"Do you think you can memorize
a ten-song setlist by tonight?"
"Um...no?"
"Well then, do you think
you can come up with a bridge for the song--"
"Um, excuse me? Yeah, uh...what's
a bridge?"
"Never mind. Here, do you
at least know how to solo?"
"Uh..."
"Sure, of course we can!
Don't listen to him, all that bleach's gotten into his brains!"
"Hey! I'll have you know,
us Maximoffs do not dye our hair! My hair's naturally platinum,
as was my (rotten jackass) father's before me, as was his father's before
him!"
Jennifer sighed, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she and the band,
sans its two guitarists, interviewed the last candidates to have shown
up for a last-minute audition. She had just spent the better part of nearly
half an hour interrogating two clueless youths who flat out didn't know
what A-minor was, had no idea how to play a solo, and barely even knew
how to pick up a guitar. The band itself didn't seem to care; Rikki was
striking rock star poses in front of the full-length mirror and hollering,
"I'm the King of the World!", Morgan was busy rolling her tongue and giggling
at the way her tongue ring would shift around, and Jericho was too engrossed
in admiring his perfect tan to realize that two potential guitar players
had actually showed up. Jennifer herself had been the one conducting the
whole interview, and had soon realized that not only did these two guys
possess no six-string prowess whatsoever, they flat out didn't even know
how to play a triangle, let alone a guitar! Oh, well,
she thought
to herself, at least they look the part of rock & roll guitarists!
Sure the silver-haired one was a bit on the skinny side, but then again,
plenty of noted guitar icons were skinny as a stick, so that shouldn't
prove to be a problem.
"Well, I have to say I appreciate
your honesty about the fact that both of you are..." Jennifer's voice trailed
off, as she tried to think of a suitable, polite way to put her thoughts
into words. Completely six-string ignorant? Idiots who've probably never
even seen a guitar? Flat out suck? Totally unsuitable for the job? No,
that was a bit too harsh.
"...That you aren't quite
as acquainted with the guitar as one might expect," Jennifer finally mumbled
delicately.
"Oh." The silver-haired
one--Pietro Something-Or-Other--looked absolutely crushed, and Jennifer
immediately felt sorry for him. No! Her sense of logic screamed.
It
was feeling sorry for pathetic struggling musicians that got you into this
Hell in the first place!
"Hey, hold on a second,"
Jericho suddenly spoke up, then scrutinized Jennifer with puzzled eyes.
"Um...what's your name again? Judy...Jodie..Julie! That's it!"
"Gee, I thought I was Giselle,"
Jennifer muttered sarcastically under her breath, but Jericho was too caught
up in whichever brilliant idea he'd suddenly come up with--at least brilliant
enough to get him to stop brushing his perfect blonde hair--to bother with
the poor manager's feelings.
"Hey, you two over there,"
Jericho began to say, looking rather proud of himself for having come up
with such an ingenious way to audition the two candidates. "Who are your
favorite guitar players?"
Lance and Pietro thought for a few seconds, before Lance uttered the
first name.
"Slash," he replied simply,
and it wasn't long before Pietro quickly added, "Oh, I'd have to say Eddie
Van Halen..."
"...And Jimmy Page..."
"...And Angus Young..."
Jericho snapped his fingers before the duo could continue rattling
off a list of guitar icons.
"Well then, there you go,"
he chirped brightly. "It's obvious that you two are perfect for the band."
Jennifer nearly fell off her stool when she heard those words. Turning
around to face Jericho with a bewildered look on her face, she gasped out
incredulously, "They are?" Jericho shrugged, as if it were obvious.
"Well...yeah!" he answered.
Jennifer quickly got off her seat, and pulled the drummer into a corner
where they wouldn't likely be overheard by the two guitar hopefuls.
"Aren't you forgetting something,
Mr. I'm-The-Next-Diamond-Dave?" she hissed through clenched teeth. Jericho
stared back stupidly at her.
"Not really." He shrugged.
Jennifer felt like tearing her hair out in frustration.
"Those two boys know nothing
about a guitar," she pointed out in a clipped tone. "They don't know how
to solo, they don't know what a bridge is, and I seriously doubt that they've
even seen a guitar, let alone played one!"
"Well...maybe," Jericho
agreed reluctantly. He then brightened up, as he added, "But hey, they've
got all the right influences: Slash, Eddie Van Halen, Angus Young...How
can you go wrong with a group like that?"
Jennifer sighed.
"There are plenty of bands
out there today that cite Led Zeppelin and AC/DC as their main influences...and
they're still crap," she pointed out. Jericho responded with another one
of his adorably clueless looks.
"Perhaps," he gave in. "But
they're still influenced by all the right people. Plus, you've got to admit
they're a way better choice than our only other options--that weird girly
German boy and his skateboarding pal."
Jennifer brushed back a strand of hair.
"Well...you've got a point
there, they are better than those two," she admitted. Jericho nodded
wisely.
"Yeah; I mean, the skateboarder
wore a boxers wedgie for one reason or another, and wouldn't stop flapping
his gums about skateboarding," he grumbled. His perfect nose scrunched
up, as he added, "Plus, that German boy kept on trying to hit on me for
one reason or another."
At that point, Rikki chose to make his presence felt, as he turned
around, beer can in hand, and called out belligerently, "Maybe it was because
he thought you were a friggin' chick?" Jericho looked horrified.
"No way!" he gasped, at
the same time that Morgan pouted, "Hey! That was hella mean!" Jennifer
impatiently brushed a stray piece of hair away from her eyes, as she tried
to steer the topic back to the subject at hand.
"So, are we hiring these
two or not?" she tried to say, but Morgan shot up before anyone could reply,
whining in a high-pitched voice directed toward Rikki, "You should apologize,
Rikki Stixx! That was really mean what you said to Jerky; I mean, sure
he has the prettiest hair out of all of us, but that doesn't mean that
guys can't look sexy if they have long hair; in fact, plenty of rock stairs
who leaned a bit on the feminine side were hella sexy, there was Jim Morrison
in the sixties, and then in the seventies we had guys like Robert Plant,
and in the eighties there were Jon Bon Jovi, and Bret Michaels, and David
Lee Roth, and, oh yeah, Axl Rose, and Vince Neil, and..."
"Eh, whatever," Rikki muttered,
as Morgan babbled on, while Jericho pouted and whined, "Hey, quit calling
me Jerky, you know I hate that name!"
Pietro peeked over at Lance
out of the corner of his eyes, waiting patiently while the band seemed
to fight within itself over what appeared to be the who was the sexiest
front man of rock & roll, while their manager looked helplessly on.
Pietro shook his head, darting a second envious glance at his dark-haired
companion. How could Lance wait so patiently, chewing on a piece of grass,
while their potential future colleagues argued on and on over trivial subjects?
Pietro himself couldn't stand to sit still, and would occasionally sprint
all over the room, moving too fast for the normal humans to notice that
he would be fidgeting next to Lance one second, and gone the next, before
reappearing again in the blink of an eye. Not that the band itself would
have noticed; hell, for all they cared, Lance could have dropped the whole
ceiling on them, and they'd still be too distracted over whether their
drummer could boast the most gorgeous hair out of all three of them and
still be all man to notice. Pietro frowned. Except for that Jennifer chick.
She would occasionally dart quick, suspicious looks in his direction whenever
a rush of wind would continually breeze around the room. Pietro turned
to Lance, and whined, "I wanna go home! That little munchkin's beginning
to scare me, and I think their manager might be on to us being mutants
and all!" Lance turned around impatiently, spitting out the blade of grass
in his mouth, before gritting out, "Stuff it, Maximoff. I told you already;
we're shoo-ins for this job, so don't blow it."
"But we don't even know
how to play the guitar!" Pietro pointed out acidly. Pouting, he added,
"And why did you tell me to say that my favorite guitarists were Eddie
Van Halen and Angus Young? I thought everyone knew that I like C.C. DeVille
the best!" Lance quickly clamped a hand over Pietro's mouth, frantically
looking about to see if the rest of the band had overheard. When the trio
continued to argue and generally gave no indication that they'd heard,
Lance removed his hand and hissed, "Because we have to make them think
that we've at least got all the right influences! If they learn that you
mimic the loudmouth from Poison, and can't play anything worth shit,
there's no way they're gonna hire us!"
Pietro pouted.
"Fine," he sulked. "Question,
though?"
"Hmm?" Lance sounded distracted,
as he watched the band come to an agreement with their manager.
"Who's Angus Young?" Pietro
asked innocently, blinking wide blue eyes.
"D'oah!" Lance smacked his
forehead in frustration, and the beer-soaked wooden chair he was sitting
on was just slippery enough to dump him unceremoniously onto his butt.
Jennifer glanced down at her notepad, upon which she'd been half-heartedly taking some notes on the potential guitarists interviewed, and reluctantly reached a decision with the band, still arguing over Jericho's gorgeous blonde hair. Between these two screwballs--who'd at least cited credible influences--and the other two screwballs--one of whom wouldn't shut up about skateboarding, the other who thought their drummer was a chick and kept on trying to pick "her" up--it looked as though the first duo was a better choice. Glancing at her slim silver watch, she noted worriedly that the band couldn't afford to be too picky, anyway: their gig at Valentino's started in roughly six hours, and the band was expected to show up at least one hour early to set up and rehearse. Which left roughly five hours for their newest lead and rhythm guitarists--Lance Alvers and Pietro Maximoff--to learn how to play the guitar, perfect the instrument at least well enough to churn out some half-assed solos, and learn at the absolute minimum ten of the thirty original songs that the band had written over the years, plus a scattering of covers of such recognizable songs as AC/DC's "Back in Black" and Def Leppard's "Rock of Ages". Jennifer stood up, and walked over to their newest guitar players, leaving the rest of the band arguing over what had degenerated into who had the coolest hair in hair metal. Right now they were torn between the guy from Ratt and the guy from Warrant, with Rikki siding with Ratt since he also had black hair, Jericho going with Warrant since their front man was a blonde, and Morgan undecided between the two because...well, because she was Morgan. Lance and Pietro, meanwhile, who'd also begun arguing over one thing or another before Pietro had said something stupid and caused the hapless Lance to fall out of his chair, leapt up immediately when they saw Jennifer approach. Plastering identical huge grins on their faces, the two chirped in unison, "So, do we get the job?" Jennifer had to admit that, despite the fact that they had never even touched a guitar, they did look awfully adorable with those identical hopeful expressions on their faces. Cracking a genuine smile, she said warmly, "Yes. Welcome to the jungle...I mean, to the band! Ugh, one of these days, I'm so gonna confiscate Morgan's GN'R records!"
Morgan wrenched herself out
of the band argument, which had somehow been steered from the best hair
in heavy metal to what kind of conditioner David Lee Roth must have used
in the eighties, long enough to call out with her usual chirpiness, "Hey,
Jenny, if those guys can get out their guitars right now, I think I might
be able to teach them some of the most basic stuff. I mean, yeah, I know
a bass is different from a guitar and all, but...well, with only five hours
to learn how to play and then memorize fifteen songs, I don't think any
of us can afford to be too picky!"
"Uh oh." Lance and Pietro
stopped celebrating, and instead began to look nervous, as Jennifer shot
them a puzzled look, before prodding, "Um...you do at least own
guitars, don't you?"
"No--" Pietro said, before
Lance could stop him. By the time he'd clamped his hand over the silver-haired
youth's mouth, it was too late, and Rikki had already exploded snidely,
"Don't tell me--you audition for a hard rock band not only clueless about
how to play the instruments your positions are supposed to fill, but also
flat out not owning said instruments!"
"Hey...big sentence," Morgan
chipped in brightly, to which Rikki whirled around and shot her a nasty
look.
"But we can get guitars
real easy," Lance stammered nervously. Pietro turned to look at him with
a confused expression on his face.
"We can?" he asked dumbly.
Lance glared at him out of the corners of his eyes.
"Yes, we can," he gritted
out through clenched teeth, while forcing a tight-lipped phony smile on
his face. "Don't worry; we'll be back in half an hour with our guitars."
And he turned around and headed out of the pigsty that the band called
their humble abode, dragging Pietro with him.
Pietro trotted to keep up
with Lance's determined pace, while making sure not to actually break out
into a run and pass Lance by a mile--literally. Tapping his fellow Brotherhood
member on the shoulder, the silver-haired speed demon pointed out sensibly,
"Uh, question? How are going to buy guitars if we're beyond broke, and
the only reason we took up this band gig was to earn some money in the
first place?" Lance turned around with a sly grin on his face.
"Simple," came his reply.
"We'll steal 'em."
Pietro shrugged.
"Okay," he agreed pleasantly,
seeing absolutely nothing wrong with the notion. The two arrived in front
of a brightly-lit shop cleverly titled Six String Center, and Pietro rolled
up his shirtsleeves, eager to get to work and show off at the same time.
"Watch and weep," he bragged,
and zipped into the music store at a speed that would make any normal person's
head spin.
Joe Schmoe glanced up from
his Big Uns magazine when he thought he felt a light breeze go through
the store. Quickly slapping a twelve-week-old newspaper over his, ahem,
more...adult-oriented 'zine, the redheaded, pimple-faced clerk sitting
behind the service counter of Six String Center carelessly leaned
over and glanced around the store. Nothing. Shrugging, Joe Schmoe returned
to his magazine.
"Oof!"
Joe's eyebrows raised a notch when he thought he heard someone grunt
out. Leaning over the service counter again, he scanned the entire music
store for hints of intruders. No one. Another gust of wind lifted up, as
Joe resumed to gawking at the Miss Spring Break centerfold, followed by
the smacking sound of a body hitting a particularly heavy instrument, and
another high-pitched whine of, "Oof! Hey, ow!" Now a bit unnerved, Joe
slammed down his copy of Big Uns, before getting out from behind the counter
and calling out into the empty music store, "Dude, is anybody out there?"
Silence. The only response that greeted his question was another gust of
wind, which was soon followed by another heavy smack and another whine
of, "Uck, too heavy!" Joe's eyebrows nearly flew off his forehead. He could
have sworn he just saw some white-haired kid attempting to pick up one
type of instrument or another, but the apparition was soon gone in a gust
of wind. Blinking, Joe decided that there must be something wrong with
the employees' coffee, and returned to his seat behind the service counter,
eagerly resuming his browsing of the Big Uns magazine.
Lance waited impatiently
for Pietro to return with the promised guitars, but after a few zips around
the music store and several complaints of, "Oof! Too heavy!", the silver-haired
speed demon returned forlornly, highly unsuccessful in his mission.
"The guitars were too heavy,"
Pietro complained, rubbing his sore shoulders. Lance arched an eyebrow.
He knew that at the rate his buddy burned up energy, it didn't leave him
with as much physical strength as, say, himself or Summers, but he'd never
have guessed that Pietro would be so weak and shrimpy as to be unable to
pick up even a guitar. Dude, even that hyperactive purple-haired munchkin
of a bass player--Morgan What's-Her-Name--could lift and shoulder on her
heavy bass guitar with little problem! Lance glanced into the interiors
of Six String Center, wondering what kind of monster guitars they carried...and
then noticed the twin cellos that had been lodged out of place. Smacking
his forehead in frustration, the Brotherhood leader groaned, "Maximoff,
you idiot! Those were friggin' cellos you were trying to steal!
Of
course they'd be too heavy to be lifted over a course of half a second!"
Pietro's face squinched up to resemble that of someone who'd just bitten
into a giant lemon.
"What?!" he lamented. "You
mean I nearly broke my back trying to pick up a bunch of cellos?"
"How could you be so stupid!"
Lance exploded. "I mean, I may not be a guitar god or anything like that,
but even I can tell the difference between a cello and a guitar!"
"Hey, try running at a high
speed and picking up the first two guitars you see," Pietro muttered defensively.
"It's not as easy as it seems, and sometimes, you tend to confuse things!"
Lance sighed, before reaching down and picking up the two empty guitar
cases he'd brought along.
"Here: watch and learn from
the master," he ordered. Pietro eagerly opened the two cases, then frowned
when he found them empty.
"Hey," he murmured, "there's
nothing in here."
"I know," Lance replied.
"That's the whole point. I saw this on TV one night--back when we still
had electricity--and VH1 was running some special on Mötley Crüe.
This is supposedly how Nikki Sixx got his first guitar."
Pietro frowned.
"But I thought Nikki was
the bass player," he pointed out. Lance shrugged.
"I don't know; I could never
tell them apart," he muttered. "All I knew is that front man Vince Neil
was the blonde guy; the other three just sort of blended in to one big
mousse-covered dark-haired scary white faces background."
Pietro shrugged.
"Fine then, let's see how
the master operates," he muttered grumpily, as Lance picked up his
two empty guitar cases and confidently strolled into the music store.
Joe Schmoe glanced up from
his Big Uns magazine when he saw a customer enter the store. Quickly sliding
the 'zine underneath a pile of week-old newspapers, he hurriedly wiped
away the drool from his chin and straightened out his uniform, plastering
a great big phony smile on his face as he greeted, "Yes? Can I help you?"
Lance casually placed his two empty guitar cases down by his feet, as he
lied convincingly, "Hi, I'm looking for a job, and I thought I saw a 'For
Hire' sign by the window. Do you think I could get an application?"
Joe shrugged.
"Sure. Just let me go into
the back and get you the papers, 'kay?" he mumbled, and got off his stool
and scurried into the back room.
"Take your time; I'm in
no particular hurry," Lance called out after him, as he casually walked
over to the nearest display of brand-new electric guitars. Glancing around
quickly and seeing only Pietro outside, Lance began searching the ceiling
for any security cameras.
"Okay, so are you looking
for a regular job, or is it just temporary?" Joe called out from the back.
"Huh?" Lance was confused
for a second, busy gloating over the fact that no cameras were in sight,
before remembering what he'd just said and fibbing, "Oh, uh, I guess I'm
looking for a temporary one." Ignoring the gawky, pimple-faced clerk's
reply, Lance reached over, took the first two non-cellos from their display
racks, casually placed them into his empty guitar cases, and waited. A
few minutes later, Joe Schmoe returned from the back, application papers
in hand.
"So, do you want to fill
them out here, or--" he began to say. Lance graciously took the papers,
and said, "Thank you, I think I'll fill them out at home." And he grabbed
his two guitar cases and strutted out of the room, calling out a friendly
good-bye and adding under his breath, "Sucker."
Pietro was waiting for him
outside the guitar shop, hopping up and down and squealing excitedly, "Well?
Did you get them? Did you? Didyoudidyoudidyoudidyoudidyou?" Lance rolled
his eyes, and handed over one of the guitar cases to his friend.
"Course I did," he bragged.
"Didn't you see the whole ordeal from the window?"
Pietro grinned.
"Well, then, what are we
waiting for? Let's go show these babies off to our band!" he chirped brightly.
Jennifer opened the two guitar
cases, examined the long-necked instruments snugly nestled inside, and
burst out laughing. Lance and Pietro exchanged confused looks, as Morgan
peeked over from behind Jennifer and also began to giggle.
"What? What's so funny?"
Lance wanted to know, and Pietro echoed his questions. Jennifer wiped away
a few tears of laughter, and managed to gasp out between giggles, "These...these
are basses!" Lance looked crushed, and Pietro broke off into a huge, gleeful
smirk, as he punched his buddy in the arm and gloated, "Look who's talking
now!" Lance turned around, and gritted out, "Well, at least I didn't
try to get us two cellos!" Pietro blushed. Jennifer, meanwhile, had regained
her composure, and spoke up pleasantly, "Don't worry, Morgan managed to
find you two some guitars. Apparently, our last two guitar players left
in such a hurry that they didn't bother to take their instruments with
them." Lance and Pietro looked up hopefully.
"You mean...we're still
in the band?" Pietro asked in a tiny voice. Jennifer smiled.
"Of course you are," she
replied in a gentle voice. Morgan piped up, "Hey, why would we kick you
out...especially when you just scored me two free basses?"
"Now you better go with
Morgan so she can teach you the basic stuff," Jennifer spoke up. Glancing
at her watch, she added more seriously, "We've got roughly four hours until
the gig at Valentino's tonight, and this show could make or break us."
*And here's the end to Chapter Two! Next up, we get to read about Lance and Pietro actually performing live! Cya then! ^_^
*Oh, and by the way, VivaGlam, I've decided to add Roxy as the producer/publicity agent. Look for her to make an impact in the next chapter, 'kay?
