Author's Note which everyone must read cos it's important;D :
Hey! Love to everyone for your reviews! Sorry if I haven't had the chance to reply to anything anyone's sent me yet, I can't wait until my laptop with internet's fixed cos I still have to trundle down to the library (which is full of crazy people and loud kids) and wait for hours to get on a computer (There are only two of them, the other two are kids' territory and never available)...
Anyway, still without a band and armed only with a keyboard the length of a zebra crossing, I have started writing the rest of the lyrics to "where are you going, Vince Noir?" as requested. :D Funnily enough, I have another song I wrote which sounds as if it's based on this story :P
Lastly, I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter and the next, I promise the one after these two will be long, but there's a lot of little things to get out of the way first. Enjoy! :D
Disclaimer: I am still recovering from the shock that my family know Gary Numan's Wife (Why did no one tell me this before!) seriously, they casually brought it up whilst I was dancing about to "Cars"- to even think of a disclaimer.
Warnings: Language
Three weeks later...
The flat was empty. Or it could have been full, depending on whether you were calling it a rubbish bin or not. There were items of outdoor clothing and empty cans all over the place, Vince's psychedelic drawings for their stage backdrops and posters strewn all around the room, Nowé and Syd tended to use the entire place as an ashtray, and there was a mountain of unwashed dishes in the sink.
Vince waded through the mess and found himself in the small kitchen, leaning against a counter and listening to the vague sounds outside: the rain pattering against the windows, a train in the distance, several birds squawking in a tree (apparently they were arguing over planning permission with the birds in the tree adjacent) and then the sound of footsteps on their way into the flat.
'Vince? Are you in here?'
It was Kaine, the drummer. Everyone said he was more of a confuser than Vince. Vince didn't agree.
'Yeah,' he replied, voice muffled as he chewed on his thumbnail.
Kaine came into the kitchen, gripping the door handle and pausing in the door to pant for breath, using the doorframe for support. His hair- which was short except for the fringe, and the colour of midnight with a faded blue tinge- had gone into wet spikes, and his fringe was plastered down over his eyes. He flicked it back, revealing green eyes, before giving Vince a sideways smile.
Vince found himself smiling back, 'Is it raining outside?' he asked mock-unknowingly.
Kaine swatted him, 'Sod off, you,' he threw his wet jacket out into the hallway.
Vince threw a tea towel at his head.
'Hey,' Kaine protested, 'what are you-'
'Dry your 'air with it!' Vince exclaimed, voice high, doing the job himself.
Kaine squeaked in protest, grabbing the towel and whipping Vince's arse with it.
Vince shrieked and run into the living room giggling.
It had been going on for two weeks, silly flirting when the rest of the band were out chatting up dollybirds, and Vince knew that if he wasn't in love with Howard, he would probably have kissed him by now, just like he would probably have kissed most of the fan-girls that chased them around.
But he loved Howard.
He spent most of his time thinking about him and missing him and wondering why the hell he hadn't even rung him just to say hello. Did he love Dixie that much that he no longer cared where the man who was supposed to be his best mate for years had gone?
He was jolted out of his thoughts when he heard the front door opening again and the heavy booted feet of the rest of the band traipsing in, Roxx- lead guitarist-'s exclamation loud and brash in the hallway:
'Fuckin' 'ell this place is a shit 'ole!'
Vince rolled his eyes; that was an ingenious statement...
'Yeah, how did it get like this!' Nowé threw his bag down in the hallway and slung his jacket all the way into living room where it missed the sofa and landed on the floor.
Irritated all of a sudden, Vince shoved past Kaine and stormed into the hallway, hands on his hips, 'Cos clearly no-one's heard of somethin' called a bin!' he snapped, thinking God, I sound like Howard.
'Alright, Vince,' Nowé held up his gloved hands defensively, 'don't go all housewife on us...'
Vince came to the conclusion that the band didn't stay out long enough. He was sick of everything about it all; he just wanted to be left alone. He didn't want to party, flirt or get drunk, he just wanted to sit alone somewhere and gather his thoughts.
He had slim chances of that: they were going on tour tomorrow.