Supposedly an Epic Quest
Title: Supposedly an Epic Quest
What: original short story using vincent_kinneas' Jonathan Marinaris and the_firedoor's Eleanor Ingleson and Taje Tuesday and mentioning the_firedoor's Brianna Aberdeen. cheers
Rating: M for too many F words to make PG13
Words: 1800 total
Summary: Ophelia Strike hits Rockquest and everyone's on their own quest for something that ain't rock. Second person rules and Wellington references run free while I completely jump the gun on a lot of things.
Sample: Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking don’t happen to YOU. Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking happen to OTHER people.
It’s not a good thing when you feel like the sanest member of Ophelia Strike. At least, you’re the only one not MIA or running around panicking. Dairine had yelled at you to guard the instruments before running off to talk to friends...’ friends, Brendan is trying to find Taje before the sound check, and Julian is, unfortunately, right here.
“My fucking bass is fucking out of tune,” he complains, waving it around like he’s trashing a hotel room, “I need a fucking tuner.”
You look up from your cellphone before your SMS to Elle turns into tuner talk. “Calm down, dude.”
“How can I calm down when we’re on for sound check in I don’t know how fucking long and my fucking bass sounds like shit?” Julian yells.
To be honest, you’re actually more concerned about the lack of tech guy. Might as well get the levels right now and the tuning right later. “This isn’t Panic! At the Disco.”
“This ain’t a scene,” murmurs the girl next to you, and you share a smirk (though you decide not to point out that that’s a different band). She returns to tuning her guitar (without the aid of a tuner) and you to your phone. Julian’s rant goes ignored.
Somewhere on the other side of the world, Elle has woken up at an ungodly hour to txt you, because she can’t be here. You don’t get it, really. Her dad paid for Brendan to fly over to England for a week, but you can’t go, and Elle can’t come to Wellington for one night.
It’s because you’re a boy, she’d explained, and you’re older than me.
Brendan’s sixteen, you’d pointed out, annoyed by the note of petulance creeping into your voice.
She’d given you that not-so-innocent grin of hers, and said, Brendan’s not my boyfriend, before proceeding to demonstrate this crucial difference.
So you’re left with just a couple of cellphones to connect you across the eleven hour time difference. You’d much rather be waiting for something to happen with her at your side, instead of an increasingly frantic Julian.
“Look, Juliet.” Julian glares at you. Guitar girl snickers. “Go find Brendan. He’s got a tuner. I don’t.” Because I tune my guitar by ear, you’re tempted to mention.
Julian stares. “Why the fuck would the fucking drummer have a fucking tuner?”
Maybe if you act patient for long enough, you’ll start to believe it yourself. “I don’t know, Juliet. Go find him and ask.”
He regards you for a moment, probably trying to decide whether the ‘Juliet’ is worth a retort, then mutters “Alright,” and leaves.
Your phone wants you: Elle just txted you helloooo? You’d better answer her.
You’re completely mystified as to how your bass got itself out of tune. At home, Brianna had watched you re-tune it five times before shoving you into the car and telling Dad to drive. (Bri’s coming for the actual concert later.) Maybe someone played with it, because just nervous fiddling doesn’t get something that fucking out of tune, right?
“There is that possibility. Dude, do you know you’re talking to yourself?”
You spin around: Taje is standing a couple of yards down the hallway. “Do you have a tuner?” you demand.
“Nope, sorry.” He stretches, completely at ease even as a drum kit and a keyboard run past surprisingly fast. “Brendan’s got one though.”
This is getting ridiculous. “Why the fuck does the fucking drummer have a fucking tuner? It’s not like he plays the timpani or anything!”
It’s the first time you’ve seen Taje caught off-guard. “Calm down, man! It was something about his brother, like, Chris played guitar but he left his stuff behind when he ran away to join the Navy so Brendan stole the tuner in case you guys needed it. Something like that, anyway. Look, do you want a back massage or something? Zita and Jane say I’m the man at them, and you seriously need to chill.”
Taje looks so concerned you have to consciously roll your shoulders back. “No, I’m fine.” The concerned look remains, unconvinced. You take deep breaths. This isn’t right. Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking don’t happen to you. Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking happen to other people.
Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking happen to Trelise, who works through it to kick ass. You saw this happen a month ago, right here. If she could do it, you can.
“Okay, do you know where Brendan went?” A full sentence without the word ‘fuck’. Good start.
Taje tilts his head to the side, thinking. “I think he went to the bathroom.”
“Thanks.”
“Stay cool, man,” Taje says, before going off in the direction you came from.
Unfortunately, you neglected to ask which bathroom, and where. The Events Center is a confusing place for an out-of-towner like yourself, and you weren’t entirely paying attention when Dai ran you through the place at light speed.
There. “Brendan!”
He doesn’t hear you. And there’s Dai, running up to him. She says something, you can’t lip read from this far, and Brendan’s about to say something back, and-
She grabs him by the collar, pulls him down to her level, and kisses him. Somehow, you can’t look away.
After a moment, he wraps his arms around her and kisses her back, and fucking hell.
You run.
By all rights, this should feel utterly bizarre. Your best friend is kissing you, and, what’s more, you’re kissing her back. You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing but you’re kissing her anyway, and her tongue is in your mouth and this is probably completely unhygienic but you’ve both had your MeNZB shots at least, and you’re tangling your hands in her hair and you never realized how much taller than her you’d gotten because she feels so small, and you’re kissing her in the middle of the hallway-
God, stop thinking about it.
When Dai finally steps back from you she’s laughing and rubbing her neck, and she looks up at you and says, “My neck hurts, you’re too tall.”
“I’m sorry?” You’re not sure whether you should apologize or not. It’s okay; she grins and touches your cheek.
“Oh my god, my lipstick’s all over you, I’m sorry.”
You have never been more conscious of your mouth. It’s not even that it’s apparently covered in lipstick, it just feels swollen, bigger than before, more feeling in it than ever before. Like for the last fifteen, almost sixteen years, you’ve been going around feeling numb, and Dai has finally woken you up.
Sweet sixteen and hell have you been kissed.
Kissed.
“Wait, what?” you babble. “What’s going on? I mean, I thought - no John and Yoko, you always said, and - just friends - and - you’re taking Taje to the ball - but half the time I think you’re hitting on me, and - Taje! - and I can’t actually tell because no one flirts with me, and you’re a flirt anyway, and - you don’t think I’m gay? practically half my school does, when they’re not calling me a skux, which is ridiculous, and - oh shit, that’s not what I’m trying to say, I’m not gay, and-”
“Brendan.” Dai smiles, shaking her head at you. You’ve seen that look before, it says You are an idiot of epic proportions even though I don’t do Classics and so only know what epic is through you, but I like you way too much anyway. “Forget about Ophelia for one minute. Would you please go out with me already?”
What?
You have to think about that.
At length, you reply, “If I say yes, will you kiss me again?”
“Why don’t you wait and find out?” says Dai, and you may be a total novice at this but finally, you’re sure she’s flirting with you.
Two can play that game. “Yeah, why not.”
A look crosses her face like she can’t decide whether to slap you or kiss you, and you’re very grateful when she chooses the latter.
“Geeze, get a room!”
You ignore them.
“Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap,” you get out between laughs, trying to dab at Brendan’s mouth with a wet paper towel taken from the bathroom and also trying very hard not to think about kissing him again, “I’m so sorry, I’m not usually this messy a kisser, and - you’re very good, did you know? With whom have you been kissing?”
Brendan - your boyfriend! - cracks up, rendering your paper towel entirely useless. “Sorry, did you know that’s a fic quote, and ‘to kiss’ is a transitive verb so you don’t even need the preposition, and ha, that’s a fic quote too, and I am such a nerd. Sorry, I’m not actually answering your question.”
“And you’re making this completely useless, so if you want to go onstage looking like you’ve been hanging out with all the hookers down Courtenay Place, then by all means-”
“No one.” Brendan interrupts you.
You stop, and Brendan takes the paper towel himself. “No one? Seriously?”
“No one,” he repeats gravely. “Never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend so stop giving me that look, fully expected to turn sweet sixteen and never been kissed.”
“That is so cute,” you squeal, and you have to resist the urge to kiss him again, because public displays of affection have never been so addictive.
When you hear, “Fifteen minutes to sound checks” on the intercoms, it’s a sign you really have to stop. “Okay, we’d better head back.”
“After you,” says Brendan with a stupid-looking flourish, and you laugh at him but take the lead anyway.
Some time on the way, his hand finds yours, and it’s a little awkward because he’s about half a head taller than you, but it still feels right, and you don’t know why you didn’t do this sooner.
When you get back, Johnny doesn’t appear to have moved. “How is Elle, anyway?” asks Brendan. A bit of a dumb question considering he’s flying off to visit her on Monday and he’ll find out then, but.
“Sleepy,” replies Johnny. “What do you think, it’s like 5AM over there.”
But right now you’re actually more worried about Julian, who looks pale and has his head in his hands. You crouch beside him. “You alright?”
“Yeah, just stage fright. I’ll be fine.” But it sounds hollow, and you can’t lie to an actress, that’s just stupid.
“Seriously, want a Panadol or something?”
“I said I’m fine,” Julian snaps, and he never snaps at you. You know to leave it alone.
“Five minutes to sound checks.”
You stand. “Are we ready to rock?”
Brendan cheers, Julian puts a lackluster fist in the air, and Johnny’s “Woohoo.” is thoroughly sarcastic, but you think you might just rock.
What: original short story using vincent_kinneas' Jonathan Marinaris and the_firedoor's Eleanor Ingleson and Taje Tuesday and mentioning the_firedoor's Brianna Aberdeen. cheers
Rating: M for too many F words to make PG13
Words: 1800 total
Summary: Ophelia Strike hits Rockquest and everyone's on their own quest for something that ain't rock. Second person rules and Wellington references run free while I completely jump the gun on a lot of things.
Sample: Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking don’t happen to YOU. Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking happen to OTHER people.
It’s not a good thing when you feel like the sanest member of Ophelia Strike. At least, you’re the only one not MIA or running around panicking. Dairine had yelled at you to guard the instruments before running off to talk to friends...’ friends, Brendan is trying to find Taje before the sound check, and Julian is, unfortunately, right here.
“My fucking bass is fucking out of tune,” he complains, waving it around like he’s trashing a hotel room, “I need a fucking tuner.”
You look up from your cellphone before your SMS to Elle turns into tuner talk. “Calm down, dude.”
“How can I calm down when we’re on for sound check in I don’t know how fucking long and my fucking bass sounds like shit?” Julian yells.
To be honest, you’re actually more concerned about the lack of tech guy. Might as well get the levels right now and the tuning right later. “This isn’t Panic! At the Disco.”
“This ain’t a scene,” murmurs the girl next to you, and you share a smirk (though you decide not to point out that that’s a different band). She returns to tuning her guitar (without the aid of a tuner) and you to your phone. Julian’s rant goes ignored.
Somewhere on the other side of the world, Elle has woken up at an ungodly hour to txt you, because she can’t be here. You don’t get it, really. Her dad paid for Brendan to fly over to England for a week, but you can’t go, and Elle can’t come to Wellington for one night.
It’s because you’re a boy, she’d explained, and you’re older than me.
Brendan’s sixteen, you’d pointed out, annoyed by the note of petulance creeping into your voice.
She’d given you that not-so-innocent grin of hers, and said, Brendan’s not my boyfriend, before proceeding to demonstrate this crucial difference.
So you’re left with just a couple of cellphones to connect you across the eleven hour time difference. You’d much rather be waiting for something to happen with her at your side, instead of an increasingly frantic Julian.
“Look, Juliet.” Julian glares at you. Guitar girl snickers. “Go find Brendan. He’s got a tuner. I don’t.” Because I tune my guitar by ear, you’re tempted to mention.
Julian stares. “Why the fuck would the fucking drummer have a fucking tuner?”
Maybe if you act patient for long enough, you’ll start to believe it yourself. “I don’t know, Juliet. Go find him and ask.”
He regards you for a moment, probably trying to decide whether the ‘Juliet’ is worth a retort, then mutters “Alright,” and leaves.
Your phone wants you: Elle just txted you helloooo? You’d better answer her.
You’re completely mystified as to how your bass got itself out of tune. At home, Brianna had watched you re-tune it five times before shoving you into the car and telling Dad to drive. (Bri’s coming for the actual concert later.) Maybe someone played with it, because just nervous fiddling doesn’t get something that fucking out of tune, right?
“There is that possibility. Dude, do you know you’re talking to yourself?”
You spin around: Taje is standing a couple of yards down the hallway. “Do you have a tuner?” you demand.
“Nope, sorry.” He stretches, completely at ease even as a drum kit and a keyboard run past surprisingly fast. “Brendan’s got one though.”
This is getting ridiculous. “Why the fuck does the fucking drummer have a fucking tuner? It’s not like he plays the timpani or anything!”
It’s the first time you’ve seen Taje caught off-guard. “Calm down, man! It was something about his brother, like, Chris played guitar but he left his stuff behind when he ran away to join the Navy so Brendan stole the tuner in case you guys needed it. Something like that, anyway. Look, do you want a back massage or something? Zita and Jane say I’m the man at them, and you seriously need to chill.”
Taje looks so concerned you have to consciously roll your shoulders back. “No, I’m fine.” The concerned look remains, unconvinced. You take deep breaths. This isn’t right. Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking don’t happen to you. Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking happen to other people.
Stage fright and not quite last minute panicking happen to Trelise, who works through it to kick ass. You saw this happen a month ago, right here. If she could do it, you can.
“Okay, do you know where Brendan went?” A full sentence without the word ‘fuck’. Good start.
Taje tilts his head to the side, thinking. “I think he went to the bathroom.”
“Thanks.”
“Stay cool, man,” Taje says, before going off in the direction you came from.
Unfortunately, you neglected to ask which bathroom, and where. The Events Center is a confusing place for an out-of-towner like yourself, and you weren’t entirely paying attention when Dai ran you through the place at light speed.
There. “Brendan!”
He doesn’t hear you. And there’s Dai, running up to him. She says something, you can’t lip read from this far, and Brendan’s about to say something back, and-
She grabs him by the collar, pulls him down to her level, and kisses him. Somehow, you can’t look away.
After a moment, he wraps his arms around her and kisses her back, and fucking hell.
You run.
By all rights, this should feel utterly bizarre. Your best friend is kissing you, and, what’s more, you’re kissing her back. You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing but you’re kissing her anyway, and her tongue is in your mouth and this is probably completely unhygienic but you’ve both had your MeNZB shots at least, and you’re tangling your hands in her hair and you never realized how much taller than her you’d gotten because she feels so small, and you’re kissing her in the middle of the hallway-
God, stop thinking about it.
When Dai finally steps back from you she’s laughing and rubbing her neck, and she looks up at you and says, “My neck hurts, you’re too tall.”
“I’m sorry?” You’re not sure whether you should apologize or not. It’s okay; she grins and touches your cheek.
“Oh my god, my lipstick’s all over you, I’m sorry.”
You have never been more conscious of your mouth. It’s not even that it’s apparently covered in lipstick, it just feels swollen, bigger than before, more feeling in it than ever before. Like for the last fifteen, almost sixteen years, you’ve been going around feeling numb, and Dai has finally woken you up.
Sweet sixteen and hell have you been kissed.
Kissed.
“Wait, what?” you babble. “What’s going on? I mean, I thought - no John and Yoko, you always said, and - just friends - and - you’re taking Taje to the ball - but half the time I think you’re hitting on me, and - Taje! - and I can’t actually tell because no one flirts with me, and you’re a flirt anyway, and - you don’t think I’m gay? practically half my school does, when they’re not calling me a skux, which is ridiculous, and - oh shit, that’s not what I’m trying to say, I’m not gay, and-”
“Brendan.” Dai smiles, shaking her head at you. You’ve seen that look before, it says You are an idiot of epic proportions even though I don’t do Classics and so only know what epic is through you, but I like you way too much anyway. “Forget about Ophelia for one minute. Would you please go out with me already?”
What?
You have to think about that.
At length, you reply, “If I say yes, will you kiss me again?”
“Why don’t you wait and find out?” says Dai, and you may be a total novice at this but finally, you’re sure she’s flirting with you.
Two can play that game. “Yeah, why not.”
A look crosses her face like she can’t decide whether to slap you or kiss you, and you’re very grateful when she chooses the latter.
“Geeze, get a room!”
You ignore them.
“Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap,” you get out between laughs, trying to dab at Brendan’s mouth with a wet paper towel taken from the bathroom and also trying very hard not to think about kissing him again, “I’m so sorry, I’m not usually this messy a kisser, and - you’re very good, did you know? With whom have you been kissing?”
Brendan - your boyfriend! - cracks up, rendering your paper towel entirely useless. “Sorry, did you know that’s a fic quote, and ‘to kiss’ is a transitive verb so you don’t even need the preposition, and ha, that’s a fic quote too, and I am such a nerd. Sorry, I’m not actually answering your question.”
“And you’re making this completely useless, so if you want to go onstage looking like you’ve been hanging out with all the hookers down Courtenay Place, then by all means-”
“No one.” Brendan interrupts you.
You stop, and Brendan takes the paper towel himself. “No one? Seriously?”
“No one,” he repeats gravely. “Never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend so stop giving me that look, fully expected to turn sweet sixteen and never been kissed.”
“That is so cute,” you squeal, and you have to resist the urge to kiss him again, because public displays of affection have never been so addictive.
When you hear, “Fifteen minutes to sound checks” on the intercoms, it’s a sign you really have to stop. “Okay, we’d better head back.”
“After you,” says Brendan with a stupid-looking flourish, and you laugh at him but take the lead anyway.
Some time on the way, his hand finds yours, and it’s a little awkward because he’s about half a head taller than you, but it still feels right, and you don’t know why you didn’t do this sooner.
When you get back, Johnny doesn’t appear to have moved. “How is Elle, anyway?” asks Brendan. A bit of a dumb question considering he’s flying off to visit her on Monday and he’ll find out then, but.
“Sleepy,” replies Johnny. “What do you think, it’s like 5AM over there.”
But right now you’re actually more worried about Julian, who looks pale and has his head in his hands. You crouch beside him. “You alright?”
“Yeah, just stage fright. I’ll be fine.” But it sounds hollow, and you can’t lie to an actress, that’s just stupid.
“Seriously, want a Panadol or something?”
“I said I’m fine,” Julian snaps, and he never snaps at you. You know to leave it alone.
“Five minutes to sound checks.”
You stand. “Are we ready to rock?”
Brendan cheers, Julian puts a lackluster fist in the air, and Johnny’s “Woohoo.” is thoroughly sarcastic, but you think you might just rock.