Disclaimer: We (Lar-ton) do not own Dave Lister (sunrise cries at this harsh fact) but we do however own Eerin, Jerry and all other characters, we own the band '3-didget number' and their songs (which will hopefully get to number 1), the Tuli art gallery and other various made up places…be warned if these names and places are stolen they will explode and don't even think of suing us!

Sunrise over the tango factory's A/N: Okay, firstly this story needs a bit of explaining. Its parallel universe stuff, where Lister didn't join Red Dwarf…the reason...he made it as a rock star. R.T.T and me are really looking forward to the story because it combines 3 of our most favourite things…Red Dwarf…Rock music and romance (especially Raging, who spends most of her free time running round corn fields in a white floaty dress)

Raging tree trunks A/N: Helllllllllllllllllllooooooooo earthlings- and any aliens are there- we have yes ANOTHER story lovingly cultivated by us for your enjoyment. Here is a tale of woe, angst, love, depression- you know the usual stuff so sit back and enjoy peace, love and inner bliss, trunky

Also BIG BIG BIG Thank you to gottaluvarnrimmer, the girls a genius so check out her work-pronto!
With his head thumping, his stomach churning and his throat as dry and rough as sandpaper, Lister reached into his kitchen cupboard, in a desperate search for the aspirin packet.

The remains of last night's party were strewn over not just the living room, but the entire flat. Beer cans of various names and strengths littered the wooden floor along with streamers, party hats, vodka bottles and remains of food.

Having hastily swallowed the 2 pills, Lister groaned and made a mental note to either a) never host a party again his life or b) make sure he hired a team of expert cleaners to come in straight after so he wouldn't have to wake up the mess and destruction.

The sound of a key turning the door diverted him from his thoughts.

"Lister! How's my famous rock star boy doing this very fine morning, huh?"

Lister narrowed his eyes "fine, Jerry" he muttered, as he began to make coffee…the aspirin weren't doing enough to ease his hangover.

"You're making coffee" smiled Jerry, desperate to make some kind of conversation, "great, I'll have a double chocolate frappachino latte with a shot of bourbon and espresso. You got that?"

"No, but sod you! Nescafe's good enough..." smirked Lister.

Jerry looked as though he'd rather die than drink Nescafe, "I can't believe you! You're the worlds biggest rock star and yet you still drink crappy supermarket coffee!"

"Firstly, I'm not the worlds biggest rock star despite what your ego tells you. And secondly there is nothing wrong with supermarket coffee. If I left it up to you, I'd be drinking fucking cognac at 8.30 in the morning!"

Jerry frowned, and adjusted his sunglasses to hide his annoyance "did you have a party last night?" he asked, gazing around at the debris.

"No" said Lister sarcastically "there was nothing on telly so I thought I'd throw food, drink and party streamers about and trash my flat…" he carried his coffee over the window.

One of the main reasons he bought this flat was the view. Being on the 15th floor meant Lister could see across the roofs of buildings and could marvel at London's scenery. At night time, the view was magical!

"That was sarcasm wasn't it!" asked Jerry, hurriedly following Lister, taking care to avoid cans and bottles that carpeted the floor.

"Duh!" spat Lister, positioning himself on the window seat.

Thankfully it was an overcast afternoon, after one of Lister's 'party animal' moods, he often spent the following days in a vampire-like-state. Sitting in his darkened flat, venturing out only when it was dark...He stared thoughtfully for a few minutes at the bustling streets before yawning and stretching.

He was wearing his favourite jeans with chains of varying thickness looped on the belt hooks, they were faded through being put the wash so many times and crumpled because he'd slept in them. He was bare chested as his shirt had suddenly disappeared later on in the party. Lister simply shrugged this off; he didn't particularly like that shirt anyway.

"So" inquired Jerry, sitting down next to him "cop off with anyone at the party?"

Lister raised his eyebrows "if I did...d'you think I'd tell you?"

Jerry blinked "of course...because, Davey boy" he said forcefully, pulling Lister into a reluctant hug "I am your much loved manager, you share EVERYTHING with me, Lister. Good or bad...i'm there through it all kiddo!"

Lister yanked himself free, cursing under his breath as scalding hot coffee had been sloshed on his bare stomach as a result of Jerry's affections.

"We're like a married couple." announced Jerry proudly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa" said Lister quickly "we are nothing like a married couple...we find each other irritating, boring andunattractive" he paused "crap...we are like a married couple"

Jerry beamed "exactly, baby and that's what's got us to the top"

Lister buried his head in his hands "Listen, Jer…I've got a hangover. I feel ill, tired and testy...you're one smart arse comment away from having your head forced into a blender..."

"What are you saying to me, Davey?" asked Jerry, peering at Lister over the top of his ridiculous sunglasses.

"PISS OFF!"

There was a small pause

"Now?"

Lister groaned "No, a month next fucking Tuesday, OF COURSE NOW YOU PONCY GIT, PISS.OFF.NOW"

Despite the fact Jerry was having abuse hurled at him, he smiled "okay, you rest up, feel a little more human and I'll call you later, okay"

"No..." muttered Lister, lying down on the window seat and gazing through the windows.

"Great" said Jerry, walking to the door, oblivious as to what had been said "great! Great! So I'll give you a rain check? I have a pedicure appointment at 1 anyway- ciao babe!"

Lister winced as Jerry managed to slam a supposedly slam-proof door, and created the equivalent noise of ten elephants dancing on drums.

Glancing round the apartment, it was obvious that no way in hell a cleaner would be able to sort this mess out in under a week, not to mention Lister had to make a draft letter for his insurance company.

So he did what he always did in these situations.

Grabbed a pair of big thick shades and his wallet, and head for the Tuli art gallery.


The Tuli art gallery was more of a giant -noiseless- playground than an art gallery.

The exhibits were all supposedly modern art, but Lister reckoned they were excuses to have fun but without the noise.

A huge slide led to a huge vat of paint, which once you climbed out was on a huge canvas that you were expected to walk on to create some cool picture, that kinda thing; but Lister's favorite was the music box.

There were two sides to it, like a confession box. Someone sat on either side of it there was a microphone connecting the 2 halves of the boz, and then yougot to talk to each other, except the voice changer within the box made your voice fit your mood. Happy, sad, angry whatever...

Later the box would convert the speech to music to be played through the art gallery quietly and you got a CD to take home.

Lister therefore liked it for two reasons. 1) It appealed to his musical nature and 2) He could be himself, and have a decent conversation without having groupies attach themselves to each leg and scare prospective real friends or girlfriends away with their obsessiveness.

The music box was empty when Lister walked in; he sat down on the cushioned bench and took in his surroundings.

He wondered how many times he must have sat here, thousands probably...it was his escape from the outside world.

"Hello?"

Lister jumped slightly at the voice that came through the mike.

Someone had joined the box.

He froze, debating whether he actually wanted to talk to anyone today.

"Hello?" repeated the person on the other end of the mike "h-e-l-l-o?" there was a pause and Lister thought they'd given up "oh great no ones there...I'll just talk to myself then!"

Lister found himself smiling "I'm here actually" he said, pressing the button to reply to their message.

"Oh thank god, if I don't talk to someone sane...I will honestly go up the frickin' wall"

Lister fought the urge to laugh"well, I'll try to inject some form of sanity into your life...but I can't promise anything"

The person on the other end laughed"you're funny!"

"Likewise-" he smiled.

"I'm Eerin by the way, and you?"

Lister hesistated, he thought about walking out and leaving the mysterious Eerin to interrogate someone else, but he quickly dismissed it, as he wanted to see where this conversation would go.

"Dave." he said simply.

"Dave what? Do you have a last name?"

"No" said Lister"just Dave."

"So just Dave" said Eerin cheerily "how are you?"

"Hung over…" replied Lister, lounging on the bench and staring at his designer trainers sullenly.

"Party animal are you?"

Lister smiled, there was something about this Eerin that made him relax "yeah...I woke up this morning half naked in the bath!"

Eerin laughed"I would have liked to have seen that"

"No you wouldn't" replied Lister "i'm not a pretty sight in the morning...especially after a lot of drink"

Eerin laughed again, and Lister felt shivers being sent down his spine.

"So Eerin-" he said, desperate to ask her some questions "what brings you to the Tuli art gallery?"

"I'm an artist."

Lister nodded in approval "is your work in here then?"

"Sadly no...I've been refused more time then I can count, so technically i'm a struggling artist..."

Lister frowned, the art industry was as difficult to crack as the music industry, and everyone was a critic.

"What about you, Dave" asked Eerin after receiving a pause "why are you here?"

"Alone time"

There was a pause "d'you want me to go then" asked Eerin sounding a little uncomfortable "so you can have your alone time?"

"No" said Lister quickly "No. I mean...I came here lookin' for that...but I found something better"

"What?"

"You!" Lister grimaced as soon as the words had left his lips...he must still be drunk for him to say that...he banged his head on his knees. Eerin would now think he was a complete psycho alcoholic with flirtation issues.

"Flirty as well as hung over" said Eerin mischievously

Lister nodded, but then realized Eerin couldn't see him"yeah"

"Just the way I like my men!"

Lister grinned"Oh yea? What else you like in your men?"

Eerin giggled. "Oh but that would be telling"

Lister laughed, mainly due to fact Eerin had laughed it was as if she's got him under her spell "And?"

Another giggle"Ok, well I like my guys taller than me but i'm only small so that's ok. I like them built slightly, I like them to have something in common with me, ohh I don't know, I sound stupid- i'm a sucker for brown eyes!"

"Well i'm a sucker for sexy voiced, artists with flirty personalities..."

There was a pause on both sides"I went too far?"

"No no! I was just- urm, blushing" replied Eerin hurriedly,

Lister laughed"So what music you like?" he asked. It was a big question he asked to the girls he chatted up.

Eerin smiled"I'm a believer in 'love the music not the artist'-because that's stupid. I love 3-digit number though they rock; I mean 'Pink Shirts' is a classic song- so is 'concrete bucket' and yeah…I love the music. I mean I like other stuff too like really old stuff like Green Day, and you know stuff from years back- the Sex Pistols, but I just heart 3 digit number the most"

Lister felt a lump in his throat"3-digit number!"

The same '3-digit number' he made up together with drummer Bob and bass guitarist Paul.

The same '3 digit number' he'd written 'concrete bucket' and 'pink shirts' with and won awards with…that '3 digit number'!

"Oh yeah there...ok." He said

Eerin laughed"Obviously not a fan. If you were you'd be totally enthusiastic. Shame they've not really done anything in a while."

"Yeah...erm...listen Eerin, can we please change the subject? I don't really like talking about '3-didget number..."

Eerin's voice quickly changed "why? Do you really hate them that much?"

"No...Well yes...you wouldn't believe how much I dislike them...but-"

There was an angry hiss from Eerin "can you do any better?"

Lister felt like this whole situation was getting out of control "that's...that's beside the point." He groaned rubbing his tired eyes.

"No it isn't! You must be a fucking fantastic musician if you think you can do better than 3-diget number!"

"Eerin," said Lister, trying to apologise "look i'm sorry if I offended you, but I really don't like talking about 3-didget number...Eerin...Eerin" she'd gone.

Lister groaned, he'd ruined his chances now, he was just about to leave the music box when the door was flung open and a short girl with shiny black hair blocked his way.
Her eyes travelled up and down Lister's body, they paused for a second on his facebefore she exclaimed "FUCKIN' HELL...IT'S YOU!"