Somewhere out there, there is this little-known garage band called Metallica…
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The mansion…
Clad in some old jeans and T-shirts, Samuel Guthrie and Bobby Drake were looking through the closet in the dorm room they shared together. Pulling out a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off, Bobby held it up to himself. "Hey, Sammy, how's this look."
"Grungy," Samuel appraised after a moment's hesitation. "Where'd you get that?"
With a grin, Bobby slipped his arms through the jacket. "Oh, I got into an 80's kick a while back. You know how it goes…" Bobby sidestepped over to the mirror above his desk, and ruffled his hair.
"Yeah, I guess I do," muttered Samuel. The boy slipped a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes, and closed his closet. "So you ready to head down?"
Giving himself one last look over, Bobby nodded. "Yup. Can you believe Logan is letting us do this?"
The boys hit the hall. "Are you kidding?" Replied Samuel. "After what happened last time, I thought they'd never let us have another party here again. Especially with kids from the school invited…"
"Well, technically, I don't think this is a 'party,'" said Bobby as they turned a corner. "The fliers Kurt had me print out called it a 'Music Night.'"
Samuel cocked his head. "That makes a difference?"
"Dunno." Bobby shrugged. "But, hey, he let us do it. He even offered to go get some chips and whatnot."
As the boys got closer to the stairs, the ambient noise level began to increase.
"I thought Kurt and Evan took care of the snack food."
Bobby shrugged again. "Guess they didn't tell that to Logan."
"He back yet?"
"He left this morning. Probably just to go cruising. I think he told someone he would pick up some stuff on the way home."
At the top of the central stairway, Samuel paused. "Cruising on his motorcycle? He won't be bringing too many snacks back…"
Bobby likewise stopped short. "Huh," he agreed. "You're right." The two boys stared at each other for a moment, then looked out over the foyer, where hordes of students were streaming in. "Maybe he did misunderstand what we were having…" Shrugging, Bobby skipped down the stairs, and Samuel coolly followed him a pace later.
After making their way through the kitchen and picking up a plate of chips, some pop, and three girls they didn't know, Bobby and Samuel came to the conservatory, where the main attraction of the night was to be held. The room was already full, and more students were pouring in by the second. Across the room, with the bay windows as a backdrop, an 8x16 foot makeshift stage had been set up. A drum-set was placed in the back of the stage, and various guitars and amp plug-ins were scattered around the rest of the stage. The set-up was flanked on either side by stacks of large speakers and subwoofers. Forge was standing next to a stack, wiring up a mixing board, and various other students were setting up speakers elsewhere in the room, and beyond.
"Man," began Samuel, as he tried to remember the name of the girl that was helping herself to his pop. "Too bad Scott and Jean are gunna miss this."
Bobby laughed. "I'm just sorry Hank is going to miss it. Would have done him good! But I guess they really wanted to join Storm and the Prof off on… Ah, whatever they were doing…"
A very loud cheer erupted from the crowd. Samuel joined in, for no reason other than he could.
"Hey, quiet!" Interjected one of the girls on Bobby's shoulder. "It's starting."
In the front of the room, Forge and a group of other kids had swarmed across the stage. After a few moments of activity, most of them trailed off. But four remained.
On a stool behind the drums, sat Todd Tolanski. He wore his usual ratty shoes and pants, and was eagerly twirling a set off drumsticks. Though rumor had it he had been shirtless earlier in the evening—as was drummer tradition—popular opinion had convinced him to don a beat-up Union Jack shirt.
Fred Dukes stood on stage right, dressed in a black shirt, with his normal coveralls and his 'Blob' vest on over it. Fred was standing next to one of the amplifiers, and carefully tuning a black bass guitar.
On the other side of the stage, Pietro Maximoff was attaching a shoulder strap to his blue-steel electric guitar. Pietro was dressed radically different than normal, with some loose jeans tucked into a pair of boots, a deep blue Quicksilver-tm brand shirt, and a loose black jacket. Additionally, his hair had been repeatedly blow-dried, and fell across his face in a very frayed manner. Slipping the strap over his shoulder, he gave his guitar a few experimental spins.
In the center of the stage, Lance Alvers stepped up to a microphone. Lance was dressed exactly as he always was, and had a brown wood-stained electric guitar hanging from his shoulder. "Okay folks," he began. "Quiet down, it's time to start."
"Whoo-hoo!" Yelled the second girl on Bobby's shoulder. Several other students joined in.
On stage, Lance looked back at Forge and the mixing board. "Hey can we get some feedback up here? It just doesn't feel right without a—"
A high-pitched whine escaped the speakers. The usual sounds of annoyance came from the audience as the sound died away, flared up, then died again. "That better?" Came Forge's distant voice.
Lance grinned. "Yeah. Okay," he continued, turning his attention back to the audience. "Welcome to the concert, folks. Before you all head out, be sure to thank one of the Institute kids, who're hosting this. Particularly, if you get a chance, be sure to thank my good friend Kitty Pryde…" Lance trailed off, pointing his hand to a girl somewhere close to the stage. Several members of the audience whistled shrilly. "She arranged for me and the band to come, so hats off to her!"
Todd did a quick drum run, and Fred hit a quick cord in the usual dinking-around style.
"Now before we begin," continued Lance as the notes died away. "I probably ought to introduce the band. Tolanski back there is doing the drumming, Fred 'D' is playing bass, Pietro is playing lead, and if you somehow missed it, I'm 'Axle' Lance—'excellence' if you say it fast—and I'm doing the lead vocals and the back-up guitar." Lance took a quick look back across the stage. "Pietro usually handles back up vocals, but Fred does join in when the song calls for it…" Looking back at the audience, Lance adjusted his grip on his guitar. "We're Brotallica, and it's time to rock."
Bobby threw up his hands, and many members of the audience cheered. As Lance stepped away from the microphone, Fred hit the pickup note and the first two chords. Students cheered again as the rock-junkies identified the song. With the third note, Pietro and Lance joined in on the guitar line, and Todd began whacking the drums. In the second measure, Forge upped the volume, and Pietro led the guitars in playing the main riff. All three guitarists thrashed their heads to the beat.
As the riff died down, Lance silenced his guitar and let
it hang loosely from his shoulder strap.
Stepping forward amidst another round of cheering, he grabbed the
microphone. "As I was goin' over…" He started singing, letting his voice
drag. "The Cork and Kerry
mountains, I sa-aw Captain Far-rell, and his mon-ney he was coun-tin'. I first produced my pistol…" With his eyes half-hooded over, Lance
pantomimed pulling a gun out of his pants.
"And then produced my rap-pier…"
Lance pantomimed grabbing a sword with his other arm. "I said…
'Stand and deliver!' Oh! …Or the de-vil he may take ya!"
Lance took a half step back and hoisted up his guitar. Pietro ripped into the main guitar riff, again thrashing his head to the beat. Students cheered.
"I took all of his mon-ney…" Lance continued as he stepped back up to the mike. "And it was a pret-ty pen-ny. I took all of his mon-ney! Yeah, an' I brought it home to Mol-ly…" As he sang, Lance's head tilted slightly to the side, and his words seemed to roll out of his mouth. "She swo-o-ore that she'd love me… No never would she leave me… But the devil take that wom-man! Yeah, for you know she treat me eas-sy…
"Musha ring dum a doo dum a da…"
Todd hit the cymbal three times after the line.
"Whack for my dad-dy-o…" Lance continued. "Whack for my dad-dy-o. There's…" Lance whipped back his head to throw the hair from his eyes. "Whiskey in the jar-o!"
Lance thrashed his head back down, and the three guitarists played the main riff. The riff was almost lost amidst a renewed cheering of the crowd. Forge quickly upped the volume, inspiring even more shouts of approval.
With the guitars and audience falling into the normal patterns, Lance let his guitar drop. "Be-in' drunk and wear-ry… I went to Mol-ly's cham-ber. Takin' my money with me…" Lance's head twitched to he put a slight crescendo on the last words. "'Cause I nev-ver kne—ew the dan-ger. For about six—or may-be seven…" Slurred Lance. "In walked captain Far-re—ell… I jumped up, fired my pis-tols!" Lance leaned back for emphasis. "And I shot him with both bar-rels!"
Girls in the front rows screamed, and guys let out a general whoop of approval. However, near the back of the room, students began moving around.
On stage, Lance continued as normal. "Yeah, musha ring dum a doo dum a da!"
Todd hit the cymbal thrise, with Fred adding a deep "Hey…" on each beat.
"Whack for my da-dy-o!" Yelled Lance. "Whack for my dad-dy-o! There's… Whiskey in the jar-o!"
The boys on stage thrashed their heads to the main riff. Shouting something uninteligable over the music, Samuel grabbed Bobby by the jacket and quickly hauled him to the closest exit. Two of the girls hurried off with them, while the third one obliviously remained in the crowd.
As the main riff drew to a close, Lance continued playing his guitar, but faded to the back of the stage. Pietro and Fred drifted closer to him, and together the three boys played an extended sequence of various guitar solos, duos, and three-part lines.
In the audience, activity in the back had peaked, and back of the room had nearly cleared out. Closer to the stage, students remained as densely packed and as rowdy as ever.
On stage, the solos wound down, and the boys inched closer to their usual spots.
Abruptly, Logan appeared in the doorway that connected the conservatory to the mansion's garage. Logan was dressed in his usually dusty jeans and leather jacket, and was carrying two bags off assorted snacks. Seeing the spectacle in the room beyond, he stopped dead still.
Pietro launched into the main riff, and the boys on stage thrashed their heads appropriately.
Logan's face contorted and is bags fell to the floor.
Finishing the guitar riff, Lance tossed his guitar so that it was hanging from its strap across his back. As he tightly gripped the microphone, he continued singing in a much more subdued tone than he had used in the previous verses. "Now some men like the fish-shin'…"
Logan's eye twitched.
"And some men like the fowl-lin'…"
The students packed around the stage finally took notice of the new situation, and began scattering.
"Some men like to he—ear…"
Logan charged the stage.
"To he-ar the can'n-ball a roar-rin'!"
Too late, Fred spotted the approaching berserker, and was viscously speared off the stage.
"Me…" Croaked Lance, completely oblivious. "I like sleep-pin'…"
Logan bounced off the ceiling as Fred backhanded the man away form him.
"'Specially in my Mol-ly's cham-ber…"
Fred got back to his feet, defensively banishing his guitar. In response, Logan crouched down and growled. Todd broke off and stared. Though anxiously watching his band-mates, Pietro continued to diligently pick away the verse-line.
"But here I am in pris-son…"
Logan leapt forward and was batted into the drum-set by Fred's swing. Todd screamed and jumped away at the last minute.
"Here I am with a ba-all and chain, yeah…"
Regaining his wits, Logan grabbed a side drum, and tossed it at Fred. The big man took the blow to the head, and momentarily staggered back. Todd jumped forward in retaliation, but was almost casually brushed aside.
"Musha ring dum a doo dum a da!"
Holding his guitar like the ax that it was, Fred charged the stage. A big swing knocked Logan into a speaker stack. The impact created a loud quasi-mechanical thud. Logan dodged another hasty swing, which hit the stack and induced another heavily articulated thud. Reaching forward, Logan grabbed Fred's jacket, and slammed him against the pile, creating the third thud in as many seconds.
"Whack for my dad-dy-o!" Sang Lance, still oblivious.
The stack of speaker collapsed, destroying the back half of the stage and forcing Pietro to dart away for safety.
"Whack for my dad-dy-o!"
Fred stood up from the rubble, yelling in anger. Todd jumped next to him, angrily banishing a cymbal stand. Logan growled and lowered his stance.
"The—eere's…" Lance yelled, holding the note an extra moment. "Whis-skey in the jar-o—oh yeah!"
Lance pushed the microphone stand off the stage and swung his guitar back around to his front. Standing on the corner of the half demolished stage, Pietro looked helplessly at Lance, at the brawl going on beside the stage, then back at Lance. With a flash, the boy darted off stage, then darted back on holding a double-necked guitar. Hastily strapping a tuning clip onto the second neck, the boy threw the guitar-strap over his shoulder. Lance launched into the main riff, and Pietro followed, desperately playing on both necks and thrashing his head all the harder for the effort.
"Whiskey in the jar-o—ooooh, yeah!" Repeated Lance during the riff. As the riff finished, Lance hopped off stage to retrieve the microphone. "Musha ring dum a doo dum a da…"
On the shattered stage, Fred and Todd were thrown out the bay windows.
"Musha ring dum a doo dum a da…" With his guitar hanging loosely around his back, Lance stooped down and picked up the mike.
Logan rushed across the stage. Hastily unstrapping his guitar, Pietro grabbed it by both necks and swung it at his attacker's head. The guitar shattered and Logan staggered to the side.
"Musha ring dum a doo dum a da…"
Logan shook off the blow, and glared back at Pietro. Still holding the shattered necks, Pietro struck a martial arts pose and banished the remains of his instrument like escrisma sticks.
"Musha ring dum a doo dum a da…"
Logan lunged, prompting Pietro to dodge and fight back with a flurry of broken necks, and flailing strings. The two continued to exchange blows, neither achieving a clear advantage.
"Yeah, yeeeeeee-aah…" With his eyes half hooded over, Lance tossed the mike to the back of the stage. The boy shook the hair out of his eyes, and casually carried his guitar to back to the trailer outside.
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