Lower Notes (Disbanded)
Note: Occurs during The Search for the Stolen Album episode.
Roxy knows, looking at the paper, that the dots and lines mean something. She's not a goddamn retard. She can read music. Just the notes part. It's not hard. Every Good Bitch Likes to...yeah. Real simple to remember.
'Course, that's the spiral key. She doesn't play the spiral key, and she can't sing in it, either. Her key is different, a little upright curvy thing with some dots. 'Cause it's lower down.
Pretty much everything about Roxanne Pellegrini is lower down. The social scale. Har har. Yeah. Real fuckin' funny. Eric had said something like that once.
He'd veneered his teeth, which cost a bundle but didn't change the fact they were chipped now. Under the porcelain and three-piece suit, he was the same beetle-eyed dickweed with jagged splinters in his mouth.
Maybe she shouldn't've hit him in the mouth. But anyway it isn't his mouth she's got to worry about--not when it comes to whether she should stay.
Pizzazz is almost singing in her key, today. The music is way, way up there, twinkle twinkle tonkle and only comes down a bit when Roxy adds a little lick of something halfway through that makes Stormer blink, wide-eyed, and grin as she runs with it.
There was no bassline before there was Roxy. All of it canned drums, little tricks by Stormer to make it sound like there was an edge to this band. And there's no bassline to this music, either, even though the Holograms have a, oh what's the cute way of calling a black girl a black girl? How did Eric put it? Roxy can't remember.
Anyway, the Holograms have a charity case, too, only theirs plays the drums. Sometimes the bass. But usually drums.
Roxy figures the Misfits could use a drummer. The Leatherettes had a drummer. Roxy was never a Leatherette, but wow, she came damn close. They've got a lot of edge. Maybe more edge than they need. Oh, hell, they're a bunch of bull dykes competing with each other, except their backup singers, who are gay. And quite possibly castrated.
How does that go? All lesbians are gay but not all gays are lesbians? Some kinda circular thinking that makes her head hurt. Doesn't really bother her; she started out on this crew sucking Eric's measly dick, otherwise no dice, no way she'd make it as a star, baby, not in this town, not with her problems plural.
It kept kinda disappearing beside her tongue, anyway. Less than a roll of quarters, even sitting up and begging for it.
She can't read. Not words. And okay, yeah, maybe she's got a temper. That whole felony assault thing was not her fault, the motherfucker took pictures of things, stuff that made Roxy sick to be alive, and she'd grabbed the nearest thing--the things with the feet that the camera sit on?--and hit him and hit him and hit him until he quit twitching. Then she screamed at him, every word she could think of and stuff that wasn't words at all, until the pressure in her forehead eased a little.
Pizzazz had fixed it. Pizzazz could do that. This was the modern world, honey, it'd turned 1987 this past January, and money made this modern planet go 'round. Was what the green-haired singer said to make it okay. Sometimes she cried in her sleep. Probably not about the bribe.
Roxy mostly liked the way money shut them up real good. Better than sex.
She curled up next to Pizzazz now and then. Just when it got real bad. Hell! Roxy wasn't a Leatherette. Not at heart. If she had a heart. It was rough to tell; she hadn't been hurt by anything, hadn't really felt anything at all, since she was sixteen and Roger and Carla caught her in the bathroom with their daughter. Didn't matter they weren't related, didn't matter Angie was older and had started it. Boom. Just like that, Roxy P had nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat and was lucky to get out alive; Roger had the world's worst temper.
He'd've done the photographer way worse than she did.
She grit her teeth and kept playing. She could've played this line in her sleep, even improvising as she was. The Holograms were not exactly clued in when it came to any note somehow not in the key of G sharp. Clunk a lunka, clunk a lunka, clunk and then a little swish-clunk where the Holograms would have had a teeny-tiny affirmative action pitter-patter from Shana.
"There ain't nobody better," snarled Pizzazz. She couldn't really sing, but snarling suited Roxy just fine. And today Pizzazz was down here, down here in her key, with her instead of against.
"They're all alike," Roxy agreed, Stormer coming in just above her, the closest they had to a real-live soprano.
Roxy knew that word. She could be Italian when she had to be.
Christ. What the hell kind of name was Pellegrini, anyway. Sounded like a restaurant. Where they served meatballs. Jesus. CHRIST.
"There ain't nobody better, there ain't nobody better than me."
This was a hot little song.
Now if Roxy could just believe it.
Hey, it's not a multipart, it's actually done as-is. Omg I finished something. Totally out of my key fandom and completely not on my list. Haha I rock so much.
Right. Sure. ^_^