Claimer: I actually own something now! The character I use in this chapter, Christian, is my creation. He'll be appearing in the rest of the story from this point.
Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed "Edtallica" it's good for me to know that some people want me to keep writing. Oh, I know it doesn't really have Angst. It'll get depressing soon, I promise. Ah, I'm rambling again, enjoy chapter 3.
Chapter 3: Dead to us…
A light, cold rain fell on Christian St. Denis' head, causing his long, scraggily mane of black-dyed hair to drip and stick to him like a wet blanket. The rain chilled him to the bone, but he just stood there outside the cold, unloving den of dishevelment where he had been goaded out of a few minutes earlier.
The young Canadian was now the former bassist of one of the most popular local bands, the Goth-metal quartet that called themselves Iron Fist. How fitting a name it was for the band, for they ruled the local heavy metal scene with well, an iron fist... They had squashed any other helpless band that even tried to land a gig with their vicious power chords and primal screeching vocals. Aspiring rockers had a snowball's chance in hell of getting gigs as long as long as Iron Fist was still in power…
But that meant nothing to Christian. He was dead to Iron Fist. The people that he thought were his friends and even his own brother had disowned him. They had fired him from the band for making a single mistake. He crawled in to his beat up black pickup truck and replayed the scene in his mind.
He walked into the run-down factory that the band rented for practice sessions. As he walked down the stairs that led the basement floor, he saw his band mates sitting in folding chairs, seemingly waiting for him to show up.
"Ah, Christian…. We've been waiting for you."
"Sorry I'm late, I-"
"Sit down."
He did as he was told, not wanting to upset them further.
"Christian I'd say that the band is prospering quite well, don't you agree?" the front man, who called himself "Van Helsing" asked him in his deep, scary voice.
"Uh… yeah, sure, I'd say were doin' pretty good."
"Yes, we are doing more than just 'pretty good' and we would like to keep flourishing as we are now. Which brings me to my point…"
He reached picked up a videotape and crammed it into the VCR and pressed play. A video of Iron Fist's previous gig at a rock n' roll bar called "Ronny Rude's Rock n' Roll Tavern" shown brightly on the television screen.
"Watch." The singer commanded.
The tape was starting in mid-gig. The camera zoomed in on Christian who began to play after being led in by his brother and drummer, Craig. It showed Christian playing, but the rest of the band stopped and stared at him. Van Helsing stood up and violently pushed the "stop" button on the VCR as the crowd began to boo.
"That was the wrong song Christian…"
"Ah, yeah…" Christian chuckled, "Sorry 'bout that guys, boy was my face red!"
Van Helsing snorted and looked away.
"That's not all!" spat his brother, who stood up and pushed fast forward on the VCR.
The tape then showed footage of him tripping over the microphone and amplifier wires in mid-song, falling flat on his face to a chorus of laughs and boos from the audience.
Christian chuckled at himself again and sighed.
"Damn! I sure was off that night! Yep, I've certainly had better gigs, eh?"
Van Helsing pounded the table in front of him.
"Do you have anything to say in your defense, Christian?" Van Helsing hissed.
"Uh… sorry guys, it won't happen again."
"DAMN STRAIGHT IT WON'T!" Van Helsing yelled.
The young Canuck winced as the screaming continued.
"Failure is not tolerated you are no longer in Iron Fist…" Van Helsing seethed, "Get out. You are dead to us."
"O-Ok…" the Canadian stuttered.
And so, he left as the others spat and cursed at him, putting him out in the rain…
The pickup slowly sputtered as he turned the key in the ignition. He left the factory, and drove shamefully back to his apartment. As he neared a stop sign, something caught his eye. A large, white poster board hung to the sign, which read "MUSICIANS WANTED"
He abruptly pulled over and ripped down the poster board to read it. In large, sloppy letters, the sign read:
Bassists and lead singers wanted in order to complete the best up-and-coming metal band around: "EDTALLICA". If you have talent that has gone to waste up to this point, this is your big chance to put it to use! Auditions start tomorrow at 2:00. Come to 475 Peach Creek Court ready to play. We'll be waiting!
A smile stretched across Christians face.
"You know, I think it's about time Iron Fist got taken down a peg…" he muttered to himself. He tucked the sign under his arm and finished his drive home.
Once he got home, Christian looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like the bassist in Iron Fist should look. Thick circles of eyeliner massed on his face, perfectly complimenting his obviously dyed black hair. He would normally be content with the ghostly look, but he couldn't be that guy in the mirror any longer. He violently washed his hair several times to eliminate the black color, allowing his platinum blonde hair to freely shine once more. The removed the mascara and eyeliner, making his face look normal and friendly, instead of satanic and cruel.
He picked up the sign again and put on a smug smile. So what if he wasn't in Iron Fist anymore? That Goth-metal shit wasn't his thing anyway. He'd rather play covers in a song-less band than sing satanic hymns like Iron Fist did.
Tomorrow would be a new day, with a new band. All he had to do was make sure that he nailed the audition. Noticing the clock was blinking 11:30; the Canadian warily plopped onto his small cot. He had one final thought as he closed his eyes.
Iron Fist is dead to me….
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A/N: Well, here's the closest thing to angst in this story so far. I just made Christian a Canadian for kicks, in case you were wondering. I know it wasn't much, but like I said before, it'll get angsty, I promise. Until next time, you know the drill.
