[fanfiction] smile as I respire ('cause I know they'll never win) part 3
It's mid-day by the time they reach a tiny, abandoned shack that's half the size of their old place with none of the charm.
Party Poison recommends it, because it had been one of the bases they used early on, before they grew too big to fit it, and he's pretty sure no one is gonna be claiming it. The statement seems a little odd, seeing as shelter is a beggars-can't-be-choosers situation out in the zones, but when they get there New Perspective can see why. The shack looks like it's slanted somehow, a shape that isn't entire square or rectangular with the roof on sideways or backwards. It looks like a strong heat wave might bring it tumbling down, and New Perspective is the smallest bit skeptical. Even their previous base, run down as all hell and filled to the brim with crap they didn't really need, wasn't this bad looking. White Album looks it up and down, frowns a little, and then tells them that this is it. If, in two months, they don't like it? They'll pack up and move again. For now, though, this is where they're staying. No one bothers to fight him, less because they want to stay there and more because no one has the energy.
Tired and unwilling to move, they all lug the barest essentials of bedding into the shack and collapse in a pile, light streaming through the holes in the roof where the shingles have warped and no longer fit together correctly. When night falls and they're not as exhausted with sorrow, they unpack slowly by the light of a mostly full moon. There's not a lot to unpack with no one having brought much of anything at all.
Two months of rations, which was all they had left; the coffee machine; Sharpe, Timpani, Gibbs, and Rick; some extra clothing for when they got dinged up; every ray gun, battery, and power supply left in base; the bedding; some stools and the table; a slightly fritzy record player; Shack; and a microphone named Pop were now their only possessions. It was a lot more than some zonerunners, to be sure, but it had barely filled up the van and now it only half-filled their shack. New Perspective set up Shack and Pop on a makeshift table in the corner, the real table having been reserved for a semi-organized storage system of the rations and power supplies, and sat in front of it, staring. Ghost Note came over, leaning on New Perspective from behind.
"You got everything set up? I told Dr. D we'd contact him when we got on our feet and started up our signal blasting, but I didn't think it'd be so soon."
New Perspective shakes his head, "We're not ready yet. This is just a reminder of what we're working toward."
"Right. Hey, come help us finish setting up the bedding?"
He goes, letting Ghost Note drag him away to set up. Once they have, they fall asleep again. New Perspective dreams of nothing and wakes when the morning starts streaking into their shack. He's up and playing aimless melodies on Sharpe when White Album wanders in and sets a stack of paper bits in front of him.
"Let's write a fucking song," White Album says.
"Sure."
It's a lot harder than it seemed at first, and New Perspective is pretty sure this is why so few people try to make new music nowadays. White Album's lyrics are tongue twisters that clot on New Perspective's tongue until he can't say them at all, and White Album can't keep up with New Perspective's notes on the guitar. It's frustrating to no end, and in the end they mostly just end up being angry with each other and occasionally playing some actual music. A little.
They've trying to mash together Sharpe and Gibbs's notes with White Album's words when Ghost Note and Photo Finish wander in. Both go for the coffee machine first and drink their first cup while they're watching New Perspective and White Album bicker about the way the words should sound. Ghost Note chuckles into his cup, and both New Perspective and White Album flip him the bird. It's affectionate with no real heat, mostly because they don't even stop their argument to do it and they do it in unison.
When Photo Finish and Ghost Note are done with their coffee, they grab their music-makery too and everything is a little cacophony of sound for a moment before they mostly sort out the beat and things start falling into place. New Perspective still says White Album's trying to make him say too many words at once, but Ghost Note mediates between them and New Perspective relents, finding that he can say them if he just practices enough.
It becomes clear about half way through the song that it's about Peter Pan, and there's a moment where they all look at each other before they recognize that yes, it's got to be like that. Strangely enough, the song becomes easier to put together after they'd decided that. They get it roughly hammered out by the time night falls, though it drains everything in them. Exhausted, they collapse into their bed and wake up the next morning intending to send White Album and Photo Finish out to scavenge while New Perspective and Ghost Note finish unpacking and setting up when Show Pony knocks on their front door with a package.
"Present from Dr. D," Show Pony says, once he's taken off his helmet, "He says that you send him a wave when you get yourselves together and start blasting a signal loud and clear. He'll have everyone catch it, but until you've got a signal of your own-and even when you do-we've put together some for you to start with."
White Album takes the package, nodding, "Thanks. We appreciate it."
"Least we could do," Show Pony gives them a little smile, "Pete Pan wasn't exactly running in the same crowd as most of us, but we liked him all the same. And we definitely like you. Anyway, gotta jet. Ciao!"
Pulling his helmet back on and skating away in one smooth motion, Show Pony disappears in a cloud of dust. When he's no longer visible on the horizon, White Album sets the package down on the makeshift table in front of the microphone and opens it. Ten signals, new and shiny from the files of Dr. D, are in it and they all crowd around to see.
"Guess this means we really gotta hit the red line on that song," Photo Finish says, "Everyone's waiting on us."
New Perspective was going to say something when someone else knocks on their door. This time it's Party Poison with a letter from Bulletproof Heart for New Perspective and a container of gas. He grins at them when they take it and leaves without saying much of all. Photo Finish stores the gas somewhere safe, and New Perspective opens his letter.
Dear New Perspective,
Jet Star says that Peter Pan died and you must be really sad. I drew you this to cheer you up, okay? Don't be sad, and remember that you can always send Peter Pan a letter with the mailbox if you get too sad. That's what I do when I'm really sad about my mom. Party Poison says it helps and he's pretty smart about this stuff, so take his advice. Come see me if you need paper.
Safe Running,
Bulletproof Heart
Running his fingers over the drawing of Peter Pan and a woman-ish figure that's helpful labeled "New Perspective's mom" having tea in the clouds, New Perspective smiles for the first time in what feels like eternity. It doesn't feel quite right, like his smile is rusty and unused, but it's a start. He folds up his letter, tucking it into the pocket with his other drawing, and feels ready to face everything. Well, the rest of the song they're writing at least. He thinks he'll take the rest one day at a time as he sits down at Sharpe.
Ghost Note is already sitting with Timpani on his lap, and White Album's got Gibbs slung across his body when Jon picks up Rick. They're ready to go, and the song takes them where they need to go. It's not as hard as New Perspective thought it might be to put together, now that they've gotten the hang of it. The song is definitely rough, and they need to practice it more to smooth out their fumbles and the little ways that they trip each other up, but they're mostly done. They've got a signal to blast and that's when the sudden shock hits New Perspective.
Peter Pan is gone, and he isn't going to see them do this.
The thought is kind of terrifying, which is how Brendon finds himself at the diner sitting across from Bulletproof Heart, who's drawing "something for Show Pony and Dr. D," with a piece of paper in front of him. He sits there for an hour, trying to decide what he even wants to write, before he just ruffles Bulletproof Heart's hair and takes the piece of paper and an envelope back to base with him.
New Perspective doesn't write anything on the paper while they're practicing and becoming better, although sometimes he sits down and stares at the paper, pencil tapping against his lip. He doesn't write anything up until the afternoon of their first signal blast.
The white piece of paper in front of him is a glaring roadblock that he can't get past, and New Perspective doesn't know what to write at all. Ghost Note had offered to help him write the letter and White Album had too, but New Perspective kept refusing because this was something he needed to do on his own and now he was stuck. Tapping the pencil against his lip in an uneven rhythm that drives Ghost Note crazy, New Perspective stares at the paper some more. He sighs, touching the pencil to the paper and figuring that maybe just writing will get the words out better.
Dear Peter Pan,
There are a lot of things I should probably say here about me missing you and not knowing what to do with the empty space you've left in our lives, but I don't want to bring you down. You stay where you are up in the sky, watching over us. It's a better view of our big concert tonight anyway, I think, so you'd better not come back down here. We're playing when the sun touches the horizon, and I know you'll be there watching over us. Sorry you couldn't be here to do this with us, but you've got the easier job now anyway. Just cheer us on, because with you behind us then we'll never fail.
Oh, and Peter Pan? Could you do a huge favor for me? If you happen to be having tea with my mom, tell her that I'm going to change the world and I hope she's proud of me. I hope you're proud of me too.
Thanks for everything,
New Perspective
Reading the letter over, New Perspective smiles. Folding it up, New Perspective puts it in the envelope, sealing it up and writing to: Peter Pan on the front. White Album looks up from his coffee and the paper he's currently scribbling all over and raises an eyebrow when New Perspective is finished. New Perspective just holds up and letter and waves it around slightly.
"Ready," he says.
"Okay," White Album nods, finishing off his coffee.
White Album settles on the motorbike, and New Perspective slides on behind him before wrapping his arms around White Album's middle. New Perspective keeps the letter safe in the pocket with his drawings from Bulletproof Heart while they ride to the mailbox. The wind whipping by makes the trip to the mailbox seem different than it had when he went for the first time all those months ago, before Peter Pan and with Bulletproof Heart, but New Perspective thinks that's a good thing.
When they reach the mailbox, New Perspective takes off his helmet and hangs it from the handlebars. He stands in front of the mailbox and breathes in then out before pulling the letter from his pocket and putting it into the mailbox. White Album never moves from the bike, waiting and watching him impassively. Some part of New Perspective wants to sit in front of the mailbox until the sun goes down, but he can tell by the look of things that they need to get back, and he doesn't want to miss their first signal blast for any reason. White Album doesn't look impatient, but New Perspective knows he is under the surface because he knows how to read White Album's body language now. He heads back over to the bike.
Climbing back on the bike, New Perspective pulls his helmet on and wraps himself around White Album. He closes his eyes and tries to believe that the mailbox is magical and that Peter Pan is going to get his letter and that he really is watching over them. He believes, and they can't fail now, New Perspective thinks, because the whole world needs this. They need a revolution of sound, and New Perspective, Ghost Note, White Album, and Photo Finish are going to give it to them.
The sun is almost touching the horizon when New Perspective and White Album get back. Ghost Note and Photo Finish are already ready and in place when they walk into base, and New Perspective adjust Sharpe and checks to see that White Album's got Gibbs adjusted properly before he flicks the microphone on just as the sun touches the horizon.
"It doesn't matter if you're a crash queen, a ritalin rat, wavehead, Drac, Exterminator, zonerunner, or just someone waiting for a revolution," New Perspective tells the microphone and the audience behind it, "we've got a signal for you, and we're blasting loud enough for the whole world to hear. You can't stop it; this is the revolution of sound."
Catching White Album's eye, New Perspective counts them in and then they're playing with everything they've got. He's straining his voice to reach the farthest corners of the Earth, and he can only hope that their signal gets everywhere it can, fills the world with revolution. New Perspective knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that they'll be playing it and others over and over until nobody needs Better Living Industries anymore and everyone is free to be fucked up if they want and free to be straight edge if they want. They'll be playing it until the world is a beautiful mess of people crashing into other people and everything is done up in all the colors of the rainbow.
Looking at Photo Finish, Ghost Note, and White Album, New Perspective knows they're thinking the same thing. This is not a revolution that can be stopped; this is a revolution that will spread until someone, anyone, everyone, realizes that happiness pills make them into a shadow of their real selves and that not having emotions isn't living at all. This is a viral infection sweeping like wildfire until everyone obtains an illegal piece of music-makery and starts banging out their own song on it to join a huge symphony of cacophony rising up and mixing up to make the song of the world.
New Perspective plays until he can't feels his fingers, until his voice feels like a shriveled cactus, and then he stops and breathes.
"We'll be back the same time tomorrow," New Perspective croaks, "and this time we hope you sing along."
Shutting off the microphone, New Perspective sways and then sits down on the floor. He tries to catch his breath, but there's nothing to catch and he can't figure out how any bit of anything works out anyway. White Album plops down next to him, leans on him, and New Perspective can tell that their wide grins match up perfectly because Ghost Note and Photo Finish are wearing them too.
They make it to bed eventually, although New Perspective doesn't know if any of them could tell you when or how, and he wakes up the next morning with the best kind of sore. He feels awesome, and even though everything screams at him when he stands up, New Perspective feels the best he ever has. He feels alive, and that's all he needs to know when he sits down on front of Sharpe and runs his fingers over his keys.
Photo Finish finds him first, drinking his first cup of coffee and tapping out a one-handed melody. When he's finished with his coffee, Photo Finish dons Rick and adds a regularity to New Perspective's aimless notes as Ghost Note walks in. Ghost Note drums his fingers on his coffee mug when he pours a new one after handing his first to White Album, and then White Album's melding in with guitar and nothing New Perspective knows can ever be as awesome as this.
They fall into a rhythm at some point, one where they don't scream themselves hoarse every night because other people are filling the airwaves with noise and music too now. One where Photo Finish and White Album start going out again because they're running low on supplies and because Photo Finish sometimes gets antsy when he's cooped up for too long.
It's not as nerve-wracking for New Perspective as it was the first time, because he's kind of come to terms with the fact that yes, what they do is dangerous. He and Ghost Note get into some claps with Dracs and come out of it a little worse for the wear, but still alive. That's the important thing, New Perspective thinks: still alive. As long as they're all still alive, then everything will be fine because nothing is lost and nothing needs to be found.
That's not to say that New Perspective doesn't still freak out on occasion. He's gotten better about it, sure, and both White Album and Photo Finish know that he worries so they do their best to be home on time and New Perspective appreciates that, sure, but he still worries from time to time. Ghost Note usually tries to distract him when he sees the way worries are filling New Perspective's mind, but sometimes New Perspective is just full of worry that can't be soothed.
Which is why New Perspective's pacing around their little shack-turned-base and trying not to freak out. Ghost Note's glancing at the sun, and New Perspective knows it's time for their broadcast soon but he doesn't know if he feels up to it. This situation is too similar to the night that Peter Pan-
"Hey," Ghost Note catches his arm, stopping him and touching their foreheads together, "They're gonna be okay. You gotta believe they're gonna be okay, and since they're gonna be okay, you gotta start the broadcast. White Album isn't going to be happy if he knows you waited up for them and you know it, New Perspective."
Ghost Note's words are calm, soothing. They make some of the overwhelming worry seep out of New Perspective. Walking over to their broadcast table, New Perspective sits on the grayandgreen stool that he was on when everything began. Ghost Note's hands are on New Perspective's shoulders, rubbing aimless patterns in, and New Perspective tries to breathe slowly. In and then out. They'll be fine. In and then out. They just hit a spotty communication zone. In and then out. They'll be here and minute now. In and then out. They know what they're doing. They know what they're doing. Everything will be okay, and New Perspective believes in them. They're gonna come home any minute.
He flicks on the microphone.
"Hey, motorbabies," New Perspective says into the microphone, trying to keep his voice steady, "Seems my crew's run went a little Costa Rica and they're currently m.i.a. We're requesting a four-double-one on White Album and Photo Finish-so if you've got any info on them, then send us a wave. However worried I am though, they wouldn't want us to stop the signal on account of them not getting home right on time, so here's a tune to fill up your head and your heart."
The music filling the room is something borrowed from Dr. D the last time White Album visited him, or maybe from the original stack of ten signals he gave them, but either way it's not fresh on the airwaves. It's still a tune for the weary and ready to give up, though, and it helps calm New Perspective down just a little bit. The anthems for the lost and angry still apply to him sometimes, and he finds a lot of comfort in their familiar rhythms. There's something fresh to the airwaves in their pocket, of course, but they all need to be here for that, because none of the songs they've put together work when it's only New Perspective and Ghost Note. At least, New Perspective doesn't think that they'd work out. They need White Album and Photo Finish to fill out the chords, to make everything full and bright. They need White Album to sing backup and they need Photo Finish to make silly faces that almost screw up New Perspective's singing.. They need them to help spin the music, and they can't do this on their own. They need their family
New Perspective breathes in and then out once more. The song fades out in time with his breathing, and New Perspective's about to say something into the microphone again when White Album and Photo Finish burst back into the room, out of breath and looking a little worse for the wear but alive. The words on his tongue clump up and New Perspective can't make them leave, but then Ghost Note's taking the microphone so it doesn't matter.
"Sorry, motorbabies," Ghost Note laughs, "I know I'm no New Perspective, but our crew just got back and I'm afraid the cat's got New Perspective's tongue right now. Hopefully we can scare that cat away by the time you're done listening to this song, but you'll be the first to know if we're not."
Still unable to make the words leave, New Perspective just stands up and walks over to White Album and Photo Finish. He pulls them close, holding them tight, and tries not to cry. White Album and Photo Finish rub soothing circles on his back, and then Ghost Note is there too, squishing New Perspective into the center of their massive group hug, and New Perspective has never felt more like he belongs. When they all let go, it's by silent agreement that they all take their place at their own particular music-makery as the song fades out.
"All cats have been shooed away, and you can rest easy knowing my tongue is my own again" New Perspective smiles, though the listeners can't see it, "Enough about me, though. Now that White Album and Photo Finish are back, we've got a special little signal that you just can't stop. Brace yourselves, motorbabies, because we are gonna rock your world."
White Album counts them in, and New Perspective doesn't strain as far as he did that first night, but he sings loud enough for everyone who wants to hear him. He sings loud enough that Bulletproof Heart can hear him, loud enough that Dr. D can hear him, loud enough that his maybe-real mom can hear him, loud enough that the teachers back at Better Living Industries can hear him, and definitely loud enough so Peter Pan can hear him.
Around them, what was once still air fills with the symphony of cacophony that sprung up around their signal. It's people singing with them, people singing against them, people singing their own thing, people screaming instead of singing-people making music any which way they like.
New Perspective knows, because he's always known, that Better Living Industries is going to come for them soon. They don't leave the people that aren't exactly like them around, if they can help it, because they've don't want variety in the world. Variety breeds misunderstanding, and Better Living Industries likes to think that the best way to fix misunderstanding is by making everyone exactly the same so there can't be misunderstandings. New Perspective knows this, because he still hasn't quite forgotten who he was.
He knows they're probably going to pack up and leave after this signal blast. He knows that this is his life now: running from what he used to be and still trying to find who he is. He knows that one day Dracs might actually catch them and they'll get ghosted and maybe not come back, maybe be for real dead. He knows that he shouldn't worry about that, but he does. He knows that even though they don't show it, the others worry about it too. He knows why they don't care.
The signal they've started hasn't stopped growing. It's only amplifying and getting bigger, so big that Brendon is damn sure they can hear it in Battery City and they know it's coming for them, that it's going to eat them whole.
He hopes they're ready for it.
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