Rock isn't art, it's how ordinary people talk --- Billy Idol
Ordinary People Talk
At night, Los Angeles becomes a hooker with cheeks painted in neon signs and lips the blaring sounds of sirens as they cut through the humid air. On the corner of Grand Ave and Hope Street, he swerved back and forth, his legs unaccustomed to the weight of his body, the heavy leather bag he strapped over his shoulders sinking into his skin. Slamming the beer bottle against the sidewalk, he grinded his heel against the largest shard of glass, smiling as he heard it turn to dust under his heavy shoes.
His face still burned with the slaps of his mother, his back stinging from the force of the shove down the staircase. Of course, it was a guarantee that his mother would not just scream but also, rush at him with raised fists the moment he told her.
A police siren made the streetlamp overhead flicker on and off and grinning, he raised a hand to wipe at the trail of beer that dripped from the corner of his mouth.
It was coming, he knew what they all expected of him, the bastard son of a poor woman and he knew that he broke his mother's heart. But what he wanted, he saw in the glimmer of the night sky above.
The stars were shining through the haze of smog in the air.
He hunched his shoulders and walked on, trying to erase the feeling of uncertainty that followed his drunken gait. Lifting his head to stare up and up at the sky, his sapphire eyes, red rimmed with the force of alcohol, never wavered though his footsteps did.
The stars were shining bright.
interruption
"Fuck."
He ran throughout his tiny studio apartment, putting on his shoes, jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt emblazed with the face of Bob Marley. It was already two o'clock – he fumbled through his pockets until he found the keys of his car and tripped over her stilettos, crashing against the tower of beer cans that dominated the kitchen table.
She didn't even lift an eyelid as he took one long look at her naked figure sprawled across his bed. He smiled, remembering the night before, and yawned again, trying to shake off the pangs of the hangover that already caused his head to throb.
With one last look at her, naked and sweating in the afternoon sun, he was out the door, a cigarette already perched against his lips.
The
elevator was slow to hit the bottom floor, and waving to the desk
attendant, he ran into the busy street, pushing his way through the
throngs of people. It was going to be a hot day, just like every
other day in the long LA summer.
--
It was his grimace, the way his arms crossed over his chest and stared directly at the wall in front of him that made Cid knew he was in massive trouble. He awkwardly stood before the silent man with one hand on his head, a sheepish smile marred by the cigarette he kept in his mouth.
"Alright, fuck, I'm sorry, okay?"
He turned his head, his bright eyes staring directly at Cid's uncomfortable figure, his long black hair striking his pale skin. He didn't even respond, shifting from one leg to another as he watched Cid's face wrench itself into an angry scowl.
"WHAT THE HELL YA PROBLEM! I SAID I WAS SORRY!"
"What the hell you playing at, Cid?" Vincent turned, the curtain of his hair lifting off his slender shoulders and sat himself at the single stool in the small, cramped room. He crossed his legs, and placed his cheek on his upturned left palm, staring at Cid as he did so, "I sent her home. Not fair, making us wait."
"YOU
DID WHAT?"
"Four
hours, Cid. Four."
He sighed, reaching out a hand to gently stroke the side of his guitar as it stood, proud and gleaming in its stand. "Fenrir isn't getting anywhere, especially with a drummer who's never here."
"Where's our singer, Cid?" Vincent pulled the guitar off its stand and placed it gently in the black case that sat by his feet. Cid lowered his eyes, unable to stare into Vincent's own crimson eyes. The sound of the zipper as it danced on the silence in the room was harsh against his ears as Vincent stood, his tall frame straight and unnaturally beautiful.
"What
the fuck you getting at, Valentine?"
"I'm
out of here."
Vincent grabbed the cigarette out of Cid's mouth and placed it in his own lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke, like a snake, to curl around Cid's upturned face.
"VINCENT!
"This
was our dream once, Cid. Ain't nothing more."
He watched Vincent walk down the hallway, knowing, through years of friendship that once Vincent spoke, he could never be persuaded otherwise. Cid could feel the walls of the recording studio collapse around him, the weight of disappointment that came with the fading footsteps of his best friend.
"Fuck."
--
"SHUT UP!" Her voice rose higher and higher as she slammed the pint of beer against the bar's counter. Cid watched her, knowing how angry she could get, how her crimson and honeyed eyes could glimmer with a deathly wrath. She was attracting the attention of the huddled men who sat at the end of the bar, her tiny waist and well-endowed measurements enough to distract Cid momentarily from the crisis at hand.
"WE CAN'T HAVE NO BAND WITHOUT A GUITARIST OR A SINGER!" Tifa let out a wail of despair as she lowered her face into her hands. "We were so close, Cid."
"Ya
think I don't know that?"
"What
we do now?"
Cid let out a puff of smoke to linger over their heads, like hazy halos that didn't hold the promise of heaven. He raised one hand over his face as if to block out the sudden throb of his head, trying to forget the fact that perhaps if he didn't mess it up, Vincent would be here now, sitting by his elbow and telling Tifa to slow down. The bar stool to his left was empty and Cid felt that empty abyss even more sharply in every part of his body.
"He's gonna go back to our old band." Cid rubbed his eyes viciously, trying to wipe away the first happy strands of drunkenness that threatened to cloud his eyes. "Ya know how they always wanted him back. Got a contract and everything, those fucks."
"A contract? Something this shitty band can't give him."
"More than Tifa. Ya know how he is; full of piss and pride. We're just weighing him down."
"Do
you think –?"
"Not
till we find us a singer, Tifa. Fuck."
--
Tifa couldn't keep Cid walking straight, even though her arms were wrapped tightly over his stumbling body. After swearing at the fate of his life, refusing to pick up his cell phone after seeing it was Shera calling and downing five pints of beer, Cid half ranted, half cried over the fact that Fenrir was as good as dead. No matter what she said, he waved away her words of encouragement and banged his forehead over and over the bar's counter. It was enough of a ruckus to get them both thrown out of the bar, and into the humid net of the early morning air.
Just a year, and already the dream was gone. Tifa knew talent when she saw it, and what Vincent played each time he touched the guitar was wild and untainted. The grin of Cid's face that first day she met them both was wide enough to cleave his face in two. She wanted to be a part of this dream they had for years, and after hearing her play bass, Vincent nodded, just once to give his approval. The beauty of Vincent's skill and the energy of Cid's drumming could not hide the fact that Fenrir was nothing more but just a fragment of what could be.
It wasn't as if they didn't try. Singer after singer, man, woman, lured by the intoxication of being a rock star came, knocking on Studio 9A only to be sent away by a wave of Vincent's hand or a furious yell of Cid's. She never knew what they wanted, and in time, she finally realized that maybe this world wasn't for her.
The back of her legs were sweaty and for the fifth time tonight, she lifted her head to the sky and wished it would rain.
"Ya know what was so fucking retarded? He could have any fucking chick he wanted and then he goes off and fucks a teacher! A TEACHER! WHAT THE HELL! NO SHIT THAT ASSHOLE WAS GOING TO GET EXPELLED! Old hags – he fucks old hags when he can get any chick he wanted –"
Tifa sighed, trying as hard as she could to forget the drunken tirade of Cid. She knew well enough that Cid's anger was just a fragile mask that hid his devotion to Vincent. They were after all more then friends, but also brothers, marked by the same tattoo that curled up the left side of their ribs, curling a finger of permanent ink underneath their collar bone. She knew, from the tears that hugged Cid's eyes, that his anger was nothing more but a pathetic attempt to hide the sadness that plagued him.
It wasn't always this way, Tifa wanted to tell him, remembering the dinners they had on the floor of the studio, or poker night with Shera when it was too hot to play music. But after weeks of half-hearted practices, demos that were never completed, and jigs at small holes-in-the-walls, Tifa had already begun to regret the day she ever stumbled upon Fenrir.
He was so silent, just a shadow almost, that they were two steps in front of him before Cid fell out of Tifa's grasp and stumbled against his huddled self. Cid tripped over his sprawled feet and tumbled over the backpack he kept close by his upturned knees.
"Shit! CID!" Tifa hurried to grab a hold of Cid's falling elbow while at the same time shifting her glaze to stare at the crouched figure by the wall. "Sorry, my friend's an ass –"
Her words faded at the sight of his spiked blonde hair, shining with gel, and the blue fire of his eyes. Cid clutched her arm, happy and drunk to get a cheap feel of Tifa's bust underneath the black cami she wore, Her eyes widen at the sight of his face, and for once, she felt a surge of luck and happiness.
"CLOUD!"
--
He swung his legs to settle on the counter of the desk before him, downing the last swigs of his beer. Happily laughing into the cell phone, he reached for her slender waist, drawing her to sit on his lap.
"You should have never left SHIN-ra. Cid's just a two-bit drummer, and you know it, Valentine!"
In his arms, Elena giggled, and reached up to caress the lapels of his suit, drawing her lips to taste the flesh of his neck. He let a hand cup the smooth, round cheek of her butt and felt his body grow hard against the soft of her laughing curves.
"Hollywood's calling your name. Call me when you get here."
The phone skittered across the desk as he lazily threw it, striking the wine glass that stood by the lamp. A puddle of red, looking like blood, spread throughout the desk as he stood, lifting Elena in his arms, pressing her back against the desk.
"Finally." He whispered softly as Elena's manicured hands started to unbutton his shirt, drawing off his suit jacket with practiced hands. She kissed him again and again as he crawled onto the desk, his knees spread and her writhing underneath him. She laughed as he gently sank his teeth against her neck.
"Stupid ass, leaving us like that." Elena ran her fingers through Tseng's hair, feeling the soft of his lips. "At last he's back."
Before he fell into her open hands, before her back made patterns out of the spilled wine, before their up and coming band, Je-Nova was the farthest thing from his mind, he placed his mouth near her ear and whispered softly again,
"It's your voice, Ele. It's magic."
phrase: end
Author's notes: Alright, who HASN'T pictured the cast of FF7 as a rock band. I know I have, numerous times, especially considering the fact that I'm obsessed with the manga/anima NANA and the music of Kaikan Phrase. Of course, I thought if FF7 was staged as a rock'n'roll story, it'll be even more fun to have rival bands and interweaving love stories and all that goodness. Who knows how long and how much attention this story's going to get - but holy crap, its a ton of fun to write. :-) Enjoy.
