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NOTES: Fastest… update… ever. That and it's so late that I'll be forced to keep these notes short, lest I fall asleep before I can post the chapter.
The "rock show" environment described here is based on my own experiences with all-ages shows in my lil town. They're quite fun, actually. My friend plays bass in a band – a band on which BloodStone is not at ALL based. Nope nope. Well, okay, maybe a little -_-;; Oh, look, it's time to reply to reviews.
Thankee-sai's go to Popcorn Oracle, AD-chan, Marisa t3h 1337 h4xx0r Peach, and Bibly.
Popcorn Oracle: Yeah, sorry about the names. I figured that they'd need more normal-sounding names so as not to attract attention in this world -- though you'd think I could come up with something less lame than "Rocco". "Rick" was the alternative. "Ford", though, was the only one I really liked.
AD-chan: Done and done. ^_^
Marisa: Well, I'll admit I was thinking along those lines when I created Blues' name. Well, not the Batman lines, but the other ones. I promise I'll fit in some explanation, but I warn you it'll be fairly patchy and implausible. I've always had a problem with plot holes.
Bibly: Wai! You reviewed my fic! Je continue, je continue! And hey, I didn't even draw instruments in the illustration for this chapter – just a vague silhouette of Rock's and his bass.
Speaking of which, it actually IS just a coincidence that Rock plays *bass* in his band. I've been thinking of Bass as Forte for so long that I didn't notice until later. Oh, and the aforementioned illustration can be found at http://www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php?id=103641
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Rocco's footsteps echoed throughout the Larchwood Room, empty now save a scattering of band members. They had come early to set up the stage and equipment and were now nearly finished with negative fifteen minutes to spare. None of them were particularly concerned about this; all-ages shows in this town were notorious for starting late. The fans had come to expect at least a half-hour wait.
"Umph," Rocco strained, setting an amp down near the front of the stage.
Satisfied he had helped enough for the moment, he retrieved his bass from the corner, plugged it in and began to warm up. During his time in this world he'd discovered he had a proficiency for playing bass guitar. Not long ago he'd befriended a trio of musicians in need of a fourth band member, and had agreed to join them on the grounds that they wouldn't demand TOO much of him. He was, after all, still a beginner. Tonight was their first gig as a foursome – one with the fairly generic garage band name "BloodStone". Rocco was surprised to note how excited he was about the show. Since when was public performance the high point of his life?
"I've been living here too long," he muttered.
"Avoiding any heavy lifting, I see," teased the lead singer, Sam.
His fellow band members had taken Bruce's cue and made a running joke of Rocco's size. Compared to his friends, indeed compared to most kids his age, Rocco was fairly short and thin. The teasing was always good-natured, though, and Rocco didn't mind in the least.
"Nah. Just making sure my bass will drown out your awful voice," Rocco retorted.
"Don't make me cut your strings, kid," Sam warned.
Rocco grinned and continued to warm up, soon joining the rest of the band onstage as people started filing into the room. It looked to be a fair turnout, maybe eighty or ninety people. Bruce was there, of course, easy to spot in his ever-present sunglasses. As Rocco's band was fairly new, they would play first out of a line up of four groups. This meant several things, one being that the crowd would still have a considerable amount of energy – energy for moshing, to be exact. It also meant that Rocco could split and go for ice cream with Bruce if the last three bands weren't so good.
Soon the lights were down and BloodStone began their set, which so far consisted more of covers than any of their own songs. Trying hard to look like he belonged in a band, Rocco swayed and jumped in time with the music as he coaxed out notes from the bass. By the end of their second song he was beginning to gain confidence – which was effectively shattered at the sight of a certain violet-haired audience member making his way toward the stage. Ford now wore a grey toque, but it failed to cover all his long purple locks, and those crimson irises were unmistakable. He appeared to be searching for someone, casting about the mass of people as it writhed and boiled.
The third song started, waking Rocco from his thoughts just in time for him to avoid missing his cue. He'd played this song so many times he hardly needed to concentrate on it, leaving him free to keep an eye on Ford. The object of his attention finally noticed the band onstage, in particular its smallest member. Rocco expected Ford to attack or at least make some attempt to threaten him. Instead he just froze, and stared up at the brunette with an unreadable expression. Rocco was surprised to see actual emotion in those red eyes, rather than their usual blind bloodlust. Just what emotion it was, he couldn't tell. Only that it held a hint of… melancholy, of sadness.
The song was slow and dark, its lyrics expressing nothing but the obligatory teenage angst until the third verse, where it spoke briefly of love. It was then that the look in Ford's eyes changed, while remaining absolutely unreadable to Rocco. Red eyes widened, and whatever emotion was behind them seemed to swirl in building turmoil. They had been watching each other like this for what seemed like hours now, neither one able to break the gaze – much less explain it. Rocco wanted to know what that expression meant, what emotions really were behind those eyes. Why was he just staring like that?
The spell was broken with the song's end. Ford blinked, furrowed his brow, then stared forward blankly as the next song began. This one was faster, and it filled the mosh pit in no time. Ford was struck from behind by an errant mosher, and upon regaining his composure seemed struck by a particularly appealing idea. Spying his sly look and grin, Rocco began to feel more than a little apprehensive. Apparently finding what he had been searching for, Ford disappeared back into the crowd.
Rocco bit his lip and continued to play, hoping this mean Ford had left. There was no sign of him until the band reached the song's third chorus – at which point a blur of grey and purple slammed into Bruce from behind, propelling him straight into the mosh pit. Rocco gasped, but held his ground, knowing Bruce was more than capable of defending himself. He was having trouble keeping an eye on his older brother and violet-haired adversary, surrounded as they were by swirling, restless bodies.
Suddenly he saw them all too clearly. Ford had his shoulder against Bruce's chest and was forcing him into the midst of a particularly enthusiastic group of moshers. He straightened before Bruce could react and brought and elbow down on the former Light bot's shoulder. Ford then drove a knee into his stomach and shoved Bruce roughly toward the group. Rocco's brother had been caught off guard, and in his human form seemed outmatched by Ford's strength.
"Bruce!" Rocco yelled, and stopped playing.
No one in the crowed heard his cry; the rest of the band was still playing at full volume, assuming he had only stumbled momentarily. Ford, meanwhile, continued to use the mosh pit to his advantage, repeating throwing his opponent into the mass of speeding bodies. Finally Bruce was struck by a particularly large youth and ejected from the pit on the side opposite Ford. Realizing his brother was unconscious and in danger of being trampled, Rocco dropped his bass and jumped down from the stage, driving frantically into the crowd. Behind him the band had finally caught on that something was wrong and ceased playing.
"Bruce!" Rocco shouted again.
He found his way to a break in the crowd, where Ford now stood over his brother's battered figure. The attention of those nearest the scene had quickly shifted away from the band. Several dozen pairs of eyes were now on Ford as he prepared to deliver a final kick.
"FORTE!" Rocco yelled, not noticing the slip.
Ford stopped and looked up at him, his eyes having returned to their usual coldness.
"It's Ford here, Rocco," he said, imitating Rocco's earlier statement.
"Get away from him," Rocco ignored the Ford, more concerned with helping his brother.
"What? Afraid your big brother won't be able to protect you? Are you really so weak here?" Ford taunted.
"Coward," Rocco spat, "your fight was with me, not him. Why didn't you take me on stage back there, huh? Why stand there staring for a whole song then run off and attack the stronger one when he's not even LOOKING? You're a coward, Forte."
Ford blanched at Rocco's mention of their earlier experience. He then growled, baring his teeth and looking remarkably like a cornered animal.
"Is that what you want, Rock? Fine. You'll get your fight, Blueberry," he snarled, then turned an left.
Rocco watched Ford retreat for the second time that day. He then dropped to his knees beside Bruce, grimacing as he took in the damage. His older brother's face was a map of bruises and cuts, and his right arm lay at an unnatural angle. Even his signature sunglasses had been shattered on one side. Ford had wanted to take the stronger one out of the picture, and from the look if it he had succeeded.
"Rocco?" Sam's voice came from behind him, full of concern.
"Help me get him out of here," said Rocco.
Sam nodded, and moved to pick up the unconscious boy. Rocco followed him out to the parking lot, eyes and spirits downcast. Tomorrow he would fight Ford, and this time there was no one to back him up… and no way out.