Swords & Axes: A Cheerless Interlude
by The Jessica X

Libby, Sabrina, et al. are © Archie Comics / Hartbreak / Paramount / Whatever.
Adymm and the members of In Absinthia are © me, so there.
This work of fiction is © myself.

Chapter 6 7: I Freak I'm Paranoid

"C'mon, Libbs - if you do this for me, I swear I'll never ask for another-"

"No."

"Please? I mean it, we need y-"

"No!"

"PLEEEEEEASE?!?!"

"Pull yourself together, Koriander!!!" I took a deep, calming breath. "Jesus, you sound like Roger Rabbit! Look - not only is this your worst idea ever, but I have to work tomorrow night. Therefore, you might as well save it; In Absinthia will just have to find another temporary frontman- uhh, frontperson."

"Dammit!"

"Sorry. But hey, I couldn't pull off Killvein's growling thing, anyway - you know that."

He laughed despite himself. "I guess you're right about that... you growling would sound pretty strange, and nevermind how it'd look."

We both laughed. "I am sorry, Adymm, really."

"Eh, whatever. It's just that, well, you were the first person I thought of that could actually sing. I could take a stab at it, but I suck."

"Yeah, you do." Don't look at me that way, he knew by then that it was just fact. "But maybe you can find somebody else in time?"

"Nobody that already knows our songs..."

"Yeah..." I coughed. "Well, good luck, anyway."

"Thanks... hey, drop by the show if you can make it - doors at seven-thirty."

"Mr. Scapelli, let me off work? When pigs fly. See ya!"

"Later."

As I brought the phone back to the base unit, my dad asked me, "What was all the screaming about?"

"Oh, nothing... his band's vocalist lost his voice and they needed somebody to fill in for tomorrow night."

"Sounds like a hoot."

"No," I said quickly. "I mean, they're kind of this metal-goth-rock thing, and my voice is just not cut out for that genre; I'm more of the opera singer slash pop diva."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, well, so was Pat Benatar... but I guess that's a little before your time. Ooh, Sliders is on..." And I'd lost him.

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This might not surprise you, but I wrestled with my hasty (though entirely justified) decision all night. He'd sounded so desperate that my heart had to go out to him... and while the whole thing might be a terrible idea, I did know the lyrics of their songs well enough to fake my way through a set. As a result, it took me a long time to drop off... and even then, all my dreams were about finding myself onstage in front of a field of black eyeliner, then discovering I was naked. Oh, and this giant banana kept floating by...

The next morning, I finally woke up at about nine to a call from my boss. He needed me desperately to come in like, immediately; turns out Vicki's car broke down and he ended up with just Susanne waitressing, so he needed me to switch shifts in a hurry before the lunch rush kicked in. I had no real plans for that morning, so I reluctantly agreed... providing I was off by five. After calling Vicki back, he said she'd for sure be there by then, so me and my apron flew out the door ay-ess-ay-pee. On the way there, I kept looking toward the skyline, thinking I might spot a pig or two...

Let's skip the workday - it was a mess, I was a mess, it was less than fun.

After dropping by the apartment for a quick shower, I was about to plop down and see if any good movies were on cable when I saw the answering machine flashing at me; my dad had been out all day, so I guess he missed the call, too. I reached over and slapped the button.

"Hey, Libbs, it's Adymm - look, I know you already said no because you can't growl, but we're getting really desperate, here. I thought Stinky Larry might be up for this, but he's in like Fiji or whatever, and Denver's in the hospital with a cracked rib, and Jim James says smoking killed his vocal cords, and... and it's just bad, okay? I'm trying not to freak out here, but we could really use you; you don't have to growl or anything like that, just do a couple songs Libby-style and call it a night. Crap, I gotta go help load gear into the van - if you hear this after work, I guess it's too late, but I thought I'd try one more time. Thanks, bye!"

My life is never easy...

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The Cobra Pit is one of the more medium-sized venues in the Village; run-down and dingy, but big enough for about six hundered to fit comfortably... more if packed in like sardines. The place was still empty when I got there, and sound guys and other techs were running around inside, making sure everything was ready.

When Adymm spotted me through the front door, he ran over and dragged me inside; the security guard gave him a look, but he said, "She's the emergency vocalist - just let us through!"

Backstage was much dingier than the rest of the club, though I could see hints of nostalgia all over - stuff written on the walls, bumper stickers. I saw something illegible that had been carefully framed - evidently, some guy from Nine Inch Nails wrote it in a drunken stupor many years ago.

Once inside the smaller of the dressing rooms, Adymm hugged me. "Oh, thank God you made it!"

"Hey, cool yourself," I said, shoving him away. "I'm very unsure about this..."

"Let her breathe," Milnot said from where he was flipping through a magazine. Aside from Adymm, he was the most personable member of the group, even if his stage name was a baking ingredient. As far as drummers go, he's not half bad, I guess. "You crush her windpipe and we're really up shit's creek. Hey, Libb."

"Hi, all."

"This cheerleader priss can sing?" Greg asked; he was their keyboardist, programmer, and more or less the brains behind the whole group. He was also our token Briton, and could be a colossal prick when he wanted to. "Not just in the shower, mind you?"

"Maybe not the way you want me to," I mumbled, rubbing my arm absentmindedly. This whole thing was already giving me stage fright.

"Don't worry, she can do it," Adymm said. "Rock's not usually her thing, but she's definitely got some real vocal chops, trust me."

"Will you guys shut up and listen to me for a second?" I was trying to make one last plea for myself. "I'm not sure how I would even begin to sing you guys' stuff, and trying might only make things worse, so maybe this whole thing isn't such a-"

"We have to eat," Greg said simply. "Not all of us are rich sods like Adymm; if we go on out there and it doesn't come together, at least we've been paid."

God, I'm stupid.

An hour later, the doors flew open and the goths and punks started trickling in. Meanwhile, I was backstage pouring over the lyric sheets Adymm had printed out that morning, hoping I could remember all the words I usually forgot, and converting Killvein's grunts and screams into my own musical dialect through urgent practice. Greg would walk by and shake his head, Milnot would walk by and nod... and those kind of mixed signals just made me feel more and more nervous.

You know what else made us nervous? T.Q., the bassist. He made us nervous because he wasn't there yet. We tried calling his place, his dad's garage, and his girlfriend's apartment, but he was nowhere to be found - in fact, his girl seemed to be freaking out, too. Of course, about twenty minutes before we were supposed to go on, he barged in.

"Where the bloody hell have you BEEN?!" Greg shouted, grabbing him by the collar. "We were ready to take out a hit on you!"

"Get off me!" he growled. "I'm sorry, alright? I had to score some; I was running low, and I kind of got turned around and lost track of time..."

They all rolled their eyes. It was then that I noticed a bag of white powder sticking out of his pocket...

"Not this again," Adymm breathed, grabbing me by the arm. "Let's get out of here for a second."

"Where are you lot going?" Greg barked.

"Some air," he replied shortly. "Giving the new girl a pep talk."

"Right, well, you and Trendy Spice had better be back in under five... or else."

"Yeah." With that, he pulled me down the hall and out the back door, into the crisp Autumn air. With a furtive glance at me, he pulled out a beat-up old pack of Newport Lights and lit one up; see, I think he thinks I don't notice that sometimes he smokes when he's especially stressed. "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah," I said quietly, trying not to cough. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm sorry about T.Q.," he went on, leaning against the brick wall and letting out a plume of smoke. "We're always trying to get him to quit, and he does, but it never takes."

"Okay, and I guess you can relate, but... why am I out here?"

"Because you shouldn't have to watch that. I'm sure both him and Milnot were gonna do a couple lines; Milnot may not be an addict, but sometimes he likes to get a little buzz before shows."

"Oh." Perhaps it hadn't hit me that not only were there drugs in the room, but they might be using them right in front of me. "I, uh..."

"Look... if you don't want to do this now, it's okay; I never should've asked you to come down to this hellhole and make-"

"Hey, Prince Valiant," I interrupted, folding my arms (partly against the chill). "I appreciate you looking out for me, but I'm a big girl, I can handle it. I've watched enough Behind The Music to know what goes on backstage."

"I was just-"

"I know." I smiled at him. "Seriously, it's sweet; you're a stand-up guy. But I want you to understand that I'm okay. Now, let's go back before Greg opens fire on the crowd."

"As you wish, my queen," he said with a shy grin. And in we went... him to business as usual, and me to certain death.

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END Chapter Seven