*insert bad guitar solo here*
OMG. No more assessment for, like, two full months.... *dies of happiness* The only thing I'm scared of with the lack of pressure, is that I'll forget something really important, like how to write an essay or something. *stresses*
Currently I'm sitting on my bed and listening to Morrissey/The Smiths CD's, watching the drizzle outside. Drizzle, fo shizzle...
Also cleaning on and off. I've got my home-maker outfit on.
---
The lights came on, flickering for a moment before being adjusted so they hit the three men on the stage just right, throwing ghastly shadows against the brick wall behind them. For a moment the light was so bright that Neal had to raise his hand up to shield his eyes, squinting until he finally became used to it.
Beyond the lights he could see that the room was crowded with people. He smiled as he took a sip from his water bottle, remembering the days when they used to have trouble selling even five tickets to their shows... Now they were selling out 500 tickets in three and a half minutes. All things considered, he thought it was a good effort. It meant they were doing something right. Especially since the tickets to tonight's gig had been almost one hundred and fifty dollars each...
He put his water bottle down next to him, careful to set it far enough away so as not to kick it over with his foot. For a moment he glanced at his two band mates, David and James, each sitting on a black lacquer bar stool much like himself, each holding an expensive acoustic guitar in their hands. Neal remembered when they'd barely been able to afford replacement strings for their instruments, let alone anything as costly as what they had now.
Neal felt the eyes of five hundred people on him as he switched his microphone on, mumbling, "Hello everyone... We're the Cadavers - if you didn't already know. If you didn't know, then sucks on you for spending one hundred and fifty dollars to be here tonight..." There was a laugh from the audience at this point, but Neal continued speaking. "I suppose you all know who we are, so it'd be pointless introducing ourselves to you... Unless either of these guys want to do it?" He looked across at James and David, both sitting to his right, who each shook their heads.
Gently Neal lent forward, lips softly brushing against the microphone as he spoke, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Ok then. Might as well start. This song is our ode to an abusive relationship. It's been done before, but oh well... I suppose we're kind of like Travis..."
"Except not Scottish." David added, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, light reflecting off them so that his eyes were unseen.
"Yes," Neal agreed. "Not Scottish. At least, not that we know of."
James began softly strumming his guitar, minor chords and occasionally something weird thrown in to liven things up. He did this for a little while before Neal and David joined in; David picking at the strings on his guitar, and Neal beginning to sing softly, "Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know, that something wasn't right here..."
Someone in the audience began to laugh, having figured out what the song was, and Neal shot them a murderous glare. He stood up from his stool, grabbing his microphone and stalking to the front of the stage, searching the small crowd for the man who had laughed.
"Right," Neal hissed, eyes narrowing to thin slits in his face. "Whichever one of you laughed, fuck you. Abusive relationships aren't something to be made fun of. You wanna laugh, then you get leave right-fucking-now. This is a really serious song."
"Even though it was sung by Britney Spears..." David said softly, hoping that no one would hear. Neal was totally off his face on both the free beer they'd been given and on the pills that he'd taken before the gig, and David was terrified of Neal going mental and hitting him. Or even worse, hitting James. Suddenly he saw the irony of the situation and let out a little giggle.
Neal gave one last glare to the crowd before spinning around on his heel, stalking back to his chair. Then they began the song all over again, everyone feeling a little tenser than when they had first walked into the room.
They played all the way though, David and James helping sing during the chorus to bring out the harmonies in the song, Neal staying - for the most part, at least - perfectly lucid.
(I was going to have, when the last line of the song ("Hit Me Baby One More Time...") was sung, Neal jump up and crack a guitar over David's head, but A) I got too lazy and B) It would've been really hard to write. As in the actual structure and wording, not because David got hurt. Bugger that! *Cackles*)
And yes, I could've written more in the middle (i.e. The whole gig... Which I've jut died at the thought of writing... And not died in a good way. Died in a bad way...) but it would've been too much. I only wanted the funny bit. And it's still not perfect - but meh....
Currently I'm sitting on my bed and listening to Morrissey/The Smiths CD's, watching the drizzle outside. Drizzle, fo shizzle...
Also cleaning on and off. I've got my home-maker outfit on.
---
The lights came on, flickering for a moment before being adjusted so they hit the three men on the stage just right, throwing ghastly shadows against the brick wall behind them. For a moment the light was so bright that Neal had to raise his hand up to shield his eyes, squinting until he finally became used to it.
Beyond the lights he could see that the room was crowded with people. He smiled as he took a sip from his water bottle, remembering the days when they used to have trouble selling even five tickets to their shows... Now they were selling out 500 tickets in three and a half minutes. All things considered, he thought it was a good effort. It meant they were doing something right. Especially since the tickets to tonight's gig had been almost one hundred and fifty dollars each...
He put his water bottle down next to him, careful to set it far enough away so as not to kick it over with his foot. For a moment he glanced at his two band mates, David and James, each sitting on a black lacquer bar stool much like himself, each holding an expensive acoustic guitar in their hands. Neal remembered when they'd barely been able to afford replacement strings for their instruments, let alone anything as costly as what they had now.
Neal felt the eyes of five hundred people on him as he switched his microphone on, mumbling, "Hello everyone... We're the Cadavers - if you didn't already know. If you didn't know, then sucks on you for spending one hundred and fifty dollars to be here tonight..." There was a laugh from the audience at this point, but Neal continued speaking. "I suppose you all know who we are, so it'd be pointless introducing ourselves to you... Unless either of these guys want to do it?" He looked across at James and David, both sitting to his right, who each shook their heads.
Gently Neal lent forward, lips softly brushing against the microphone as he spoke, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Ok then. Might as well start. This song is our ode to an abusive relationship. It's been done before, but oh well... I suppose we're kind of like Travis..."
"Except not Scottish." David added, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, light reflecting off them so that his eyes were unseen.
"Yes," Neal agreed. "Not Scottish. At least, not that we know of."
James began softly strumming his guitar, minor chords and occasionally something weird thrown in to liven things up. He did this for a little while before Neal and David joined in; David picking at the strings on his guitar, and Neal beginning to sing softly, "Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know, that something wasn't right here..."
Someone in the audience began to laugh, having figured out what the song was, and Neal shot them a murderous glare. He stood up from his stool, grabbing his microphone and stalking to the front of the stage, searching the small crowd for the man who had laughed.
"Right," Neal hissed, eyes narrowing to thin slits in his face. "Whichever one of you laughed, fuck you. Abusive relationships aren't something to be made fun of. You wanna laugh, then you get leave right-fucking-now. This is a really serious song."
"Even though it was sung by Britney Spears..." David said softly, hoping that no one would hear. Neal was totally off his face on both the free beer they'd been given and on the pills that he'd taken before the gig, and David was terrified of Neal going mental and hitting him. Or even worse, hitting James. Suddenly he saw the irony of the situation and let out a little giggle.
Neal gave one last glare to the crowd before spinning around on his heel, stalking back to his chair. Then they began the song all over again, everyone feeling a little tenser than when they had first walked into the room.
They played all the way though, David and James helping sing during the chorus to bring out the harmonies in the song, Neal staying - for the most part, at least - perfectly lucid.
(I was going to have, when the last line of the song ("Hit Me Baby One More Time...") was sung, Neal jump up and crack a guitar over David's head, but A) I got too lazy and B) It would've been really hard to write. As in the actual structure and wording, not because David got hurt. Bugger that! *Cackles*)
And yes, I could've written more in the middle (i.e. The whole gig... Which I've jut died at the thought of writing... And not died in a good way. Died in a bad way...) but it would've been too much. I only wanted the funny bit. And it's still not perfect - but meh....