped over the bottom of it, his head and arms hanging down to the floor.

[Breaker]

Strong sunlight warmed my skin, generating a pleasant tingling. Everything about the room promoted a chipper and cheery feeling. And expensive.

"They probably rent this place out by the hour, and I'd hate to see the bill. Probably twice what I paid for a week's stay at my inn."

I couldn't completely call down the Cockney for pouring on the sauce. He clearly knew how to get a group interested. Demonstrating wealth evoked interest from even the most miserly folk. Personally, I have little use for riches, but despite that, Goldstein had me hooked. No one I knew could turn down the idea of stardom. I had experienced a little fame in Scara Brae as a very successful warrior at Dajas Pagoda. Most people were a lot friendlier to a celebrity than some poor wayfaring stranger.

The young man sprawled in the chair to my right agreed first, his voice creeping through the fog of cigarette smoke. Long and lanky, he had a few inches on me height wise but lacked muscular definition. Despite the acrid stench of cigarettes I could smell booze on him, and wondered if he was drunk or just an asshole. He struck me as the kind of man that would get on my nerves most of the time, but become a close companion as soon as I drank enough. "The bastard'll keep things interesting at least," I thought as he collapsed, apparently unconscious.

"What the hell, Goldstein, I'll give it a whirl." Nodding in a friendly manner towards the British fellow, I leaned down and retrieved the still-burning joint from my new companion's lips. Before snubbing it in the palm of my hand I took a quick drag, holding the smoke in my lungs then exhaling straight upwards. Making a broad sweeping gesture at the luxurious room, I continued;
"Considering the quality of these digs, you must have a few tricks up your sleeve."[/i]

Goldstein inclined his head gratefully in my direction. I returned the gesture, feeling the muscles in my cheeks beginning to spasm. They tugged gently, forcing my normally stoic expression into a small grin.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to be in a band."

[Seth_Rahl]

Ifrit watched his future companions with wary eyes. One was a boy that seemed awed by the spectacle around him, by the gorgeous view this room got. One was a supposed drunkard, or if Ifrit had known what marijuana was he would've guessed the man with the blood shot eyes who agreed first was on it or something. To the left of Ifrit was the first sane person Ifrit had met here: a tall human, or how he appeared to be.

The man sitting in the middle of all this mess only grinned at the bloodshot-eyed man with amusement and a familiar grin. Ifrit guessed that this spectacle wasn't new to the man. He had a strange accent and weird clothing, but that wasn't altogether strange on a place like Althanas, which Ifrit guessed served as a "rest stop" between the different worlds.

At first, when the man had approached the demon after a lost citadel battle, Ifrit was in such a bad mood that he almost swung at the man. However, he was then rendered speechless when the man pulled out a musical instrument the likes of Ifrit had never seen before. Without hesitation the man had offered the devil what he called the gi-tar and told him to strum the strings on the instrument. Ifrit did as he was told, expecting it to sound like a banjo or something, only to be shocked to the very core of his soul when a loud, electric sound rang from the instrument, and Ifrit had gasped in surprise. Handing the gi-tar back to the amused man, the half devil was now interested in whatever proposition the man was going to make, for when Ifrit had strummed those strings he had felt that the noise that had emananted from the instrument was more than noise: it was power.

And so now Ifrit sat amongst a small group of others, arms crossed as the man the boy had labled as "Mr. Goldstein" looked at the devil with an amused expression playing upon his lips.

Apparently Ifrit was to play that instrument along with a group of others, in a group called a "band". Sort of like a Bounty Hunting party, Ifrit had been told when he later asked a bard what a band was, except usually more permanent. Well, Ifrit had no problem with this, just as long as the others did not get in his way. He wanted that power that the man had shown him.

"I'll join." Ifrit spoke up quietly, before standing up and shifting off the giant blade that usually rested on his back to the ground. It seemed he would have to get more comfortable.

[Lasair Anubail]

She found it hard to breathe in here. The smoke that was coming off the rather drunk and disorderly looking man was choking her lungs and making her sporadically cough. She didn’t know how he could inhale such a thing and not die from a lack of air. She also wondered exactly why he was doing it. It did not seem good for his health, especially considering his bloodshot eyes and the way he moved, well more likely fell over. He could not keep himself up right and half the time he mumbled things she barely understood.

The man in the middle, the one who had brought all of them here seemed quite pleased with what was going on though. Around the room he looked, from one member to another, all confirming that they would join his little…band, as he had called it. She’d never heard of such a thing before, but it sounded interesting and Lasair was always up for trying new things.

Finally his eyes rested on her, roaming over her tiny form in a way that almost made her feel dirty. She was curled up in one the velvety chairs, a rather flowery smell emanating from it that made her feel a little sick. It wasn’t a natural smell, probably something synthesized from plants and made into perfume, but whoever had done it had done a poor job. Her Vampire Repellent smelled much nicer than whatever was coming off this chair. She was so tiny compared to the size of the chairs that she was actually able to curl her legs up on them, keeping herself in a tight little ball as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

“ ‘nd whut about you, m’love?”

She didn’t know. Did she really want to get herself involved with these people? The only normal one in the room appeared to be the human sitting next to the smoking guy, whatever their names were. He was kind of cute too. Well no, cute was a word she’d use to describe the younger human with blonde hair, not this man. But she shouldn’t be thinking about that at this point in time.

“Is sumthin’ wrong?”

She looked up at him and shook her head, planting a huge smile on her face. “Nope, not at all!”

“Then why, hesitatin’?"

She moved her eyes passed him to the others in the room, resting her chin on her knees and trying to think of a good reason not to do this. But nothing came to mind.

“I don’t really know what I can do for this…band, but I suppose I’ll join.” She could always leave at any time after all, then again, would he actually let her go?

[Sonata]

It was curious for Kestrel Azure to ever really get approached with serious talks. Most of the time, whenever she did play something tiny or easy in order for room and board at an inn, it was merely a front for an ulterior motive. Still, the musician kept to herself a lot, and was able to avoid any truly interested parties thanks to a good lock she took the time to purchase in inns. It was a measure that she knew to be overcompensation, but it was also to help protect her more important items. Being viewed as a paranoid girl was far preferable to losing Tambora or Krakatoa to some grubby thieves.

The strange man who approached her though was far more interested then every other who had approached the girl. For one thing, he actually seemed genuinely interested in her music, and didn't make several lewd remarks before Sonata could get a word in edgewise. It piqued Sonata interest, especially since he offered something she couldn't resist. Some sort of new instrument that was like a mandolin or a harp. He didn't have it with him, but the man talked so strangely, and dressed so oddly she was sure he could be telling the truth.

She was hesitant when she first came to the room, waiting until there were at least one or two others that she thought were somewhat sane before coming in almost shyly. She was off the to side, curled in her chair like a content cat and almost laying down, with her legs tucked behind her. Her eyes were closed, merely listening to what all of the other people in the room said rather then watching them. She never had been able to really break that habit, even if she was called rude or poked to see if she was still awake. She was dressed in fairly simply clothes, but there were comfortable and covered her body even as Goldstien turned his eyes onto her.

"An' I'm sure you'd want ta be in this 'ere lil' number, roight?"

Sonata paused for a moment, opening a green eye and shifting a little so she was sitting at least a little upright. She opened her mismatched eye and looking into Goldstein's, still a little skeptical about what he promised. But then again, she would be fine if his promises were paper. Plenty of inns wanted a good musician who could play more then two tunes and three instruments. She nodded at him, smiling a little despite the shyness that chocked her voice from speaking her agreement.

[HikariAngel]

The olive-clad catgirl wasn’t “sitting” per se in a chair, rather she was lying with her head where her legs should have been, and her legs climbed the back of the chair. She looked at the extravagant man who claimed to be from some planet called Earth, though she had never heard of such a place before, and at the instruments he had brought with him through the portal. Even his name was strange. What kind of name was “Goldstein”? Everyone else around the room had given their voices on the issue, and Monica didn’t need the awkward silence or the strange man looking at her to know it was her turn.

“Nya?”

Crossing her feet and uncrossing them was fun for the time, and she didn’t really want to answer the question. He had promised a lot of things, but how was she supposed to believe that he could turn her into a star? Even the most powerful mages on her home world of Tapram couldn’t turn people into stars and this man didn’t exactly ooze magical auras.

“How are you going to turn us into stars, mister goldie? It sounds like fun, but I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Silver hair brushed against the floor as she stared quizzically at the man with upside-down eyes. With her head closer to the floor she didn’t have to smell the acrid smoke or any of the more smothering scents. It also felt really funny when all her blood rushed to her head. Her drab olive skirt was stiff enough that it didn’t require any help in staying up so any peeping toms would be sorely disappointed.

“Jus’ trus’ me, missy. You’ll be shinin’ brighter than th’ night stars.”

The catgirl twitched a blue-tipped silver ear and shrugged her shoulders before kicking her legs straight and springing up out of the chair. Landing like a proper lady, she coughed at the thick smoke in the air and fought back tears. Maybe she should have stayed inverted.

“All right… I’ll do it.”



“Then it’s settled!” He spoke, with a bit too much enthusiasm in his voice. “Now, evry’one, git up and gath’r round.”

With varying amounts of enthusiasm and reluctance, the seven new members of the band gathered around and followed suit, again with varying degrees of success, with putting their hands in the center of the circle. Christian, of course, was inside the circle and smiling like no other.

“On three, everyone shouts ‘Goldstein’ and raises their hand up to the sky. Ready? One! Two! Three! [B]Goldstein!”

[Lucien]

"Two days."

That's all the group had time to prepare for before their big show; their first shot at stardom. They all stood on a creaky stage overlooked by a dusty auditorium that hadn't been filled in ages. The light was weak, and everything seemed to have a brownish hue that made it seem all the more decrepit. The stage itself was clean at least, varnished in a light tan but scuffed by long-forgotten shows. Strewn across it were trunks full of costumes and discarded instruments that were hovered over by the band like vultures, seeking the one piece of decay that suited them most.

"But we only have two fucking days..." The boy's mind was troubled and sore; what had he gotten himself into?

It had only been an hour since their meeting with Goldstein, before they were whisked away to the shit hole they were setting up in; a shit hole Mr. Goldstein had also arranged to be their motel room. Even on Althanas stereotypes had form as the man had left the group to there own devices, trying to find ways to drudge in a crowd for their show.

Lucien was beginning to wonder if he had made the right choice. It had only been a few days since Goldstein walked into that inn and saw the young Lucien, dressed like an urchin, humming about and cleaning. As the manager sat himself down, he recognized right away that the boy new Earth tunes - a surprise for the old man.

The boy was reluctant when first approached with the idea; citing terrible stage fright and a lack of vocal ability. But Goldstein saw something in him, which was only strengthened when he confirmed Lucien was from Earth as well. Ideas sprung into the boy's head like flowers in spring, blooming their wide petals everywhere. He had always dreamed of stardom; of being "just like that kid from that anime, gravitation." The perfect cutie idol that would attract all the eligible rich boys to court him. And as the frontman, all eyes would be on him; a thought he reveled and cowered with.

Lucien pushed the worries out of his head for now, replaced by the dream of stardom and the harsh snap of the new leather boots he slipped on. Standing up was a challenge in the pleather pants that seemed to push his very veins shut, and his half shirt that showed his stomach left little to the imagination. All in all, his outfit was fit for only two professions; hooker and rockstar.

The boy walked over to his band mates, the sharp click of his heels like a judge's gavel. He kept his hands on his hips and payed special attention to the drunkard with black hair, who he'd taken a liking too since he mets those blood shot eyes.

"Anyone got any songs we could play?" he said with a flick of his hair. Stage fright be damned, he was a fucking star.

[Bohemia]

"Ugh....fucking...ugh."

Jonathon King sat slumped on top of a short amp, doubled over himself, a black bass resting across his knees and a cigarette smoldering in his mouth. One look iinto his scowling, beaten face, with the heavy dark circles under his eyes, the lines drawing age on his face, it was obvious he was stone cold sober and hating every minute of it. Some coffee and a good puke had set his coherence into motion, and as he sat, listening to the opthers dig for stage clothes, Jon said nothing. All he'd grabbed was a new shirt, some light blue number with an abstract design across the chest and stomach, like the frustrated scribble of a pen refusing to give up it's ink.

It was difficult remembering shit, ever, but it wasn't too hard to remember how he'd been schlepped into this mess. Dazed days ago, he'd found himself in the back of one of his more visited bars, the pleasant feeling of inebriation being drained away as he listened to some clueless every faces of Althanas pluck clumsily at the strings of a black bass guitar. Christian Goldstein, who introduced himself swiftly once he caught sight of the drunk vagrant, had snatched up his had and began to talk rapidly.

God, he hated it.

He could remember pressing his hands to the sides of his head, frustrated the bleeding idiots were killing his buzz until finally, he stomped forward and tore the bass out of a grim faced silver haired man's hands and swiftly began to play a simple, steady melody. Seriously, it's a fucking four stringed bass guitar, he'd roared, his fingers continuing despite his outburst, You could be government certified retarded and be able to play the damn thing!

So, retarded he sat, quietly running his fingers down the strings with his left hand, smoking with his right.

With a grudging glance upwards, he realized they'd all gathered towards his end of the stage, save for the boy. Groaning, he straightened his posture, eyes shut tight, stretching to the sky with arms thrown above his head, slipping on his sunglasses once more as they fell to his sides.

"Yeah, songs? Eh, songs ehn't the only problem we got, but whatever." Jon lifted the bass off his lap, leaning haphazardly against the amplifier, and twisted to his left, dragging a large, heavy black case into the light. Clicking open the latches, he revealed it's contents; a big, black, stolen typewriter from Alerar on top of a huge jumbled pile of papers. Grumbling, he rapidly dug through them, picking up a handful and pushing on forward with his index finger. The title on the top in neat black ink read "Dancing on my Coffin".

"Yeah, I got something. I got a lot of something. I do a hell of a lot of writing, songs included, but it all gathers dust in here. It sucks, but we're going to bomb anyway, so it doesn't matter." The vagrant slammed the case shut, and promply pulled his hand back away from Lucien before he could take the song.

"I got some rules to go over, problems to present. My first rule is you don't touch me. I can smell the queer all over you, you just stink to hell of anal lube and truck stops with cracked tile floors. I don't want you to get your faggot juice on me." Finally, he let Lucien take the parchment, settling back to his slouch to light another cigarette.

"All right, the first problem ain't so big. I mean, it might help make an impression, even iof we suck, but it's something called a stage name. A lot of musicians give themselves one. A Gerald Kascherkowitz becomes Lance Volcanojock when he gets in a band. Doesn't take much effort. Just make something that's going to stand out. And keep in mind, simple may be better. Goofy complicated fucking names are a norm in this place. For two..." Jon trailed off, in no obvious rush as he took a deep drag from his cigarette and tapped the ashes onto the floor and his feet, his spare hand reaching to the floor and picking up a cadet cap. He fitted it comfortably to his head and took another drag of his cigarette.

"For two...ain't no name for this band. No one's going to know who to tell their friends about. Get it?"

[Lasair Anubail]

Everyone seemed rather content and happy with what was going on around them. They were busy walking around the stage, going through trunks of clothing and playing with the instruments they would need to know in order to pull this off. The smoking man even played something that sounded rather interesting to her, quite different than the kind of music she got in Dheathain, but nonetheless entertaining. She wasn’t entirely sure how people danced to music like that, but perhaps the humans danced differently than Fae did. After all, they were turning out to be such an odd race, especially considering what happened to her earlier this week…

“Lasair, I’m sorry but I just can’t remove it.”

The small Fae turned her eyes from the others and down the length of her dark purple dress, down her bare leg and to her foot. Standing beside her foot was Tristram, a twelve-inch plushie made in the fashion of her best friend. He talked, fought and acted like her friend right down to barely ever listening to any orders she gave him. Right now though he was being rather sad and forlorn as he looked at the intricate silver bangle resting atop her ankle. It looked extremely delicate and precious, with it’s twisting outer design and the fact that it was rather thin, but it wasn’t delicate at all. In fact, Tristram had been trying to remove it for the passed half hour, tugging, hitting and even attacking it with fireballs to no success. The thing would not come off. Worse yet, every time she tried to use magic the scripture in the centre glowed a red colour and the piece of metal heated up, causing her skin to blister. Not to mention the magic just wouldn’t work. She couldn’t even shrink.

She sighed and bowed her head in defeat.

“Don’t give up, Lasair…”

She didn’t turn to look at Avery, her other plushie who sat upon her shoulder. He was fashioned after a man who’d come into her shop looking for her assistance. Something about him had just caught her eye, so she’d made a plushie of him to keep her company and safe on her travels. When she’d first met Avery Nito, he’d been as naked as the day he was born and well, a gorgeous completely naked man standing in her shop. Let’s just say things hadn’t been entirely about business that day, or for the next three after. The plushie version of him she’d given a pair of leather pants and twin steel daggers and rested on a belt around his hips. But now wasn’t the time for her to think about such things.

“Is sumthin’ wrong, m’dear?”

Lasair practically jumped at the familiar voice of Goldstein. Even from a standing position she was forced to look up at him, but from the ground he felt even more formidable to her and she lived and grew up with Draconians. The Fae was not easily intimidated, but something about the man just made her feel extremely uneasy.

He knelt down, not bothering to wait for a reply and trailed his eyes down her slender leg, and to the anklet that rested there. His eyes lingered on the burns.

“I told ya I would remove it when ya repaid me.” He reached his hand out but she curled her leg in closer to her body. "Oh, and I have sumthin' fer ya." When he said that she noticed for the first time a bundle in his other hand, which he promptly dumped on the floor in front of her.

He said nothing else then. He stood and turned his back on her, never even glancing at the two animated toys around her, because the moment he had appeared they’d become as lifeless as his eyes. But when he turned his back, Tristram practically exploded with rage and unfurled his wings, flying straight for the large man. Crying out, Lasair reached out and grabbed him, falling onto her stomach and practically holding her friend beneath her. Goldstein turned back and raised a brow at her.

“Heh…I lost my balance.” She smiled and then let out another sigh of relief when he turned back around and left her line of sight.

Sitting back up, she released Tristram, whom she’d practically been holding in a death grip. Good thing he didn’t need to breathe.

“You should have let me at him, Lasair! I could have taken him!” The tiny, pint sized Draconian practically roared with enough force to fill the entire auditorium.

“And what then? He’s the only one that knows how to remove this thing from me, Tristram. What would I do then if you’d killed him and I was left stuck like this?”

He didn’t say anything, his anger burning down to a glowing ember that lay just beneath the surface.

[Sonata]

The plush and extravagant meeting room was suddenly gone as they were all whisked away to where they would be playing. Sonata was beginning to realize just how out of her depth she actually was. Whenever she played in a tavern or inn, it was always a make shift stage. She would get a table, stool or even one end of the bar and just be left to her own devices. Most of the time she would just sit in her spot and play her flute, letting the notes take up all the space needed and earn some goldp pieces from some of the others. Whenever there was already a singer or performer there, Sonata would end up playing behind them, shifting her style of play to match the other person. She made the most amount of money and praise on those days, mostly because she could play something other then her flute. It was a good instrument, but she highly preferred the stringed tools of the musician.

Of course, she wasn't allowed to touch her promised instruments yet, according to Goldstein. She had held them once, plucking the strings and mastering the chords in the short time she held it. The cherry red guitar felt extremely good in her hands, even though Goldstein had taken it from as she began to actual play the instrument. She smiled a little as she remembered it, unaware of the man in question until he tapped her shoulder and dumped some clothes onto her lap. The girl opened her eyes, unaware that they were shut until reflex showed a sight of clothes. Goldstein said something in his annoyingly cheery and indecipherable voice to change into them soon and meet with the others.

The girl watched for a moment, tapping out a small rhythm with her fingers on the wooden crates side. She inspected the clothes after Goldstein disappeared from view. As nice as he was to her, he still set off alarm bells in her mind. The guitar she held so lovingly in her hands was the only real reason she stayed and even looked at the clothes she was supposed to wear with the idea of wearing them. The shirt wasn't bad, and Sonata even liked it. IT was a simple black and white pattern, but she could see that it would be tight on her body, and that it was also made for a girl. The pants though were odd. They looked tight, and as shiny as metal, but seemed alright otherwise. They felt a lot like leather, but seemed a bit off. She didn't put them on yet though, but instead carried them and sat down a little closer to the blond kid and the one who seemed drunk.

"I have a couple things," the girl said quietly after the drunk's almost angry tirade. She rummaged in her bag for a moment, pulling out a battered old notebook. She held it up tentatively, afraid of what they might think of the work. The cover seemed worn and old, and the pages themselves were obviously bent once or twice from getting tossed around.

"They aren't much, but we might be able to use them, but I don't really think about words. I'm not a good singer." She flipped the notebook open, going by several blank pages and half touched ones before coming to a full page of work. Even from a short glimpse, one could see it was complete and drawn with a careful hand. She shut it though, and just slid it towards the blond haired kid. It came to a stop a little before his feet, and the girl looked up expectantly at him. He seemed to have the best idea currently of how to go about things.

[Seth_Rahl]

Ifrit watched as each of the group's members came together. The smoker was...interesting, to say the least, and even though he had a foul mouth and bad breath his antics were quite entertaining for the young demon. The "singer" of this "band" was young, the blond-haired kid that Ifrit had noticed before gawking out the window at Radasanth.

Three new members had also shown up in that small room. Three women, to be exact. One had beauty beyond compare, one seemed to have neko blood in her, and the other was a shy coming to be musician.

Three men and three women...Ifrit chuckled softly. This wasn't coincidence, he knew. This man who called himself Goldstein wanted it to be this way.

The demon swordsman sat away from everyone, on the edge of the dusty stage. It had been a few days since that fateful meeting in the room, and now Ifrit's fingers were itching to touch that strange instrument that the old man had presented. It had seemed so strange to Ifrit at first, but when he had held it he found that he felt he could do anything.

Maybe music was stronger than Ifrit first thought.

Suddenly Goldstein came over to him, wearing a worried frown. "I'm alright." Ifrit said quietly to the man at his expression. "I just need a little time to think."

Still the man looked worried. "Ya sure?" He asked, sitting next to the demon. "Ya know, if ya worried bout somethin' ya can just talk ta me. I am your managa' afta' all." He gave a reassuring smile to Ifrit.

"Well..." The demon looked at the old man with a cocked eyebrow. "Its just I've never played an instrument before. I've been a warrior all my life."

The old man considered this for a moment. "Well, when I first met ya I cud immediately tell ya were perfect for the job. Ya seem like the type that wuld be inta metal or somethin' like that."

"Metal?" Ifrit was confused and flustered. "You mean like steel?"

"No..." the man chuckled. "Here, I'll let David here show ya." He beckoned over a grim faced man with silver hair that had given the smoking man a guitar, and the man nodded. In his hands was the guitar Ifrit had held just a few days ago, and the demon's eyes locked on it with a strange intensity.

"David, play the chorus of Disturbed's 'Prayer', will ya?" Goldstein asked, winking at the silver haired man. David nodded before taking the black guitar in his hands and strumming it. The chords seemed to reverberate through Ifrit's bones as the man's fingers deftly strummed the strings.

"This is the way I pray, living just isn't hard enough, burn me alive inside, living my life's not hard enough, take everything away." The man sang in a gravelly voice, and Ifrit watched him in awe. The notes seemed to clash and and swing, like swordsmen and warriors and devils and angels and all sorts of different bloody actions, and all this sang throughout Ifrit like he had been born for this moment.

"Its like a battle..." Ifrit murmered, still staring at the silver haired musician, and Goldstein chuckled.

"You could think of it that way, I suppose. To me, music is music." The man stood up and took the black guitar from David, who simply stood stoicly as he awaited further commands. "Here, you try it." And then he handed Ifrit the guitar.

He stared at the guitar in his left hand before sliding the gauntlet off his right. He didn't want to accidentally cut the strings. Taking the neck of the instrument in his right, he began to strum some random notes with his left.

"That's right." the man named David nodded his approval as he spoke in that gravelly voide of his. Ifrit smiled, a genuine smile that came rarely, and then he focused as he found an image in his mind.

Suddenly he was really playing, and chords began streaming from his fingers as he played furiously, the electric guitar screaming as he raged on it, his eyes turning a bloody red. The sound rang out through the empty auditorium as Ifrit played, his fingers working furiously as they flew across the guitar, dozens of notes flying through the air like daggers.

Then as soon as this tirade had begun, it stopped. Ifrit now held nothing in his hands, and Goldstein held the guitar, smiling widely. "Mah boy, ya have some talent there. David, get him 'is clothe's." He told the silver haired man before walking away with some other instruments.

Ifrit simply stood there, gasping for breath before the silver haired man smiled and handed him some clothing. "What's this?" He managed to make out.

"Your costume." David spoke before walking away.

[Breaker]

Sticks Broken: 2

I've always liked music. Before coming to Althanas, I'd always blare something beautiful while working out. Here, I had a tendency to play music in my head while exercising. As a drummer, I needed to learn to figure out the percussion rhythms. I sat on an elevated platform at the back of the stage behind the set Goldstein had provided, sticks crossed, eyes closed in intense meditative concentration. An oldie played through my head like an old gamophone, and I muttered the lyrics to myself while tapping the drums softly.

"Mustang sally..." Bass, snare, bass-bass snare. I tapped the high-hat in time with the off beat, enjoying it's balanced tone.

"Guess you better slow that mustang down..." Bass, snare, bass-bass snare. This time i rattled the highat double time, releasing the pedal and letting it ride for the third beat of each bar. I grinned, pleased with the result, and kept on with my tapping.

"Mustang sally now baby..." In my head the back-up singers answered in perfect harmony. In reality I heard Goldstein trying to sneak up behind me. Without breaking rhythm I spoke out loud.

"Goldstein, don't try to be stealthy, it's unbecoming." Bass, snare, bass-bass snare.

The British fellow emerged into my field of vision, hemming and hawing in true English fashion. I watched as he eyed my simple black-on-black shirt and pants combination.

"Ah, Mr. Cronen, yes, I was wondering if..."
"No." Bass, snare, bass-bass snare.
"But your costu-"
"No." Bass, snare, bass-bass snare.
"-ume needs to match the others for on-stage chemistry."
I ground my foot down hard on the high-hat pedal, stilling my hands and feet. My eyes met the Brit's with a neutral gaze.

"Goldstein... you hired me not only as a percussionist, but also as Security for the other performers. I can't reliably protect my band-mates if I can't move." I gestured at Lucien, the boy in the tight pleather who looked like he would tip over if I threw a one of my sticks at him. Goldstein followed my my indication and blinked rapidly. I'm sure he had some smooth retort that would have convinced most people to start stretching on the pleather. Wisely, he didn't vocalize it.

"Wait here." I intoned, getting up quickly to take a copy of Jon's music. It looked decent enough, but I deposited it on my stand without really paying attention.
"One other thing Goldstein. Lasair didn't seem to happy when you were talking to her. Keep in mind that it's my job to protect these people, even if it means protecting them from you. And you know what happens to the bad guys when I protect someone in need." Goldstein swallowed, a goose egg rolling down his throat. He remembered. For emphasis I applied pressure with my thumbs and snapped the drumsticks clean in half. Gathering the four shards in one hand, I tucked them neatly into Goldstein's pocket.

"Pass me another pair of sticks, will you?"

[HikariAngel]

And just like that, everything was decided and everyone was rushed off to the stage where they would be performing… two days from now. The catgirl didn’t really have time to realize what was happening as a few people she had never seen before hurried her to the back, slightly elevated part of the stage. To her right was an assortment of wood and metal arranged around some backless chair, which piqued her curiosity, but not nearly as much as the boxish contraption she was standing before. It looked much like the keyboards she had seen on her own world, musical instruments that would produce wonderful melodies and harmonies all at the player’s whim. Unfortunately, it wasn’t at her whim.

She had experimented with music a while back, hence the reason she was here now. It would have been called an Akashiman tune here, but on her world it was just one of the many pieces of music that she just happened across. Granted “happened across” usually involved dexterous fingers and nobody paying attention. She had been humming and mumbling the words as she “strolled” down the market way, occasionally finding something in her hands that she couldn’t remember being there before. Someone had grabbed her arm, a Mister Goldstein, but instead of alerting the guards to her activities, he promised to keep quiet as long as she went with him. She had no idea this was what he had in mind.

Looking at the eighty-eight keys, her heart skipped a couple beats. It wasn’t metal, but it wasn’t quite plastic construction either. So many little buttons and knobs, it would take her at least two months to learn what they all did. But she didn’t have two months.

“Effects menu… synthesizers… overhead?”

Her little habit of talking to herself while thinking about things like this became readily apparent, even if she did mumble her words the whole time. She flipped the menu option and the keyboard began a low hum. Curious again, she placed her fingers on the keys. She depressed one, a C one octave below middle-c, and quickly released it as it climbed an incremental C chord and diminished. In her mind, a green triangle appeared. She made the C chord from the same base and stepped quickly back as the same effect happened again, but this time the image in her mind was a tetrahedron.

It was only when Monica received a tap on the shoulder did she break free of her trance and realize that someone wanted her attention. Goldstein was holding a change of clothes and gesturing for her to go to the changing room. She sniffed her underarms and hands reflexively, and then smelled her current outfit. It was worn, dirty, and quite used and abused. Apologizing for some unknown reason, she took the costume and rushed off stage. About five minutes later, a strikingly beautiful woman walked back onstage, pristine white dress split up to her stomach with crosshatched straps closing the sides so she wouldn’t be too exposed. White stockings that reached her middle thigh swept across the stage with nice white sneakers that weren’t too dressy or too casual.

A jewel to offset the grouchy drummer? She thought to herself as she remembered the small exchange between the drummer, Josh, and Goldstein. Now properly attired, the silver-haired catgirl went back to playing with her new toy, using the “personal monitor” settings so she wouldn’t have any of her music interrupting anyone else. She didn’t really have anything but the memorized lyrics of a song in Akashiman that she didn’t know what it meant. All she knew was that she liked how it sounded.

[Lucien]

Things did not seem to be going well, as Mr. Goldstein popped to and fro, testing the nerves of every band member who touched their new instruments in awe. The manager had become something of a nuisance to them all; a gnat buzzing by their ears with honey-suckle words to soothe worries and motivate the band for his own ambitions.

Lucien, like a statue, stared preoccupied off into the distance. He was still and steady, a deep dread that became inflated by his teenaged mind. ”What is my stage name? What is this band’s name?” His crystal eyes grew wide, ignoring everything but the approaching shadow of Goldstein behind him, followed quickly by the scent of stale cigarettes.

“What seems to be tha’ matter ‘ere?” His voice would’ve been no where near as unsettling had he not put his arm around the boy, pulling him close. The smell of cheap cologne was no worse than the cheap scotch on his breath; a true Englishman.

“I’m just a little worried,” he whispered with hesitation, keeping his gaze at the floor. “We have so little time to prepare, and no name –“

“You let me worry abou’ names, you ‘ear? All you ‘ave to do is practice that pretty voice a’yours, and make a few new friends. Rioght?” The boy found his manager’s accent quite amusing, and, with his worries put aside, felt a little more at ease.

In truth, he has little to worry about. The dingy auditorium would host something he had some master of. He had been using voice for as long as he could remember. And taking a look at the clashing cast of characters around him filled the boy with a sense of satisfaction. [I]”After all, I won’t be the one looking like an ass on stage.”

“Thanks Mr. –“

“Christian, love. Call me Christian.”

“Thanks, Christian.” Lucien’s smile, though goofy, was warm and sincere. With a pat on the back from Goldstein, Lucien walked center-stage, hoping someone would approach him so that he wouldn’t have to begin the awkward dance of meeting no people. So enamored was the boy that he didn’t notice Christian’s rather stealthy move over to Jon, or the deadpan look upon the manager’s face.

[Lasair Anubail]

She sighed. There really was nothing she could do about the anklet so she might as well make the best of this situation. After all the others here did not appear to be in the same situation she was. They were all recruited of their own free will and they all seemed rather happy with that. Perhaps in time after she played with this band for a little while, Goldstein would remove the anklet from her and she could use her magic once more. Not to mention be free of whatever obligation she had towards him. It’s not like she asked to be kidnapped by those mean men and then sold to the highest bidder.

“Lasair?” Avery inquired.

“I’m going to go get changed….”

She grabbed the bundle before her, not even bothering to look at what it was and stood.

“Can I watch?”

Before she could even respond to something like that, Tristram grabbed Avery by his one wing and slammed him down on the wooden stage floor. Then proceeded to sit on him so he couldn’t move. It brought a small smile to her face but wasn’t entirely enough to lighten her heart. Lasair was an extremely emotional person and when she felt things it was almost like she felt them twice as much as any other person around her. She was such the opposite of Aileen. It was like all the excitement and energy that Aileen could ever possessed was all inside of her, but that meant the rare times when she felt down and sad she felt as if it pressed upon her harder than anyone else. Now was not a time for her to worry about it though. Now was a time for her to suck it up! Be an adult. Be a responsible person and do…whatever she had to do in this band. No one had really even told her that. Every one else had their respective roles, just what exactly was hers?

Behind the stage was dark and dusty. Wooden crates filled with things she didn’t understand lined the walls and cobwebs were everywhere. It made her want to sneeze, which she did, four times. Slipping the thin shoulder straps of her dress down her arms, Lasair let it pool on the floor around her feet. Then she reached over for the stuff that Goldstein had given her. It was definitely not something she would normally wear, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable in it. In fact, it really gave her wings a lot of space, wings that she had been keeping tightly closed against her body for the passed little while. Stretching them out, she instantly felt better as the muscles slowly awakened themselves.

The last item of clothing Lasair needed to put on made her pause. She didn’t normally wear things like it, in fact Fae in general didn’t though Tristram and other Draconians did so she knew how to put them on, but walking in them was a completely different story.

Once she was finished, Lasair stepped out from the shadows of behind the stage.

“Damn, you look h—”

Whatever Avery had been about to say was cut off by Tristram slamming his fist down upon his head. A feat easily accomplished since the Draconian plushie was still sitting upon him. It made her laugh and look down at exactly what Goldstein had given her. Her long, fiery hair was tied back away from her face by a dark green scarf of some sorts that she had wrapped around her head. Gone was her long flowing dress and in its place was something extremely revealing and as she told herself before, not entirely something she would normally wear in public. It basically was a light green top that was very much like an undergarment. Only covering the necessary areas and then leaving the rest completely bare. There was also a very long scarf tied around her neck that hung down to her feet. And covering the lower half of her body was a long green skirt that started off as a light colour around her hips and gradually grew darker and darker towards the bottom. It also had a shiny thread stitched into it in the shape of leaves and vines. Very beautiful. But it was slit open right up to her hip, allowing for quite the view of her legs and the knee high black leather boots she had on.

Around her arms she also had a few silver bracelets and some kind of semi-transparent green material on her right arm. All in all it was a nice outfit and made her feel like she was some kind of forest nymph.

“You like?” She asked the two of them with a huge smile on her face.

Avery muffled something unintelligible because his face was pressed into the floor. Tristram merely grunted, which meant he did. It made the wings on her back flutter, shimmering the many different colours of the rainbow, as she spun around in a circle and nearly fell over.

“Whoops!”

“I think you might need some help there…”

She agreed she did kind of need a bit of a lesson in how exactly to walk in these boots. After all, she always walked around bare foot and these things were just…weird. She didn’t understand how Tristram and the other Draconians could wear something so restricting on their feet.

Tristram finally released Avery and the two of them flew over, each sitting on one of Lasair’s shoulders as she carefully made her way towards the group. Not carefully enough.

“Umm, if it isn’t too much trouble,” She raised her voice to hopefully address everyone, knowing at least one of them was bound to help her out. “Would someone be able to show me how to—” The rest of what she was going to say was lost as the toe of the boot caught on the stage floor and sent her flying. She practically face planted on the hard wood, Tristram and Avery using their wings to keep them from joining her there. “Ow… show me how to walk in these things…” She finished as she pushed herself up, her wings twitching slightly. It would probably help if she hadn’t tied them so loosely, but what did she know about boots?

[Sonata]

The girl sat down, watching with a heavy heart as the boy she gave her notebook to ignored it. At the same time, the drummer picked up the other man's paper and took it back to his stand as well. It was a little sad for the girl to see the blond haired boy dressed so strangely not even acknowledge her work. She wasn't one to give in to extreme emotions when not playing or composing, but the irritation she felt was more then enough.

She stood and drew herself to her unimpressive height, barely able to stare at the boy's chin. She held onto the costume that she would eventually need to wear, the material of the clothes lighter then she would have guessed. Then again, they were not going to be that loose on her lithe frame either. She bent down in the middle stage, ignoring most of the other band members as she did so. She did pause for a moment at the racket that came from one of the other band mates, but ignored it for the most part.

Their leader moved as Goldstein stopped to talk to him. Sonata took the moment to pick up her notebook, dusting off the minor boot imprint that was made in it. Thankfully none of the pages were torn at the very least though. She still flipped through it, double checking anyway. Even if the girl would never have the backbone to own up to it, the notebook was about as close as she ever got to writing songs. She had no head for words, and whenever she tried to place them to anything, the image of her creation became bleak until she erased them. Every song within the notebook was more then complete though in her mind. Even if the boy wouldn't like it, she still wanted him to see it.

"Um, excuse me," Sonata said aloud as she poked the boy's shoulder. Her voice had all the bravery of a mouse before a cat. She began to find her voice as she spoke though, and even if her voice didn't show it, her face was more then irritated enough. She was able to stand her full height at the very least, even though she wasn't tall enough to see the boy eye to eye. "You missed some of my stuff. And stepped on it."

"I'm Kestrel, by the way," Sonata explained as she held out her notebook. "But just call be Sonata or Sona or something."

[Breaker]

Sticks Broken: 3

Waiting for someone to take the initiative and actually get the band practicing would have been awfully boring if it weren't for the wide variety of possibilities the drum set offered. Many songs used only simple percussion patterns, which would be a help to me. After mastering a few basic rhythms I decided to progress to something a little more complex. I took a moment to focus, meditating on the memory of a song I had seen performed several times by a friend on stage. Before long, I had isloated the percussion line in my head. I thought the lyrics rather than singing them, leaving my entire focus on keeping rhythm.

My sticks began a rapid tapping on the metal edge of the snare drum.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tattitat-tattitat
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tattitat-tattitat

"Bass, bass, bass, bass, snare roll-- Shit."

I froze on the brink of exploding upon the drums. One of my sticks had snapped in two, the tapered end now sailing off the stage. My eyes followed it and noticed another mishap. The petite red-haired beauty, resplendent in the outfit Goldstein had given her, tripped over her own heels and barely avoided a faceful of toothpicks. I stifled the urge to grin and got up quickly, circumventing my drums to help the gossamer-winged woman to her feet. She was quite pretty, with an air of maturity despite her youthful face and girlish appearance. I smiled disarmingly, offering her my hand.

"Watch out for those things, they'll break your neck in a minute." Peering downwards, I investigated the perilous boots. I had seen girls back home move very gracefully in shoes that increased their height significantly. There was a science to it, I had been told; a science which the winged woman clearly did not subscribe to. I decided to offer what little counsel I could. After all, there are worse things than striking up a conversation with a red haired beauty.

"I can't say I've ever worn such things myself, but I think if you try to keep most of your weight on the balls of your feet, you might have a little more luck." I took a step back, making a broad sweeping gesture, inviting the Fae to try walking again. A sinister part of me hoped she would fall, so that I could catch her. For some reason, most girls find muscles alarmingly attractive.

[Lasair Anubail]

She smiled at him as she placed her small hand in his much larger one and allowed him to help her back up and onto her feet. Standing side by side with him made her feel rather small and tiny, which was exactly what she was. And it wasn’t even a new feeling for the Fae either, most Draconians were taller than he was, which could make a girl her size feel like a midget. Though from what she’s seen so far, most human females were only a little bit taller than she was.

“Thank you… umm…” She still didn’t know his name.

“It’s Josh Cronen, but you can call me Breaker.” He said with that charming smile of his.

“Breaker? That’s an odd thing to call someone. Then again, Josh seems like a rather strange name as well. Do you break things? Is that why you’re called Breaker?” She asked him rather innocently. “Oh! And I’m Lasair Anubail, just call me Lasair though. And these are my two travelling companions.” She nodded towards the two plushies still hovering in the air rather close to her, both their eyes glaring daggers at Josh if such a thing was possible from a stuffed toy. “That’s Tristram,” the Draconian grunted, “and the one with only one wing is Avery.” Avery merely nodded. “Usually they’re more soci…sicoab… they talk more usually.” Lasair’s grasp on Common still needed a little help from time to time. After all, the only thing she normally spoke was Dheath, Common was just a learned and rarely practiced language to her.

Shrugging, Lasair looked down at the boots she was wearing and tried to remember what Breaker had told her. It had been something about balls. Oh, yeah, to walk on the balls of her feet, though that was a strange thing to say.

“Walk on the balls of my feet?” She asked rather quietly, almost to herself more so than him. Then she looked up at him almost triumphantly. “But I don’t have balls on my feet. I have toes like all Fae, but not balls.” She glanced down once more and wiggled her toes, almost a little disappointed that she couldn’t see them. “Do humans have balls on their feet? Can I see?”

Overexcited with the possibility of seeing something new and interesting, Lasair wasn’t entirely paying attention to what she was doing. Her hurried and jumpy steps taking her a little closer to Breaker right before her foot shifted within the boot and she landed on it awkwardly. It caused her ankle to twist to the side in a painful matter and for her to begin falling backwards. Luckily, one large hand grabbed her arm as Breaker wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her in closer to him, steadying her. More than a little embarrassed and perhaps enjoying this sudden closeness with him, Lasair couldn’t hide the blush that coloured her cheeks red.

[Seth_Rahl]

Ifrit stepped out of the shadows, now fully dressed in his new oufit. He had been gone for a bit and had not seen the antics of his fellow band members, but he could tell now that they were only starting to get used to one another. A small smile replacing his somber frown, he watched as the pretty red-haired woman with the small wings on her back stumbled and fell in her new footwear. Ifrit would have helped her himself, but the drummer instead came to her rescue. Ah, just as well. Ifrit thought as he watched a small blush come across the woman' face as she gazed at her savior. I've never been lucky in love.

Looking over at a slightly cracked mirror leaning against the wall, the demon examined himself with a critical eye. He had shed his black coat and clothing for a more colorful outfit, it had seemed. He now wore a red coat, leather and decorated with random assortments of metal and buttons. It seemed as if the coat had been made specifically for him, as twin leather straps held his blade in place upon his back. He wore nothing underneath for a shirt, as the coat was left open to show his muscled, toned body, and he also wore tan cargo pants and red boots. Upon closer inspection, he saw that flames licked the edges of the coat in decoration, giving the whole outfit a lean, blazing look. His black hair was now swept back and slightly spiked in the back, revealing his blood red eyes for all to see.

All in all, Ifrit liked this new look. His other outfit had been placed inside a chest specific for him to use, and in one of the coat's pockets Ifrit held the key to it. Smiling slightly, he strode foward into the open stage and stood there, looking up with his hands in his pockets, smiling slightly up at the sky.

[Breaker]

My preparation paid off, as it often does. The girl miss-stepped almost immediately and fell into my waiting arms. I grinned.

"Now the only question is... did she do that on purpose?"

Lasair's innocence made me chuckle. I hadn't considered the fact that "the ball's of your feet" might not be widely understood by Althanians. I felt an immediate attraction to the girl, partially due to her friendly nature, but mostly from the sensual feel of her soft, slim body pressed up against me. I decided to take a small gamble.

Hoping not to offend the Fae, I lifted her easily with one arm. Using my free hand I lifted her right foot and tapped on the boot's sole, right where her toes ended and her feet began.

"The area at the base of your toes is called the balls of your feet. At least, where I'm from it is. If you step with your weight forward rather than back on the heel, you might have a little better balance." I kept my voice low and confident, flirtatious. As I tapped the boot it wiggled on her foot and my focus went to the laces. Here I noticed another problem; Lasair had tied the boots so loosely she could not possibly hope to walk in them. "I probably would have noticed that before if I hadn't been so busy looking at her legs."

"Why don't you try tying these tighter? That should help as well."

I stood looking into her shocking gold eyes for a moment, then realized I was still holding her a foot off the ground. Acting as if it were completely normal, I set the dainty Fae delicately on the stage.

[Lasair Anubail]

One minute Lasair had both her feet not so securely planted on the ground and the next she was somehow sitting upon Breaker’s arm as if it were a tree branch. It was not the strangest experience she’d ever had, but it was definitely odd. Most of the Draconians she knew just kind of threw her over their shoulders and carted her off. Gareth actually did that once when she flirted with him just a little too much. Of course he wasn’t showing her something as innocent as just where the balls of her feet were. He was doing something a lot more naughty and fun and well… it was best she didn’t think about that right now.

Moving away from passed memories and back to the present, the small Fae focused on what Breaker was telling her, to tie her boots tighter. She thought about objecting because she didn’t want them any tighter, but the words died on her lips when one of her boots actually fell off. Perhaps they were just a little too loose. Still, they felt too constricting for her liking. She loved the feeling of the ground beneath her toes and all the different textures that not wearing shoes brought about. Though she could live without some of the more painful ones, like when she stepped on a sharp rock.

Giggling slightly as her boot smacked against the wooden stage and Josh set her down once more. Lasair began the task of putting it back on and tightening all the string with a single hard pull. Immediately the pair of black leather boots felt like a second skin around her leg a foot. A bit of a restricting skin, but still it was actually much more comfortable to have it this way than too loose.

Standing straight, the Fae tested out her foot wear and found them much more stable to walk in, especially when she kept most of her small weight on the balls of her feet than the heels. She was even able to walk around in front of Breaker without almost falling on her face, which was a triumph and a bit of a disappointment. She had rather enjoyed him catching her.

“Thanks, Josh! I mean, Breaker.”

Rising onto her toes to get just a bit more height, Lasair softly kissed Josh.

[Breaker]

The petite Fae made a comic image, retrieving her dropped boot from the floor. She originally tied the boots so loose that she could have easily broken an ankle. With the footwear properly secured she moved quite gracefully, hips twitching with each step. She paced past me a few times like a model on the runway, then turned and came straight towards me. She was definitely very cute, and sexy in an exotic way, perhaps unique to here race. I had just begun making plans for continued flirtation when she kissed me.

The kiss took me completely by surprise. Luckily, I have very quick reflexes. Even in her platform boots the Fae had to stretch to reach my mouth, so I bent my knees a little, inclining my head. I pushed gently against her soft lips with mine, my right hand trailing down her spine to the small of her back. I wondered if I should be self conscious at all; frankly I didn't care who saw me, but I didn't want the questionable Goldstein getting any kicks out of watching Lasair. With a quick twitch of my lips and a teasing flick of my tongue, I broke the kiss.

My eyes roved the theatre in expert fashion, skills I had developped for counter espionage being put to a more personal use. The backstage area would provide a decent private location for two people to get to no each other a little better. The fragrant taste Lasair left on my lips tempted me to just throw her over my shoulder and cart her off. Unfortunately, such an action would have made me no better than Goldstein.

"Did I tell you I'm running security for the show in addition to playing the drums?" I brushed a lock of red-gold hair behind her ear and winked.
"Now that you've got your boots in order, I should probably take a look around back stage. To secure the area, and make sure there aren't any paperazzi hanging around. Also, I'll check for any damaged woodwork. I wouldn't want you falling through the floor. You know, if you ever happened to be back there for any reason." I gave the slight woman's shoulder a gentle squeeze and stepped away from her, a smile playing about my lips.

The lighting backstage left a lot to be desired, which didn't really bother me. A few desks and tables stood scattered about, heavy dustclothes giving them a phantom appearance. I selected a sturdy one and sat down to wait, wondering if Lasair would take the hint. Cobwebs looked down on me from the musty ceiling high above. Not the most romantic place, but I could make it work. For the most part I was just curious to see if the Fae would follow me at all.

[Lasair Anubail]

For somewhere around thirty seconds after Josh just turned and walked away from her. Lasair stood there and stared off at the empty section of the stage he’d once occupied. To say that she was a little confused would be an understatement. She was downright lost and confounded. She’s thought things had been going well. He seemed to have been flirting with her and he definitely kissed her back. And he was a pretty good kisser for a human too, but then he’d stopped and started talking about the back stage area, bad floors and paparazzi.

Lasair had no idea what a paparazzi was, but they didn’t sound very good, especially if he had to go behind the stage and check for them. Hopefully he wouldn’t fall through any weak floorboards while he was back there. That would be unfortunate… Oh! Maybe paparazzi was a kind of monster. If that was true he’d most likely need help. It was dark back there and she didn’t want him getting hurt. Perhaps she should go help him. But she didn’t know how to fight. Avery and Tristram did, maybe she should send the two of them after him. Just to make sure he was all right and the monsters weren’t hurting him.

“Aren’t you going to follow him?”

“Huh?” Furrowing her brows, Lasair turned her eyes to Avery just in time to see Tristram come in out of nowhere and knock him from his floating position about two fete in front of her.

“Of course she’s not going to follow him!” The tiny Draconian practically roared the words. He seemed rather angry to her and she didn’t know why.

Lasair shrugged her shoulders, “Am I supposed to?”

Avery managed to fly back up into his position, shaking his head as if to clear it. “That’s what he wants.” When she said nothing to him, he laid the whole thing out as simply as he could. “Basically it was all an innuendo. He went back there because it’s private and no one else will see you.”

“Oh!” Well that made sense… sort of.

Once again, Tristram decided to attack Avery for opening his big mouth. This time he was more prepared though and the two of them quickly got into a bit of a dodging match until the Draconian eventually got the Moontae into a headlock. “He might just be trying to get you alone so he can do something horrible to you, Lasair!”

“That’s silly, Josh isn’t like that.” She said rather matter-of-factly.

“Oh, and you can tell this in the whole five minutes that you’ve known him?” His words were growled out through what she could only assume to be a plushie’s version of clenched teeth. “He is a human after all and remember what happened the last time you trusted one of them. Stop being so stupid!”

She stood in complete silence for a minute, hoping and wishing she had heard him wrong. But she hadn’t, he’d actually called her stupid just like everyone else had when she’d been growing up. Just like all the time she’d run crying to him.

“I’m not stupid.” She said in a small voice as she tried to hold back the tears brimming in her eyes. “I hate you…”

Turning from him, Lasair hurried behind the stage, stumbling once when she completely forgot about what had taught her in her emotional outburst. She couldn’t help it if she was an extremely emotional person. She hated it sometimes, but he didn’t have to call her stupid, not when he knew how many people already called her that and looked at her like that. Wiping her face of any evidence of her tears and pushing all that to the back of her mind where she could forget it ever happened, the Fae looked around as the dim and dusty area. There were boxes piled on the floor that attempted to trip her and even her light weight made the boards creak beneath her feet.

It didn’t take her long to find Josh. He was sitting on a dusty desk looking extremely calm and composed. His face even went through a quick change in emotions when their eyes met, surprise being the first and then quickly followed by that charming, disarming smile of his. The one that brightened and softened his whole face making him look even sexier than he already was. Then again, he looked sexy all the time in her mind, even as the dark, brooding drummer.

Walking over to him, Lasair had the sudden realization that she didn’t really know what to do next. Well, she had a few interesting ideas as to what they could do next, but it required a lot less clothing and a more comfortable place. But she didn’t really know what to do. Kissing him had been rather spontaneous of her and not entirely something she did all the time. Most of the men she’d been with being Draconian and well, they were a take-charge kind of race, in and out of bed.

Resting her hip against one of his knees, Lasair ran one of her fingers up the inside of his thigh. “You know…” she said as she began leaning in closer to him. “If you’re a little on the shy side and uncomfortable with kissing in front of others, I understand.” Her words were barely above a whisper by the time she stopped, just short of kissing him and leaving the next move completely up to him.

[Bohemia]

They'd basically ignored him, in quite the simple manner; off to go about their own meaningless bullshit. Cursing softly under his breath, Jonathon King, for the first time in many years, straightened his back bone, head flopping back, eyes to the ceiling. The new shirt stretched against his detioriated body, slightly doughy in the middle since his demanding days of adventuring. 'God damn. I thought I'd found some people I can tolerate. Back in the first life, music was the only thing that kept me from going ballistic. The right song always managed to mesh with the day. I lost that when I got hit by that truck. All they do is sing their faggy little bard songs here and play those shitty lutes. And then here comes the jew. I thought I'd found one instance of a glimmer of joy; after all, I'm just a smudge of excrement on a crumple of toilet paper, awash in a sea of it. But, these people are just like the rest of these dense morons. Well, they can drown in their bullshit for all I care, but life has been too rotten to let this fail. It's time to stop treating this like happy hour.' Both of his feet rose in the air as he rocked his body back, and slamming his heels onto the stage, he brought himself up to a ram-rod straight standing position, to his full, impressive height.

Fishing a flask from his pocket, Jon smiled darkly to himself. A shot of courage and it was time to help whip the freak show into an honest god rehearsal.

A rather triumphant English exclamation and a fast, slimy hand snatched the flask away, and Christian stood before him, smiling as hollowly as before. A look of comic disbelief dawned across the vagrant's face as he stared at the slick jew, eyes moving back and forth rapidly from the man to the flask. "I'm 'fraid yah gonna hav' ta leave off the sauce, love. I got something to talk to-"

"MOTHERFUCKER!" It was Christian's turn to look shocked; that such a playfully spiteful and meandering drunk's features could be twisted into such a rage was news to the agent. Jon's hand moved like lightning, and steel flashed as he drew a long, jagged knife from the small of his back, cocked his arm, and let loose. Pain shot through Christian's arm like a bullet, and after blinking a few times, he realized that the leaking flask was embedded in the wall behind him, the long knife stuck fast in the stone. The agent sputtered, trying to come up with a smooth, winning line, but as Jon's form loomed over him, losing its definition in shadow as he advanced, his vocabulary and silver tongue failed him.

"What. Do. You. Want?!" The words came hissing like a serpent's breath between clench teeth, and the agent continued to stammer for a moment later, up until Jon's menace began to shrink, and he slouched, though his eyes still sparkled with venom.

"L- listen love, the boy, he's-"

"- Gay as a jay bird, I know."

"Well, typically tha front man is s'ppos'd ta haf' eye candy on either arm when e's seen, candy of tha female persuasion. If not, people start ta...well, talk. I know yer feelin' severe, Jonny boy, but ya seem ta haf' a grasp on tha more decadent things in loife. So I was thinkin' you could maybe, guide tha boy along?" Jon stared at the man for a long time, and then sighed, walking away to pry his knife out of the wall. Things were quickly becoming a pain in the ass...'But nothing worth it doesn't cause pain. There's been a lot of stomping on your head since you put away the steel and the wood.' Moving across the stage, and back to the amplifier he'd sat on earlier, the vagrant picked up his bass and his cigarettes, and lit a fresh one, watching the drummer go off towards backstage from the corner of his eye. The little redhead fae followed after a bit of an argument with something Jon didn't bother to notice, and he could feel his temper rising as he slung the guitar over his shoulders. Sighing again, he let his head fall, chin striking his chest, and shut his eyes, struggling to focus as he breathed the dust and the air and the light.

When he looked up, instead of a dead man's drunken daze, determination burned in his eyes.

"Oi! Pricks!" Jon moved swiftly into the center of the stage, swinging the bass over his head a few times by its neck. "Stop fucking around. We've got now, less than three hours to get our shit together to possibly get laughed at by a bunch of primitive screwheads that don't know shit about music. You all have somehow proved competent with your instruments, I could hear the cacophony. But now we need to cut all the stupid screwing off and try to play some shit as a band. All of us."

Breathing harsh smoke deep into his lungs, Jon spun and moved rapidly to the backstage, looking as serious as a heart attack. Batting aside the thick show curtains with the bass, he banged the back stage’s door the top of the instrument, and carefully opened it up to see the drummer and the groupie getting comfortable on a dusty desk. "Listen, it's all nice and shit that you neat kids have hit it off, but you ain't got time for a quick screw. Sorry. Unless you want to be taking horizontal pity on each other in a creaky wood shack with a burned little rug. Believe me; I know that it's not a road you wanna take. Maybe this'll fail, maybe you can go back to your merry little adventuring lives; well, the adventure stops one day, and then reality kicks you in the balls - slash - cunt. Althanas isn't glorious. It's just a shit hole, and we may have a chance here to rise above it all. So if we do well here, you two can do body shots of two century old tequila off each other in a satin sheeted bed in some grand penthouse later. C'mon."

The door creaked as it slowly swung shut behind him, and he winced as he moved to the curtain. He realized he'd been rambling, but that was all you could do when you were bitter and oppressed for some time. Throwing aside the curtain, Jon moved right to the amplifier, plugged in the bass, set his foot on top of it, and spat on the floor.

"I'm gonna play something. Keep up and match it with whatever you think sounds good." The vagrant's hands struck the chords rapidly, at first hitting random notes, before he began to string together a fast, simple beat.

[HikariAngel]

The silver-haired catgirl was all too aware of the going-ons between the fae and the drummer. Even as her fingers grew accustomed to the plastic keys and buttons, her gaze never quite left the pair. She knew how to walk in heels. She could have taught the winged girl how to walk. She could have lost her balance and fallen into Josh’s arms. As they flirted so openly, Monica’s face grew redder and redder. Her pulse quickened, finally reaching a crescendo when Lasair reached up with her lips and Josh accepted the kiss.

Dexterous fingers slipped, and the melody running through her head fell apart into a few thousand pieces. They didn’t… no… it wasn’t fair… what does that fae have that she doesn’t? With silence now ringing in her ears, Monica clearly heard Josh talking about security stuff and making sure that there was nothing backstage. Ice started spreading across her balled-up fists as the drummer turned away and walked backstage to “check it out”. She had half a mind to follow him herself once she realized that the fae didn’t understand the connotations of what Josh had said. It was all the more reason why Lasair didn’t deserve him.

The ice cracked and melted when the red-haired woman’s… plushies? Yes, those were animated plushies. When the fae’s plushie dolls explained what he actually meant from what he said. She dropped to her knees, wrists weighing down a cacophony of notes that rang noiselessly through the small earpieces that now dangled helplessly from the jack in the back of the machine.

It was only when Jon got into another inevitable confrontation with their “manager” that the catgirl slinked out of her stupor. Brash as he was, he did have a point. There wasn’t enough time to play around with romance when their first performance was so terribly close and nobody had even tried practicing as a band. Chalk it up to whatever you like, but adventurers like the ones comprising the band were infamous for always doing things their own way.

The bassist starting slapping out a beat; the notes fast and smooth like only a bass could produce. Monica listened to the beat as it repeated, mentally working out ways to join in each time. By the fourth iteration, a new sound joined the airwaves. An ambience that seemed to come from all around the performing hall at once, low and flowing as her left hand matched the general sound of the current chord. Her right hand only played sporadically, a trill here and there to accent a particularly low note or echo a string of notes she found particularly interesting.

[Breaker]

Just as Lasair' lips neared mine, the bad tempered bassist poked his head in and started yelling.

"Son of a bitch, that's some bad timing," I thought, watching Jon walk away, "I bet that guy gets his ass kicked a lot." And of course, as band security, it would be up to me to make sure he stayed in one piece. Perfect.

I turned my attention to the redhead in my arms, a mock serious expression on my face.

"To be contnued," I said, and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Once our lips met I didn't want them to part, but I was all in favor of getting some actual rehearsaing done.

"Come on," I said to the Fae, offering her my arm as I led the way back on stage. With the bass and keyboard already pounding I took up my position at the stool, found a fresh pair of sticks and began tapping them in time to the rhythm. I soon had a decent feel for the music and added my own beat.

"One, two, three, four," I counted over and over in my head, tapping the high-hat on each beat. My foot pounded the bass drum on beat one and two, then I switched to the rattling snare for the third. One the fourth beat of each line I tapped the crown of the ride cymbal, producing a high-pitched clash that fit right in with the wild keyboarding. A smile crept onto my face.

"We're jamming."

[Lucien]

"Lucien," he said with an almost disconnected look on his face. Stardom had hit him like an assassin, stealthfully and without warning. The girl, Kestrel, seemed awfully polite despite what the boy had done, yet his own little world had taken him abruptly and all he saw was his name in lights.

Still, with a little time to look into her, oddly, colored eyes, the teen grabbed hold of the notebook with a rather large heel print on it. He flipped the the pages, enjoying the sound and light breeze more than anything inside it, and smiled at her in his best frontman pose. I'm the star, and I can make anyone sway with just a wink.

"This all looks great," he grinned while grabbing her shoulder, "but I guess, from the sound of it, we need to get harmonized before we can get singing." He tapped her lightly, gave her the book back, and pointed her in any random direction he could in hopes she'd find and take up an instrument. Time for talk was later, they needed to practice for a show that was only two days away.

The bassist, no matter how drunk and bigoted, was right. Things needed to get done fast. As everyone around him began some sort of rhythmic beat, he tried to harmonize his voice in a low hum that was interrupted by the occasional change in pitch. Words don't matter so much anyways. He wasn't convincing at all, and knew they needed to learn a real song shortly. For now though, in the dim lighting that only candle could omit, they could practice with some relative sanity.

And yet all the while, even as he struggled to keep his voice on key, Lucien's eyes couldn't help but see the future. The fame he saw was arousing, and all in his grasp because of one lucky encounter.

[Lasair Anubail]

((As Seth has left, I’ll take over the electric guitar and also do back-up vocals. If anyone has an objection to that, please let me know.))

Lasair couldn’t help but hide her disappointment as another of the band members rudely slammed something rather loudly against the door and then snuck in. The look on his face and the way his beat red eyes glanced at Lasair made her feel extremely uncomfortable. She didn’t really like him, whoever he was. Most of the things he said made no sense to her and he only ever seemed to care about himself. The sad part being that he also seemed to care very little for himself. Plus there was just something in his entire demeanour that was a little creepy to her. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She wouldn’t ever want to be put in a situation alone with him, that’s for sure.

Once he turned and left and before she could do or say much, Josh kissed her. She was reluctant to let the kiss end, but he did eventually pull away. Taking hold of his arm when he offered it, Lasair followed him back out onto the stage where the others were already setting up their instruments. All expect for that young looking human with blonde hair. As the drums, the base and the…weird table looking thingy all created a rather harmonizing sound very pleasing to her ears, he stood in the middle of the stage and did nothing. Almost like what she was doing at that exact moment.

The Fae had no instrument to play, Goldstein had not given her one and even then she was unsure if she could play it. She did quickly notice however that one of them that resembled what she’d heard a few called a base was leaning against a few wooden boxes. She’d seen someone with it earlier but now it appeared he was no longer here. Curious, she walked over to the instrument and picked it up, realizing it was a lot heavier than she anticipated. Looking over to Jon, she placed the strap diagonally across her body, and then held the neck with one hand to proceeded to strum her fingers across the cords. Cool metal rubbed against her sensitive skin as a low, grinding hum came from a large black object near her.

“Lasair what are you doing?”

Turning to the sound of the voice, the Fae watched as Tristram eyed the thing in her hands and the movements she was putting upon it. But she said nothing to him, she was still mad at him for his earlier behaviour. A friend should not say such things to her.

“I thought someone else was playing the electric guitar…” Avery flew over and sat upon her shoulder.

“He appears to have left.” E-lec-tric gi-tar. What a strange name.

Noting how the human kept shifting his hands around, Lasair tried a few different movements and quickly realized that holding the cords at the top or leaving them loose created different noises. And she could also hit multiple cords at once to make them blend together. It was quite interesting. Humming to herself to match the different tones that the gitar produced, Lasair attempted to keep up with the thumping of the drums and the deep brooding sounds coming from the base guitar, but she found herself a little slower than them.

[Sonata]

Sonata just stared at the boy, though she wouldn't say anything against him. She had gone most of her life just letting things be, and this wouldn't be an exception. Still, even if the girl wanted to slug the effeminate boy with all her strength, at least he pretended to be reading her music. It didn't take that much longer for her to realize he probably could read music as well as he could fly.

His grip on her shoulder surprised Sonata and she let out a small sound pf surprize at suddenly being touched by him. For all her travels, the girl hadn't learned much in the way of how to handle personal space. Most of the time she also had Krakatoa and Tambora nearby, and would have used them. Sonata's head nodded at Lucien, and despite herself began to smile. Even if her work was ignored and things might go horribly wrong, playing music was worth all the hardships that would come along with being in a band.

She looked around though, blinking once or twice in the brighter stage light. She knew that there was that same instrument that Goldstein had lured her in with. She wiggled her way past Lucien, who Sonata thought seemed to be drugged on something other then what their bassist had. There were several more boxes, but a very peculiar shaped one that caught Sonata's mismatched eyes readily. Swift and unsure hands fumbled with the clasps and the girl could contain a girly squeal of joy when she saw the same cherry red body. She picked it up quickly, marveling once again at how perfect the instrument seemed to be.

She carried it back to the set, using the other red-haired girl's guitar as a basis of how to set hers up. She had some trouble, dropping the cord as she tried to put it in as well as the confusing knobs on the strange device. She made a mental note to find Krakatoa before too long past. These black things were too confusing, and Sonata's tuned ear caught more then a few moments where she could have easily joined into the song. Still, she managed to find her way into the box and a single, lightly plucked string from the beautiful instrument told her it worked.

She sat down on the box, listening as she did so. She found her eyes closing as the colors of the music swirled before her. It didn't take long for the girl's fingers to begin to pick up, playing somewhat slowly at first, testing the waters. As right as the instrument felt, she was almost ashamed of using it. She didn't feel worthy enough to do so. Her hand began to pluck more quickly, long fingernails picking each string with char as her other controlled the neck. Her notes began to move more quickly, the colors of the her guitar swirling once more before her eyes. Her music began to take the lead of the song, though the picture before the girl's eyes was far from perfect. A smile broke her soft features. They could do so much better, and they were doing so well already.