[ftm] 5.2 - 'brother'
- Chicago, Illinois - circa 1998
“Dude, you play?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Fuck yeah.”
It was an innocent enough exchange between Ryder and the wide-eyed man with the boyish smile that Sizz and Toca called Nez. After three days of running into the brothers Vierie/Hughes all over town, they’d finally invited him out with their buddy Chris for beers when the subject of music came up.
He still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten talked into coming over to the rundown house all three men shared, but there he was plugging into an amp that looked ready to explode at any second, shocked at the sound quality he got out of it.
None of the gear in their beat-up garage looked like much, but the tone coming from his amp was pitch perfect, as was the drums being tuned and the bass Nez was plucking idly in one corner.
“Yo, check that shit out! What’s that?!”
Ryder glanced up from his Les Paul sharply, realizing that Toca was talking to him. He’d been playing without even thinking, tuning to a riff from a song he’d been writing. He shrugged and shook his head, but the other man was undeterred.
“C’mon, give us a taste. That shit is fuckin’ heavy as a motherfucker! C’mon, with it!”
Snorting, he finally gave in with a half smile, checking his strings before he started playing, this time singing along to the heavy, funk-infused groove.
“I am in a living hell, that makes me wonder if I’m alive
Can’t seem to break myself free to figure out why.
And I shove, and I push, and I pull away from the things I call you every night.
I can’t seem to break you down, and I don’t know if I’ll come around…”
He could see Nez rise from his seat after the second line, round features shining with childlike awe before he found the beat and began to play along with a Parliament-style groove that made Ryder smile. It was an odd sensation, but it felt like he knew…the song he hadn’t played for anyone, the piece he hadn’t yet shared, this guy understood it.
“Yo, brother, check this out: can you tighten that up a little?”
Normally the word bothered him, had since he’d arrived in Chicago because his own brothers wanted him dead. Something in Sizz’s voice right then, however, made it all right…like Chris’s bass line, it fit.
“Why?”
“It’s a stone groove, don’t get me wrong, but I just think with lyrics like that? You should go for a heavier feel. Less Clinton, more Sabbath, you know?”
“Fuckin’ a-right.” Toca agreed. “Punk it up a little, too…better yet? Just go full-on Steven Tyler on it’s ass.”
That got Ryder’s attention. “You dig Aerosmith?”
“Joe Perry’s fuckin’ God, are you kidding me? Dude, dirty up that riff and get it tight, I got an idea. Nez, can you follow that shit?”
“Yeah, sure I can!”
“Sizz, can you keep time?”
His only answer was a drum fill that made the bottom of Ryder’s stomach drop out…hard and fast with a wild display of limbs flailing that took his breath away.
Something insane was about to happen, he could feel it. He could almost hear it in the electricity-guzzling amplifier right behind him…
“Count it off, brother.”
There was that word again, this time from Toca. Raising an eyebrow, he decided to take a chance…after all, it wasn’t like his life could get more dangerous or fucked up than it was right then. Why the hell not?
Testing a chord a half step down in favor of the one he’d been playing, Ryder counted it off.
It was only a few measures, but the first run-through of the verse shook him to his foundation. After changing some notes and showing Sal the wadded lyric sheet from his front pocket, a few words were changed for rhythmic synchronicity’s sake, and they tried the song halfway through with Sal singing.
He almost had to ask for a break, his hands were shaking so badly. Glancing around, he noticed that Nez’s eyes were wider than usual.
The third time they completed the song and Ryder could see it in all three of their faces…the shock and awe, the sound and the fury.
“What the fuck was that?” Sizz asked from behind his kit, wiping sweat from his face with one trembling hand. “Seriously, what the fuck was that?”
“I dunno, but I wanna do it again.” Toca cackled, jumping up and down gleefully. “That was so fucking cool, did you hear that?! We were like…it’s…”
Ryder caught Nez’s eye, and found himself sharing the broad, buoyant grin that was plastered to his face. Euphoria tempered his sorrow when he realized he and Nez were on the same wavelength, communing silently the way Ryder once had with his own brothers back home.
“Dude, lookit…check this out, fuckers, Silent But Deadly’s about to speak. I fuckin’ know it.”
He would have flipped Toca off, if he wasn’t so goddamn right. Instead he just glanced at each of the men around him in turn and nodded, sure of his assertion.
“I can tell ya what just fuckin’ happened, guys…I think we just became a band.”
Muse: Mays Ryder
Fandom: Highlander (OC)
Words: 886
“Dude, you play?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Fuck yeah.”
It was an innocent enough exchange between Ryder and the wide-eyed man with the boyish smile that Sizz and Toca called Nez. After three days of running into the brothers Vierie/Hughes all over town, they’d finally invited him out with their buddy Chris for beers when the subject of music came up.
He still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten talked into coming over to the rundown house all three men shared, but there he was plugging into an amp that looked ready to explode at any second, shocked at the sound quality he got out of it.
None of the gear in their beat-up garage looked like much, but the tone coming from his amp was pitch perfect, as was the drums being tuned and the bass Nez was plucking idly in one corner.
“Yo, check that shit out! What’s that?!”
Ryder glanced up from his Les Paul sharply, realizing that Toca was talking to him. He’d been playing without even thinking, tuning to a riff from a song he’d been writing. He shrugged and shook his head, but the other man was undeterred.
“C’mon, give us a taste. That shit is fuckin’ heavy as a motherfucker! C’mon, with it!”
Snorting, he finally gave in with a half smile, checking his strings before he started playing, this time singing along to the heavy, funk-infused groove.
“I am in a living hell, that makes me wonder if I’m alive
Can’t seem to break myself free to figure out why.
And I shove, and I push, and I pull away from the things I call you every night.
I can’t seem to break you down, and I don’t know if I’ll come around…”
He could see Nez rise from his seat after the second line, round features shining with childlike awe before he found the beat and began to play along with a Parliament-style groove that made Ryder smile. It was an odd sensation, but it felt like he knew…the song he hadn’t played for anyone, the piece he hadn’t yet shared, this guy understood it.
“Yo, brother, check this out: can you tighten that up a little?”
Normally the word bothered him, had since he’d arrived in Chicago because his own brothers wanted him dead. Something in Sizz’s voice right then, however, made it all right…like Chris’s bass line, it fit.
“Why?”
“It’s a stone groove, don’t get me wrong, but I just think with lyrics like that? You should go for a heavier feel. Less Clinton, more Sabbath, you know?”
“Fuckin’ a-right.” Toca agreed. “Punk it up a little, too…better yet? Just go full-on Steven Tyler on it’s ass.”
That got Ryder’s attention. “You dig Aerosmith?”
“Joe Perry’s fuckin’ God, are you kidding me? Dude, dirty up that riff and get it tight, I got an idea. Nez, can you follow that shit?”
“Yeah, sure I can!”
“Sizz, can you keep time?”
His only answer was a drum fill that made the bottom of Ryder’s stomach drop out…hard and fast with a wild display of limbs flailing that took his breath away.
Something insane was about to happen, he could feel it. He could almost hear it in the electricity-guzzling amplifier right behind him…
“Count it off, brother.”
There was that word again, this time from Toca. Raising an eyebrow, he decided to take a chance…after all, it wasn’t like his life could get more dangerous or fucked up than it was right then. Why the hell not?
Testing a chord a half step down in favor of the one he’d been playing, Ryder counted it off.
It was only a few measures, but the first run-through of the verse shook him to his foundation. After changing some notes and showing Sal the wadded lyric sheet from his front pocket, a few words were changed for rhythmic synchronicity’s sake, and they tried the song halfway through with Sal singing.
He almost had to ask for a break, his hands were shaking so badly. Glancing around, he noticed that Nez’s eyes were wider than usual.
The third time they completed the song and Ryder could see it in all three of their faces…the shock and awe, the sound and the fury.
“What the fuck was that?” Sizz asked from behind his kit, wiping sweat from his face with one trembling hand. “Seriously, what the fuck was that?”
“I dunno, but I wanna do it again.” Toca cackled, jumping up and down gleefully. “That was so fucking cool, did you hear that?! We were like…it’s…”
Ryder caught Nez’s eye, and found himself sharing the broad, buoyant grin that was plastered to his face. Euphoria tempered his sorrow when he realized he and Nez were on the same wavelength, communing silently the way Ryder once had with his own brothers back home.
“Dude, lookit…check this out, fuckers, Silent But Deadly’s about to speak. I fuckin’ know it.”
He would have flipped Toca off, if he wasn’t so goddamn right. Instead he just glanced at each of the men around him in turn and nodded, sure of his assertion.
“I can tell ya what just fuckin’ happened, guys…I think we just became a band.”
Muse: Mays Ryder
Fandom: Highlander (OC)
Words: 886