Some original fiction
Chris bobbed his head and swayed his hips to the music pouding into his eardrums. On his waist was a MRD (music replicating device) and on his mind was a fantastic dream with colors weaving in the sound. He was on a dirty bus on the way to work. A man carrying a sack of groceries scooted as far from the music drunk teen as possible.
Work was a dirty diner. Chris's thin legs carried him from the bus stop, through the alley where his old shoes (bought for two money from a sale bin) collected dirt, and through the backdoor leading to the kitchen. He shrugged his jacket from his scrawny frame and started washing dishes. Having no dishwasher meant having to hire someone willing to wash dishes and the owner being old fashioned meant Chris didn't have to worry about losing his job.
"Chris!" George the manager bellowed at his employee.
The neon blonde was still lost in his own world as he scrubbed stubborn food particles from the plates.
George muttered explitives under his breath as he waddled over to Chris. He yanked at Chris's headphones and shouted his name into his ear.
"Hey! What?" Chris asked rubbing his pierced pointed ear.
"I need you to wait tonight."
"Really? Chelsea didn't come in?"
"Chelsea's here. The girl she's supposed to training is sick."
"But what about the dishes? By the time I get down out there it'll take me all night to get the pile done."
"I don't pay you to give me lip. I pay you to do what I tell you!" George thrust an apron at him. "It's not like you've never waited before."
"I don't want to miss the last bus!"
"Get the lead out, Chris!"
That would be the end of that. Chris sighed tying the apron around his waist and tucking his MRD with his headphones in his jacket. Chelsea pointed him to his first table.
"Hey, my name is Chris! How you this evening?" His smile carried the illusion of his fake enthusiasm.
"I'll have the vegetarian omlette with a cup of coffee, please." A waif lavender haired man around Chris's age held his menu up for Chris to take.
"Right." Chris faltered in his grin, but quickly recovered after writing the down the order and putting the menu under his arm. "And for you sir?"
The 'sir' Chris addressed was older by a few years and had more meat on his bones. He brushed some light brown hair from his face. "I'll have the chicken platter please."
"And what would you like as a side?" Chris took the menu.
"Baked potato."
"Anything to drink?"
"Uh, water. Just water."
"Okay." Chris wrote down the order and walked toward the kitchen.
"Will, why do we always come here?" The trendy young man asked when Chris was out of earshot.
"Johan, I never say you have to come with me. Yet you always do and you always complain." His tablemate pointed out.
"Someone has to make sure you make it back to the Academy in one piece."
"That's very thoughtful of you."
"Besides I'm trying to understand why diner's hold such appeal for you."
"The appeal is food, Johan. Food, mealy food that get's pilled onto your plate for less than your cafe panni's. You may have grown up in high society where people would rather die than set foot in a place like this, but I wasn't."
"I suppose that's where your down to earth charm comes from."
Three figures walked into the diner and sat at a booth across from the two gentlemen.
"Hey Chris, will get that table? I'll do some dishes for you." Chelsea bargained with her coworker as she counted bills.
"Sure, that'd be-" Chris took one look at who was sitting at that table and reeled back into the cash register.
"Hey, careful there."
"Chelsea, are they who I think they are?!"
The blunette looked over at the table and squinted. "I dunno, who do you think they are?"
Chris went through a series of starting and stopping sentences in shock. "You don't know 'the daisy people'?!" He finally got out.
"Yeah, I know-wait. You think those are 'the daisy people'? Chris they probably aren't. Why would the most famous folk/rock band in all of Hevannah, probably all of the world, eat here?"
"Because they eat in places like this! They're earthy people like you and me!"
"Chris you're not exactly down to earth. You're more head in the clouds, feet on the ground."
A voice pierced through the air like a warm knife through butter. "Hey!"
Chris turned and walked over to the table. He swallowed his desire to sqeal. "Me sir?"
"Yeah. Or her, it really don't matter." The man his eyes covered by dark sunglasses said.
"Um, I'm sorry. But ah, are you Katt Redd?" Chris bit his lower lip in anticipation.
The man chuckled and removed the glasses revealing his mocha brown eyes. "My fame precedes me."
Chris was going to have a flailing fanboy meltdown. "I am such a big fan of yours! Oh my gosh this is so cool! Chelsea it's them! It's 'the daisy people'!"
As Chelsea tripped over herself and several chairs to get over there May, the base guitar player for 'the daisy people', turned to Katt Redd. She lowered her hood and glared half heartedly at him.
"Why did I marry you?" She asked. "You blew our cover."
"I love you too, baby." Katt Redd leaned over to kiss his wife's cheek.
Will quirked an eyebrow at the attention the neighboring table was recieving while Johan rolled his eyes. "Who are they?"
Johan shrugged. He didn't know and didn't care to know.
"May and Bob are here too! They whole band, oh this is amazing! Where's Mokar, I bet he's under the table." Chris checked.
It was then that May shrieked and scooted her chair back. "Oh for love of the Seven Gods, do you really have to drag that animal everywhere?!"
"There is no Bob without Mokar." An old man with unkept hair and sunglasses explained in a voice that had succumb to years of chain smoking.
"How did you even sneak him in here?"
"Bob has his ways."
Katt Redd laughed loudly as a pig climbed up into the fourth seat.
"Uh, I don't think George will be okay with that." Chelsea said.
"Are you kidding me?! He'll have to let Mokar sit with them, they're the greastest musicians in the world!"
Johan let out a loud humourless "Ha!". People turned their heads to look at him.
"It's funny what qualifies as good music when you haven't had musical training. A trio of backwars hicks and a pig is close to Juan Chapal as the common man can get."
May abruptly stood, knocking over her chair. Before anyone could stop her she slapped Johan hard across his face.
Johan, who had never been struck in his life, could only look up at the woman helplessly.
"Listen here you privelged twit," May's voice dripped with contempt. "The reason classical music stays in it's own realm is because it rarely carries the soul that composers like the aformentioned Chapal had. You play notes. We play music and there in lies why we are the superior musicians."
Will would never admit this aloud, but this woman was his new hero.
Johan stood, blinking back tears of pain. "How dare you!"
"Dare I do. I'm guessing you're a student of the Hevannah Music Academy. Why don't you display what little you know of music." May pulled a charm that transformed into her base guitar from her pocket. "We'll make it a competition."
"Interesting." Bob grinned from ear to ear.
Johan smirked and summoned his flute. He began to play a piece he knew by heart.
"He plays beautifully." Chelsea whispered afraid of being too loud in.
Katt Redd shrugged. "Kid's not bad."
"He can play, but can tell a story?" May plucked the strings of her guitar. The meloncholy tune that poured out from her fingers touched the audience's heart.
Johan could see the opinion of the people sway and immediately began to play a much faster piece. May met his pace and he was soon struggling to keep up with her. By the time the piece finished he fell to his knees in defeat.
"Bob next! Bob next!" Bob exclaimed jumping on the table and summoning his fiddle. "Who will chalenge Bob?"
"Will, you must avenge me!" Johan begged his companion.
"Quite frankly, it's refreashing to see you put in your place." Will stated.
"Do it or I'll get you expelled!"
Will sighed. He stood and summoned his violin.
"Ah. We shall begin." Bob approached Will.
"What are we playing?"
"Bob prefers to freestyle."
They did just that. Their playing accelerated until a string suddenly broke on Will's instrument and hit in sharply in the face.
Bob leaned over and grinned. "That's what you get when you wind your strings too tight."
George nearly knocked the Staff Only door from it's hinges. "What in the world is going-!"
Katt Redd swallowed hard as George's eyes honed in on him.
"You!" George hissed.
"Hey, May, remember that diner I told you about?" The sandy blonde asked his wife.
"The one you're not allowed into?" She asked.
"Yeah, we should run."
"Damn it, Katt!"
The musicians ran before George could do unspeakable things to Katt Redd. Bob had slapped Mokar's pig hiney and the animal followed them out to their truck.
Chris noticed that his idol had dropped something. He scooped it up and chased after them. "Wait, Mr. Katt Redd! You dropped this!"
By the time Chris had run toward the road the truck was already speeding away. He looked at what he had in his hand.
My memoir: how 'the daisy people' met and made music, working title, may change later, Katt Redd