On stage left, a pink lace bra hung from Madeleine’s mic stand. On stage right, a plastic cup lay cracked next to Brian’s doc marten; the floor was sticky and his pant leg was saturated with Budweiser. As he picked out the melody of their last song on a keyboard, Brian had to wonder why he took up the piano and not the bass guitar. He was definitely getting the raw end of the deal.
The venue was packed. He wasn’t drunk yet, but he had a decent buzz, enough to make the stage lights fuzzy around the edges and his stomach feel warm. Somebody had ordered a bunch of tequila shots and sent them backstage before the band went on.
From up here, he didn’t recognize any faces, so he lowered his head. That was the thing about a synthesizer; since you were basically chained to your instrument, it didn’t go amiss if you zoned out instead of jumped around, or got lost in your own world. At the bridge, he shut his eyes, which is why he didn’t notice when Seth grabbed his legs; a guitarist from the Spirals grabbed his arms, and suddenly he was airborne and swinging like a sack of potatoes.
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ninetydegrees
no subject
on 2014-01-01 12:38 am (UTC)The venue was packed. He wasn’t drunk yet, but he had a decent buzz, enough to make the stage lights fuzzy around the edges and his stomach feel warm. Somebody had ordered a bunch of tequila shots and sent them backstage before the band went on.
From up here, he didn’t recognize any faces, so he lowered his head. That was the thing about a synthesizer; since you were basically chained to your instrument, it didn’t go amiss if you zoned out instead of jumped around, or got lost in your own world. At the bridge, he shut his eyes, which is why he didn’t notice when Seth grabbed his legs; a guitarist from the Spirals grabbed his arms, and suddenly he was airborne and swinging like a sack of potatoes.
“Hey! What the fu—?”