Here's chapter 2. Hope you like it- let me know. Still don't own any of the characters.
Mark had just sat down and ordered his beer when a wiry man approached the bar. "Hey kid," he said. Mark smiled faintly. The man seemed to take this as an invitation. He perched on the stool next to Mark and leaned in, so close that Mark could see the gold caps on his molars. "What's with the camera?" he hissed, spit flying in Mark's face.
"You some sort of undercover reporter? Think you can come in here and make a buck off of busting us or something?" He leaned back and slammed the bar with a meaty fist.
"God, I hate guys like you."
Mark shrugged, paid the bartender, and got up quickly.
"Don't walk away from me, fairy boy." The man jumped up and stepped towards Mark.
"I was asking you some questions. Now, let me see that camera." As he reached towards the camera, Mark jumped sideways, and—bam—from somewhere behind Mark came a fist which hit the tall guy, full in the face.
"Hey buddy, I told you to stop messing with people here. Now get away."
Gold Caps touched his nose gingerly. "Dammit, you made my nose bleed. If I wanted to, I could cause you so much—"
The new guy sighed. "Can it, Frank. Just scram." With a last, somewhat less-than-threatening glare at Mark, Gold Caps turned and sauntered off.
"Wow…wow," said Mark, turning towards his rescuer. "Thanks. I…" Mark trailed off, blushing, when he realized that he was talking to the singer from the band. What is the matter with me? It's not like he's famous…
"No problem, kid. That's Frank, he's an idiot. He hassles anyone if he thinks he can get away with it." He ordered a Stoli, straight, and turned back to Mark, shaking his hand out. "Still, punching him kind of hurt. So…saw you making out with that hot chick in the corner. What's the matter, our songs not interesting enough?"
Mark laughed nervously. "No, um…no. That's Maureen. She's…kind of aggressive. I'm, I'm, I'm Mark." He shoved out his hand.
"Roger." Roger growled as he took Mark's hand. "Aggressive, that's how I like em." Mark laughed again.
Roger's drink came up, and he grabbed it and paid. "Wanna come hang out with me and the boys?" he asked. "We are so ready to be back in the city—you have no idea how boring the rest of the country is. Although… groupie chicks are pretty hot no matter where you are."
Mark raised his eyebrows, then quickly tried to rearrange his features to look cool and nonjudgmental. And failed utterly, if Roger's grin was any indication. Quick, he thought, say something cool. "Yeah, I love groupies."
Roger's face was a study of self-control for only a second before burst out laughing. "Jeez, buddy, how old are you?" Mark's face fell, and he turned away. Roger grabbed his shoulder. "Whoa, Mark, I'm just kidding, buddy. Come on, come meet the band, maybe we can find you a groupie too. Though by the looks of that Maureen chick you don't seem to need any help in that department."
Mark turned. "Sorry, I—" he smiled, "actually, I live with Benny Coffin. He said he used to live with you guys?"
"Really?" Roger cocked his head. The harsh houselights glinted off the diamond in his ear. "I didn't live with them, but that's cool. Benny's a nice guy. How do you know him?"
They made small talk as they started walking towards the stage. "Actually," said Mark, "We, uh, went to high school together. And this is Collins."
Collins grabbed Mark's beer and gulped. "Hey, thought you'd never get over here.
Benny is boring me to tears with his damn reminiscing."
Roger laughed. "Yeah, Benny and the boys were tight before, when the band SUCKED."
John, Donny, and Rick turned. "Hey!" John said. "You didn't think we sucked so much when you were piggy-backing on our already magnificent set."
"No, I did." Roger said, reaching out to ruffle John's hair. "I just didn't tell you.
Thought it might hurt the bonding process. But with my guidance and wisdom, look what we've become!" Roger jumped up on stage and started beating on the amplifier as if it was a bongo set. "The Well Hungarians," he intoned, "the most important, earth-shaking, era-defining band" bang "in" bang "the world! Beady bommmm."
Rick sighed. "Right, right. Get down before you break something. Anyway, I'm beat. Still got our old beds waiting for us, Benny?"
Collins chuckled. "I think Mark and I might be in those."
Mark jumped in. "But you guys are welcome, of course. I mean, not in our beds? To crash in the loft, or, um, whatever, I mean…" Mark trailed off as, for the second time that night, Roger—and everyone else—lost the struggle with composure and cracked up.
That night, the Well Hungarians crashed at the loft.