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.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: And again, we come to the end of Libby's tale (for now). I've got more in the wings, trust me, but let me know what you're thinking so far. Like? Dislike? Either way, thanks for reading, and I hope it wasn't complete crap. TTFN!

Chapter 11: Under Chessler

"Cripes, that was magnificent!" Greg panted, leaning against a telephone pole. Sometime after midnight, the Metro had finally spewed its contents of patrons into the cold streets, and everyone was laughing, crying and talking excitedly, heading for parking lots or mass transportation. "Bugger the absintence plan - I'll quit again tomorrow, but I need a cigarette after that."

"He's right, though," Adymm wheezed as Greg went up and down asking people if he could borrow a "fag".

"You need one, too?" I asked.

"Of course not... well, maybe, but I meant that the show was friggin' great. Did you hear Billy's dad play? That was unbelievable!"

"No, this is!" T.Q. said, watching his breath turn to fog in the night air above the complimentary CD he was holding. "The Pumpkins' Metro debut from 1988 - and it was free, can you freakin' believe it?"

"What's unbelievable is four encores," Greg moaned as he returned, fumbling with a lighter. "I'm amazed the whole sodding crowd didn't pass out."

"I'm amazed there wasn't a full-on riot!" I gasped. "I mean, how can it be over? They're so good!"

Adymm laughed at my wide-eyed display of fangirliness. "I seem to remember you asking if this concert was important?"

Obviously I kicked him... but I think it hurt me more by that point.

A couple hours and a few city bus hops later found us back on the Greyhound, waving goodbye to Chicago and actually hoping we'd see her again someday; after all, the Windy City had given us the most amazing night of our lives.

The other guys were asleep, and I was just nodding off, too, when Adymm nudged me. "Hnngh?"

"Hey Libbs... I wanted to ask you something."

"What?" I rubbed one of my eyes.

"I was wondering if... if you'd thought about our offer. Y'know, joining the band."

"Not really," I whispered. "Too much excitement."

"Oh."

After that, he snuggled up to me and didn't mention it again for the rest of the trip... but I did start thinking about it. And the more I thought about it, the more I couldn't just dismiss it as a stupid idea...

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We did get back to New York with just enough time for me to get home, grab another quick nap and a shower, then head out for my Monday morning class... which happened to be Algebra. Yes, that's exactly what I needed right after running around and screaming all weekend - MATH.

That afternoon, Adymm called and asked me to come by T.Q.'s dad's, and of course I said I would as soon as I got done cleaning out the fish tank at work. I spent the next several hours up to my knees in colourful rocks and little plastic castles, feeling hung over and wishing I could go home... and steeling myself for what I had to do afterward.

As I made my way from the subway to the garage, everything hurt - my back, my feet, my throat, my legs, my head... it was like somebody had thrown me in a clothes dryer for a few consecutive loads. Finally, I made it into the garage and plopped down in a chair immediately.

"Libby!" Adymm said, moving to hug me - one glare and he knew it wasn't a wise idea, so he changed direction and sat down next to me. "Hey, what's new?"

"I am so done with farewell concerts," I moaned, noting how hoarse I sounded. "I haven't been this sore since breaking in Valerie."

"Breakig whab?" Milnot asked, his mouth full of pastrami.

"Nevermind. The point is, all rock shows must be under two hours from now on... and I never want to see another fish as long as I live." I took off- make that peeled off my boots and propped my feet up on another chair. "Oh, Jesus, that's divine. Wake me up in a few thousand years." And with that, I leaned back on Adymm's lap, almost comfortable.

"Before you toddle off to dreamland," Greg muttered, currently cleaning the keys of his synthesizer with a rag, "we wanted to ask for an update on Project: Cheerless."

"Oh," I yawned distractedly. "Yeah, I'll do it."

"REALLY?!" they all shouted... but I was too tired to do anything but nod. I distinctly remember them cheering and high-fiving, but everything after that's a little hazy.

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The next two weeks saw us playing three shows a week, with varying success. A second show at The Blue Pearl flopped abysmally - most of the audience that night were really jonesing for some jazz, and obviously we didn't feed their need. Inversely, an impromptu busking session in Central Park one Saturday (just for kicks) really drew a crowd - they loved it, and soon enough T.Q.'s bass case was filled with various coins and bills (and we unloaded more shirts, too). Life as a musician is all really interesting, even when it's not necessarily fun.

The more I got involved with the band, the more I found out about the way things were done. For example, our lyrics weren't all penned by Greg; I guess I had just assumed that, since he wrote most of the music with the other guys suggesting changes here and there. No, apparently Adymm wrote most of the words, and when I found that out, it made total sense; I always sensed that he had this kind, poetic soul, I just didn't realise quite how pronounced the poetry was.

School went fine; I suffered no real consequences for being half-dead that first day after the Chicago trip, and did as well as I ever do in math. On the downside, it got to the point where I was exhausted from both working and being Cheerless Chessler (and I do hate that name with a fiery passion, but it stuck). Finally, I had to ask Mr. Scapelli to dial back my hours, and he was fine with it... mostly because he had a niece who needed a job, and this gave him an excuse to work her into the schedule. Besides, I was thinking about visiting my mom in Japan for Christmas - even though I still resented her - so he would have a couple weeks to break in the new blood.

Then, a few days before University broke for Christmas vacation, T.Q. called us together to spring some exciting news on the band. Though none of us knew what to expect, exactly (I mean, this was T.Q.), we showed all the same... but if I'd known what the big brouhaha was about, I'd have brought the Tums.

A lot of Tums.

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"What are we doing here?" I asked, looking around the pizzeria.

"Well, my dad's working on the hot rod tonight so we had to meet somewhere else," T.Q. said as he picked up a menu; the five of us were crammed into one of those weird round booths, glasses of water already in place. "Besides, I'm starving - pepperoni and black olives good for you guys?"

Adymm made a face. "No way, I hate olives."

"I don't," I muttered, but I don't think anybody heard me.

He leaned over to the waitress, who had just come up with her pad and pencil (and loud, annoying gum-chewing). "Just a large, deep-dish pepperoni, then - my treat."

"Your treat?" Milnot said, raising his eyebrow. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with our bass player?"

"Shut up, Milk Dud," he growled good-naturedly. "This is a dinner of celebration."

"What's the occasion, then?" Greg asked, throwing his elbow over the back of the booth and lighting up a Camel (I wish he wouldn't do that around me). "Got yourself a brain, have you?"

"Better. I got us a gig."

What a build-up for that; pure, 100 Wisconsin cheddar. "Where?" I asked.

"Some damn Massachusetts town, who cares? The important thing is, it pays well - I'm talking like, $200!"

"What?!" Greg sat bolt upright. "But shite bands like us never make that kind of quid!"

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "See, turns out somebody that caught our little set in the Park liked us so much they saw us again at the Writhing Tarantula - and you remember that show, right?"

"We were really on fire that night," Adymm breathed with a nod.

"Well, evidently, that guy knows another guy who works at a coffee shop up there, and they're having this... 'mini-festival' a few days before Christmas to drum up business. I guess they're really desperate, and our new fan knew for a fact that we could really play, so..."

"Man, this is great," Milnot said with a grin. "Our first gig that pays more than peanuts."

I couldn't help but ask; the temptation was too great, and a strange sense of foreboding wouldn't let me ignore my curiosity. "Um... wha- what town is this, T.Q.?"

He shrugged, leaning back and picking up his water glass. "Someplace called... Westbridge?"

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The End (Is The Beginning)