Chapter 1: Random Dark
"OK, two questions," Stella's perky voice burst into the bored silence we'd been sitting in. I turned away from the limo's tinted window to look at her.
"First, what is this band competition… thing we're going to, and second why are we going to it anyway?"
"Well," Knox spoke up, "you know as much as I do about the actual band-thing, but all the record company rep. said was that this could get us a lot of recognition here…. Mmmnn… huuun" We lapsed back into friendly silence once again. I watched as Stella pulled out her cell phone and started pushing random buttons, by the intense look on her smooth face, she was probably playing some unintelligent game. Knox was listening to her new music while starring at a Sudoku puzzle, She'd gotten hooked on them about a week ago, and she'd gotten the Sudoku Puzzle Book about an hour ago… she was already more than halfway through it.
We are Random Dark, our newest song, "Death Tree," hit #1 most played song on the continent of Europe, so now we're moving on to try our luck with North America. At the moment we're in a black and fire limo, heading to some big, almighty hotel…thing, so we can compete in a competition we've never heard of, against bands we don't know, for a prize we know nothing about, and they say we're informed.
OK, so, allow me to educate those of you who just joined this randomly unintelligent story. My name is Luna Dark (actually it's not, but I'll get to that later.) I was born in Athens, Greece, but I'm not Greek… confused yet? It's I'm Irish. So what were two full-blooded Irish people (aka, my parents) doing in Greece? I don't know… why don't I know? Because they disappeared, and I was adopted. All I know is that I'm 100 Irish, and their names were Robert and Martha. Yeah, real informed. So after that I grew up normally (I know, no shady background, it makes you want to cry) in high school I got into the whole "make-your-own-music" thing (I love that word), I was a great student, so after high school I went to Trinity College in Ireland. It's there that I met Stella and Knox (those aren't their real names either, but as I said, I'll get to it. Or maybe I'll just leave you hanging.)
We met in a Songwriting Class. At first they didn't seem like my kind of people. Stella was dark. She was born in India, and she had hot-coco colored skin, with long-wavy black hair. She had multiple piercings (multiple? Yeah, more like, she looked like a black pincushion) and solid black eyes. She made me think the Anti-Christ was sitting in my class, at a school desk, taking notes on chords, rhythms and scales. I blinked. Knox on the other hand seemed practically invisible. With short, light brown hair and ordinary brown eyes; plus her entire wardrobe consisted of browns: she was invisible. She wasn't breathtaking, but she wasn't ugly, not short or tall, not thin or fat. Seeing as I had nothing better to do (and in no way shape or form was I sitting anywhere near that group of guys that were eyeballing me) I went and sat with them. And it turned out great! Stella was (and still is) hyperactive and anything that could be described as shiny could amuse her for hours. She's capable of giving herself a concussion just by walking (correction, trying to walk) across a completely flat, solid, and non-slippery surface before you can even turn a full circle. Knox, as it turned out was (and is) the resident genius of Trinity College, who can't say an entire sentence without going off into her own world.
We worked perfectly together, Knox was not only great on a drum set, but was a monster when it came to writing instrumental music. Stella was a heaven sent guitarist, but (despite the obvious) a great people person, especially once the piercings came out. She loves the Cameras (just so you know, I call, reporters, stalkers, and photo takers Cameras, 'cause that's all I ever see of them. Stupid paparazzi). Me, I won't deny that I've got a great voice. And it helps a lot that I write all our lyrics.
Time for Irony 101, you see, I'm exactly like Stella and Knox, meaning that my image doesn't match me. I was born with white-blonde hair (and I'm talkin' so white, my hair could pass as being over 300 years old.) I have grey-blue eyes, and a face that could give Helen of Troy a run for her money (at least that's what everyone says cough cough wink wink.) What with my pale white skin and tall, thin body, I look like an angel that fell from Heaven. And how far I've fallen. I'm the distant one. I don't remember the last time I laughed, smiled or showed any kind of emotion in public. People tend to bore me; I'd rather be in a silent room working on my newest song lyrics than out in the public eye. When Cameras ask me questions, I'm devastatingly honest and I give the shortest answers possible. It's not my fault most people make watching paint dry more exiting than listening to them.
"Luna?" I turn away from the inward rant, that I'm sure you've been enjoying (whoever you is), to stare at Knox.
"Hn?"(Eloquent aren't I?) She looked at me meaningfully.
"Brace yourself," I could feel the limo slowing.
"And be nice." I returned her pleading look with a demonic smirk before replacing my ice mask.
"I'm not promising anything."