Hello all! Welcome to my first OC fan fiction. This is a Marissa-based and very AU story which is ironic, I know, considering she's DEAD! But none the less I'm not going to let that little detail steal my thunder. There are no pairings as of yet and I'm just going to see where this takes me before deciding any. So, with that said, on with the show… Enjoy!
The Passengers
PROLOGUE
Gazing upon the expanse of nameless faces, the familiar surge of warmth ignited her body. A feeling only ever experienced on stage, she had discovered. As a lone bead of perspiration abseiled down her defined features and anchored itself on her grin, she calmly spoke soft murmurs into the microphone, received immediately with thunderous applause. With one swift and effortless flick of the hand, the sweat had vanished, and the band had begun playing the next song.
Harmonious melodies saturated the very walls of the pokey venue as the band continued to play. The nameless faces now a sea of swaying bodies, seemingly swept in an invisible tide. She grasped the microphone tighter and pressed it sharply to her lips; her dewy but raspy and deep tone oozed around the room in an effortlessly sexy demeanour as she oozed around the stage in similar fashion.
As the show came to an end, with one final encore and the traditional salute of the 'finger' from the tantalising front woman and a nervous wave from the guitarist, the band returned to their dressing room, a tangle of joyous energy and congratulations:
"Great show tonight guys…give me a ring sometime and we'll sort something out" or "Bloody brilliant, you crazy bitches…fucking fruitier than a melon man…"
The praise continued to track their progress from the stage to the dressing room where they were promptly followed and the party began.
"So, Marissa," the small man from NME magazine with the sharp suit began his interview, "you've just finished your third headlining gig here in the old UK, how does it feel…?"
Marissa deftly worked the make-shift cigarette between her fingers and then placed the some-what shaky roll up between her lips. She leaned forward, "got a light?" The interviewer smirked and reached into his pocket for the required tool. Once the cigarette had been successfully lit, Marissa slowly reclined in the giant leather sofa she had been drowning in, blowing smoke rings with a pensive expression adorning her seamless face:
"It feels good, Tom." She reclined further with a satisfied smirk.
"My name's Matt…" The confused interviewer began.
"No, I'm sorry, I know it's Matt, I was just kidding," sighing in relief that he did not have to deal with another tempestuous wannabe rock star with a bad attitude and even worse habits, he relaxed and opened his ears to the beauty before him," it does feel fantastic though, I'm elated! I can't stop grinning! Ask the guys too, it was a fucking fantastic show though wasn't it. The crowd were great; we are definitely looking forward to coming back soon."
"Cool. You ever play this venue before?"
"No we've never played this one before, but when we were younger and scrambled enough money to come here for a summer, 'cos the music scene's so fucking genius and original, we played some of the pubs close by. Always have great crowds here; up for anything, but bloody hostile too if you're not your best."
"Glad to see you appreciate the music. Tell me about the music scene back home."
"It's great too, well LA slightly more than Orange County, but it's no backwater. We just wanted to see if we could try our luck out here for a while… and I think it's paying off; don't you?"
The interview continued for a large portion of the night, surrounded by drunken friends in the now very cramped dressing room; a slow and steady stream of alcohol being consumed by those who occupied the vicinity, swiftly followed by stronger substances. They were rock stars now after all.