Authoress here.

Remember, last chappie, when I was all excited about summer? Yeah, it sucks. I miss school. At least then I had BRAIN STIMULATION. I'm turning into a pile of goo. My only saviors are friends (in between our work schedules, mind you) bishie, work, riding Ranger, and reviews. Er, I mean, writing for my own pride and enjoyment.

Anyways, thanks to the reviewer who gave me the correct spelling of Suguru's name. And now, (upon further research, due to the tip off of another friendly reviewer) I realize that Fujisaki is the LAST name, not Suguru. This is where my lack of through Japanese language becomes blatantly obvious. I get confused of first and surnames, gomen, gomen. From henceforth and onward, Suguru is again the first name and Fujisaki is the last name of both Suguru and Keyara. Thanks for the help, reviewers!

Warning! There is coarser language this chapter, hence my stronger rating. Be warned! Be wary!

Breaking the Tie
Chapter Four: Inspiration, or Lack Thereof

Toshi Shindou

Two weeks later

I've decided I hate guitarists. Nothing against Hiro, or any other really excellent musicians out there, but how come when you need a guitarist, they make like a bunch of crows flying away from road kill when a car's coming? Seriously. Or maybe not all guitarists; maybe just the talented ones are hard to find when you want them.

My particular loathing of guitarists was partially because of the current one I was on the phone with. I believe his name was Kenji Onisi, but I could have cared less if his name was Gackt from the way our conversation was going.

"And….how long have you been playing?"

The prospect blustered a little over this question. I fought the urge to sigh a fourth time in a row and waited more patiently than I believed the situation called for.

"Er…about a year."

"A year?" Sadly enough, I felt a small leap of hope. If they guy had been playing for a year, he had outstripped just about every other guitarist I had interviewed lately.

"I'm takin' this really swell video instruction course-"

My hope fled. Okay, there should be a legal ban against people who design "learn-it-yourself" systems. I've talked to maybe twenty prospective guitarists in the last two weeks, and only four of them had taken lessons from an actual carbon-based life form.

"I'm sorry, Kenji-san, but I don't believe you're quite what we're looking for-"

"No, no, wait for it! Hear me play! Wait-" I heard fumbling on the other line, and Kenji shouted at the phone from a short distance away for me to listen. Now I couldn't hold in my sigh.

The clumsy strumming of a novice sounded over the line, and I winced. The poor idiot was even singing…

I hung up, sure that the overly hopeful Kenji would play the entire song before returning to the line. I resisted the urge to throw the phone against something solid, and instead chucked it at my bed. I believe I was behaving very calmly and collected for a person on the edge of a breakdown.

I clucked my forehead against my desk, really wanting to cry my frustration to the world. The pain brought tears to my eyes, and I pouted, feeling sorry for myself in a fashion Mom would have described as "very Shuichi-an."

Two weeks ago this whole thing had sounded brilliant. I almost cursed as I thought about it.

Two Weeks Ago

I paced the length of Suguru's sitting room. Both he and his lovely daughter Keyara were seated on the couch at my direction. I cleared my throat nervously as I contemplated the speech I had prepared, and again the worry about whether I should have made a display board to help show my idea off flitted across the numbness of my mind. I took a deep breath, and began.

"It'll be revolutionary." My mouth was dry, and the opening sentence (meant to be catchy, as my public speaking class had taught me) came out rather weak and raspy. "The public will adore and follow this religiously."

Suguru was gazing at me, enraptured, obviously impressed by my opening statement. Maybe it hadn't gone as badly as I thought. That hope left as soon as I looked at Keyara. The disdain on her face was enough to convince me that the opening statement was indeed as pitiful as I thought it was.

"Before you go about giving your idea so much credit, you should tell us what it is." It was the most Keyara had ever said to me before, and it stung harsher than any insult could. I continued on, trying to regain my footing…and trying to impress this girl with such wonderfully high standards as.

"A band, with a synth, an electric violin, and a guitarist. All the members younger, teenage or less. We'd call it Protégé, and it'd be you, me, and someone else, who shouldn't too be hard to find. They could sing. Or I could. Or you could, Keyara."

One of those beautiful eyebrows rose. "And how much thought have you put into this?"

I flushed. She was right; the idea was certainly unpolished. Although her tone was cool and belittling, I found myself compelled to say more, try to make her love it.

"Listen, we already have enough publicity with who are parents are. All we need is the third member, and that shouldn't be too hard to find. I mean, the guitar is the most popular instrument to play these days, and I'm sure there are hundreds of kids who have been playing since birth! I've already been messing around with a few song ideas, and when we get the full band together we can develop some new ones."

I looked at her hopefully. She didn't appear moved at all. She had opened those gorgeous lips to say something, probably scornful (not like I didn't deserve it) but Suguru spoke first.

"It's a great idea."

I was floored. If Keyara didn't think it was good, then I was sure it had major faults. But here was Suguru, legendary synth player of Bad Luck fame, praising my idea!

Suguru flashed me a bright smile before turning to his foster-daughter. "What do you think, sweetie?"

Her expression had changed dramatically. Instead of disdainful and skeptical, she looked excited. "I like it, Papa!"

"Great." I tried to keep my voice from shaking with excitement of Keyara also giving my idea thumbs up. Mind you, this was no small feat.

"Tell you what." Suguru had tepeed his long fingers together, pressing the tips to his forehead in thought. "I'll call around to some different agencies, and see what I can find in the way of a guitarist. You two put your heads together on writing your first song. I can't guarantee it, but once we find you a third member I'll work on getting you an audition with NG Studios."

I gaped. I'm sure I looked a lot like those fish in cartoons, but at the time being I deemed it pretty appropriate. Suguru was only offering the most wonderful opportunity ever!

"Gee, S-Suguru-san, I d-don't know how to thank you-"

"By making wonderful music." Suguru cut in warmly. He stood, and ruffled my hair affectionately. "And with the two of you, I expect great things!"

But that had been two weeks ago.

It was two weeks after Keyara agreed to be in Protégé with me. She hadn't questioned my name choice, for which I was grateful. I was strangely proud of it. I had woken up early the morning after my first visit to Suguru's after meeting Keyara and the word was in my mind. My window had been shut, meaning either Yuki had shut it late last night, or Shuichi had early that morning. I had the fuzzy feeling that one of my father figures had whispered that word to me while I slept. I wasn't certain of which one, but it made me smile thinking of it.

But the results for younger guitarists were very barren. Suguru had said that not many agencies scouted for teenage bands, meaning Keyara, Suguru and I had been searching ourselves. It had proven to be a very trying experience.

Half of the prospects had been almost identical to Kenji; young hopefuls with no real talent. Others had been perfect, except they were nineteen or early twenties, and most going off to college at the end of the summer. And there were a few that were just so thick-skulled that they put concrete to shame.

I sighed, massaging my forehead. A walk might help.

This thought in mind, I trudged downstairs.

"Going somewhere, kiddo?"

I turned to see Dad, holding a magazine in one hand and a doughnut in the other.

"Not really, Dad." I grinned. "Say Dad?"

"Mrmph?" He answered through a mouthful of the glazed, sugary mass.

"Didn't K put you on a diet?" My question was confirmed before my pink-haired dad even answered. At the mention of the gun-slinging manager he visibly cringed.

"….No?" He withered a little under my stern glare. "Maybe…Oh, come on, you're worse than Aoyou!"

I glanced around furtively. "Okay, finish the doughnut. I won't tell."

"Yay!" I staggered under Dad's sudden weight as he glomped me enthusiastically. Really, for a thirty-five year old professional musician, he acted like a seven year old on a sugar high.

As a punishment, I snuck a nibble of his doughnut as he held it temptingly at mouth height while he hugged me with one arm. As he released me, he stared at his snack.

"You had some!" His voice was full of amused accusation.

"…No?" I mocked him, smiling innocently.

"The glaze on your chin tells a different story, you imp!"

I hastily wiped my chin as Dad lunged at me, preparing another glomp-tackle. I dodged it, only to bump into Mom, who had just descended the stairs.

"Doughnut, Shuichi?"

Dad righted himself, grinning guiltily. "Hungry, darling? 'Cause I was bringing you this wonderful….half eaten…"

"Sampled, for your safety." I interjected.

Dad nodded vigorously. "Yes, sampled!"

Mom only managed to keep her stern face for a few seconds. Then she laughed. "How can I resist such a barrage of cuteness from you two?"

I decided to head for the door as Dad launched himself at Mom, shrieking "CUTENESS!" Seven year old on sugar…

"Where y'headed, Toshi?" Mom had fended off Dad long enough to catch me before I left.

"Just gonna walk around the block."

"Do you want a shirt on for that experience?"

I looked at her strangely for a moment, wondering why she would say that. Then I looked down, and blushed. I liked to work alone in my room in jeans only in the summer, because it got so hot. Mom always joked it was my Amazon blood coming out, but I just did it for comfort. Obviously, I forgot to remedy this before going downstairs.

"Aw, let the kid roam the streets half naked." Dad teased. "Granted, he'll get a crowd of screaming fans following him, but it's good experience for this Protégé idea he's gotten…"

I was running to my room before he finished, red to the base of my neck with embarrassment. Wearing no shirt by myself or around family was fine, but in public?-!

I finally got outside (properly clothed) I breathed deep. It was hot, and humid, although the evening cool was beginning to set in. I started around the block by passing neighbor Mr. Billionaire Business Guru's house first, and I was attracted by a strange noise, something I hadn't heard in awhile.

I hesitated in my walk, listening to this alien noise. An electric wail- skillfully executed- that crescendoed to a roaring climb up a scale, and then some tricky rhythm followed by a sweet, throbbing finish? Could it be…The sound of a talented guitarist?

I whirled around, staring straight into Mr. Billionaire's open garage. A kid-more specifically, a teen kid- more specifically yet, a girl teen kid who was my neighbor- was pounding away at a battered old electric guitar, a pair of headphones on her head connected to the amp by her feet. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and I approached slowly, hardly daring to believe my own luck.

As I came closer, her eyes flew open and she would have dropped the guitar if not for the shoulder strap. "Shindou-kun! You heard?"

Obviously she thought only she could hear her music; she must have forgotten to turn off the external sound on her amp.

"Yeah, and I'm glad I did!" My reply must have sounded a little overeager, because she gave me a very odd look. "Listen, you're not part of a band or anything?"

"No…" She chewed her lip, eyeing me still, as if unsure of what to do with me. I searched my memory banks for her name… Saya?

"Well, Saya-kun-"

"It's Seiya." Her tone was sharp, and I was suddenly aware that she was about my height, and wielding a heavy guitar…I have never pretended to be valiant, and with good reason. Her eyes, outlined heavily in eyeliner and mascara were narrowed, her deep honey-colored irises pronounced. She wore her hair up in a high pony, a few strands escaping the binder. Wearing a black beater-type shirt and battered dark jeans, she looked very menacing.

"Sorry." I apologized quickly. "Bad memory. But Seiya-kun, a friend and I are starting a thing-"

"Yeah, I bet you'd like me to join."

I stopped, unaware of what to say next. This was all very odd. She was looking at me with a weird, sardonic smile I didn't like very much. But the memory of that earth shaking music gave me resolve not to high-tail it back across the lawn to the safety of my own property.

"There have been countless bastards who'll ask me the same thing. Have been before. What makes you different then those dickless fuckers?"

I stood there, truly lost for words. True, she was my neighbor, but she never spoke this way around Mom, and I was always with her or another parent when I was around Seiya. My father hardly ever used such strong language (around me, at least) and it grated in my ears. Never before had I heard anyone refer to anyone else as "dickless" before.

"E-Excuse me!" I blurted. "That language offends me!"

Seiya laughed, cruelly. "You're dickless too! Only you don't have any balls, either!"

I winced, but the barb had found home, goading me into speech. "Makes me different, doesn't it?"

She looked surprised, and laughed again. Only this time, I felt less laughed at. Taking that as a success, (however else I could have taken it would not have gotten me a guitarist) I continued.

"And I'll bet that those…other guys… have been all hard metal-heads, who have no plans larger than a garage?"

Seiya glanced wryly around at her current surroundings, and I blushed a little. "True. Go on."

I did. Now that she had allowed me to build some steam, I was confident. "I'll let you know that I have Suguru Fujisaki personally involved with my band, and I have plans to compete right up there with bands of national renown! I will not beg you to join me; but I do extend the offer."

I pushed out my hand, feeling a bit overdramatic. If Seiya thought so, she took it in stride. Spitting in her palm, she slapped her hand against mine, shaking firmly. "You got yourself a deal, Shindou."

"Gross." I peeled my hand away from hers, scrubbing my moistened palm on my jeans. "Why'd you do that?"

"Means I'm in it and in it serious. You should have spat in yours, too." She sounded so serious I was compelled to see it her way. Summoning up every shred of dignity I had, I threw it away by hawking up the spit in my mouth and coating my palm with it. Seiya grinned and repeated the gesture.

Our guitarist was sealed into the band by means on a slurpy, wet handshake. It was final. Protégé could fly now.

End Chapter

I LOVE IT WHEN MY MUSE COMES BACK! Got my writing mojo on, and I hardly felt it when I rounded on eight pages! Well, review and I'll get started on five!