Ficlet: Into the Fire
Author: rivlee
Fandom: The Pacific/HBO War/Spartacus
Title: Into the Fire
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Donar, Hoosier, Skinny. Background Hoosier/Skinny.
Summary: Donar goes to a bar to see some old friends. Part of the Nashville verse.
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect or harm is meant or intended.
A/N: Unbeated. For Kay.
The bartender at Allison’s was an asshole to those he loved, hated, and just didn’t give a shit about. Luckily, Donar knew this asshole from years back. He remembered the first time he met Hoosier Smith, when 3B were in the middle of their rapid descent into former-boy-band glory. Per Aspera was just getting off the ground then, a bunch of teenage kids with too big dreams in their eyes, yet Agron and Duro caught Hoosier’s attention (one for his body, the other with his voice) and the rest was history. They’d made their first album with Lew Nixon’s River Nyx label imprint and never looked back.
He thought the rumors were bullshit when they said Hoosier left California behind for a tiny town outside of Nashville. The rumors failed to mention he’d finally shacked up with Skinny Sisk for good and all was well in Hoosier-land. It was still a mindfuck to see him in worn jeans and a plaid shirt, standing behind a bar and slinging out drinks and peanuts.
“So, the rumors are true,” Donar said as he leaned on the bar.
“Holy shit,” Hoosier said. He whistled and held his hand out. “Donar Riese, what the hell are you doing down here?”
Donar gave Hoosier’s hand a vigorous shake and pulled him over the bar for a quick hug. He owed his band to this man and that was an act not soon forgotten.
“Down here to work on a record at Villa Libertas. You heard of that team?”
Hoosier grinned, as if there was a deeper secret there. “Chadara Lis and Nasir Kartal? Yeah, Lip’s been trying to tempt them to co-produce a few projects. They’re a bit left-of-center for Per Aspera’s sound.”
That was one way to describe it; Melitta has told them this little venture would hurt like hell, that Villa Libertas pretty much ripped artists down to their bare bones and made them find something more of themselves. They were good for helping bands rediscover the raw sound that first made them work, made them interesting, while smoothing it out for a professional show. Donar was getting some Great and Powerful Oz vibe off all the rumors and doubted any of the bullshit was true.
They needed some fresh life breathed into them though; at least the atmosphere was different here.
He shrugged and slid on to the barstool. “You know us, never predictable. Mira thinks it’ll be good to work with people no one expects and Melitta supports her. They say that team did a hell of a job with Snafu Shelton’s record.”
Hoosier rolled his eyes before pulling out a glass and filling it up with a black-and-tan. He placed it in front of Donar before he could ask. Hoosier wiped his hands off on a bar towel and leaned back with that hint of arrogance that came to him as naturally as breathing.
“Nasir’s magical powers managed to make Shelton work and no one disobeys Chadara. I can only imagine what he’ll do to the hyperactive shits in your band.”
Donar laughed before he took a sip. It was a good lager, rich and hearty. Donar appreciated it after months of beer that tasted like warm piss.
“Hopefully he’ll keep Agron and Crixus from trying to strangle each other with my bass strings,” he said.
Hoosier smirked. “You finally settled that debate, then? No more of you and Crixus switching between bass and rhythm guitar?”
“Hell no,” Donar scoffed. “Nah, we still switch between sets but no way in hell will Crixus use his strings to garrote Agron.”
Hoosier shook his head. “Those assholes need relationship therapy.”
“Believe me, Naevia’s tried. Hell, Hoos, Winters even stepped in and tried to get them to talk things out. It was this wall of dead silence and then Duro couldn’t shut the hell up because you know how he reacts to silence.”
“That little shit always has to fill the vacuum. He never learned the value of silence.”
Donar didn’t even bother denying it. Duro was incapable of using an indoor voice, which he supposed was good for a lead singer. He didn’t know when to shut up though, or how to keep his brain-to-mouth filter intact. Not that his brother or cousin was any better, but Agron and Saxa both got away with a lot based on sheer intimidation alone. Duro was about as intimidating as a fat, fluffy, baby penguin; he had a small bite but you didn’t care because he was so fucking adorable.
Donar looked around the bar trying to find any familiar faces. “Your smarter half around here?”
“Yeah.” Hoosier pointed to a corner table diagonal to the stage. “See the jolly gay giant over there?”
All Donar saw was a man about Barca’s height with a terrifying wide smile. Wait. “Holy shit is that little baby boy Juergens?” He strained to see who Chuckler was animatedly talking to and felt his jaw drop a smidge. “Fuck me, is that Gene Roe?”
“Right on both counts. Chuckler’s making a name for himself now. He’s singed to the same label as Walt Hasser.”
Donar’s lip curled. “I’ve heard of him. Little too Americana for my taste.”
Hoosier threw a peanut at Donar’s head and made his mark. “Don’t hate on the country farm boys.”
“I better not in this city.”
“It might get your ass kicked,” Hoosier agreed. “Hasser’s mentor is an old friend of Roe’s, they go way back. He convinced him to join the living again.”
“Skinny’s somewhere in that clusterfuck then?”
“Yeah and if Chuckler doesn’t get his hands away from Skinny’s crotch soon there’s going to be blood.” Hoosier tilted his head. “Go over there before I have to jump this bar.”
He nodded and stood, grabbing his glass. He moved to leave money but Hoosier rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Thanks,” Donar said. He nodded in the direction of the table. “I got your back.”
“Thanks, Donar. Hey, do me a favor; get Skinny out of here, yeah? He pulled a double at work and then came out here to negotiate a production deal with Roe. Grab his car and go back to the house.”
Donar almost stumbled in surprise. Hoosier was never really an unkind asshole, yet he wasn’t usually the kind of guy he went out of his way to care for others. Clearly Peter Pan had grown up.
“You’re not going to try and sell me to cannibals again, right?” he joked.
Hoosier frowned. “Nah, not this time. Skinny would bitch about the bloodstains on the driveway. Just watch out for Butch and Minnie; they jump.”
“Butch and Minnie?”
“You’ll see,” Hoosier said before turning back to his customers.
Donar focused his gaze on the path to Skinny. It was a little difficult in the typical low-lightning of the bar and Skinny’s tendency to hide in the background. Thankfully, baby boy Juergens and his loudmouth made it easy to follow the sound.
Skinny Sisk was the one who believed in Per Aspera from day one; Hoosier had the ear and money for talent but Skinny had the brains. He understood logistics and connections. Besides all that he was just a good man, a good friend, and Donar hated they didn’t get a chance to see each other often. Skinny always had at least three different major jobs going on, not counting keeping Hoosier in line, and Donar was usually on tour.
He paused for a moment to take in the table and its occupants. Chuckler was holding center court like usual; he was so big, so loud, and so full of personality that it almost came as default. Gene Roe, fucking Gene Roe himself, sat mostly quiet in the corner, leaning into the side of the red-haired man next to him. He was the only one to see Donar on the fringes and turned his head in acknowledgement. Donar took it as permission to approach and did so with a smile on his face.
“Wayne Sisk did you go and yourself a following?” he said by way of greeting as he placed his glass on the table.
Skinny looked shocked before a laugh sputtered out of his mouth. He climbed over the dark-haired man next to him that let loose a string of curses, and pulled Donar into a hug once he stood.
“Thank god, someone with the fucking good sense to stay out of trouble,” Skinny said. He barely came to Donar’s chin, yet he still hugged hard enough to crack ribs. “How the hell have you been?”
“Busy,” Donar said. He took a sniff of Skinny’s hair and smirked. “How long has the no-smoking streak been this time?”
“Two weeks,” Skinny declared as he stepped back. “Hoosier’s refrained from trying to buy a space station or a Ferrari. What the hell are you doing here?”
Donar punched Skinny’s shoulder. “You did promise to take me to some wax museum of old famous country stars or some shit.”
“It’s closed,” Skinny said. His voice sounded light yet his whole body looked tired. There were dark rings around his eyes.
“We’re here for a new album, working with a set of producers,” Donar said. A quick hand easily snatched the keys out of Skinny’s pocket when he wasn’t looking.
“Villa Libertas, Mira said she was trying to broker that deal,” Skinny said. “Didn’t know she got it so fast. There’s normally a waitlist.”
“Saxa knows a guy, or a girl, of some shit,” Donar said.
Skinny nodded in agreement. Saxa was enough of an explanation.
“I’m on strict orders to get you the hell out of here,” Donar said. “So take me to this great southern mansion you’ve managed to acquire. I hear I’m to watch out for Butch and Minnie though?”
Skinny nodded as he waved at the table and guided them towards the door. “They’re our dogs. Butch is tiny, Minnie is huge.” He rolled his eyes. “I let Hoosier name them.”
“Of course you did,” Donar said. He patted the back of Skinny’s head. “I’m happy for you, Sisk.”
Skinny grinned. “Thanks, man. What about you? Any news?”
Donar thought of Mira, of her dark smiles, darker humor, and sharp tongue. He thought of sparking eyes, soft hair, and golden skin. He thought of the freckles she hid under make-up that he loved to see dot across her face. He thought of late-night hot chocolate session and early morning cold pizza breakfasts. There was nothing there, there might never be, but Donar hoped that maybe, one day, there could be something.
“Not yet,” he admitted.
Skinny patted Donar’s shoulder. “Hey, if it happened to me…” his words trailed off.
The implication was enough. Skinny had loved and devoted himself to Hoosier for years and honestly never expected anything back, even when they went through a fuck buddy stage. He just knew, like they all had, that no one on earth could take care of Hoosier better than Skinny. Fame had been far from an easy thing for Hoosier and he did need a caretaker during the worst times. He and Skinny had been through everything together. It was damn good to finally see them happy.
They were stopped just as they reached the door by Hoosier. Donar happily grinned at both of them as Hoosier gave Skinny the most inappropriate kiss possible in a room packed with people. He supposed the assgrab was a bonus.
“I know you have a thing for the brainless brawn, so control yourself,” Hoosier teased. He winked at Donar. “Don’t burn my house down and try not to drain my bank account on QVC bullshit.”
“Only Hoosier is allowed to do that,” Skinny said.
Donar came to Nashville to find a new sound with his band. He had a feeling that this, familiar glimpses into old friends and a life he once led, would be something that would leave its mark. This would be a whole different sort of discovery. Things were slower here, a bit more overly familiar in everything. Hell, they were staying and working at a studio in someone’s home, not some faceless building without character. He had a feeling he’d like it. He’d only hoped the others would be as open.
Donar grimaced. This was going to end in blood and broken bones and possibly broken hearts.
“I will totally offer myself to be your houseboy once my band decides to kill itself,” he informed Skinny.
Skinny nodded. “I’ll think about it. We need someone capable of pushing Minnie down the stairs anyway.”
Fandom: The Pacific/HBO War/Spartacus
Title: Into the Fire
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Donar, Hoosier, Skinny. Background Hoosier/Skinny.
Summary: Donar goes to a bar to see some old friends. Part of the Nashville verse.
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect or harm is meant or intended.
A/N: Unbeated. For Kay.
The bartender at Allison’s was an asshole to those he loved, hated, and just didn’t give a shit about. Luckily, Donar knew this asshole from years back. He remembered the first time he met Hoosier Smith, when 3B were in the middle of their rapid descent into former-boy-band glory. Per Aspera was just getting off the ground then, a bunch of teenage kids with too big dreams in their eyes, yet Agron and Duro caught Hoosier’s attention (one for his body, the other with his voice) and the rest was history. They’d made their first album with Lew Nixon’s River Nyx label imprint and never looked back.
He thought the rumors were bullshit when they said Hoosier left California behind for a tiny town outside of Nashville. The rumors failed to mention he’d finally shacked up with Skinny Sisk for good and all was well in Hoosier-land. It was still a mindfuck to see him in worn jeans and a plaid shirt, standing behind a bar and slinging out drinks and peanuts.
“So, the rumors are true,” Donar said as he leaned on the bar.
“Holy shit,” Hoosier said. He whistled and held his hand out. “Donar Riese, what the hell are you doing down here?”
Donar gave Hoosier’s hand a vigorous shake and pulled him over the bar for a quick hug. He owed his band to this man and that was an act not soon forgotten.
“Down here to work on a record at Villa Libertas. You heard of that team?”
Hoosier grinned, as if there was a deeper secret there. “Chadara Lis and Nasir Kartal? Yeah, Lip’s been trying to tempt them to co-produce a few projects. They’re a bit left-of-center for Per Aspera’s sound.”
That was one way to describe it; Melitta has told them this little venture would hurt like hell, that Villa Libertas pretty much ripped artists down to their bare bones and made them find something more of themselves. They were good for helping bands rediscover the raw sound that first made them work, made them interesting, while smoothing it out for a professional show. Donar was getting some Great and Powerful Oz vibe off all the rumors and doubted any of the bullshit was true.
They needed some fresh life breathed into them though; at least the atmosphere was different here.
He shrugged and slid on to the barstool. “You know us, never predictable. Mira thinks it’ll be good to work with people no one expects and Melitta supports her. They say that team did a hell of a job with Snafu Shelton’s record.”
Hoosier rolled his eyes before pulling out a glass and filling it up with a black-and-tan. He placed it in front of Donar before he could ask. Hoosier wiped his hands off on a bar towel and leaned back with that hint of arrogance that came to him as naturally as breathing.
“Nasir’s magical powers managed to make Shelton work and no one disobeys Chadara. I can only imagine what he’ll do to the hyperactive shits in your band.”
Donar laughed before he took a sip. It was a good lager, rich and hearty. Donar appreciated it after months of beer that tasted like warm piss.
“Hopefully he’ll keep Agron and Crixus from trying to strangle each other with my bass strings,” he said.
Hoosier smirked. “You finally settled that debate, then? No more of you and Crixus switching between bass and rhythm guitar?”
“Hell no,” Donar scoffed. “Nah, we still switch between sets but no way in hell will Crixus use his strings to garrote Agron.”
Hoosier shook his head. “Those assholes need relationship therapy.”
“Believe me, Naevia’s tried. Hell, Hoos, Winters even stepped in and tried to get them to talk things out. It was this wall of dead silence and then Duro couldn’t shut the hell up because you know how he reacts to silence.”
“That little shit always has to fill the vacuum. He never learned the value of silence.”
Donar didn’t even bother denying it. Duro was incapable of using an indoor voice, which he supposed was good for a lead singer. He didn’t know when to shut up though, or how to keep his brain-to-mouth filter intact. Not that his brother or cousin was any better, but Agron and Saxa both got away with a lot based on sheer intimidation alone. Duro was about as intimidating as a fat, fluffy, baby penguin; he had a small bite but you didn’t care because he was so fucking adorable.
Donar looked around the bar trying to find any familiar faces. “Your smarter half around here?”
“Yeah.” Hoosier pointed to a corner table diagonal to the stage. “See the jolly gay giant over there?”
All Donar saw was a man about Barca’s height with a terrifying wide smile. Wait. “Holy shit is that little baby boy Juergens?” He strained to see who Chuckler was animatedly talking to and felt his jaw drop a smidge. “Fuck me, is that Gene Roe?”
“Right on both counts. Chuckler’s making a name for himself now. He’s singed to the same label as Walt Hasser.”
Donar’s lip curled. “I’ve heard of him. Little too Americana for my taste.”
Hoosier threw a peanut at Donar’s head and made his mark. “Don’t hate on the country farm boys.”
“I better not in this city.”
“It might get your ass kicked,” Hoosier agreed. “Hasser’s mentor is an old friend of Roe’s, they go way back. He convinced him to join the living again.”
“Skinny’s somewhere in that clusterfuck then?”
“Yeah and if Chuckler doesn’t get his hands away from Skinny’s crotch soon there’s going to be blood.” Hoosier tilted his head. “Go over there before I have to jump this bar.”
He nodded and stood, grabbing his glass. He moved to leave money but Hoosier rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Thanks,” Donar said. He nodded in the direction of the table. “I got your back.”
“Thanks, Donar. Hey, do me a favor; get Skinny out of here, yeah? He pulled a double at work and then came out here to negotiate a production deal with Roe. Grab his car and go back to the house.”
Donar almost stumbled in surprise. Hoosier was never really an unkind asshole, yet he wasn’t usually the kind of guy he went out of his way to care for others. Clearly Peter Pan had grown up.
“You’re not going to try and sell me to cannibals again, right?” he joked.
Hoosier frowned. “Nah, not this time. Skinny would bitch about the bloodstains on the driveway. Just watch out for Butch and Minnie; they jump.”
“Butch and Minnie?”
“You’ll see,” Hoosier said before turning back to his customers.
Donar focused his gaze on the path to Skinny. It was a little difficult in the typical low-lightning of the bar and Skinny’s tendency to hide in the background. Thankfully, baby boy Juergens and his loudmouth made it easy to follow the sound.
Skinny Sisk was the one who believed in Per Aspera from day one; Hoosier had the ear and money for talent but Skinny had the brains. He understood logistics and connections. Besides all that he was just a good man, a good friend, and Donar hated they didn’t get a chance to see each other often. Skinny always had at least three different major jobs going on, not counting keeping Hoosier in line, and Donar was usually on tour.
He paused for a moment to take in the table and its occupants. Chuckler was holding center court like usual; he was so big, so loud, and so full of personality that it almost came as default. Gene Roe, fucking Gene Roe himself, sat mostly quiet in the corner, leaning into the side of the red-haired man next to him. He was the only one to see Donar on the fringes and turned his head in acknowledgement. Donar took it as permission to approach and did so with a smile on his face.
“Wayne Sisk did you go and yourself a following?” he said by way of greeting as he placed his glass on the table.
Skinny looked shocked before a laugh sputtered out of his mouth. He climbed over the dark-haired man next to him that let loose a string of curses, and pulled Donar into a hug once he stood.
“Thank god, someone with the fucking good sense to stay out of trouble,” Skinny said. He barely came to Donar’s chin, yet he still hugged hard enough to crack ribs. “How the hell have you been?”
“Busy,” Donar said. He took a sniff of Skinny’s hair and smirked. “How long has the no-smoking streak been this time?”
“Two weeks,” Skinny declared as he stepped back. “Hoosier’s refrained from trying to buy a space station or a Ferrari. What the hell are you doing here?”
Donar punched Skinny’s shoulder. “You did promise to take me to some wax museum of old famous country stars or some shit.”
“It’s closed,” Skinny said. His voice sounded light yet his whole body looked tired. There were dark rings around his eyes.
“We’re here for a new album, working with a set of producers,” Donar said. A quick hand easily snatched the keys out of Skinny’s pocket when he wasn’t looking.
“Villa Libertas, Mira said she was trying to broker that deal,” Skinny said. “Didn’t know she got it so fast. There’s normally a waitlist.”
“Saxa knows a guy, or a girl, of some shit,” Donar said.
Skinny nodded in agreement. Saxa was enough of an explanation.
“I’m on strict orders to get you the hell out of here,” Donar said. “So take me to this great southern mansion you’ve managed to acquire. I hear I’m to watch out for Butch and Minnie though?”
Skinny nodded as he waved at the table and guided them towards the door. “They’re our dogs. Butch is tiny, Minnie is huge.” He rolled his eyes. “I let Hoosier name them.”
“Of course you did,” Donar said. He patted the back of Skinny’s head. “I’m happy for you, Sisk.”
Skinny grinned. “Thanks, man. What about you? Any news?”
Donar thought of Mira, of her dark smiles, darker humor, and sharp tongue. He thought of sparking eyes, soft hair, and golden skin. He thought of the freckles she hid under make-up that he loved to see dot across her face. He thought of late-night hot chocolate session and early morning cold pizza breakfasts. There was nothing there, there might never be, but Donar hoped that maybe, one day, there could be something.
“Not yet,” he admitted.
Skinny patted Donar’s shoulder. “Hey, if it happened to me…” his words trailed off.
The implication was enough. Skinny had loved and devoted himself to Hoosier for years and honestly never expected anything back, even when they went through a fuck buddy stage. He just knew, like they all had, that no one on earth could take care of Hoosier better than Skinny. Fame had been far from an easy thing for Hoosier and he did need a caretaker during the worst times. He and Skinny had been through everything together. It was damn good to finally see them happy.
They were stopped just as they reached the door by Hoosier. Donar happily grinned at both of them as Hoosier gave Skinny the most inappropriate kiss possible in a room packed with people. He supposed the assgrab was a bonus.
“I know you have a thing for the brainless brawn, so control yourself,” Hoosier teased. He winked at Donar. “Don’t burn my house down and try not to drain my bank account on QVC bullshit.”
“Only Hoosier is allowed to do that,” Skinny said.
Donar came to Nashville to find a new sound with his band. He had a feeling that this, familiar glimpses into old friends and a life he once led, would be something that would leave its mark. This would be a whole different sort of discovery. Things were slower here, a bit more overly familiar in everything. Hell, they were staying and working at a studio in someone’s home, not some faceless building without character. He had a feeling he’d like it. He’d only hoped the others would be as open.
Donar grimaced. This was going to end in blood and broken bones and possibly broken hearts.
“I will totally offer myself to be your houseboy once my band decides to kill itself,” he informed Skinny.
Skinny nodded. “I’ll think about it. We need someone capable of pushing Minnie down the stairs anyway.”