DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. These are fictional characters created by someone who isn't me, but used in an even more far-fetched situations to satisfy my own sick ends.
AN: Whoa. Okay, seriously, I thought that I might get a couple of reviews, but my goodness! You guys ROCK! Talk about encouragement. I hope you continue to enjoy as much as you did the first chapter. As for the switching, I had separations between the two's viewpoints, but I couldn't get to upload it write, even after I manually changed it, it would flip back. Anyone who can tell me how to fix this, I appreciate help! Thanks again! –Amy
The dimly lit club made it difficult to make out which 'cute guy with a purple Mohawk' she was supposed to be meeting. Most the guys had Mohawks, and most of the people in here were heavily pierced and tattooed. Why she let her best friend Lane talk her into this was beyond her. Lane was off in Europe touring, but had called wanting to talk about how this guy had filled in for Brian when he had an allergic reaction to some shrimp he accidentally ate in a taco before a show in Philadelphia a few months back. The discussion as to why shrimp was IN a taco went on for some time before Lane rounded the conversation back to the blind date she had lined up for her friend. She said he was incredibly talented, lived in New York City, and to expect his call. Knowing she couldn't get out of it, she put on her favorite short denim miniskirt, layered a couple of funky tank tops and pulled on a pair of combat boots before hurrying off to catch a cab and meet Brendan. Lane had assured her that the purple Mohawk was something she'd forget within milliseconds of seeing him—evidently Lane deemed him to be that attractive. On her cab ride, she let the brief thought of her last date float through her mind—of the familiar face she saw and wondered how he begged off from his date. The thought made her smile. She herself had finally excused herself to the bathroom and snuck out the entrance after he ordered dessert.
She had finally reached the table, and extended her hand to greet the guy wearing a shirt with Lane's band's logo on it, figuring he must be Brendan. He pulled her by the outstretched arm, heading up to rush the stage before a hello could be uttered. He was evidently 'really into this bitchin' band'. 'Who says bitchin'?' she thought to herself, unable to take her eyes off of his bright purple hair as she allowed herself to be drawn into the small cluster of fans. The darkness caused it to be impossible to make out his eye color, but as the band began to play, bright lights flew around the room, illuminating his too-bright plum head. He was moving too much to get a good look at him anyhow, thrashing around to the noise that was filling the club.
She grimaced at the music as it blared on with an unintelligible man who insisted on screaming into the microphone. And perhaps if he had been screaming actual words, she would understand. But he was just wailing at the top of his lungs as the band rocked out. After the first 'song', she made a motion to imply she was going to get a drink of water, leaving him to jump up and down in the small crowd of interested onlookers near the stage.
At the back of the club, she found the bar, and leaned over the counter a bit to yell, "WATER!" at the bartender. He gave her a strange look, but slid a glass of clear fluid in front of her. Not really caring if it were water or vodka at this juncture, she took the glass and brought it up to her lips.
"AREN'T THEY GREAT?" came a bubbly voice next to her. She glanced over to her right to see a blonde, eyeballed to be about 22, wearing skin tight leather pants and the smallest top Rory had ever seen. It looked like an Ace bandage wrapped around her too ample chest.
Rory gave her a bewildered look, and sort of a half nod before turning around to see where her date was. He was still jumping up and down to the awful music, and she wondered if he'd really notice if she just left. She felt bad, knowing Lane had the best of intentions, and she hadn't really given him a chance yet. She wasn't so petty as to judge this guy on his appearance. Of which she hadn't really gotten a good look at. Lane swore you could get lost in his eyes, and she would have dated him herself if it weren't for Dave.
Turning back to the bar, she looked around the other patrons of the club. The bubbly girl was waving towards the bathroom, Rory hoped trying to flag down her date. This definitely wasn't her sort of scene. She longed for the next night, when she planned to hole up in her favorite little coffee shop with her laptop and her thoughts. It was too loud in here to think, not that the thoughts she would have in here would be worth sharing with others.
Tristan came out of the bathroom, and rejoined his date as she headed out to the dance floor. She'd rambled on about how this band was the best thing she'd ever seen in her life. He liked loud music, especially in his car on long trips to keep him awake. Basically he would listen to most any genre of music. This however was already making him rethink his usual acceptance of all music. He wondered if this could actually be considered music. He had to admit he was only here because she was hot, and when he met her in the office of his new client, she seemed to be articulate enough. Lately he was tiring of being bored to tears by the same tedious conversation about the girl's shoes and how she can't eat bread today because she had a half a muffin last Monday. But conversation wasn't what was driving him at this point. It was too loud and her top was too small. He pulled her close up against him as they swayed to the beat, his leg moving between hers so he could grind up into her more effectively as he attempted to will the headache that was forming behind his right eye to go away.
She seemed to be more into the music than him, and he kept trying to move in front of her to get her attention. His efforts were proving futile, as she kept moving so she could see the band more clearly. Not that it was possible to see much in this club. He felt out of place, a rare feeling for him, as he was lacking metal and ink in his person and his clothes were a little too nice comparatively. He did have a tattoo, but it was usually covered and didn't cover more than 20% of his body. This outing was strictly for this girl, in hopes of getting back to her place at the end of the night. As she moved away from him yet again, he began to see that just wasn't in the cards with this girl tonight.
Brendan came up next to her, asking for whatever she was having from the bartender. He took a sip of the drink, and made a strange face at her when he realized it was water. He made some lame joke about he hoped hers was at least spiked and she gave a fake smile, waiting for some sign of human life to come from this man. He asked if she wanted to go back up to the front, putting his arm around her as he rested on the bar, and she told him in her most polite way that she was tired after a long week and would rather sit down.
He was off in a flash, back to worship at the most strangest of alters, and she took her water as she headed back to the table that he had been waiting for her at earlier. How he restrained himself to wait for her, she would never be able to figure out. Not that she wanted to spend one more second of her life with him in order to do so. She'd decided to finish her water and see if he would come back—then she was officially able to leave in good conscience. She watched the crowd, almost worth a wasted evening in the entertainment value. She convinced herself to think of it as an off-Broadway production of some bad punk musical. 'Tales of a Wailer', it could be called, she decided.
Tristan was offended at this point. He'd taken every chance to attempt to keep this girl's attention—this girl named. . . okay, so he couldn't remember. He thought it sounded something like the name of an alcohol. Sherry? No. Shirley? That didn't seem to fit at all. Oh well, she was currently mashed up against the stage, mostly dancing with some freak with a purple Mohawk. Shaking his head at the situation, he moved off to the side and found an empty table to slump down at. He would have normally felt bad leaving her stranded, but this wasn't Hartford where cabs were harder to come by. She could walk outside and have her pick of ways home, if she didn't become a groupie on the spot. He looked at the crowd of what he deemed freaks, their strange haircuts and stranger obsessions with scarring their bodies permanently. He shifted slightly in his seat to see if the night was worth salvaging with anyone else in the club, still unable to believe that this Friday night was completely unsalvageable. His positive attitude was rewarded when his eyes landed on a pair of legs that made him have to shift in his seat again, but not for a better view. His blue eyes continued their journey up her well-toned body, enjoying the best looking woman he'd seen in a long time. He reached her face and let the surprise and irony wash over him as a smirk spread across his lips.
She downed the rest of her water and felt relief set in when she saw Mohawk boy with Ace Bandage girl. They were almost obscenely dancing, the only two people that truly seemed to be enjoying this band. Actually, they were almost too vigorously enjoying this noise. She wondered what came of the girl's date, and gave one more look around as she stretched her legs, weighed down by her combat boots. She felt someone watching her, and her eyes met up with her onlooker. She couldn't imagine him in a place like this, but here he sat, alone without even a drink to keep him company. She bit her lip, and cocked her head at him, flabbergasted beyond words, beginning to think she was imagining him. He was like a mirage, an image of the type of person she would normally surround herself with as she found herself on a string of the worst blind dates, all picked from the 7th circle of hell. She'd only agreed to tonight because of Lane's insistence that his guy was worth the trouble. She made a mental note to have Lane put through a psych screening next time she was in the States.
She looked amazing, though a little confused. He could only imagine what she was doing here—he couldn't really give a rational excuse as to why he was there. He'd wanted to talk to her last week at the restaurant, but she had fled before he could get away from his date. He had finally told the ditz he was with that he was tired and put her in a cab before flagging one down for himself and retiring home to think of her in that plaid skirt she had worn when he had once known her. He now winked, causing her to smile. She had finished her drink, and those long legs now stretched, she anchored her feet to push her chair back as she stood up. He was hopeful; sure she was coming over to make his bust of an evening a turning point in his life. Instead, she gave a small wave and disappeared from view yet again, out into the relative quiet of the city night. Bowing his head, he laughed to himself before standing. The last thing he saw was his date being pulled up on stage as he exited onto the street, his ears ringing.
And the game continued.