NaDruWriNi: 01:21 EST
Nov. 8th, 2020 01:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_siobhanSo some peeps in chat came up with prompts for me - 50_foot_queenie said "Do you believe in psychic phenomenon" and Mr_Sharkey said "A punk band, a dog, a pumpkin."
6:00 in the morning, and it was wet, cold and unpleasant. Weeze sat and guarded the gear and instruments while Skunk and Drummer went looking for coffee. They returned just as the bus was arriving. The bus door swung open.
“You guys Sucking Chest Wound?” asked the driver. When they nodded he climbed down the steps and opened up the luggage compartment. He was surprisingly short, Skunk was the smallest member of the band and he barely came over her belt. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “make yourselves comfortable. I’m picking up another band in Hamilton before we hit the border so we can take a break there if you like.”
The second band turned out to be an afro-punk quartet named Dark Matter. Band members Dart, Hutch Moot and Clara introduced themselves around while they packed away their gear. The bus driver let them organize themselves in the interior of the bus and then pulled out into the highway.
“We should be in Buffalo in a couple of hours,” he told them.
The first show was an opening slot at a local two-day festival. Dark Matter and Sucking Chest Wound cheered each others’ shows, got to know the local bands, drank too much beer and generally had a really good time. They were in good spirits when they climbed back onto the bus and curled up on the stiff underpadded seats. When they woke up it was dawn and they were in an empty parking lot in Rochester. The bus driver glimmered at them.
“Feel free to go find something to eat,” he said as they stretched and groaned. “I’ll watch your stuff until you get back.”
Rochester was a small four-band show at a local bar. They piled back into the bus at the end of the night and woke up the next morning in Pittsburgh. There they opened for a birthday show for one of the members of Anti-Flag and spent the time they weren’t on stage drinking with the other bands. One of the bands offered them a place to crash adn they accepted with enthusiasm, delighted by the idea of sleeping in a place that wasn’t an uncomfortable bus seat. They sat up late, passing a bottle around until the last of them finally fell asleep curled up on a futon on the floor.
Dart was the first to wake up. She opened her eyes to the familar sight of the bus ceiling and frowned. Weeze groaned loudly for a few rows over and then sat up. His mohawk was crushed down the side of his head.
“Do you remember getting back on the bus last night?” Dart asked him.
“Nope.” His eyes were blood-shot. “Must’ve been really hammered last night.”
“Huh. Yeah, I guess so.”
A few more groans came out of the rows as other people started to wake up.
“Four more hours to Knoxville,” said the driver.
***
“What town was that?” Hutch was slumped over against the side of the bus, his head resting on the window.
“Charlotte?” said Skunk. “Wait. No, Charlotte was the night before. Um. Jacksonville, I think.”
***
The bar was packed. Dark Matter were on stage while Sucking Chest Wound sat backstage. They had worked out an arrangment where they alternated who performed first. Drummer was staring out through the curtains. Skunk walked up behind him and peered out under his arm.
“Can you see them?” Drummer asked. Skunk looked up at him, confused, and realized that he was staring at hte audience and not the band. She looked back out through the curtain, trying to focus on the faces in the crowd. She frowned.
“Not... really?” she said. “I mean it’s dark out there...”
“Yeah,” said Drummer. “Dark.” He shivered and walked away, leaving Skunk staring otu through teh curtain at the shifting shadows.
***
“Do you believe in psychic phenomenon?”
Skunk was sitting in the back seat of the bus, feet crossed at the ankles and chucks tucked over the back of the seat in front of her. The question came seemingly out of the blue.
Weeze snorted. For somebody who wore the highest spikes and the heaviest leathers on stage, his clothes on the bus tended to run to sweatpants and threadbare hoodies. “I believe in what I can see,” he said.
“Do you believe in electricity?” Skunk asked, but Weeze rolled his eyes and ignored her.
***
“Where are we?”
The show was over. Both bands were backstage, sitting on lumpy couches and sipping at warm bottles of Samuel Adams. There was noise coming from the stage. They had no idea who was playing. They knew that they had already played their set, but they had no memory of being on stage.
“I don’t know,” said Dart finally. Her eyes had dark bruises under them. “I don’t remember.”
***
She was outside. Skunk could not remember the last time she had been outside.
It had just rained and the air was sharp and smelled like old leaves. The lights from teh front of the bar glinted off the pavement and there was a dog.
“Hey little buddy. You lost?” She crouched down and the dog trotted forward to nose at her hand. She scratched his ears and he licked hte tips of her fingers.
She looked around. “Where is everybody?” she asked.
She was on the bus and it was dark and she didn’t know where they were going.
***
Clara was singing, her high sweet voice echoing through the bus. It was a nonsense rhyme, a piece of doggerel for children.
The pumpkin man
The pumpkin man
He spins your round
And eats you up
And you live in the pumpkin for-ever
Outside the bus the night was black as ptich, no passing cars or towns to light the road.
***
“Hey little buddy. How are you doing?” Skunk crouched and the dog nuzzled her fingers, letting her ruffle his ears.
“Where did the dog come from?” asked Moot. Skunk blinked up at him. He was so thin, she realized, how had she not noticed how thin he was getting?
“He’s nice, he’s from...” she blinked and frowned. No that couldn’t be right, they had been travelling on a bus, how could he be the same dog?
“He’s with us,” she decided. Yes that must be the answer. The dog travelled with them, that’s how he could be in different cities like that. She stood up.
“C’mon boy,” she said and the dog happily trotted behind her as she returned to the bus. The driver recoiled as the urged the dog up the first step.
“You cna’t bring that thing on here,” he said. He was baring his teeth and they were long and pointed and brown. The dog growled.
“He’s with me,” said Skunk. “I’ll take care of him.”
“He’s not getting on this bus,” said the driver. He was blocking the door and the dog was barking and Skunk felt the road rumbling underneat the bus, driving them further away, travelling through the lightless night.
Skunk shook herself.
“Listen to the dog barking,” she said out loud. She looked around at her bandmates, blinking and confused. Weeze was blank-faced, staring into space and she walked further into the bus so she could haul off and slap him. He focused on her then all right, mouth gaping, her hand-print a red mark on his cheek.
“Grab your gear,” said Skunk. “We’re getting off.”
The two bands collected their instruments and their luggage and piled htem in teh centre of the parking lot. It was winter and the pavement glittered with frost.
“Where did the bus go?” said Drummer. They looked around and tbe parking lot was empty.
“First thing,” said Skunk “We need to figure out where we are. There’s bound to be a club around here where we can play for a few bucks and make enough money to get a greyhound home.”
“As for you,” she said to the dog. “I’m buyimg you a steak as soon as I have the mnoney for one. And I’m naming you Hero.”
They picked up their bags, picked a direction, and started walking. Hero followed, his tail wagging eagerly.
I have had - I think four g&t at this point? Everyting is kinda fuzzy around the corners.
6:00 in the morning, and it was wet, cold and unpleasant. Weeze sat and guarded the gear and instruments while Skunk and Drummer went looking for coffee. They returned just as the bus was arriving. The bus door swung open.
“You guys Sucking Chest Wound?” asked the driver. When they nodded he climbed down the steps and opened up the luggage compartment. He was surprisingly short, Skunk was the smallest member of the band and he barely came over her belt. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “make yourselves comfortable. I’m picking up another band in Hamilton before we hit the border so we can take a break there if you like.”
The second band turned out to be an afro-punk quartet named Dark Matter. Band members Dart, Hutch Moot and Clara introduced themselves around while they packed away their gear. The bus driver let them organize themselves in the interior of the bus and then pulled out into the highway.
“We should be in Buffalo in a couple of hours,” he told them.
The first show was an opening slot at a local two-day festival. Dark Matter and Sucking Chest Wound cheered each others’ shows, got to know the local bands, drank too much beer and generally had a really good time. They were in good spirits when they climbed back onto the bus and curled up on the stiff underpadded seats. When they woke up it was dawn and they were in an empty parking lot in Rochester. The bus driver glimmered at them.
“Feel free to go find something to eat,” he said as they stretched and groaned. “I’ll watch your stuff until you get back.”
Rochester was a small four-band show at a local bar. They piled back into the bus at the end of the night and woke up the next morning in Pittsburgh. There they opened for a birthday show for one of the members of Anti-Flag and spent the time they weren’t on stage drinking with the other bands. One of the bands offered them a place to crash adn they accepted with enthusiasm, delighted by the idea of sleeping in a place that wasn’t an uncomfortable bus seat. They sat up late, passing a bottle around until the last of them finally fell asleep curled up on a futon on the floor.
Dart was the first to wake up. She opened her eyes to the familar sight of the bus ceiling and frowned. Weeze groaned loudly for a few rows over and then sat up. His mohawk was crushed down the side of his head.
“Do you remember getting back on the bus last night?” Dart asked him.
“Nope.” His eyes were blood-shot. “Must’ve been really hammered last night.”
“Huh. Yeah, I guess so.”
A few more groans came out of the rows as other people started to wake up.
“Four more hours to Knoxville,” said the driver.
***
“What town was that?” Hutch was slumped over against the side of the bus, his head resting on the window.
“Charlotte?” said Skunk. “Wait. No, Charlotte was the night before. Um. Jacksonville, I think.”
***
The bar was packed. Dark Matter were on stage while Sucking Chest Wound sat backstage. They had worked out an arrangment where they alternated who performed first. Drummer was staring out through the curtains. Skunk walked up behind him and peered out under his arm.
“Can you see them?” Drummer asked. Skunk looked up at him, confused, and realized that he was staring at hte audience and not the band. She looked back out through the curtain, trying to focus on the faces in the crowd. She frowned.
“Not... really?” she said. “I mean it’s dark out there...”
“Yeah,” said Drummer. “Dark.” He shivered and walked away, leaving Skunk staring otu through teh curtain at the shifting shadows.
***
“Do you believe in psychic phenomenon?”
Skunk was sitting in the back seat of the bus, feet crossed at the ankles and chucks tucked over the back of the seat in front of her. The question came seemingly out of the blue.
Weeze snorted. For somebody who wore the highest spikes and the heaviest leathers on stage, his clothes on the bus tended to run to sweatpants and threadbare hoodies. “I believe in what I can see,” he said.
“Do you believe in electricity?” Skunk asked, but Weeze rolled his eyes and ignored her.
***
“Where are we?”
The show was over. Both bands were backstage, sitting on lumpy couches and sipping at warm bottles of Samuel Adams. There was noise coming from the stage. They had no idea who was playing. They knew that they had already played their set, but they had no memory of being on stage.
“I don’t know,” said Dart finally. Her eyes had dark bruises under them. “I don’t remember.”
***
She was outside. Skunk could not remember the last time she had been outside.
It had just rained and the air was sharp and smelled like old leaves. The lights from teh front of the bar glinted off the pavement and there was a dog.
“Hey little buddy. You lost?” She crouched down and the dog trotted forward to nose at her hand. She scratched his ears and he licked hte tips of her fingers.
She looked around. “Where is everybody?” she asked.
She was on the bus and it was dark and she didn’t know where they were going.
***
Clara was singing, her high sweet voice echoing through the bus. It was a nonsense rhyme, a piece of doggerel for children.
The pumpkin man
The pumpkin man
He spins your round
And eats you up
And you live in the pumpkin for-ever
Outside the bus the night was black as ptich, no passing cars or towns to light the road.
***
“Hey little buddy. How are you doing?” Skunk crouched and the dog nuzzled her fingers, letting her ruffle his ears.
“Where did the dog come from?” asked Moot. Skunk blinked up at him. He was so thin, she realized, how had she not noticed how thin he was getting?
“He’s nice, he’s from...” she blinked and frowned. No that couldn’t be right, they had been travelling on a bus, how could he be the same dog?
“He’s with us,” she decided. Yes that must be the answer. The dog travelled with them, that’s how he could be in different cities like that. She stood up.
“C’mon boy,” she said and the dog happily trotted behind her as she returned to the bus. The driver recoiled as the urged the dog up the first step.
“You cna’t bring that thing on here,” he said. He was baring his teeth and they were long and pointed and brown. The dog growled.
“He’s with me,” said Skunk. “I’ll take care of him.”
“He’s not getting on this bus,” said the driver. He was blocking the door and the dog was barking and Skunk felt the road rumbling underneat the bus, driving them further away, travelling through the lightless night.
Skunk shook herself.
“Listen to the dog barking,” she said out loud. She looked around at her bandmates, blinking and confused. Weeze was blank-faced, staring into space and she walked further into the bus so she could haul off and slap him. He focused on her then all right, mouth gaping, her hand-print a red mark on his cheek.
“Grab your gear,” said Skunk. “We’re getting off.”
The two bands collected their instruments and their luggage and piled htem in teh centre of the parking lot. It was winter and the pavement glittered with frost.
“Where did the bus go?” said Drummer. They looked around and tbe parking lot was empty.
“First thing,” said Skunk “We need to figure out where we are. There’s bound to be a club around here where we can play for a few bucks and make enough money to get a greyhound home.”
“As for you,” she said to the dog. “I’m buyimg you a steak as soon as I have the mnoney for one. And I’m naming you Hero.”
They picked up their bags, picked a direction, and started walking. Hero followed, his tail wagging eagerly.
I have had - I think four g&t at this point? Everyting is kinda fuzzy around the corners.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-11-08 06:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2020-11-08 09:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2020-11-09 12:12 am (UTC)