The Drum Captain
ch 2
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[A/N]: Plot...ready...go....*nothing comes out*....damn.
Rating: R for suggestive situations, eventually swearing, and dark themes
Warnings: yaoi, suicidal thoughts, band madness
===================
Michelle silently swore to herself. 'We're stopping after 3 measures! Why did I go on?!' She knew that Sierra was gonna chew her out for that one. She had just done this twice in a row.
Sure enough, Sierra's deep chocolate eyes shifted their glance towards the snare line, and specifically at Michelle.
"The next time someone goes on, ALL of you will do twenty push-ups," she stated coldly. "And thirty for you, Summers," she added on, playing a perfect flam on Michelle's snare drum. Sierra was exactly Michelle's height, and therefore could look her straight in the eye. Sierra Mills was the battary instructor of Oakland Creek. The male representatives of the battery saw her as the sexy, young instructor of age 24, fresh out of college, and stared more at her intense eyes, dark hair, and chest than accomplishing anything at drumline rehearsel. And although she was a new instructor at the school, she already made sure to instill fear in the members of the battery.
"Judging from what I've heard about this drumline," Sierra began a lecture, "and about this band in general, you don't do very well in competition, and your band has the most generic shows and cliché music of any I've ever seen before." Michelle glared at Sierra, but the black-haired instructor didn't notice. Michelle wanted Sierra to shut up and continue the practice. "And going from that," Sierra continued, "our centre three snares don't need to be screwing about and spacing out." She took a deep breath and turned the metronome (affectionately referred to as The Nome) back on. "From the drum break in the opener, and let's see if I can spice it up a bit. Count off, Arleans."
The drum captain's eyes were deadset straight ahead of him. His presence alone motivated the rest of the line to set themselves, eyes forward, looking as pissed off as possible. The deep voice that sent shivers down the flutes' spines counted four duts, followed by the rest of the drumline's counting. As Michelle played, she concentrated on stopping in the right place. She did this not because it would please Sierra, but because she hated it when people looked down on her, and Sierra would chew out, cut down, and intimidate any offender to the traditional drumline discipline, without hesitation.
Michelle played the last downbeat flam of that particular lick, and snapped her drumstick in in unison with everyone else.
***
DJ left band practice in a fury. He hadn't been able to concentrate throughout the entire four-hour practice because of the eye contact he had made with the DC in the first few moments. He couldn't get Damian out of his head, and it was starting to disturb him.
'After all,' he thought, 'I'm not gay.' He sighed as he reached the band hall. He pulled the mouthpiece off his trumpet and opened his trumpet case, placing his Precious (as he referred to it) back in its rightful home. After closing the case and locking it away safely in a band locker, he stood there for a moment, his hand still on the lock. 'Why on earth am I still thinking about him and his eyes? Sure, they're intimidating, but they're not much to think about. His black hair really brings them out and...' he stopped in mid-thought, his own eyes opening wide. Did he just think that? He glanced to his left, only to see the last person he wanted to see, locking his snare drum away. DJ found himself glaring at the center snare drummer. 'Why did you have to just appear in front of me, huh? Why right now? Couldn't you have waited until tomorrow?'
Damian picked up his taped marching sticks up from the ground and placed them in his back pocket. Turning to leave the band hall, he caught DJ's stare, and stared back.
'Oh shit,' DJ's heart started racing. 'Why am I still looking at him?! He's gonna think I'm some kind of freak, just staring at him like that..' he blinked, hoping that Damian would vanish. But no such luck: Damian started walking towards him. 'Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.' DJ's thoughts reiterated. As the tan, dark-haired drum captain approached him, the dirty blonde trumpet player took a step backwards, thinking about escaping the situation, as if it were even dangerous. Moving backwards only caused Damian to move closer to DJ, and soon enough, DJ found himself backed up against the tuba lockers. 'Please don't hurt me,' was all DJ could think. Damian's face was now inches from DJ's. The trumpet player, the younger and smaller of the two, seemed to shrink in the Damian Arleans's wake.
Damian closed his eyes. "Why do you keep staring at me?" his resonant voice spoke softly, so that DJ alone could hear him. "You couldn't break eye contact."
DJ found himself sweating, and his palms were sweaty. Damian was so close to him; it made DJ incredibly uncomfortable and not to mention scared half to death. "I," he started, "I don't know. I'm just..I mean I..I keep spacing out today, that's all." DJ shut his own eyes and leaned against the tuba locker above him, trying to put some distance between Damian and himself.
Damian noticed DJ's incredible dislike of the situation, and stood back up straight, giving the junior section leader some room to breathe. He sighed and opened his eyes again, once again making deadly eye contact. He made a final statement to DJ, before turning around and leaving the band hall for that day.
"I couldn't concentrate all through practice because of you."
===================
[A/N]: Oy...maybe I should down the rating. R&R, please, it'll make me happy...and I'll give you Pocky ^-^
===================
ch 2
===================
[A/N]: Plot...ready...go....*nothing comes out*....damn.
Rating: R for suggestive situations, eventually swearing, and dark themes
Warnings: yaoi, suicidal thoughts, band madness
===================
Michelle silently swore to herself. 'We're stopping after 3 measures! Why did I go on?!' She knew that Sierra was gonna chew her out for that one. She had just done this twice in a row.
Sure enough, Sierra's deep chocolate eyes shifted their glance towards the snare line, and specifically at Michelle.
"The next time someone goes on, ALL of you will do twenty push-ups," she stated coldly. "And thirty for you, Summers," she added on, playing a perfect flam on Michelle's snare drum. Sierra was exactly Michelle's height, and therefore could look her straight in the eye. Sierra Mills was the battary instructor of Oakland Creek. The male representatives of the battery saw her as the sexy, young instructor of age 24, fresh out of college, and stared more at her intense eyes, dark hair, and chest than accomplishing anything at drumline rehearsel. And although she was a new instructor at the school, she already made sure to instill fear in the members of the battery.
"Judging from what I've heard about this drumline," Sierra began a lecture, "and about this band in general, you don't do very well in competition, and your band has the most generic shows and cliché music of any I've ever seen before." Michelle glared at Sierra, but the black-haired instructor didn't notice. Michelle wanted Sierra to shut up and continue the practice. "And going from that," Sierra continued, "our centre three snares don't need to be screwing about and spacing out." She took a deep breath and turned the metronome (affectionately referred to as The Nome) back on. "From the drum break in the opener, and let's see if I can spice it up a bit. Count off, Arleans."
The drum captain's eyes were deadset straight ahead of him. His presence alone motivated the rest of the line to set themselves, eyes forward, looking as pissed off as possible. The deep voice that sent shivers down the flutes' spines counted four duts, followed by the rest of the drumline's counting. As Michelle played, she concentrated on stopping in the right place. She did this not because it would please Sierra, but because she hated it when people looked down on her, and Sierra would chew out, cut down, and intimidate any offender to the traditional drumline discipline, without hesitation.
Michelle played the last downbeat flam of that particular lick, and snapped her drumstick in in unison with everyone else.
***
DJ left band practice in a fury. He hadn't been able to concentrate throughout the entire four-hour practice because of the eye contact he had made with the DC in the first few moments. He couldn't get Damian out of his head, and it was starting to disturb him.
'After all,' he thought, 'I'm not gay.' He sighed as he reached the band hall. He pulled the mouthpiece off his trumpet and opened his trumpet case, placing his Precious (as he referred to it) back in its rightful home. After closing the case and locking it away safely in a band locker, he stood there for a moment, his hand still on the lock. 'Why on earth am I still thinking about him and his eyes? Sure, they're intimidating, but they're not much to think about. His black hair really brings them out and...' he stopped in mid-thought, his own eyes opening wide. Did he just think that? He glanced to his left, only to see the last person he wanted to see, locking his snare drum away. DJ found himself glaring at the center snare drummer. 'Why did you have to just appear in front of me, huh? Why right now? Couldn't you have waited until tomorrow?'
Damian picked up his taped marching sticks up from the ground and placed them in his back pocket. Turning to leave the band hall, he caught DJ's stare, and stared back.
'Oh shit,' DJ's heart started racing. 'Why am I still looking at him?! He's gonna think I'm some kind of freak, just staring at him like that..' he blinked, hoping that Damian would vanish. But no such luck: Damian started walking towards him. 'Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.' DJ's thoughts reiterated. As the tan, dark-haired drum captain approached him, the dirty blonde trumpet player took a step backwards, thinking about escaping the situation, as if it were even dangerous. Moving backwards only caused Damian to move closer to DJ, and soon enough, DJ found himself backed up against the tuba lockers. 'Please don't hurt me,' was all DJ could think. Damian's face was now inches from DJ's. The trumpet player, the younger and smaller of the two, seemed to shrink in the Damian Arleans's wake.
Damian closed his eyes. "Why do you keep staring at me?" his resonant voice spoke softly, so that DJ alone could hear him. "You couldn't break eye contact."
DJ found himself sweating, and his palms were sweaty. Damian was so close to him; it made DJ incredibly uncomfortable and not to mention scared half to death. "I," he started, "I don't know. I'm just..I mean I..I keep spacing out today, that's all." DJ shut his own eyes and leaned against the tuba locker above him, trying to put some distance between Damian and himself.
Damian noticed DJ's incredible dislike of the situation, and stood back up straight, giving the junior section leader some room to breathe. He sighed and opened his eyes again, once again making deadly eye contact. He made a final statement to DJ, before turning around and leaving the band hall for that day.
"I couldn't concentrate all through practice because of you."
===================
[A/N]: Oy...maybe I should down the rating. R&R, please, it'll make me happy...and I'll give you Pocky ^-^
===================