A/N: KONNICHUWA MINNA-SAN! I'm back! It's rated for safety for later
chapters.OW! .O Lemon juice! Later. Disclaimers, I don't own Escaflowne or
the Dragon Slayers, but I wish I did. I don't own ANY of the songs! Don't
sue me! I DO, however, own Minami. She's my character. MINE! o_o Sorry,
I've had too much caffeine and not enough solid food today. Oh and one more
thing. *gets down on knees, gives puppy eyes* PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL
THAT IS GOOD AND FLAMING AND STARBUCKS AND EVIL AND COKE *gasps for breath*
READ AND REVIEW!
"GIVE ME FUEL GIVE ME FIRE GIVE ME THAT WHICH I DESIRE!" The sound of electric guitars and drums radiated from the small rundown garage in which the band Napalm Rain rehearsed. "TURN ON, I SEE RED." The fledgling band mostly played tributes to other more successful bands. Just as the singer was going into the next line, a guitar string broke. "Damn it!" Miguel shook his hand to heal the sting of metal zinging viciously against flesh. Miguel was the backup guitarist. He had short brown hair with long shaggy bangs. His azure eyes were now flashing angrily with pain. The drummer, Gatti, set down his sticks. He had short sandy grayish blonde hair and blue-green eyes. The bass guitar player, Dallet, tossed his head back, getting his shoulder length brown hair out of his face and blinked his violet eyes. The onlooker, Chesta, who often went looking for gigs for the band, raised his eyebrows high, almost into his golden bowl cut, which accented his sky blue eyes nicely. "Come on, guys. TRY to get it together!" the main guitarist and singer scolded. His name was Dilandau. He had the most shocking appearance, which wasn't altered by dyes or contacts at all. His short silver hair was sticking to his face with sweat, and his bright ruby eyes scanned his band. He smoothed his bangs away from his pale face. Dallet threw his hands down exasperatedly. "Dilandau, dude, we've been practicing for three hours. THREE. HOURS." As though to back up his point, he held up three fingers. "Yeah, I think we should take a break, man," Gatti added. "Frickin' guitar string.had to go off and break on me," Miguel muttered. Dilandau sighed. "Guys.we're never gonna get noticed if we aren't GOOD." He glanced at Miguel. "But we can't do jack without the backup guitarist. Maybe we should take a break." He stretched his long lean arms above his head and cracked his knuckles loudly. Chesta piped up. "I'll look for a gig. I'll see you guys later." The blond haired boy walked out of the garage. An angry looking man stalked in. "DAMMIT GATTI! WHAT THE HELL DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PLAYING YOUR MUSIC SO FRIGGIN LOUD?" The drummer hung his head. "Not to do it, father." "THEN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IT?" "We need to practice." "OUT! GET OUT ALL OF YOU!"
Dilandau lay on the couch in his apartment. He was staring at his worn black tennis shoes. An empty bottle of Mr. Green was under his hand where it dangled off the edge of the couch. His faded blue jeans had several holes and tears and he wore a simple black t-shirt. His roommate, and backup guitarist, walked into the room, drinking a Dr. Pepper. "Man, are you blasted or something?" Dilandau looked up tiredly. "No, just thinking. What if our band never becomes famous? What'll we do with our lives?" "Get jobs. What the hell else would we do?" The singer's ruby eyes darkened angrily. "Oh yeah, I can SEE it now! Miguel Lavariel, ACCOUNTANT." Miguel laughed. "You take this entirely too seriously. I'm gonna go get a real drink." He headed out the door and down the stairs into the tavern above which their small shabby apartment was located. Dilandau sighed. "What'll I do?"
Business was bad. Napalm Rain hadn't had a gig in what seemed like forever. In fact, it had been a few weeks. Chesta was searching frantically for gigs. He felt like he'd searched everywhere, but to no use. Gatti was fine, Dallet was practically rich, Miguel had a fairly steady job as a cashier at Sears. But Dilandau, well he had absolutely the WORST luck when it came to job hunting. He'd worked as a golf caddy at a ritzy country club but when he showed up wearing a pair of Tripp pants and a Godsmack shirt, he was out of a job. He tried being a waiter at Olive Garden. He listened to his Walkman and accidentally served a man pepper on something when the man was deathly allergic to pepper and started choking. Miguel got him a job as a cashier but the pay, according to Dilandau, "sucked major ass" so he left. Gigs were the only way he could earn money. He was an excellent guitarist and had an amazing voice. It was now ten o clock. Chesta stumbled back into his own apartment, which was in an actual apartment building. He flopped down onto his bed. Back at the singer's apartment, Miguel had gone to bed and Dilandau was asleep on the couch. Someone started banging on their door. "HEY! ALBATOU! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! ANSWER THE DOOR!" The half- asleep albino winced and squinted his eyes at the door. "WHAT D'YOU WANT? IT MUST BE.WHAT? THREE A.M?" "IT'S TWO A.M! YOU OWE ME RENT!" "Miguel paid the rent, man." "YOU STILL OWE YOUR HALF! PAY IT OR YOU'RE OUT ON YOUR ASS!" Dilandau closed his eyes and fell back on the couch, hitting his head on the arm, but too tired to care.
"GIVE ME FUEL GIVE ME FIRE GIVE ME THAT WHICH I DESIRE!" The sound of electric guitars and drums radiated from the small rundown garage in which the band Napalm Rain rehearsed. "TURN ON, I SEE RED." The fledgling band mostly played tributes to other more successful bands. Just as the singer was going into the next line, a guitar string broke. "Damn it!" Miguel shook his hand to heal the sting of metal zinging viciously against flesh. Miguel was the backup guitarist. He had short brown hair with long shaggy bangs. His azure eyes were now flashing angrily with pain. The drummer, Gatti, set down his sticks. He had short sandy grayish blonde hair and blue-green eyes. The bass guitar player, Dallet, tossed his head back, getting his shoulder length brown hair out of his face and blinked his violet eyes. The onlooker, Chesta, who often went looking for gigs for the band, raised his eyebrows high, almost into his golden bowl cut, which accented his sky blue eyes nicely. "Come on, guys. TRY to get it together!" the main guitarist and singer scolded. His name was Dilandau. He had the most shocking appearance, which wasn't altered by dyes or contacts at all. His short silver hair was sticking to his face with sweat, and his bright ruby eyes scanned his band. He smoothed his bangs away from his pale face. Dallet threw his hands down exasperatedly. "Dilandau, dude, we've been practicing for three hours. THREE. HOURS." As though to back up his point, he held up three fingers. "Yeah, I think we should take a break, man," Gatti added. "Frickin' guitar string.had to go off and break on me," Miguel muttered. Dilandau sighed. "Guys.we're never gonna get noticed if we aren't GOOD." He glanced at Miguel. "But we can't do jack without the backup guitarist. Maybe we should take a break." He stretched his long lean arms above his head and cracked his knuckles loudly. Chesta piped up. "I'll look for a gig. I'll see you guys later." The blond haired boy walked out of the garage. An angry looking man stalked in. "DAMMIT GATTI! WHAT THE HELL DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PLAYING YOUR MUSIC SO FRIGGIN LOUD?" The drummer hung his head. "Not to do it, father." "THEN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IT?" "We need to practice." "OUT! GET OUT ALL OF YOU!"
Dilandau lay on the couch in his apartment. He was staring at his worn black tennis shoes. An empty bottle of Mr. Green was under his hand where it dangled off the edge of the couch. His faded blue jeans had several holes and tears and he wore a simple black t-shirt. His roommate, and backup guitarist, walked into the room, drinking a Dr. Pepper. "Man, are you blasted or something?" Dilandau looked up tiredly. "No, just thinking. What if our band never becomes famous? What'll we do with our lives?" "Get jobs. What the hell else would we do?" The singer's ruby eyes darkened angrily. "Oh yeah, I can SEE it now! Miguel Lavariel, ACCOUNTANT." Miguel laughed. "You take this entirely too seriously. I'm gonna go get a real drink." He headed out the door and down the stairs into the tavern above which their small shabby apartment was located. Dilandau sighed. "What'll I do?"
Business was bad. Napalm Rain hadn't had a gig in what seemed like forever. In fact, it had been a few weeks. Chesta was searching frantically for gigs. He felt like he'd searched everywhere, but to no use. Gatti was fine, Dallet was practically rich, Miguel had a fairly steady job as a cashier at Sears. But Dilandau, well he had absolutely the WORST luck when it came to job hunting. He'd worked as a golf caddy at a ritzy country club but when he showed up wearing a pair of Tripp pants and a Godsmack shirt, he was out of a job. He tried being a waiter at Olive Garden. He listened to his Walkman and accidentally served a man pepper on something when the man was deathly allergic to pepper and started choking. Miguel got him a job as a cashier but the pay, according to Dilandau, "sucked major ass" so he left. Gigs were the only way he could earn money. He was an excellent guitarist and had an amazing voice. It was now ten o clock. Chesta stumbled back into his own apartment, which was in an actual apartment building. He flopped down onto his bed. Back at the singer's apartment, Miguel had gone to bed and Dilandau was asleep on the couch. Someone started banging on their door. "HEY! ALBATOU! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! ANSWER THE DOOR!" The half- asleep albino winced and squinted his eyes at the door. "WHAT D'YOU WANT? IT MUST BE.WHAT? THREE A.M?" "IT'S TWO A.M! YOU OWE ME RENT!" "Miguel paid the rent, man." "YOU STILL OWE YOUR HALF! PAY IT OR YOU'RE OUT ON YOUR ASS!" Dilandau closed his eyes and fell back on the couch, hitting his head on the arm, but too tired to care.