One For the Money, Two For the Show [Open]

[Aaron Hunter]

There are no thread rules and no maximum or minimum word count. I won’t post again for about a week to allow characters enough time to join in. Thanks!

“Hey, bro!” shouted the scruffy-looking guy as he rushed towards Aaron Hunter. “Can I quickly stick this flyer for my band’s next gig in your window before you start work for the day? We play tonight.”

Aaron glanced at the youth, taking note of the Green Day T-shirt that the slightly overweight man wore underneath a standard issue black leather biker jacket. Juggling the keys to his store - a drumming academy called Skin Trade - between his powerful hands, Aaron beckoned the young man to step a bit closer with a subtle nod of his head.

“Get your breath back, man,” said Aaron calmly. “It looks like you just caught me before I opened up. Perfect timing, dude!”

Pocketing the key fob into his tight, faded jeans, Aaron stretched out a hand to accept the miniature poster that the out of breath juvenile rocker was waving at him like a flimsy fan.

“So,” he continued, taking the flyer from the spikey-haired punk who was bent double in front of him, “you’re in a band? Are you guys any good?”

Aaron’s dark hazel eyes scanned over the promotional material, smirking at the band’s name, The Sexy Pistols. Raising an eyebrow while reading the remaining details of the concert venue, the punk rock aficionado hoped that the rest of the group were slightly more attractive than the panting musician standing next to him, otherwise the crowd may have to sue them due to false advertising.

“Yeah, I’m in a band, I play the drums like you,” replied the youth, who was probably no more than twenty years old. “We’re not too bad. We’ve pretty much only been playing in garages and church halls up until now, but this is our first real gig. I’m so buzzed up!”

Aaron smiled at his new acquaintance while watching the flushed red cheeks of the enthusiastic youth slowly return to their normal, pasty colour. The vampire’s heightened sense of hearing could feel the budding rock star’s heart rate settle back down to its regular rhythm as the unfit musical marketeer regained control of his breathing. The drumming tutor remembered the day when he’d played his first proper gig, reminiscing how terrible his band were. But quality didn’t matter; it was all about the enjoyment, the rush of adrenaline that surged through his pumped body when he nervously took to the stage with his friends. Nowadays, Aaron was effectively a semi-pro, and his band, Breaking Bad, had played numerous shows around the pubs and clubs of Harper Rock, but he still got that tingle of excitement down his spine when he adjusted his drum stool and readied himself to play.

“There’s nothing like that buzz of playing, man,” said Aaron. “You never get bored of that rush.”

A quick burst of air drumming erupted from Aaron’s otherwise still frame as he beamed brightly at his fellow musician. A huge grin from his counterpart let Aaron know that the pair shared a similar passion.

“I take it from your band’s name,” added Aaron, “and from your cool T-shirt, that you guys play a bit of punk?”

There were many musical genres for worshipers of sound to believe in, but only punk rock had the one true sonic god. There were many prophets, like heavy metal, the blues, and occasionally a bit of classic rock or indie, but only punk could claim the title of a deity.

“Yes, sir,” answered the exuberant youth, his hand messing with the waxy spikes that adorned his head. “We love punk, which I why I came here to give you a flyer. We’ve seen your band play. You guys kick ***!”

“Why, thank you!” said Aaron, acknowledging the compliment with an overblown bow.

Dipping his eyes back towards the bright yellow-coloured flyer, its thick, black lettering standing out against the sunny background, Aaron posed a question to his new best friend, pointing at the words on the sheet as he spoke.

“This venue, The Hell Hole, whereabouts is it? It says Newborough, but I don’t think I know where it is.”

“Ah, shoot!” exclaimed the frustrated young punk protégé. “We must have forgotten to put the exact address on the flyer. It’s really close to the bank and the transit station. You can’t miss it, I promise.”

The university was down in the Newborough district of town, so there was always a reasonable student crowd to tap into, which made it a perfect area for a music venue, but it annoyed Aaron that he hadn’t heard of the place. So much for having his finger on the city’s musical pulse!

“Well,” said Aaron, “I’ll still stick your flyer in my window. I’m sure that folk will find it. They just need to follow the hypnotic sound of the drums, right!”

Aaron smiled again, whipping out his keys from the frayed pocket of his jeans. He unlocked the front door to his business premises before turning to face the fresh-faced kid. From the back pocket of his figure-hugging trousers, the drumming teacher withdrew a packet of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter, flicking out a single stick and popping it between his lips.

“Do you smoke, man?” asked Aaron, lighting his cigarette while waiting for a reply.

“Yes,” replied the youth, “yes I do.”

“I thought so,” said Aaron, taking a lengthy drag on the glowing, orange-ended cylinder before gently releasing a steady stream of smoke out into the cool air like a laid-back dragon. “Smoking’s bad for you. It’s why you got out of breath so quickly.”

Aaron winked mischievously, spinning slowly on his heels, ready to head into his place of work.

“I’ll put your flyer up now, and maybe I’ll see you later. Now head back to your buddies and prepare for the big one tonight.”

A night out to this new club, The Hell Hole, could be fun, thought Aaron as he hung up the poster. It was always worth checking out somewhere different and fresh. You never knew quite who you might bump into.

[Kaspar]

His time away had been extensive, near three weeks of absence spent with his partner in crime had left him feeling refreshed but grateful to back to work and back to shower his young son in attention. For Kaspar this time of year was filled with birthdays, events and of course the imminent approach of Christmas. Between all of his obligations he had work to stay on top of, running multiple businesses while finalising the details of his own birthday party and record launch was proving to be a bit of a task. Work for Kaspar wasn't always overly conventional and while he worked hard he also got to play hard, including attending gigs and scouting for any potential talent in the wasteland of weak willed wannabes that crowded stages across the world. It was because of this that he found himself slipping through the door of a place called "The Hell Hole", appropriate considering his own nickname.

Louis was already here, his thrall and friend looking thoroughly distracted by a pretty girl who was twirling her hair and making eyes in his general direction. The girl was familiar, she dated one of his bandmates on and off over the past year and while she had her ditzy moments she sure as hell wasn't the worst. Kaspar approached the pair, trying to keep himself somewhat less conspicuous than usual and failing spectacularly as a few sets of eyes flicked his way. Whispers were exchanged and some of the University students there to watch their peers rock had gotten bold enough to creep a few sidesteps closer when he came to stop at Louis' side. The man's head cocked to get a better look at the new arrival, welcoming Kas with one of his trademark cheeky grins, "Hey man, you alright?" His tone and accent conveyed that the question wasn't meant as a show of concern but a general inquiry into his wellbeing, one which earned a vague shrug and nod of his head.

The pretty blonde dropped the piece of hair she'd been working on, green eyes widening noticeably before she flung herself at the rocker. A breathy wince escaped when she collided, arms wrapping around his throat in a manner so forceful that he had no choice to hug her back for risk of being dragged to the ground without the stabilising support of his arms holding her up. Some part of Kaspar had to admit it was nice to be greeted with such enthusiasm, the woman cooing about how well he looked and how excited she was that he was here; all while Louis watched on clearly working up a list of smart remarks to make about it later. There was time before the bands started playing, giving the three a chance to catch up with idle chit chat and Kas to keep his eyes peeled for anyone else he might be interested in meeting.

[Aaron Hunter]

The working day passed by with few noteworthy incidents. Although Aaron’s drumming academy was ticking over rather nicely, and there was a steady flow of enthusiastic pupils filled with dreams of rock-stardom, the tutor never found himself being rushed off his size twelve feet. That was exactly the way he liked it. When it came to work, Aaron preferred to be paddling in the tranquil lake, having enough spare time to fool around listening to music or catching up on the latest edition of his favourite comic books, as opposed to swimming furiously against the tide in a stormy ocean.

The first couple of budding musicians to visit Aaron were the incredibly cute Thompson twins, Tom and Joe. With their rosy-red cheeks, and a pair of killer smiles that could melt the most gargantuan of icecaps, and change the views of even the most bigoted of beaver-haired climate change deniers, the dynamic drumming duo were a pure joy to teach. The eight-year-old students were as keen as mustard, aching to impress their school friends with radical rhythm patterns and fanciful drum-fills. They very much reminded Aaron of himself at their age when he wanted to play in the school band, or march in the St. Patrick’s Day parades back in New York.

The downside of the delightful double act was their annoying mother, Alannah. She was the epitome of the pushy mother, desperate for her beloved cherubs to be the best musicians that the world had ever heard, whatever the cost. Blood, sweat, and tears were her holy trinity. She had the tact of a drunken, randy rhino that was judging the “Miss Hippopotamus 2016” competition, blurting out ridiculous and often downright offensive phrases that would make an old Irish dockworker from the Meatpacking district of New York blush. How on earth her adorable sons had not developed into a terrible, tearaway twosome was beyond Aaron’s comprehension.

Michelle Young was a different character altogether. Her only child, a scruffy-looking kid named Gary, was one of Aaron’s first pupils. The shabbily dressed fifteen-year-old had been receiving lessons for over five months now, but had made very little progress, yet Michelle never criticized his lack of application or raw talent. The troubled woman simply brought her teenage son to his weekly appointment, sat patiently at the back of the practice room while the teaching session unfolded, then spilt her life story out to Aaron. It was like pouring emotional milk over Aaron’s bowl of morning cereal. If only the apathetic Gary could be so reliably rhythmic as his metronomic mother.

Aaron never had himself down as a psychiatrist, yet somehow he was playing not only the drums, but also the role of Michelle’s counsellor. If her downloading sessions were in someway cathartic and helpful, then it was fine with Aaron. He would have also appreciated someone with a friendly face and a shoulder to lean upon many times, so the affable rocker wasn’t going to turn a deaf ear on the woman in her hour of need. She moaned about most things in life, but most notably her recent divorce from “Richard the ********” as she so elegantly liked to call her ex-husband. However, the one key area of her bitching barrages to which Aaron could really relate were her views on music. It was certainly a topic more up Aaron’s street than tales of her cheating ex’s exploits.

Michelle must have been in her mid-forties, although her well-weathered face probably made her look older than her true age. She continually banged on about her love of 80’s hair-metal, about her Van Halen and Def Leppard albums, about her Jon Bon Jovi posters that adorned her bedroom wall like works of art at the Louvre in Paris; about how Tony, her then teenage boyfriend, was so amazing for loving all the same stuff. Then along came grunge, Michelle’s nemesis, killing hair-metal, invading from Seattle like a marauding Viking warrior armed with a fuzz pedal and a baggy jumper. Tony started listening to gloomy dirge, and their relationship fell apart, from Nirvana to Samsara in one sweep of the musical brush. Michelle had trawled the club scene throughout the 90’s for a replacement, eventually settling upon Richie, prior to his metamorphosis into the aforementioned Richard the ********.

Maybe Michelle’s story was not just a tale of musical evolution, but was a metaphor for life in general? Everything changes; things move on, tastes adjust to whatever is deemed to be the flavour of the month. It was fair to say that life as a vampire had evolved greatly over the last few months in Harper Rock. Following the collapse of the Masquerade, the humans were fully aware that vampires existed. The question that ran constantly through Aaron’s mind like a greyhound caught in a perpetual loop chasing an uncatchable rabbit was whether or not his clients knew that he was a vampire?

Aaron decided to stay a little later than usual at his business premises and get a bit of the paperwork tidied up. That really was the most evil and boring of tasks known to mankind. He urgently needed a secretary! Hanging around at Skin Trade into the early evening did mean that Aaron needed to get his *** in gear quicker than normal if he was going to make it to the club and watch the new band, The Sexy Pistols. The affable drummer chuckled at the name as he reread the flyer. They’d better be worth the effort of a trip to an unknown venue.

Firing off a few text messages to the usual suspects in case they fancied heading out for the night, Aaron grabbed his coat - a black leather biker jacket, of course - and made his way through the front exit. He paused, scouring over the mini poster that he held tightly in his hand as he locked up his premises. A few folk had casually glanced at the flyer in his window while wandering by during the day, but there wasn’t a huge amount of interest. Acting like a ticket tout, Aaron had pointed a few potential customers, who had drifted in throughout the day enquiring about lessons as Christmas gifts, towards the local gig. He’d handed one over to Michelle, on the off chance that she may want to get out of her wretched house for the evening. Maybe even Gary should go, pick up a few drops of inspiration and perspiration from the band? The teacher shook his head, screwing up his cheeks.

“You guys should have been handing these flyers out days ago,” muttered Aaron under his breath. “That’s how you drum up some real interest, get the hype machine going.”

Stuffing the bright yellow slip of paper into his jacket pocket, Aaron made his way across town towards Newborough, the home of The Hell Hole. The musician was still bemused as to how he hadn’t actually heard of the place. Something just didn’t sit quite right in his mind. Where, precisely, was this cool new club, and why was he totally unaware of its existence until today? His questions were hopefully about to be answered. A trail of discarded flyers littered the pavement, forming a paper version of the Yellow Brick Road, guiding the way to the mysterious venue.

[Kaspar]

"Yeah, but WHY can't I have her number? I promise only to use it for work purposes... And to hit on her shamelessly." Louis whined, clearly only half-joking as he trailed after Kas towards the exit. The first band had just started, but their awkward fumbling of gear and unintelligible mumbled greeting to the gathering crowd left most in the room less than impressed. The only ones making any noise of support were clearly drunken friends, enthusiasm leaving them deaf to the averageness of the band on stage. The Morningstar was not deaf to it, and he wasn't in the mood to get a headache from the squawling college student. Not like he was going to avoid a headache, Louis was clamped fast to his side, leaning up to chatter in his ear. Kaspar silenced him with a firm clasp of his palm to the back of the thrall's neck, tipping his head down to press a firm, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Nein. Shut up. Grey would not be pleased if you started messing with Claudia, she has been a good assistant. You have just been an ASSistant. If it ended poorly I might decide I like her better." It was said in a teasing manner, Louis wasn't just some guy he'd enthralled, their relationship had hardly changed since that fateful day and anyone who worked with Kas knew how important Louis was to the process. It didn't hurt that Louis was even easier to placate these days, a firm word or flash of affection usually made him settle into a more agreeable state.

The dark haired man settled, Kaspar releasing him to fish for his cigarette case. "Besides, it would just distract you." Louis gave a resigned sigh, pushing Kas's hands away so his own fingers could slip into the pocket of his leather jacket, taking out the slim case and extracting a cigarette. He put it between his own lips, the case returned to the vampire's pocket so Louis could slide his hand into a pocket of the man's jeans, looking remarkably smug as he pulled out a lighter and flicked it to life against the cigarette's tip. Kaspar watched on, faint amusement sparking in his blue gaze as Louis took a deep draw. "Mm. Fine. For personal use?" The man conceded, exhaling the smoke and offering the lit cigarette to Kaspar, the rocker taking it happily enough. It wouldn't be the first or last thing he'd shared with Louis. His laughter echoed out into the cool night, carried on the smoke rolling from between his lips. He'd turned his head away, shaking it slightly as if he was about to make another remark, but it faded from his mind when he saw a familiar figure in the distance. "Well, ****. It's Aaron..." There was genuine surprise colouring his tone, and more than a little bit of pleasure. He enjoyed the drummer's company, and suddenly the night was looking a lot less like work.

[Aaron Hunter]

Aaron’s sturdy boots swept across the pavement, kicking several yellow paper flyers a few inches into the air like crispy leaves that had recently fallen to the ground during an autumn storm. That was a hell of a lot of printing that had seemingly gone to waste. Either that or the guy handing out the flyers was a huge fan of 1930’s magical musicals. Maybe the flying monkeys had been released, and were causing havoc on the streets of Harper Rock?

“Follow the Yellow Brick Road,” muttered the musician in a comical voice. “Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Follow, follow…”

Aaron’s semi-tuneful interlude was cut short as his shimmering hazel eyes glanced around the corner of a grubby old stone building, and caught sight of a familiar face. Visually sorting out the human chaff that was milling around the side exit of what appeared to be a converted warehouse, Aaron’s keen eyes focused on the shaft of recognizable wheat that was hovering by the dimly lit door.

“I should have known he’d be here!” said Aaron to himself, a broad smile oozing across his stubbly face.

It was abundantly clear that the drum tutor was about to reach his destination; the telltale signs were all there. Firstly, the trail of flyers was coming to an abrupt end just up ahead. Secondly, the distinct rumbling of music was seeping out into the cool night air like sonic smoke drifting away from a bonfire of crackling speakers. Finally, one of Harper Rock’s cool kid socialites, Kaspar, was hanging out of a doorway, cigarette in hand like a wizard’s glowing wand. The checklist was complete.

Despite the fact that Aaron, a self-confessed music aficionado, had never heard of the new venue, The Hell Hole, it came as no surprise to the drummer that his old friend was already here. Kaspar always seemed to be in the know. Networking was definitely paying dividends for the son of the famous singer. Hopefully, Kaspar would be able to share the details of this mysterious new addition to the city’s nightlife with the intrigued teacher. Tapping a couple of his fingers onto the inside of his wrist, Aaron wandered purposefully towards Kaspar.

“I see that you have your finger on the pulse, dude!” exclaimed Aaron. “You’re one step ahead of me, I didn’t even know this place existed until today!”

Aaron’s lack of knowledge about the club was still annoying him. It was like having an itch on the sole of your foot after you’d just laced up your Dr. Martens boots. Who opens a brand new nightclub without a bucketful of publicity and promotion first? However, the fact that Kaspar was gracing the venue helped to soothe the irritation. If the KasMan thought that the place was worth checking out, then it was probably going to be at least half decent at worst.

“Good evening, buddy,” said Aaron. “So, how’ve you been keeping?”

Aaron slapped his friend across the shoulder, leaning in for a casual man-hug. Old-fashioned handshakes were so… old-fashioned. Having said that, the punk always tried to be polite, and wouldn’t dive into the personal space of somebody that he didn’t know, so he offered the more traditional greeting of a handshake to the as yet unknown man standing next to Kaspar.

“Hey there, I’m Aaron,” he announced, projecting a hand of friendship in the direction of Kaspar’s colleague.

A blast of what could only be described as musical dirge bellowed out of the club’s door like the grimy fumes from the chimney of a Victorian era factory, as the band inside launched into another song. Almost involuntarily, Aaron screwed up his face as if he were sucking on a particularly bitter lemon.

“Wow!” said Aaron, his large hands muffling his ears. “It sounds like Harper Rock’s finest are on stage tonight!”

The musician chuckled to himself rolling his eyes in an over-exaggerated manner, before continuing to speak, not really affording the pair much of an opportunity to respond to his initial questions and actions.

“How did you guys find out about this place?” he added. “I swear I cannot believe I didn’t know about this place. It all seems a bit weird to me. I really need to up my game!”

[Kaspar]

His friendship with Aaron had formed in a deliciously organic manner, making it difficult to pinpoint the exact moment he'd come to think of him as more than a face in the crowd, or a presence at the clubs they mutually frequented. They must have been in the same room a dozen times before Kas really took notice of the drummer, when he hooked with a band worth half a damn. He shone on stage, even tucked behind a drum set he managed to shine. It was the passion with which he played along with his talent that made Aaron someone Kaspar actually bothered to speak to.

Since the night they'd ditched a show to roam the sewers and landed themselves in the Quarantine Zone kicking zombie butt they'd run into each other more and more frequently. Now as Aaron made his way closer a smile stretched across his face, lightening the dark cloud of his stormy expression to show the light that hid beneath those heavy brows. Hel was briefly distracted, just long enough that he had to forcibly knock ash that had gathered at the end of his cigarette, taking a final draw to bring it closer to filter. He'd dropped it beneath his boot, digging his heel against glowing cherry to extinguish it in time for the new removal to be up in his grill.

Camaraderie came easily between the pair now, and Kas was no stranger to a good old man hug.

The pair embraced, brief and assertive, the kind of hug that lingered a second too long if either party was drunk and getting handsy. No hands dipping here, it was remarkably refreshing to have a friend that wasn't trying to get in your pants. He couldn't help but laugh, the mention of pulses seeming out of place between them. "Hunter. You know me, always looking for the perfect pulse to replace my own." The greeting was half-whispered as an aside; his wink playing it up as a scandalous secret meant only for the ears of those in the know. His humanity, what was left of it, was something he'd avoid speculation over when all was said and done. The answer to his question was met with a smug little shrug, nodding back towards the club. "Oh, just coasting on the success of my album, getting ready for tour dates so I don't have to play a club like this any time soon." There was relief in his tone, but it wasn't heartfelt, if he was being honest Kaspar loved the less polished clubs where his performances could sink into the territory of raw energy.

Louis did his best to look only vaguely interested. Naturally, he failed. That cheeky half-smile gave him away, catching the hand offered without missing a beat. "Louis." The man drawled, Aaron already excitedly barrelling into his next series of questioning. The human in the midst nodded his agreement to the music commentary, his dark gaze slipping over Aaron, getting a closer look. He'd seen him in passing, at the studio and in clubs, but much like Aaron and Kaspar only a few months back the pair had yet to have official introductions. It didn't go unnoticed by Hel, the man nudging his hip lightly into Louis, chuckling as he worked his way around to replying.

"It is new, though it does not look it. Old venue, new branding. One of those places that changes hands often, cheap drinks and mostly average bands. It is my job to know, perhaps if you came to work for me you'd find out." It wouldn't be the first time he'd slid the offer across the table, nor the last. Hel knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was Aaron to step up to the plate and really sink those fangs into the music industry. "The talent is hit or miss, but I always come in swinging. You never know where the next big thing will be found. What about you? Let me guess... The terrible paper?" He toed a flyer, not entirely convinced it held much interested but he lived in hope. As much as Hel was focusing on the next stage in his own career as a performer, strengthening his business' to fall back on when he eventually had to retire was just as important.

Who needed sleep anyway?

[Aaron Hunter]

The fingers of Aaron’s left hand slowly curled as he brought his palm towards his ear, brushing away a few loose strands of thick, dark hair that had fallen across the side of his face. It was probably a subconscious reaction to Kaspar’s words, allowing Aaron to listen more attentively to what his friend was saying. The singer’s response was very much as expected: he was looking for the next big thing, keen on keeping his finger firmly on the pulse of the local entertainment scene.

Aaron had his charismatic acquaintance down as a bit of a thrill-seeker, always striving to be that one special step ahead of everyone else to give him the edge. It wasn’t that Aaron saw the socialite as some kind of egomaniac, desperate for attention, but more as the cool kid on the block who liked to keep abreast of all the developments in the local community. Kaspar was like the hub in the centre of Harper Rock’s social scene wheel. It was no surprise that the KasMan already knew about this place.

A pair of inquisitive eyes scanned over the old building that had been transformed into Harper Rock’s latest club. There was still something bothering Aaron about the whole scenario, a puzzling little niggle that the drummer couldn’t quite put his finger upon, despite Kaspar’s brief overview of the venue. Maybe, once they all went inside, the fog of curiosity would disperse and everything would become much clearer.

“I guess we all have to start off in a place like this,” said Aaron, “although I’m sure that you are pretty buzzed up about strutting your funky stuff on a bigger stage. When does your tour kick off, man? Get me some backstage passes and I’ll consider doing a bit of work for you!”

A huge grin swept across Aaron’s face, his sparkling caramel eyes radiating an affectionate admiration for his friend’s achievements, coated with a cheeky, almost mischievous overtone. Although the prospect of working with, or rather for Kaspar did hold a certain appeal, Aaron enjoyed his humble business, and the freedom of being his own boss. Sure, the drumming school didn’t generate a massive amount of income, and Aaron was never going to be on the cover of Time magazine about to be interviewed as the entrepreneur of the year, but he was happy with his lot. Nevertheless, he’d park the offer squarely in the “maybe” section. Never say never seemed like a reasonable stance to take on the subject.

“And you, Louis,” added Aaron, momentarily switching his focus to the other man, “are you part of the KasMan’s entourage? Are you hitting the road with him?”

A strong hand darted up to Aaron’s stubble-covered chin, his fingers scratching at the coarse facial hair as if he were in deep contemplation. In certain ways, perhaps the musician was? He was definitely interested to hear about Kaspar’s forthcoming plans, the cities and towns that the singer and his band would be visiting if and when their tour started rolling into action, but he was also constantly wondering about the club that was in his immediate vicinity.

Although Aaron was concentrating on the discussion at hand with his friend and the newbie, Louis, the killer’s natural instinct was to be alert at all times, to be prepared like an eager boy scout. Even though this fledgling venue, the Hell Hole, had only just opened, Aaron would have expected to notice a few familiar faces drifting in and out of the club. There was a “crowd” in Harper Rock that was into music, a bunch of folk that could be seen regularly around town in all the usual places. Other than Kaspar, all the patrons who were wandering in and out of the door to steal some fresh air or grab a quick cigarette were complete strangers. Maybe Aaron really was off the pace, or maybe there was something more to his casual observation?

[Kaspar]

They had all had to start off in the **** holes of the world. They had to get down in the muck of the seedier side of rock'n'roll everyone wanting to make it had to wade through, balls deep in it. Even the son of a world-famous rockstar had to pay his dues, choosing it over the more obvious avenue of using his contacts. There were offers, of course, he was talented and his name carried a lot of weight but it felt wrong to him. He needed to do it himself, not because he felt he had something to prove but simply because he knew he could and being his own made man was worth the extra time it would cost him. There came with it a certain level of respect that he would not have received otherwise, people working with him based on his own achievements and abilities rather than simply what his Daddy did. The knowing smile he wore, accompanied by the slow gaze at the patrons filing in excitedly, mostly uni students there to support buddies, spoke volumes. "As AC/DC said, it's a long way to the top if you want to rock'n'roll, Hunter." Now here he was, enjoying success and just waiting to find the next big thing, like-minded artists wanting to rule the world and shake it up a little.

Louis was looking at Aaron like he was somehow mentally deficient, though he quickly schooled the expression into something more palatable, a grin crinkling his features as he laughed off the comment. "Entourage? Sure, mate. I'm basically his *****. Assistant, would be the official term for it. He's a mouthy ****** though, and I'm here to help if he needs a late night snack without getting himself in a spot of trouble, yeah? The thrall spoke quickly, excitedly, like he had better places to be. His dark curls bounced as he rocked up onto the balls of his feet, tensing and relaxing his calf muscles as he raised himself up and back in quick succession, vibrating on the spot with excess energy. It was time go to inside. Kaspar felt it too.

"Kommen." The taller of the three growled distractedly, already turning on his heel, arm firmly tucking over Louis's shoulders to drag him inside. "I think the next band is on soon, and we can give our friend some new man meat to hang off for the night." At this announcement Louis looked almost disappointed, briefly missing Kaspar's teasing regarding their mutual acquaintance who they'd ditched in preference of fresh air and a cigarette, the irony of that choice not missed by the dark humoured German. He lead the charge inside, walking like a man who owned the world, no weight on those shoulders as they brushed through the growing crowd to get to a comfortable space side of stage from which to watch.

[Aaron Hunter]

The mention of the classic AC/DC song brought an instant smile to Aaron’s face. He couldn’t help but think of the movie, School of Rock, and the young kids jamming along with Jack Black. Maybe the drummer needed a lazy night in front of the TV soon to catch up on a few old films or box sets that he’d recently missed? Then again, there was always something to do around Harper Rock to eat into Aaron’s time. Relaxation seemed to be a luxury nowadays. It was a good job that he was immortal, having what effectively amounted to an endless supply of time. He could watch TV later. Tonight was all about the music and the friendships.

Scratching the back of his neck, Aaron followed Kaspar through the nightclub door, listening and making mental notes of the words uttered by Louis. Presumably, thought Aaron, the sarcastic sidekick was some kind of human thrall, under the spell of Kaspar’s charm? It was handy, bordering on essential, to have a human on your team. Whether as an extra pair of eyes around the city, or simply to act as a source of fresh, bloody nourishment, a bewitched human could serve many purposes. However, it was fair to say that one without an arsey attitude would always be preferred. A cute one was a real bonus!

The trio made their way passed a few revellers who looked like they had already consumed a few too many shots of tequila, and were greeted by an announcement from a scruffy, longhaired youth on the stage ahead of them.

“We’ve been Wrecking Ball, you’ve been amazing!”

The singer raised both his arms, his slender frame illuminated by a rack of spotlights directed at the stage. There was a muffled applause from the crowd, except for a small group near the front of the stage who erupted into rapturous cheering, drooling over the words of the band member. More than likely, they were friends and family of the band that had just completed what seemed to be a distinctly average set-list, judging by the lukewarm reaction of the audience.

“Wrecking Ball?” heckled a punter just in front of Aaron. “More like Ball Bags!”

A small gathering of identically dressed partygoers - standard issue generic rock band T-shirts, tight-fitting black jeans, and chunky boots acting as their uniform - began to giggle at the heckler’s taunt. It was blatantly obvious that they hadn’t been impressed by the outgoing band’s performance. Aaron tapped the guy who’d just called out on his shoulder.

“Hey buddy,” he asked, “I take it these guys weren’t setting the stage on fire tonight?”

The young man, probably in his early twenties, wearing an old Megadeth T-shirt, turned to face Aaron, flicking his greasy hair away from both ears, exposing numerous studs and rings.

“Man!” replied the heckler, rolling his eyes like a pair of spinning Catherine wheels. “These guys sucked balls, never mind being called Balls! But the next band will be on in a couple of minutes. Some punk kinda band called The Sexy Pistols. Apparently, it’s their first proper gig… lambs to the slaughter!”

The metal fan laughed loudly, an almost sinister tone to his exuberant giggling. It was as if his sole purpose for being out tonight was to give hell to fledgling bands. Aaron patted the man on the back, offering a cheeky smile as he spoke.

“Let’s hope they are better than the last sorry lot!”

Aaron refocused his attention on Kaspar and Louis.

“It looks like the next band are on any minute. The drummer of this next outfit is the dude who gave me the flyer for this place. I think that we are in for some good old fashioned punk!”

The enthusiasm etched across Aaron’s face was evident for all to see. It didn’t matter if The Sexy Pistols sounded like a bunch of drowning kittens or the next Green Day, the fact that they were about to get up on stage and strut their stuff was all that concerned the music lover. To Aaron, music shouldn’t be about popularity and pleasing the masses, it should be about expression, about having fun, about opening up your soul and letting everything flood out. Maybe that was why Aaron and his band were still playing gigs in Harper Rock rather than signing multi-million dollar contracts and selling out arena tours?

Aaron’s attentive eyes darted around the nightclub floor as the crowds started to mill around the front of the stage in anticipation for the next band’s arrival. Yet again, the fact that there were so few, if indeed any, familiar faces irked the drummer. The small group of unknown youths who were whooping and cheering so loudly for the last band had dispersed. Their replacements were an additional throng of unfamiliar bodies, total strangers in Aaron’s mind. Some had typical punk-type hairstyles, spiky with streaks of colour, while others had the usual chains and rings attached to belt-loops on their jeans. It was cliché city out there. Maybe they were just another bunch of friends and family who had been shipped in for the evening to offer their support?

As Aaron’s hazel eyes continued to drift around the room, he wondered if the whole place was full of a rent-a-crowd mob, hired especially for tonight’s concert. You could buy fake followers on Twitter to make you seem more popular and important; could you do the same for a local gig in Harper Rock?

“Hey, Kaspar,” said Aaron, “this may seem like an odd question, but do you actually recognize anybody in here?”

[Mardvosa (DELETED 9357)]

The spikey-haired, out of breath guy with his Green Day shirt and black leather jacket stepped into the large Goth clothes store, walking up to the counter with his band's flyers in hand. The place was relatively busy, and a few black-clothed teenagers chuckled at the slightly overweight punker trying to catch his breath. "How can I help you? said Maryl with a polite smirk, glancing towards the flyers expectantly. "Uuh... pfooh... uh yeah hey! Do you mind if I stick my... The guy couldn't help but have to take a breath, a moment, causing Maryl's eyebrow to slowly raise. "... my band's flyer around here, somewhere? We play tonight!" It wasn't an unusual request at the store, and Maryl'd provided a solution by having a small, black wooden rack for flyers with a small magnet board by the entrance. "Right out there by the door, you can drop off some flyers. Looks like you printed a bunch, so gimme me about a dozen to hand out at the counter as well? I don't mind." She said with a friendly gesture. "Thanks lady! You're a lifesaver!" , said the guy with beads of sweat on his forehead, making his spikey hair look terrible. It didn't take much longer for him to part ways, seeming to have to head places in a hurry. "Come again, soon!" Maryl said, taking a long glance at the flyer of the 'Sexy Pistols' with a soft, dismissing chuckle. The glance turned into a stare, and while she strongly felt going there was nothing for her, her eye twitched a moment and a shiver raced across her spine as she involuntarily pocketed one of the flyers, growing a mischievous smirk on her face for the briefest of moments. She muttered to herself: "Seriously? You want to hunt -there-? You better not get into trouble... we can't afford it." Her eyes opened wide a moment at the realisation she was talking to herself, and shook her head, instead preferring to focus on the job once again and trying to forget what just happened.


--Later that day--

A broad guy with halflong, dark brown hair and a black tank top walked arm in arm with a purple-haired Maryl, her hair in a left combover mohawk shaved on the right hand side and wearing an old Plasmatics shirt, combat boots, fishnet stockings and fingerless gloves. There was something wild in her amber eyes that had been absent, and her attitude had changed entirely. It was as if two polar opposites inhabited the same body now, one was a control-freak and the other a wild animal. And the hunt was on. "There'd better be some -noise- here tonight, and not a bunch of sad drunks, babe." she said to the guy wrapped around her arm, as if it was his idea to come here. "Uhh yeah, don't worry about it! Let's uhh... go inside?" the guy said, seeming confused as to where the heck he was, but enjoying it nonetheless as they made their way into the old building with tacky red neon letters spelling out "The Hell Hole".

It seemed like the stage was right in between bands, and the guy around her arm half assedly shouted: "You wanna get something to drink!? while she was looking around at the crowd, she responded: "Absolutely, Jason." with a knowing grin that she meant something different than he did. Though as she glanced about and a guy with an old Megadeth shirt moved aside, her eyes caught two strange faces, familiar, but she couldn't place them. But there wasn't any time to think on it as Jason tugged her along to a bar that was way too small on the side, and way too crowded. Her eyes darted across the gathered people with a barely held back thirst that had become familiar in the recent weeks, her ears catching so many heartbeats... though her eyes also darted upwards, where a few shadowy figures seemed to be murmuring on a catwalk far above. She didn't think much of it, and the room's attention turned to the new band on stage that was nearly ready, performing a terrible sound check that began to trigger a lot of hecklers in the crowd. Though there seemed to be little enthusiasm for the band itself, there still seemed to be a palpable air of... something strange, in the air...