Disclaimer: I own nothing. Of any kind, shape or form.
Sorry 'bout the delay, I can't seem to write that fast right now.
All of the bands mentioned are real.
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"I'm telling you, Pere Ubu is a good band."
Logan sighed behind the paper, and tried to ignore the group of kids currently debating an issue of great social importance; the quality of bands.
Jubilee shook her head. "Pere Ubu suck. The lead singer cannot sing. You listen to them in order to be thankful that no matter how poor your singing is, there is someone in the world who is worse."
Bobby put on a hurt expression. "He can't sing? You don't like him 'cause the guy can't sing? That's rich, little miss '5.6.7.8's'. They cannot sing. I've heard tortured screams which were in better tune than them."
Jubilee glared. "I'm not saying the 5.6.7.8's are good singers, what I'm saying is that Pere Ubu has a singer so poor that you cannot help but solely judge them on the singing." She paused, then; "And their songs suck, too."
"They do not!"
"Oh, come on. 'The Modern Dance'? That one really sucked."
Ray smiled condescendingly. "While you two argue over those dinosaur bands, you're ignoring the fact of the good modern bands, like 'Lost Prophets'."
Kurt groaned in dismay, and Logan felt like joining him. "Ray, there are hardly any real 'good' bands right now, and 'Lost Prophets' are nowhere near approaching 'good'. If you want good songs, listen to 'The Ohio Players'."
Rahne snorted. "You only like them because of the cover for 'Honey'."
Kurt looked offended. "Of course not!" he blatantly lied. "I do not listen to music according to the appearance of the album or the band."
"Why am I not surprised..." Bobby muttered, earning a glare from Jubilee.
"Well, if you think about it, most singers and bands do seem to be concentrating solely on their appearance." Scott elaborated further. "You get two types; the teen-appealing groups or the grunge-type groups. You have different extremes in each groups, but that is how they dress."
Roberto pulled a gloomy face. "You're right there, unfortunately. Marilyn Manson, Lost Prophets, Avril..." He gave a drawn-out shudder. "and then we have McFly and Busted, Christina Aguliera, Britney..."
"Hey!" Amara said from the head of the table. "Christina and Britney are good!"
Kurt made a warding sign while several other people either agreed or vehemently disagreed.
"How in the world can you like those two?" Roberto asked in disbelief. "They cannot sing! Why do you think Christina never draws out notes? It's because she can't sing! And she has the dress-sense of a colour-blind hooker."
"She dresses like that in order to express her sexuality and fre-" Amara began, looking very annoyed.
"Oh yes." Roberto drawled. "She dresses in a low-cut shirt, skirt and almost nothing else in order to express her feminine freedom and just how sure she is of her sexuality, and the whole horde of lusting teenage boys is an unfortunate side-effect and nothing to do with it." He smirked. "Call me a cynic if you will..."
"Still," Bobby added. "I'd much rather listen to those two's singing than Busted, or McFly..." He shuddered. "They have been sent from the deepest, darkest circle of hell to torment all of human-kind."
"Give me five minutes with Busted and a chainsaw, and I'll never ask for anything else ever again..." Ray muttered.
"It's as Kurt and Scott said," Rahne elaborated. "Too many bands and singers care about their image rather then their music. The best bands often look very unpleasant."
"Name one!" Amara said dismissively.
"Uh... Tom Petty. He proves that you don't have to look bonny to be a good singer."
"Goldchains." Roberto suggested. "He's fat, balding and white, but he's a good rapper."
"What does skin colour have to do with rapping?" Bobby asked. "Eminem's white."
"Yeah, but so was Vanilla Ice."
"Good point..."
"Arethra Franklin!" Scott declared.
"The Rapture." Kurt added.
"The Red Hot Chili Peppers." Bobby said.
"Bruce Springsteen." Jubilee suggested. "Oh, come on! He's not looking that good now, but his singing and playing are still up to scratch, if not even better."
Amara sighed testily. "Alright, so maybe there are a few-"
"The 5.6.7.8's." Bobby said, smirking as he did so.
"They do not look bad!" Jubilee snapped.
"Well, their singing and playing may be up to scratch, but they're not as good looking as they used to be..."
"Ha. Ha."
"Shut up!"
"Harmarr Superstar."
"He doesn't sing!"
"Yeah, but he is undeniably ugly, and besides, he's slept with more women then you ever could, Robbie. Even if you were immortal."
"You're cruising for a bruising, boyo..."
"What'll you do, sic your girlfriend on me? HEY! Don't do that! No! Oh come on, Rahne, don't do that!..."
Logan sighed and walked out of the kitchen, heading towards the living room, thankfully leaving the bickering kids far behind. He briefly juggled his coffee and newspaper trying to open the door, then stepped in.
Logan and Hank looked up from the two armchairs. "Good morning Logan. Why are you through here?"
Logan pulled a face. "Let's just say those kids could annoy Ghandi, even if he had achieved nirvana." He sat down, putting the paper on the table and taking another drink of his now-lukewarm coffee. "So, what were you two doing?"
"We were just discussing nothing of any real importance..."
"Well, don't let me impede you."
He opened the paper again, reading about the recent spate of denunciations of mutants at Capital Hill by the so-called FOH, then;
"Well, I think that the Crash Test Dummies are better than Lloyd Cole and the Commotions."
"Oh, come on! Even Helen Keller would know you have bad taste. You probably think that Nick Cave is better than them too."
"So what if I do?..."
&&&&&&
A crowded baseball stadium, crowded with women, men and children. Every so often there was the distinct crack of wood against leather, and the dull, monotonous tones of the 'Elephant walk', accompanied with cheers muted by the oppressive summer sun and heat.
A man walked up the bleachers, stopping to get a hotdog and mustard, then sat down.
"Would you like a hotdog?"
The person he was talking too turned and glared at him angrily. "I didn't come here to eat trashy foods."
A shrug. "Your loss, I suppose." Then the messy sound of various pork-based foodstuffs being eaten quickly.
"Good God, you eat more messily than Dukes."
"Are you in the habit of observing other peoples eating habits?"
"Let's just say I had no choice but too observe."
"Well, as nice as this is, I didn't come here to talk about table manners. I came to talk turkey."
There was a slight jaw clench from the other person, and the hotdog eater noted it. "My people have recently lost a lot of power, financially speaking, due to a... oh, how to put it... incident with an earlier project."
"What happened?"
"Let's just say that it didn't turn out as good as they had suspected and leave it at that, hey? Now, in order to reimburse our collapsed coffers, we are dependant on your skills to help us."
"You need my skills for extortion? You're using an elephant gun against a mouse."
"You certainly don't hide your light behind a bushel, now do you? You make think we are over the top, but we are about to... execute a massive financial transaction. A very large one. And we want to ensure that people... find it slightly hard to track us."
"How much?"
The man scratched a figure on the cardboard container of his hotdog. The other person noted it with a low whistle. "What are you going to do, crack open Fort Knox?"
"Inconceivable, my dear, utterly ridiculous. No, my people could not risk such a well-known place. We just need your help for a little while, doing almost nothing, and then we shall leave you, and your children..." the man added with a sinister undertone. "...forever. You have our word."
The other person laughed humourlessly.
"Just meet with me again later on. We'll contact you to tell you where and when. Now, the important question." The man gestured at the field. "Could you explain this game to me? I'm guessing you need to be a native to have a full understanding."
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Yes, I know... I'm taking too long and whatever... Amazingly, I do have a plan for this story, but it might take some time. Who knows.