Lar-ton's A/N: WOOHHOO, 1 chapter lefty, hope u enjoyed the journey, the end...short and sweet. :D
Lister paced the dressing room for what seemed the millionth time that hour; he stopped to run his hands through his hair anxiously before taking to pacing again.
Paul looked up from his magazine, and grinned, "Not nervous are you, Davey?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
Lister spun round to face him and laughed, "Nervous?" he said, voice far too shrill "Why would I be nervous? -This is my first live gig in over 3 years, there's 500,000 people out there, all screaming…all watching me…. waiting for me to screw up…oh fucking hell!" he yelled, before collapsing to the floor.
Paul gave Bob a sly smile before screwing the cap off a bottle, "Here, get this down your neck" he laughed, handing the bottle to Lister,
Not even looking to see what it was, Lister took a big swig, before gagging "This is whisky!" he said, handing it back to Paul hurriedly "I can't go on stage pissed!"
Bob looked outraged "What d'you mean you can't go on stage pissed?" he exclaimed "Back in the days, we used to go on pissed, get more pissed during the gig, come off pissed and then go and get even more pissed!"
Lister bit his lip and he remembered his previous drunken exploits at gigs, granted it was as funny as hell stumbling onto the stage completely blitzed, the crowd loved it but things had a tendency to go wrong.
He vaguely remembered forgetting the words to one of his own songs during a gig, the sheer embarrassment of having to ask the crowd 'What line goes next?' for a song he'd written himself.
"We were as a drunk as the Pistols, man" agreed Paul, "We didn't care about nothin'!"
Lister sighed, "I'm out of touch, guys" he said miserably "I'm a disgrace to the name of rock and roll...I can't even remember the last time I nutted a photographer or stormed out of an interview...or smashed up a hotel room…or swore on live telly or-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah" interrupted Bob "We get the picture!"
Paul shook the whiskey in Lister's direction temptingly, "Care to join us?"
Lister hesitated before grabbing the bottle; he gave Paul and Bob a grin. Paul was the oldest member of 3-digit number. He was a burly biker type guy with a shaved head and a large scraggly beard. He was as tall as he was broad and despite his somewhat threatening appearance was one of the nicest guys Lister knew.
Bob on the other hand, was the complete opposite; he was tall...and tall means T-A-L-L. He was as thin as a rake, his black hair was sculpted permenantly into a moheacan and his right arm was covered from wrist to shoulder with tattoos, he had several facial piercing and one lower down that he only wanted the ladies to know about.
"The bad boys back…" joked Paul
Lister frowned "Whatcha mean 'back'? I never left"
It was at that point that the door to the lad's dressing room burst open. Their mouths hung open in a mixture of shock and disgust.
The reason for their reaction... Jerry
He had donned a skin tight PVC flamingo pink cat suit with clung to his plump figure, on his feet he wore big black snake skin dominatrix boots with platform heels, a black feather boa was draped around his neck whilst chains and various items of metal wound their way up his naked arms. He wore a black studded choker on his neck and in his hand held a black riding whip.
He gave them a dazzling grin that, shockingly, the boys did not return.
A hideously long, uneasy silence followed before Bob spoke "what-are-you-wearing?" he managed to choke
Jerry's glossed smile slipped a little "everyone wears this at rock concerts" he said, adjusting the PVC so it didn't cling quite so tightly to his chest
Lister let out a harsh laugh "-and what rock concerts have you been to? Erotica the musical?"
"So you think I've overdone it a bit?" asked Jerry, his shoulders slumped dejectedly "My original idea was leather hot pants and a netted tank top? Should I go home and change?"
Lister stood up "Jerry, here's what you do...go home...go into your wardrobe...close the door...stay there...forever!"
Bob and Paul laughed before following Lister towards the stage,
Jerry was suddenly left all alone, he snorted "how will I see what clothes i'm putting on if I close the door…" he laughed...he then realised what Lister was trying to say "hang on" he fumed, tottering away after them.
Lister stood at the side of the stage and listened to the scream of the crowd, it seemed to make his heart and chest vibrate it was that loud, he took a deep breath and grabbed his guitar. He watched as the supporting act 'Activation' came running off stage.
"Ladies and gentleman" boomed the tanoy "Please give it up for 3 digit number!" The screams and shouts reached an ear splitting climax as the lads ran on stage.
Bob took his place at his drums and Paul stood to the left of the stage. Lister struck the first few chords of 'Eating Crackers in the Rain', one of their biggest hits, and the screaming started again, if possible even louder this time.
Lister was off then...he always put on a big show when doing a gig; he'd gained a reputation for running around stage, leaping off amplifiers and generally whipping the audience up into a frenzy.
As the song ended, Lister closed his eyes for a second or two and smiled.
He'd missed this...the thing was he didn't even know he missed it, but now he'd tasted the feeling of having an entire audience hanging onto your every word he realized how much it all meant to him.
He turned to the audience "If there are any of you out there right now thinking 'who the fuck is he'...I'll explain. My name is Dave Lister-" he paused as the walls of the stadium echoed with screams "and I...believe it or not...Iam in this band...I've just been in hiding...but i'm back now and it feels pretty frickin' fucking fantastic!"
He laughed as the screaming started up yet again, "Now, allow me to introduce you to a very close friend of mine" he held an arm out to Paul "A man who needs no introduction...he's an arse!"
Paul glared at him before laughing, "-and damn proud of it!" he yelled,
"Ladies and gentleman, Paul!" the crowd roared their approval; Lister turned to Bob "-and make some noise for perhaps the best drummer since Trè Cool...BOB!" Bob gave a grin and effortless spun his drumstick round his slender fingers.
"Okay, we're going to get things going with a little song called...'Pink shirts'...anyone know it?"
The concert was going well...better than well…terrific even. Lister was loving every second of it, they were about half way through, Lister was racing round belting out their hits on his guitar and as he spun round he came face to face with Jerry. He toppled over in shock, "What are you doing here?" he hissed, jumping to his feet
"Lister-" Jerry began
"Jerry, not now...i'm in the middle of the concert so sod off!"
"It's Eerin"
Lister felt his blood run cold. Eerin had called him shortly before the concert to say she had to work for a bit, but she would be there as soon as possible. Lister's guitar slipped to the floor with a clang, and an eerie silence fell over the crowd as he raced off stage.
Paul and Bob exchanged confused looks. Jerry glanced nervously at the crowd before gabbing the horns gesture into the air "ROCK ON" he shouted, grinning manically before Paul and Bob abandoned their instruments and joined Lister offstage.
"Lister?" asked Paul, upon finding Lister shaking, with tears streaking his cheeks.
"Eerin" Lister muttered "She's been in a car crash…"
