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Post by LUKAS SAUVAGEAU on Mar 13, 2015 6:04:25 GMT
The posters were plastered everywhere, begging the public to come see the raunchiest shit on Earth. It wasn't too often they got a gig, not after they got themselves banned at their last show. No one wanted to point fingers, but maybe if Lukas hadn't pissed on a speaker and electrocuted himself, they wouldn't be labelled as trouble. Literally, just a bad bunch of kids. They looked as nasty as their behavior, standing outside in the alley before they were scheduled to go on. Licking dust off their fingers, laughing and pissing off a few people that tried to talk to them. Even the pretty girls were dashed off. Except the one that, not slapped, but decked the bassist. She got to stick around while he recovered on the pavement.
"Man," one of the members had said, "I was out all fucking week putting up flyers, there better be a good fucking crowd." Lukas snorted. The owner, or some bitch that felt herself important enough, came out to tell them they should have been on the stage twenty minutes ago. "Do I look like I got a watch, bitch?" The drummer called after her, the rest of the band gathering behind him to head off inside. Instruments already set up, all they had to do was take their places and play. And my, did they look like an awful bunch. The bassist shouting at the drummer to get his shit together. Lukas holding on to the mic stand just to keep himself up while the room spun all around. He squinted at the crowd while the band bickered, assembled.
"The fuck're y'll lookin' at?!" He shouted, leaning forward. "You come to watch some shit?!" The boy grinned, clumsy as he lowered himself. "Then I guess we'll play y'll... some fuckin' shit, huh?" He sat with his legs hanging off the edge of the little stage, laying back as the music played. And he sang, just like they practiced this time. For once. A sad little song Lukas had wrote a few months back, but the drums smashed and the chords struck like any punk sound. They were distinct, they were classic. And as the next song started, faster, louder, uglier, Lukas had jumped up into the crowd. He swiveled around with them, wiggilng his lean body with them until the cord reeled him back to the stage.
The entire thing had been a wild spectacle. Sometime during the show someone booed, throwing a bottle at the platform they played on. Lukas had taken a broken shard, cutting his stomach, letting the blood form the arrow pointing to his groin. "Do you wanna, wanna, wanna," he sang, pointing to the asshole that'd thrown the damn bottle, "suck my dick?" Cutting, choking himself, stealing a someone's beer. By the end of the show, he was on his knees, pouring another stolen beer over his head as all the music came to a close. Of all things, the wild boy looked defeated as the spotlight shut off and the house started some other kinda music. Hard rock, alternative, more mainstream stuff.
Lukas stayed on the stage, his dark form shifting in the shadows as he drank from what remained in the bottle. His bandmates had left. Probably to get their money, or get told never to come back. Whichever. But Lukas... he watched the crowd through bleary, red-rimmed eyes. "I get the feeling," he sang idly to himself as he drank, "I'm already dead... gotta get outta bed..."
LANCE DAVIDSON
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Post by LANCE DAVIDSON on Mar 13, 2015 6:29:19 GMT
The flyers caught his attention and he stepped into the foggy bar, smoke clouding the room. The lights were dim, red filtering through from the neon signs.
There were a few pool tables that were better lit, but he avoided that area.
Soon, the music started. It was crazy, wild, and damn what a coincidence. It was that little brat that had picked a fight with him a few days prior. Who would've known? Well, it made a lot of sense. The kid had issues. He was picking fights, even on stage. It was amusing. It was sad. It was a bit pathetic. Low brow. Blue collar of music. It reminded him of Ozzy.
Soon, the music ended, but the boy stayed on that small stage, murmuring into the mic against the low rumble of a drunken crowd. Curious, Lance walked over to the stage and leaned against it, looking up at the young man. There were droplets of blood near where Lance propped himself. "Hey, shithead," he called out, knowing that was enough to get the boy's attention. "Interesting show."
He wondered how this kid would react to seeing him again, in his territory, if only until the next band took the stage.
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Post by LUKAS SAUVAGEAU on Mar 13, 2015 6:53:08 GMT
Shithead? He scowled, throwing the microphone at whoever the fuck insulted him. A bit out of it, he wasn't surprised he missed terribly... that the thing just flung out of his hand and rolled off the stage. That voice, though, it seemed familiar. Familiar enough that he tried to see a face, but it was all too hazy. Squinting, he got up on all fours. Like scary things in movies, his lithe figure crawled forth until he was close enough to recall he'd met this man. What was his name? He read that little paper over and over, memorizing his name for a day only to forget it today.
He was obviously fucked up, laying on his stomach in front of the guy with a dumb smile. "Hey, fuckface." This stage wasn't his, this crowd didn't give a shit about him. But they'd have to literally kick him off the platform, the next band, if they wanted to take him off his throne. Pluck him outta his bed. "Long time, no see," he assumed with a chuckle. Lukas folded his arms to use as a makeshift pillow for his chin, peering up at the man. He didn't care who this guy was, though. Grabby hands reached out, taking his coat as he used it to pull himself up. After he'd detached himself, he sat back on his ass.
"Missed me, eh?" He'd already forgotten he'd cut himself. His stomach was itchy. Without thinking, he curiously gave his fingers a taste after scratching the irritated wounds. Blood? Oh, yeah. The brat grinned.
LANCE DAVIDSON
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Post by LANCE DAVIDSON on Mar 13, 2015 7:02:27 GMT
Lance's face was like stone. Unemotional as the kid grinned. He hummed as he watched the other try to figure him out, try to sit up, wonder why he was wounded. Yeah, you did that you dumbass. "How do you not get lockjaw?" It was an honest question.
Did he miss the kid? Nah. "I wasn't looking for you," he replied. "It just so happened I accidentally ran across you here. Walked in right as it was your set to start. You're gonna get kicked out of here doing shit like that."
The performance was the type you did when you had a label, when you were too rich to be kicked out or too rich to care that you were. Not for dumbass nobodies who aren't even a local name.
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Post by LUKAS SAUVAGEAU on Mar 13, 2015 7:15:34 GMT
Lukas laughed. He didn't fucking care, and as long as they didn't damage the equipment most seedy places like this didn't give a fuck, either. Who the fuck was this guy? And if he had been looking for him, well, good job. Even if the latter explicitly said he hadn't been looking, either way, Lukas stretched out his arms as if to say 'well, here I am' to all the shit the man had dribble outta his mouth. He sounded more like a worried, naggy mom, if anything. Nag nag nag, this, nag nag nag, that. "Congratulations," he snickered, sarcastically. "Whaddya want, then? Came over here, y'gotta want something." He scooted up, letting his legs dangle off the stage on either side of the man. "If you didn't want nothin', you coulda just left." Right? The teen snorted. His intoxicated hands tugged at the guy's lapels... ah, wait, now he remembered. Lance. Lance? Lance. He tugged at Lance's lapels, urging him to get down to his eye-level.
"So. Whaddya want from the king of the brats?"
LANCE DAVIDSON
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Post by LANCE DAVIDSON on Mar 13, 2015 7:22:07 GMT
Just like before, his expressions were still and stone-like. He didn't care how he sounded. Lance was speaking to speak. "Here you are."
The boy reached up to grab his coat, his legs hung at either side of his hips, and he was tugged down. Lance allowed himself to be, his gaze lazy and half-lidded. The guy smelled like alcohol and blood and sweat. He looked dirty.
What did Lance want? He didn't know. "Maybe I'm looking to make a few mistakes," he replied with the only answer he could think of.
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Post by LUKAS SAUVAGEAU on Mar 13, 2015 7:33:25 GMT
The boy snorted at that reply, though he had to admit he liked it. "Came to the right place," he murmured loud enough against the brunette's ear to be heard. "All I am is one big, ugly, mistake." Lukas nipped the man's lobe, biting a line down his neck until he found his shoulder. How could he forget? He still had the damn mark. Just like Lance had done to him, he took a nice, harsh, bite out of his shoulder. He had to push back his coat, but no one gave a shit about some queer and a punk. Still. He knew better than to make a show out of shit like this, even if the thought of getting some right here on the stage was pretty appealing.
"Well?" He gazed at him through hazy, half-lidded hues. "Let's make some mistakes."
LANCE DAVIDSON
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Post by LANCE DAVIDSON on Mar 13, 2015 7:41:23 GMT
An extended sigh let out. He breathed through his nose almost irritated at the forwardness of the guy, but he let him do it. Lance let him nip at his ear, at his neck, and he grunted at the pain to his shoulder. Payback he supposed.
Did he want to make a few mistakes? Yeah, he supposed he did. He was feeling low and he needed something to get rid of the tension. He felt like getting drunk, blacking out and doing whatever the fuck his drunken body wanted to do. Who cared? "Let's go, then."
But where? "I'll let you decide where."
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Post by LUKAS SAUVAGEAU on Mar 13, 2015 8:01:12 GMT
Lance was a weird guy, though the boy sitting there with an bloody arrow pointing to his crotch probably wasn't in any position to judge him. What was left in the bottle, he poured on the wound and let out a howl. Energized, he jumped off the stage and went straight to the bar. It may be hard to believe, but most of the crowd enjoyed the show. They were fine with sharing a few drinks with him, and his friend. This was bonding, wasn't it? That made them friends? Lukas didn't know, much less care. The night was a series of memories like movie stills. At the bar, tossing back a few shots with Lance. At the pool-table, scamming a few bucks outta some handlebar mustache. Letting Lance be the smart one and take him away before he started a fucking brawl with someone a lot bigger than the two of them combined.
Lukas couldn't remember the last time he'd genuinely had a good time like this, but once the bar was at its last call, he stumbled out into the street with the man. "Where the fuck did my band go?" He slurred happily, hanging off the tall male. At some point, he'd taken his coat and it hung off him like a child in his dad's suit. "Man, those fucks are always leavin' me behind." He leaned up against the wall, soaking in the night air. It was refreshing after spending so much time in that stuffy dive-bar. A breeze rolled past him, like the wind welcomed him outside with a gentle caress over his pallid face. Lukas breathed. "Hey," he said to Lance, taking some tightly packed sugar from his pocket. Though, it wasn't sugar. "Want some?"
LANCE DAVIDSON
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Post by LANCE DAVIDSON on Mar 13, 2015 8:13:55 GMT
Lance had fun in the moment. There was so much alcohol, so much whiskey, so much cheap beer. At one point he had to go puke it all up before he could go and drink more again.
In all honesty, it had been a while since he'd gotten so trashed. This guy... he was bad for him. He was so bad. Lance had to get away before it got worse, but he was too drunk to run.
Eventually they were outside and he hadn't realized it until the wind struck his face. He'd gotten hot from the humidity of the bar and the heat from the alcohol, so the wind felt wonderful against his skin. But, then his attention was pulled away towards a bag. He'd seen that before. He knew what it was. "Lets go to my car."
Inside the small car it was warm, so Lance rolled down the windows just a bit. All that was needed was a crack to let the wind in.
The car was messy and he had to dig in the back seat to find a folder, putting it on the console between them. As he waited for the other to set things up, Lance pulled out a dollar bill and rolled it up tight. "Make it neat. Make it fair," the vocalist warned.
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