2I hate you and you're so beautiful
- Chap: 1-
"Come on, sing you sonofabitch." He curses as he glares down at the guitar's chords then back to the sheet of music on his knee.
The hours had made the vivid red guitar heavy against his chest and lap. The coffee cup near his chair had taken over the room with its demanding aroma. The only thing that remained unchanged by the passage of time seemingly was his playing.
"Sonofabitch!" he curses, his arms pumping with wrath and the lust to smash the damn thing to pieces against the wall behind him, but he'd have to save that for after they were done with their gig tonight. Instead he bashes the back of his skull against the wall that his cherry-red banana chair was reclined back against.
With his neck craned back and head dangling back he recalled what events lead such a mediocre player into a grade-A up and coming band like "knavish."
He had begun playing drums at an early age, but had not gotten a drum set of his own till he was 21. He named it "L", and played intensely every moment he had, and devoted all his money to buying it new and better every things; gears, accessories, a variety of expensive cymbals, heads of every size and type, till he practically owned well over half the merchandise of a small drum store.
Every high school punk had a band so the drummer constantly hopped back and fourth from whichever "band" wanted him next.
One day a decent and serious band needed a quick drummer for a battle of the bands at Carnival Royal in Vegas, it was kind of a big deal considering the cash prize would break-even for the trip money and leave you with a few hundred to spare, plus another 100 bucks worth of poker chips and free sushi bar.
The pressure of doing a really serious gig made the drummer anxious, especially since he hadn't practiced with this band more then three times, and he was something of an outcast to them. But a few swigs of wine left him social, limp and ready to destroy and conquer.
The brightness, flashing, vivid colors, smoke clogged air, slot machine ringing, and screaming crowd were put in the back of his mind as the song bellowed out of him from somewhere unforeseen, from his torso down his spine and right through his arms and out his wrist and fingers, it was beyond beautiful. And it was the best day he could remember. They received second place, and barely enough to cover the trip expenses. But the drummer was still giddy with adrenalin and the pulse of the beat that rocked the stage still held in his veins.
While the rest of his band mates went off to drink to their failings, the drummer had to stay behind in the cluttered, hazardous back room to load all his gear safely into their cases. He was bent over collecting all his silver gear, when a man's strong voice hollered. "Hey!" Some other guys in the room looked over, but not the drummer figuring he wasn't the one addressed. Until a white-creeper appeared on top of one of his round-black cases. "You deaf? I said, hey."
The drummer's head swung up to see the guy who had the nerve to stick a foot on his drum cases. "You talking to me?" he asked with a tinge of anger, as he rose to his feet, unfortunately even at his full height he didn't hold a candle to the length of the lanky man with the glazed eyes that observed deeper then his childish smile gave him credit for.
The man's eyes glinted as his lips parted and he stuck the cigarette from behind his ear into his mouth. He spoke as he dug into his pocket for a light, and his lips playing a balancing game with the round little smoke between them. " Yeah, I saw you play tonight, you got it." He struck a match against someone's abandoned old snare and lit his cigarette.
"What?" the drummer inquired squinting in puzzlement. The man's eyes wondered from one corner of the room then back to the young man. " What's your name?" the smoker answered.
"Snipe." The drummer replied dryly.
"Snipe, how would you like to join Knavish?" he stated taking a drag and blowing up into the air, his short dark mahogany curls were matted down like dreads around his long, sharply chiseled face.
Snipe's eyes grew round in awe. "You're the singer for Knavish … your drummer is Fay Q-toy." He utters lowly his eyes unblinking.
The lead singer nods smugly with his childish grin curling impishly with some sharp teeth appearing between his parted lips.
Suddenly Snipe's return to earth and he glares at the ground then back at the singer. "Hey, you guys have Fay Q-toy. So why are you asking me to join?" he demands frowning in confusion.
"Yeah, you'll be our rhythm guitar." he proclaims patting Snipe on the shoulder with the hand that held the cigarette between two long strong fingers.
Snipe jerked back as if the guy had touched his crotch. "I'm a drummer. And I FUCKIN hate the GUITAR!"