A/N: Inspired by this video: watch?v=FqJdzYY_Fas (just add after the youtube URL)
6.) Band/Musician
Little Drummer Girl
"That's her. That's our new drummer."
"The hell are you talking about, Jean?"
Jean Havoc, bandmate and friend to one frontman Roy Mustang, stared at something just past Roy's left shoulder. "I'm telling you, we need her."
"We're fine the way we are," Roy grumbled, stubbornly refusing to turn around. But his protest sounded half-hearted even to him. After weeks of grieving, of trying to accept the gaping, ragged hole left by his best friend, even he knew that without a drummer, their band couldn't go much farther. But the prospect of holding auditions, of actively trying to find a replacement, sent an acidic stab of anxiety racing through his gut.
"You don't even believe that, at this point," Jean said with exasperation. "So cut the bullshit." He softened a little. "Maes' death hit us all hard, and it sucks that he's gone. But if we want to continue, we've got to find another drummer. It's not replacing him, it's honoring him. He'd want us to continue."
"I know," Roy sighed. "I've known that for a long time. It's just…I don't think I can sit through audition after audition and watch second-rate musicians try to compete with what we had."
"Not gonna be a problem," Breda chimed in. "'Cos we already found her."
"Found who?"
Jean nodded to whatever he was watching. "Watch her and then tell me we don't need a drummer."
Roy finally swiveled in his seat to search for whoever had Jean and Breda so enamored. It didn't take him long to find her.
She was a practiced street performer, that much he could tell in once glance. There was no uncertainty, no nervousness in her eyes as she set up. Practiced hands pushed aside plastic industrial bins, the kind that paints and whitewashes sometimes came in. Roy expected one to serve as her perch (as it did), but there was five more that she grouped together. It wasn't until she pulled out a set of drumsticks and began tapping away at the rim of a plastic paint can that he realized the paint barrels were her drum set.
"Are you fucking with me?" he asked, turning to give Jean an irritated look. "You can't be serious."
"Wait for it," Jean said, still smiling. "Just listen to her."
Roy sighed, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do. So he turned back around and crossed his arms as he waited to hear what would probably sound like a toddler playing with pots and pans.
What he got instead was very different.
It started out simply enough. A squat barrel nestled between her feet, one turned out slightly so she could raise the edge of the can and create an echoing beat. One hand drummed on this barrel, the other the cobbled brick below her. It almost sounded like cymbals, the way she did it. Every now and again, she would raise her right hand, the one not playing the barrel, and strike one of the others; sometimes across the top, sometimes on the rim.
She never played one section for long. Just as she'd finished establishing a pattern, she'd break it, changing her tempo or her rhythm or whatever else she felt like. Her head bobbed as she played, though the look on her face made Roy think that she didn't consciously know she was doing it.
Roy couldn't help it: he was entranced. It was only a girl, and it was only a few paint barrels, but he couldn't look away. Her beat sounded so polished, so practiced that this must have been like breathing to her. Roy hadn't heard anything like it before, even from professionals on actual drums.
It wasn't long before his gaze drifted from the setup to the performer herself. She wore her blonde hair short, with spiky side bangs that sometimes fell into her face. When they did, she'd flick her head to the side to move it, and Roy didn't think it was coincidence that she did it in time to the beat. She wore a navy blue t-shirt and cargo capris; she'd wrapped the hems with elastic bands to keep them fastened to her calves, and out of the way of her hands. She'd been doing this for years, then. Roy could tell that much from the way she held herself, even if her skill hadn't made it so painfully obvious.
A sudden jump in tempo jerked his attention back to the barrels. She was now playing double-time with the same exact ease, even while throwing in more beats and patterns than she had before. A stick flew through the air, spinning wildly before landing back in the performer's outstretched hand.
She began shifting barrels around, changing her set up with her feet while one hand kept drumming. When everything was set, she resumed her original rhythm, using her feet to lift up her main drum every other beat. This time, she threw in more variety with her other hand, using the barrels she'd pushed aside and the two others in front of her.
Before it could get too repetitive, she leaped into double-time, holding it out for longer. Another stick flipped in the air, and through it all, she looked as nonchalant as ever.
She slowed back down, then began twisting the drumstick in her right hand around as she tapped an accompaniment on another barrel. Roy's eyes widened. Switching back to the main barrel, she flipped her stick every time her beat started over. After the tricks had ceased, she shifted the barrels again, still maintaining that ever-steady song.
And then she started playing in double-time, flipping the sticks and twisting them around. At one point, she lifted a leg and tossed a stick underneath, like she was an athlete passing a basketball under her leg. She even managed to catch the damn thing. All the while, the song stayed strong.
There was a dramatic shift in tone as she slowed down, pushing aside all barrels to focus on the one in front of her. Roy found himself leaning forward, engrossed in her act. His bandmates snickered behind them, and Roy scowled to hear them, but he needed to see what she would do next.
She didn't disappoint. The song changed to something a little more complicated as she bobbed along to the beat she created. Faster and faster she played, until…fuck, was that triple time?
It was. Her sticks were a blur, they moved so fast. Roy even had trouble seeing her wrists, and his own ached to watch. Never, in all his years in the music scene, had he seen someone play that fast. And still she maintained the pattern. Hell, she even threw in a flip of her stick! And then, with a definitive crash of drumstick against paint barrel, she ended.
There was a second of silence, then a roar of applause. It seemed that Roy was not the only one to be caught up in her performance, and judging from the swarm of people that descended on the small paint bucket she'd set out for change, she'd be going home with a pretty penny in her pocket.
But it would be her last street performance if Roy had anything to say about it.
He turned back around to face his friends. "We need her," he announced.
Jean laughed loudly. "Told you," he said.
"She seems to be doing very well for a street performer," Vato said, tilting his head as he watched her. "What makes you think you can convince her to join us?"
"Never ask him that," Breda said cheerfully. "He'll take it as a challenge."
Roy ignored them and left the table, ducking between bystanders as he made his way over to the paint barrel drummer. She'd set her drumsticks down on the barrel in front of her and was wiping away the sweat on her forehead with a shirtsleeve. With every kind word or compliment directed her way, she'd nod and smile, sometimes offering a thanks for their encouragement.
Roy ventured past the loose circle the crowd had made around her, until he stood right next to her barrels. She looked up, an expectant look on her face. "Can I help you?" Her voice was unruffled, though Roy thought that he could detect a bit of a performer's high underneath. She was a street performer, after all, Roy thought. She wouldn't have been doing this if she didn't get off on it at least a little.
"That was some remarkable playing," he said, tapping a barrel with the toe of his shoe. "Never seen anything like it."
"Thank you," she said, nodding in acknowledgment.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Riza," she answered. She was beginning to look a little suspicious, like maybe she knew where he was going.
There really wasn't a good way to ask someone to join your band, Roy thought. Then again, he hadn't really had to before. Until Maes' accident, the band had looked the same as when they'd started. But now he had to find the words to persuade this girl to join them. Looking into her serious whiskey-brown eyes, he found himself thinking that it would be easier said than done.
"Ever thought about joining a band?" he asked.
Riza's face flattened. Obviously, she'd been asked this before. "I don't play with others," she said calmly, shifting her makeshift drums around.
"Why not?"
"They often find it hard to keep up," she said, deadpan.
Roy chuckled. "I don't doubt it. Those are quite the wrists you've got there."
"If you think flattery will change my mind, you'll be disappointed." She was stacking her drums now, and Roy began to feel his chance slip away.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, before today, I didn't even want a new drummer. But then I saw you play, and I know that you're the right fit for us."
Riza stilled. "That's a new one," she said warily. "Why didn't you want a drummer?"
"Our old one, my best friend…" Roy swallowed a lump in his throat. "He died. And we've been without a drummer since. I didn't want a new one, 'cause we can't replace him, y'know? But we also can't move on without a drummer, so…" He stopped, shifted his weight a little. He hadn't planned on revealing this much, but this girl with her wide brown eyes and steady stare made him feel a little too exposed. "The guys have been trying to persuade me to hold auditions, but I didn't want to. And then they said I should listen to you play. I'm not trying to trick you, or sell you on our band. Whether or not you join is up to you. But I honestly think you'd be the best fit."
Riza was quiet for a minute. "What's your setup?"
It wasn't a yes, but Roy felt a surge of triumph anyway. "I'm guitar and vocals." He pointed to each bandmate in turn as he introduced them. "That's Jean, on guitar and backup vocals. Breda with bass, Vato on keyboard. Fuery's our sound guy. We're all set…except for a drummer."
She studied each one in turn, chewing on her bottom lip as she thought. The last one to face her gaze was Roy himself, and he met her steadily. This was right, he thought. She belonged with them, and even if she couldn't see that right now, he'd find some way to show her.
That determination must have showed, because she gave him a small smile and shook her head. "I'll go to a few practices," she said. "Play with you, see how things sound. But I hold full rights to walk away, got it?"
Roy grinned widely and nodded. "You won't."
Riza scowled at him. "Smartass."
"Oh, and leave the paint barrels at home. You're playing in the big leagues now."
And even though she threw a drumstick at him, and even though it would leave a bruise, he found himself thinking that this would be one of the best decisions he ever made.
He was right.
There may be other oneshots spawned from the band/musician prompt. Maybe a continuation of this? We'll see.
