Summary: Foop and his friends form a rock band for their school's talent show, but they must keep it hidden from Anti-Cosmo, whom Foop secretly fears disapproval from.

Wow! How long's it been since I've posted? Sorry, guys. I kinda lost interest for a while, and then I got a job... Oddly, my creative juices started flowing at work. Kinda makes the day go faster if I start imagining things. Who knew?

Anyway, this episode features a canon plot point of the series. Just so you know. ;)

I'm (Not) in the Band (Part One)

"Come on, guys!" Bryson called, racing through the empty school hallways. "We're almost there!"

His three friends were significantly less enthusiastic. Anti-Goldie was the first to respond. "Bryson, you said that six times now."

"The playground is that way," Foop drawled, jerking his thumb in the opposite direction but not expecting the Xye-boy to pay attention.

"Brother, where are we even going?" Brenda asked.

Finally Bryson stopped in front of a door and grinned at his friends, showcasing his shark-like teeth. "Okay, so I was just opening random doors - because I'm a creep - when I found something amazing."

"If it's worth missing recess over, it must be amazing," Foop deadpanned.

With a dramatic, "Ka-pow!" Bryson swung the door open, revealing the band room, which had various instruments strewn haphazardly all over the room. The kids entered the room, and Bryson - still the only excited one - closed the door. "My guess is that the band kids dropped all their instruments during that fire drill we had this morning. No one ever picked them up, so I say," he picked up a flute and play a note on it, "we make musical magic!"

Foop rolled his eyes. Were they seriously missing recess for this? "Bryson Diablo, don't take this the wrong way, but you can go to Heck. I'm outta here."

"Ah, come on, Foop," Anti-Goldie chided, grabbing a nearby trombone. "Music's fun." She blew into it.

Bryson sat down at the drum set and raised his drumsticks high. "Join the party, man!"

Unbelievable. He really needed new friends. And...was Brenda actually (badly) playing the tuba? Apparently, he also needed a new crush. "Oh, please. What has music ever done for me?"

Brenda shrugged. "Background music for movies?"

"Loud noises that drive your parents insane?" Bryson suggested.

Foop was about to go back to recess, when Anti-Goldie slyly suggested, "Evanescence?"

Foop blinked and picked an electric guitar - what was that doing in the band room? - and said, "Well, I suppose there are worse things we could be doing with our time."

Bryson cocked his head. "What's an Evansen- Even sis-"

Brenda snapped her fingers. "Effervescence."

"That's what it was."

"Evanescence," Anti-Goldie corrected. "It's some Earth-band that Foop likes." She shrugged. "Not really my thing, personally. I'm more into bands like DNCE."

Foop gaped at her. He really, really needed new friends. "DNCE? Those guys who sing about cake at the ocean?"

"Hey, it's no different than you liking Evanescence."

"The difference, Anti-Goldie, is that Evanescence's music is bold and filled with emotion; their lyrics are deep and meaningful. Whereas your little boy band eats cake on the beach like a bunch of weirdos."

"Why are we even talking about this?"

"Who cares?" Bryson tapped his drumsticks together. "Let's blow the roof off this place! Although, if someone says something, we'll probably have to stop."

Foop sighed. So much for recess. "Whatever." He strummed the guitar in his hands.

Something clicked. He strummed again. Something felt...good. Natural, even, like he had been handling guitars his entire life. So, he played. The world blurred around him, and it was just him and his music. Mother of Hades, it felt good. After a while, he noticed his friends gaping at him and forced himself to stop.

He glanced at each of them in confusion. "Why are you all staring at me?" He raised one hand and ran it over his face, asking, "Is there something on my face?"

Brenda was the first snap out of it. "Guys, something's wrong with me. My stomach feels funny, my pulse is acting insane, and for some reason I like it."

Foop didn't have time to process what that implied, because Bryson piped up, "Dude, you killed it! You killed it and buried it in the dirt and did the Mexican Hat Dance on it!"

"Bryson's right! I think," Anti-Goldie agreed. "How did you do that?"

...How did he do it? "I don't know. It's the opening riff from one of my favorite songs: Say You Will by Evanescence." He shrugged. "It just felt right."

Brenda sat down at the piano. "Boy, I'm gonna have to start listening to that band. How'd that riff go again? Something like…"

She then proceeded to play the exact riff on the piano. Anti-Goldie joined in on a bass guitar. The boys gawked at them in amazement.

"Whoa!" Foop gasped when they were finished. "Where did you guys learn that?"

Anti-Goldie shrugged. "My dad owns a music store. I like to goof around with the instruments after closing."

"And, as for me," Brenda began, "I got bored one day, so I started teaching myself piano. Before Bryson and I were born, our parents ate this guy name Beethoven and stole his piano. They don't use it, so I thought I'd take a crack at it."

"Wait!" Anti-Goldie flew up in excitement. "Isn't the school having a talent show next month?"

Foop answered, "I think so. Why?"

The triangular toddler grinned. "Guys! I play bass, Foop plays guitar, and if we swap out Brenda's piano for an electric one, we could form a band!"

Foop grinned back and tightened his grip on the guitar. The talent show would be a waste of time, but the way that melody had flowed through him… If a talent show was what it took to feel that again… "Well, I suppose it could be fun."

"Yeah!" Brenda agreed. "Let's do it!"

"Hm…" Bryson hummed as he absent-mindedly started playing a surprisingly good beat on the drums. "I wonder what I should play…"

His friends and sister exchanged looks. "Um, how about drums?" Brenda suggested.

Bryson stopped playing and mulled it over. "Well...I'm more of a triangle-guy...but what the heck? I'll try anything once."

"Then, it's settled." Foop announced. "We'll form a band, win the talent show, become famous, and eventually TAKE OVER THE WORLD! Or, at the very least, become one-hit wonders. I'd be okay with that. We'll meet at my house after school to begin writing our first big hit!"

The door opened and the principle glared at all of them. "Hey, you kids aren't allowed in here!"

Foop returned the look. "And, you're not allowed in this dimension!" He poofed the principle to a dimension full of floating baby heads of various sizes.

As planned, the four of them met up in Foop's room (five, if you count Foop's pet, Vladimir). Said vampig was currently gnawing on one of Brenda's long pigtails. She yanked it out of his mouth and held it out of his reach, wondering aloud, "Why is that, every time I come over, Vladimir tries to eat my hair? Why not Anti-Goldie's? She's got pigtails too, and we both use the same shampoo."

Anti-Goldie held up her hands. "Hey, leave me out of this."

"Focus, girls," Foop chided. "Now, our first order of business is picking a name for our new band."

"Oh, I got one!" Anti-Goldie announced. "How about The Beat-Alls? 'Cause, we'll beat them all at the talent show."

Foop narrowed his violet eyes. "Super lame. Moving on!"

Brenda suggested, "What about Brenda and the Holograms?"

"Possibly…"

"Oh, oh, I got one!" Bryson exclaimed. "The Winx Club!"

"What. Does that even mean?"

"Sorry. You put me on the spot, and I panicked."

Foop groaned. "This shouldn't be so hard! All we need is something short, catchy, and easy to remember. Something that says we're a group of misfits who formed a band and just want to control the earth and enslave the human race!"

Bryson raised his hand. "Actually, my and Brenda's species wants to devour the human race. And, other races."

Anti-Goldie scooted frightfully away from him. "I thought Xye couldn't eat meat until adulthood."

"That used to be the case," Brenda corrected, "but Xye evolved so that they can safely eat meat the very moment they're born. Bryson and I just choose not to eat people. Draws a lot of unwanted attention."

Foop was only half-listening, because suddenly the name popped into his head. "That's it! We'll call ourselves...Brangelina! No, that's stupid. Wait, I've got it! We're The Misfits!"

"That's perfect, Foop!" Brenda commented.

"Yeah!" Bryson agreed. "'Cause we're all weirdos in a land full of weirdos!"

Anti-Goldie crossed her arms. "I still like The Beat-Alls, but I guess I'm out-voted."

"Okay, we have a name," Bryson said. "Now, we just have to write a song. Does anyone know how to do that?" The others shrugged.

So, they decided to ask the smartest person they knew, and Foop was glad to be the one to do so. "Father, Father, guess what!" He excitedly flew up to his father, who had just returned home from a meeting. "I have musical talent! I play the guitar as though I have been for years! Which is odd, because I'm only three and a half."

Anti-Cosmo eyed his son skeptically. The boy did seem rather excited, but at his age, "playing" an instrument could just as easily mean strumming random cords. Then again, he was rather bright for his age. Anti-Cosmo poofed his son an acoustic guitar. "Prove it. Play me something. Anything at all."

To his pleasant surprise, Foop played a lovely tune on the guitar and seemed very relaxed and happy while doing it. Anti-Cosmo's heart swelled with pride at his new-found prodigy.

"My badness," he breathed. Foop stopped and smiled at him. Anti-Cosmo clapped. "Bravo, child! Bravo, indeed! Oh, this is so exciting! I've always been such a lover of the arts! Who knew my own flesh and blood was a prodigy in it?"

Foop tried to pretend his face wasn't darkening at the praise. "Oh, it's just one instrument."

"Music is music, Foop. And, you seem to have quite an ear for it. I mean, as long as you don't waste your talents on something frivolous like, oh, rock and roll or something."

Foop's pulse paused. "Uh, frivolous, you say?"

"Well, sure. Personally, I never saw the appeal. It's just a bunch of tone-deaf ninnies wasting their time on loud noises, tattoos, and hot pants."

Crud. Now, what was Foop supposed to do? Obviously, he couldn't tell his father about the band, but… "I...I couldn't agree more. I am far too mature for that utter nonsense."

Anti-Cosmo patted his head. "I'm glad you see things my way, son."

But, of course, Foop's band-mates just had to pick now to enter the room. "Did you ask him, yet?" Bryson asked.

"Ask me what?" Anti-Cosmo wondered. "And, what are you kids doing here?"

Anti-Goldie started, "Well, we started a ba-"

And, was interrupted by Foop covering her mouth with his hand. He hoped the casual smile he gave his father actually looked casual. "Oh, I was just showing off my new-found talent to my friends." He whispered to them, "Play along." Then, a sudden wet sensation had him recoiling in disgust. "Ew! Hand-licker!" He pointed to a smug Anti-Goldie. "You are a dirty hand-licker!"

Brenda coughed into her fist to break the awkward silence that followed. "Anyway...we wanted to help Foop write a song, but we don't know how to do that."

"Well, I'm afraid I wouldn't know much about that," Anti-Cosmo told them. "If I were you, I'd just Google it."

"Okay, we'll do that," Foop said, eager to get away from his father and explain the situation to his band-mates.

Anti-Cosmo smiled. "Bad luck, my little prodigy. Oh, I just love the way that sounds!"

"Aheh. Thanks, Father," Foop said, ushering his friends out of the room. Once they were out of earshot, he told them, "Guys, we cannot tell my dad about our band. In my excitement, I forgot how much he hates everything that our generation likes."

"Since when do you care what your dad thinks?" Anti-Goldie asked.

It was a valid question, Foop begrudgingly realized. But, there was no way in Heck that he was going to admit to how much he looked up to his father. "I- That-That's irrelevant! The point is, for the sake of The Misfits, we cannot under any circumstances, tell my father about our band. It's probably good idea to keep the talent show under wraps as well, alright?" They didn't looked convinced. In fact, they almost looked...worried. Like they suspected how deeply Foop was hurt by what his father had said. "Let me phrase that another way; either keep the band and the talent show a secret from my father...OR EAT HOT, MOLTEN DEATH!"

That got them to agree.

To Be Continued...

Yeah, in my head-canon, Foop cares about his family and looks up to his dad. We don't really know what his relationship with his parents is, so technically it's not OOC. On a side note, why have we not seen Foop's parents since he was born? Seriously, why?

Anyway...you have two options. Option 1) Review this story. Option 2) DEATH! PAINFUL, FIERY DEATH!